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Chapter One

Massimo

Her.

I sit straight in my seat, adjusting my suit jacket as she shrinks from the too-bright spotlight on her.

I am beginning to feel bored out of my fucking mind, and two-finger taps away from bolting out of this glassed framed, semi-banquette-styled cubicle until they shove her toward and into the limelight.

I have been digging my fingers into the leather of the cushion and pushing the teak table in front of me with an untouched crystal glass of Negroni on it every single time they bring out a new girl.

I can’t do anything. It’s a fool’s errand. Besides, I am in no position to do anything to the men surrounding me when I am here for exactly the same reason as them. It doesn’t matter what my intentions are. I am here to buy, which makes all of us in our respective cubicles the same shade of twisted. The men selling, they’re on a different level of fucked up in the head. Caruso is the leader of that deranged bandwagon.

A thick bodyguard with a villain mask pushes her forward and manhandles her to stand still as her feeble legs give in, unable to hold her weight. Bruised and discolored knees knock together.

The condescending way they treat the women makes my blood boil, and my fingers ache to reach for the holster beneath my suit and open fire on them. And it is the propellant pushing me like a robot on a mission, so I just keep painfully digging my nails into the leather cushion of my seat.

I keep my eyes on her. The bonus sample, is what they call her. Item twenty-six, even though she is the eighth paraded for the exhibition today.

Alessandra.

Alessandra was announced as if she was walking in like this is some evening reality show, and we’re a family sitting at a fucking round table to watch. She is treated like a buy-one-gets-one-cheaper packages. No, more like the, we’ve sold our best products and decided to put out an expired one for a ridiculously discounted price to sweeten the pot for our loyal customers. A fucking clearance sale.

I reach for the glass of Negroni, about to take a sip, then I remember the shark den I’m in. Alcohol on a night like this will not do me any good, especially with the irritation simmering in the pit of my stomach. Also, there’s the fact that this drink might have been poisoned. I’m on the Camorra’s side of New York City, and though we pretend to be on good terms when we talk with them, we never see eye to eye on anything, and I wouldn’t put it past them to seize the opportunity of a night like this to kill me.

I retrieve my hand. Shame. I love anything with Campari in it. I live for the bitter herb taste that lingers almost immediately after the sweet fruity taste hits. I turn my attention back to what is most important at this moment.

She will do the trick.

I place the index finger of my free hand, the one that some seconds ago had been trying to dig into the dark leather covering of the cushion, on the red button of the buzzer on the armrest of chair I’m sitting on.

The cubicle is soundproof, so you can and sample your products while waiting for the rest of the exhibition show. It is also dimly lit with violet light bulbs to aid your sexual need, with a display section for sex toys and torture weapons at your disposal but no provision for aftercare. The focus is not on taking care of the woman but rather on taking from her to care for your own needs. It can fit more than two people, even though the gold ticket admits one person per cubicle to this section of the exhibition.

The place is as sophisticated as a Royal ball party hall. The first area is the main entrance, where the partying takes place. A masquerade with adult shows, a distraction from what this night is really about. The second section is for auctioning precious stones and relics.

The last is only for the gold-ticketed people, and this is where I am. You walk in here with your mask on and get escorted to a shimmering gold cubicle with a glass front, that is dark when you look from the outside but clear as a crystal when you step inside. There’s a secret exit that leads to a car park and hangar. Anybody here for the auction leaves through the private door to their cars and private jets. Hefty-armed men in expensive suits wait strategically in place.

This section is for purchasing human goods. Women like her. Caught, groomed, and carted off to the highest bidder.

She will do the trick.

“One hundred thousand dollars,” the auctioneer in a gray two-piece suit and thick-looking goggles resting on his too-large nose hollers, like he has been doing all night, into the gold microphone wrapped in his sturdy palm.

There’s something about her. I can’t place it. Something that makes me want to leave this place with her.

I was beginning to think my listening to Claudio, my cousin and confidante, when he had suggested that this was the best way to fix my self-imposed problem, was futile. None of the girls interested me. They all looked the same to me, with hopeful eyes that they could somehow find freedom. But not her, she lacks life and the fight I’ve seen in others, although her every trait contradicts that hopelessness.

Her espresso hair mocks all the brutality she has experienced with its luster of lengthy richness and wavy strands styled upward in a pony tail draping down to her lower back. Those bottle-green eyes remind me of my first beer as an underage. The deliciousness of being lawless as I walked into bars and found no one bold enough to stop me from ordering Peroni. Then, the color of the leash she has around her neck, a color I like to see when I deal with an enemy. A color that makes the perfect bow for any present. Red. Her bare feet on cold black tiles ignite a kindred spirit in me, because sometimes it has been my only antidote for cooling off my roiling blood when triggered.

My eyes travel up to her face and down her naked, malnourished, and bruised body. The way her scar-masked skin covers her body looks like a balloon stretched over rocks. You can see every contour and feel every ridge. I scan with my eyes down below her knees, to her wobbly feet. Her bruised bluish-toes curl. She is trembling, not necessarily from fear but weakness.

Nothing my surgeon cannot fix.

My finger lingers on the red button with a paper light touch. Just a little more pressure and the buzzer will go off, allowing them to hear me when I speak and perhaps indicate where the voice is coming from. It is important to know when to make a move.

I wait.

No other buzzer goes off, nobody is rushing to buy this one like they did with the others. They were defiant and regal, regardless of the fear in their eyes, because they were yet to have masters as slaves. They feared their fate but had no idea what awaited them. The buzzers kept going off, it was like rush hour. The pricks around me wanted something whole so they could break it. The twisted psychos, who probably maimed their toys as children for no reason other than that they were theirs to toil with, kept bidding. Now they’re grown men with the same sick need to tame, break, and dispose of when bored.

But she is different. She is broken goods. She’s like a toy that has been hammered repeatedly by a temperamental kid and been disposed of.

Her trembling, propelled by her bitter past experiences from another owner, is glaring. She knows her fate. She knows what awaits her. The patches of bluish-gray on her skin are her badge of survival. That’s how I see it.

The auctioneer sighs heavily into the microphone, then sucks his teeth in a fit of irritation.

I keep my eyes on her.

The way she dips her head, the way her chin drops, and her eyes stay on the ground even though she can’t see any of us through the thick clouded frame of the cubicle. The way her fingers dig into her palms. I can feel her holding her breath from my cubicle. I can feel it because of the visible way in which her clavicle protrudes like it will break out of her skin.

Broken, that’s what she is. I am sure that when I will trace her skin, I’ll find ridges from poorly patched shards, like a broken mug glued carelessly and hastily together by a kid trying to outsmart his parent.

She is trying hard to look defiant, seeing no one is taking the bidding price for her. I’m guessing it will start dropping from one hundred thousand dollars to a number so worthless someone might take pity and take her home like she was a lost dog.

“One hundred thousand dollars for this one,” the auctioneer reminds us, just in case we might have forgotten or didn’t hear him the first time.

Now it will go down if someone doesn’t do something.

Or so I imagine. I have never been to these functions. I’m simply applying the rules of the business world. It isn’t that she is not worth more than that. If we’re being honest, no one exhibited tonight can compare to her. There is something striking about her. Like that good feeling you get about a property, even when it is nothing but debris. Even if the owner of the property sees it as having no value.

We want the gain, we have guessed the market value by just looking at it, but we will play the seller’s game till we get what we want.

I fiddle with my signet ring on my index finger with my thumb and glare at Claudio sitting across from me, in a black dress shirt and pants, with a brown leather holster strapped around his upper body. He glares back with black hooded eyes.

I should not be here. We should not be here.

If not for the godforsaken Mancusos, with their marriage proposal. Fucking crazy family, if they think I will come on board as a son-in-law. As if I would give my loyalty the same way I would to my family.

Their desperate need for heirs is about to cost me.

I didn’t think that was what the meeting would be about. I thought it would involve some underground business considering the urgency my father had attached to it, even though I knew it wasn’t anything that needed cleaning up with bullets. While I am the apex weapon for that, I will never do business the Mancusos way. They’re not to be trusted. Power drunk, recklessly disrespectful of human lives. They do not just go after their enemies but everything and everyone around them. They took innocent lives on their last operation because a partner decided it was time to end business with them. To get him through his grandchild, they’d blown up a school bus full of schoolchildren.

Assholes.

That is not the kind of family I want to marry into. We can do business, but no way in hell I’m joining our empires in marriage. A marriage between Mancuso’s only child and heiress, Vittoria Mancuso, and me, the heir to the Gaeta empire.

I can afford to get myself out of this situation because my family is heavy enough to tilt the scales . But the Mancuso family is still trouble.

The Mancuso family is undoubtedly king in the underworld, but there are people higher up than him the kingmakers. We, my family, are the Kingmakers. We have infiltrated the political system, and we twist and tweak politics to our liking. We say who gets power and how much of it. We decide who stays at the top of the food chain and for how long.

And as the underboss to the Gaeta empire, I can afford to twist and bend. But as with everything, wisdom is profitable to direct.

Everyone had already agreed that the marriage to Vittoria wasn’t a bad idea, giving their blessings before asking for my opinion. Fuck it. They invited me to tell me, Massimo Gaeta, about my wedding.

What my father wasn’t expecting, what none of them was expecting, was for me to say I had fallen in love with someone else, and that’s the person I want to be married to. That I had already given my word. In the underworld, for men of substance like us, for a man like me, our word is everything. I never take it back. I could say I have eight balls and they’d believe me immediately, no need for proof. But saying I had fallen in love was the most impossible thing they’d ever heard.

Knowing the Mancusos, I knew they’d bite. They don’t take no for an answer, but no one tells me what to do.

The silence that ensued in my father’s study when I refused was total. Eyebrows raised to question my reason for giving up such a merger, but no one dared pressure me They’ve seen how I get when I’m in love with something, anything.

It is the first lie I have ever told. I don’t talk if I can’t speak the truth. I have always felt lying is for the weak. No one intimidates me enough, and also, I don’t give a sparrow’s fuck about anyone, so I do not worry about hurting their feelings with the truth.

So I lied. Not just that, I went even further and told a second lie. That the nonexistent woman I’m so in love with, who made me turn down a business merger like the one presented to me, is engaged to me. And that lie is one-half of the reason I’m in this exhibition, surrounded by men like Louis Mancuso.

I’m no saint, but this is not my kinda place.

The other half of the reason I’m here is that I had said I would bring my fiancé to the family dinner a few weeks from now.

And as soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I was fucked. That I had to make it happen. My words hold a weight, so if I say I will do something, I will, and I never take it back. If I say I have a fiancé I’m in love with and that I will bring her to the family dinner, then I sure as hell have a fiancé that I will be bringing to the family dinner. The love part is something to worry about, but I’ll think of that after I find my fiancé.

While this might not be the most conventional way to make a marriage proposal, this appears to be the best solution right now. I will own her for as long as I want. She will do what I command her to do without questions, not to mention without drama. For my peace of mind, this is the best way out and she fits the profile. I want Vittoria as far away from me as possible. I can barely stand being around people, period, but she is a different breed of nasty.

When Claudio suggested this idea, I almost threw my whiskey glass at him. But, after sleeping on it, I find that it’s a one-size-fits-all kind of deal.

“A hundred thousand dollars,” Mr. Auctioneer groans into the microphone.

Almost time.

She’s shaking harder now, no longer hiding it or trying to. Maybe she is just too tired from standing that long on weak legs.

“A hundred and five,” I make my bid, starting slow.

“A hundred and ten thousand,” a different male voice booms, and she lets out a weak gasp, not of relief but of fright.

The voice sounds Hispanic, but everyone here knows that no voice sounds anything like the real voices. The mics are programmed to alter voices and accents, but from inside your cubicle, you can see what cubicle the voices are coming from.

I lift my eyes to look at the micro screen at the top of my cubicle showing the number twelve. That’s Camorra. The fucker is always on my trail. Now he wants what I want?

“Going for a hundred and ten thousand dollars,” Botched Nose shrieks into his mic. He looks around like he can see us.

I press my index finger on the red button.

“A hundred and fifty,” I sit back, relaxing. I don’t have the time to play around with the Camorra.

Her lips part slightly, and she gasps again, her bony ribs showing her drawing in the air.

Claudio has a smirk on his face. He reaches into the pocket of his dress pants… let him not pull out a coin. Damn it! He pulls out a coin. That shit is distracting but calms him. He starts to toss it in the air, and I fight the urge to toss him and his coin out.

“A hundred and fifty,” Botched nose lifts his hammer to slam.

“Two hundred,” from the same damn cubicle.

“Three hundred,” I ball my fist.

“Three hundred and fifty.” Caruso is having fun.

Fuck me. He told me the number of his cubicle for a reason and waited until I walked into mine. He knows it is me. He has been waiting for me to make a bid on any of the products. This long dragged-out stupid game of who is superior is getting under my skin.

I fell right into his trap when I continued with the bid. I can let her go and just wait for another one to come out. I can let him have her, let him win just this time. But I like a good challenge. She is the first product he’s making a bid on, so it will be good to beat him to it in his domain. Sick, but I like it. There’s a part of me that likes to think that what is mine came with a little bit of challenge. That I earned it, just like everything else in my life.

I want her. It’s a matter of honor now, and I’m not one to lose. There’s only one thing to do to make him stop, set the bid so high he’ll think I’m insane. That is probably what he wants. Giving him that is not as bad as losing her to him.

“One million,” I offer. Let’s end this tussle. My tolerance is low.

I do not miss how, for the first time since the spotlight came on, she lifts her eyes to look at my cubicle.

Claudio is staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. At least he is no longer tossing.

Why spend more on a property than the seller is asking for?

Because a few weeks from now, this property will carry a name that is one of the most powerful names in the whole of New York State.

This property will be my woman.

My wife.

Mine.

And that doesn’t come cheap.

I hope to hell she is worth every penny because otherwise Claudio will face my anger for this stupid stunt.

For his sake and hers, she better be.

Chapter Two

Alejandra

Please, not again.

My quaking legs knock and I almost stumble forward but find my balance by pressing my bruised toes onto the cold black tile floor beneath my feet. They still hurt from the last time Signor E had trampled on them repeatedly with his pointed shoes.

My eyes ignore the beeping green light at the top of booth number six directly in front of me and stay on the clouded glass masking the person I want so badly to see.

They have no right. No right to do this to anyone. No right to keep taking from me.

That person sitting in there just robbed me of my chance for freedom for an insanely high price. Not the type of freedom one is expected to hope for after living as I have for three years, but the kind that utterly sets free with no care or worry for healing and the future.

The future they robbed me of. I had worked and studied so hard to get a chance at the future I had dreamt of constantly as a child. I felt the universe was beginning to hear me when I got a scholarship to Naples. I felt I could finally be an architect. I could build something that would not only capture the eyes but enthrall the heart as well, like the Alhambra with its stucco walls, intricate plasters, and honeycomb patterns.

But that was long gone now.

Three years gone.

“One million for Alessandra,” the auctioneer announces like anyone would dare to bid higher than that.

I hate them all, but there is one thing we can all agree on tonight. And that is the simple fact that there is a madman in booth six.

One million for Alessandra. Not Alejandra. Not the dreamer who wanted to become an architect.

One million for the naked whore on this stage, passed down to master after master, to be used and reduced to nothing.

Not Alejandra, who enjoys sketching in the evening sun, who loves to run her fingers across the walls of grand buildings to teleport herself to another era and daydream of being there when it was being built.

That person is kept safe, locked away until there may ever be freedom for her.

I stopped trying to correct them on the first day when they asked my name and the man named Caruso, who was sampling us, said Alessandra instead of Alejandra. I had corrected him and got a fist bumped into my face. I felt the ring for days after.

He took my name away to strip me of my power and identity. But he didn’t realize he was giving me the strength to face the brutality. Knowing Alejandra is safe and away from all of this gives me something to hold on to. Something to look forward to.

One million dollars.

Why would he pay that much when he could have gotten me for way less? Why would anyone pay that much for me? What does he hope to do with me? What will he expect me to do to give him his money’s worth?

I bite down on my chattering teeth, fighting back every tear that’s prickling my eyes as I keep them on the glittering booth, breaking the rules.

How dare he? How could any of them? When does this end? Will I ever find freedom?

I was pounded, bruised, my bones broken, to stop me from meeting the eyes of Signor E when he newly got me. I started to realize that what I had been told back when I had a life I took for granted was true.

Back when I had friends I didn’t want to hang out with but pretended to like so I wouldn’t appear vulnerable. Back when I would deliberately skip meals and spend my time scrolling on social media. When I would rather stay in my bedroom reading or writing than hang out with family and friends on special holidays. I had been told then, by friends, families, and even strangers that my eyes sold me out. That they give away every secret I try to hide.

My eyes gave him everything he needed to know. They gave away my fear even when I pretended to be strong. They told him how hungry I was when I fought to stay on my feet after going days without food. My eyes gave him satisfaction and I had to remove that power from him.

I started to keep them on the ground as a form of self-preservation. I would look anywhere but in his eyes, all their eyes. Men that could reduce a human to an object. Men who overstepped boundaries and violated. Men who brought doom to women like me. Men that are predators and prey on women like me for pleasure.

I bow, dipping my head and lowering my upper body, taking back my power. I cannot see him but I know he can see me. And what I do not want is for him to see all the things I don’t want anyone to see. Those are mine. My thoughts are mine to keep and protect.

My body belongs to Alessandra and is for them to toil with. My thoughts are Alejandra’s and are hers to keep, hers to protect.

The point where my stomach meets my chest burns as my anxiety creeps through my veins, provoking another shaking fit that almost sends me falling on my face. I plant my feet on the floor with more firmness, straightening my back.

This will never end. No one is coming to save me.

When I was newly abducted, I fall asleep imagining a hero showing up to save me. I would imagine the police bursting through the place and saving me before they did any irreparable damage. But the days turned to weeks, the weeks turned to months, and the months to years. No police. No help. No hero.

Once again, I am being auctioned.

I know the fate that awaits me if no one takes me home. I have long since given up hope of being found and freed. I have forgotten what the wind feels like on my skin, what the banter of people from the neighborhood sounds like as the sun plays hide and seek behind the clouds.

I have forgotten what it feels like to be a daughter, a friend, and a sister.

I have forgotten what it feels like to be a woman with desire or a crush. What it feels like to demand respect, to not be violated or disrespected. I have forgotten what it feels like to be a human with rights and basic needs, dreams, and plans. I have forgotten what the taste of a freshly made meal feels like. I have forgotten the taste of my favorite chocolate ice cream and how I always allowed myself a sweet treat on weekends.

I have forgotten how to live or why to live.

After years of what I have been subjected to in the hands of Signor E, I want death more than water, even though I am extremely dehydrated. I have been refusing to eat or drink these past days before the auction. I needed to attract the grim reaper, for him to follow me in my wake. I need to call him with my starvation so he smells the scent of death on me and comes to take me with him.

I want death. I was so close to having it. So close. Now… I grind my teeth, stiffening my spine and holding my breath as a panic attack starts to brew, making my sight blurry. Maybe if I can avoid breathing just a bit longer, I will be able to escape this. I’ve been practicing this technique for a month now.

I chose this way to find freedom again, to give my worn soul some rest. I have come to accept my reality. No one is coming for me. No one will find me. No one will set me free but me. And if there’s a chance for Alejandra to survive, Alessandra must die. Maybe if I make that happen, she will have a chance in another lifetime.

I begin to feel dizzy and lightheaded. My lungs swell, and my stomach heats up.

When Signor E had told me he was bored of me and brought in a new girl, I thought he would do it himself. I was relieved. I went to bed on the cold floor like every other day, only this time I felt something I hadn’t in the three years. I felt warm inside, akin to happy.

I wanted nothing more from than to put me to rest. But he had other plans. He sent me to them and asked that they help him dispose of me. I had hoped they would set me free but instead, they have other plans for me. They will keep using me until I live.

Even when I don’t get bidden for, as has been my plight for the past four auctions, they still refuse to set me free. Every now and then they come with the threat of cutting me up in pieces and selling my parts to organ harvesters if I don’t get sold for at least three hundred thousand dollars. I wish for death, but not that way.

My eyes burn, my nose waters as my body shudders from the lack of oxygen. I’m close. If I keep this up, my heart might give up. It has to. Whatever fate awaits me, it might be worse than being dismembered and sold. If anyone can offer that much money, I might as well get ready to be used as the target in some horrifically perverted game.

A ragged palm grips my bare forearm and jerks me, forcing me to gasp warm air and deactivate my self-destruct mission. I keep my eyes down, my fists balled as I suck up air, panting.

“What were you about to do?” His voice comes out distorted, like sounds from a robber behind a mask in a heist.

I don’t look, but I feel him lift his other hand, about to strike me. I know now when a strike is coming without having to look.

“Touch her,” that voice, the same one that had offered one million dollars for a worthless object, booms through the speaker and halts the man his train. The voice sounds like Skipper from The Penguin of Madagascar. Signor E had sounded like a buzzing bee on the first day. I now hate bees.

“I dare you,” he continues.

The grip around my forearm loosens. The man takes a step back, creating space between us.

After feeling like trash for as long as I can remember, I instantly feel like I have some sort of value. The feeling of worth tries to swim through the swamp of worthlessness I’ve been buried in for all this time. I feel a strange sense of safety, even though I know it’s fleeting. No one will touch me now, not in a demeaning way, not here at least. I was going to be kicked or dragged across the floor for being an obsolete object, for not making a sale for them, again.

Three years ago, I had the men calling out and the bids soaring from the moment the bid price was announced. I am sure that if my current master gets tired of me, they will jump on me and claim me again with hopes that I will keep on being a money well.

From my peripheral vision, I see the auctioneer clear his throat and adjust his goggles, loving his role of slamming hammers and reducing humans to objects all too much.

“Sold for one million dollars,” he announces the price and hits his hammer very quickly, as if he fears the bidder will revoke his bid. That clinking sound evokes a tremor in me, sealing my fate.

I have been sold, again.

My panic attack kicks in, and the red leash around my neck begins to choke me. My heartbeat starts a drumming exhibition, as my heart goes crazed looking for a way out. The inside of my stomach gurgles like hot lava and as if the universe finally listens, my breathing hiccups, and gives up.

With closed eyes, a limped body, and shallow breathing, I drop to the floor.

Finally.

Freedom.

Oblivion.

Death.
Thank you.

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Chapter One

Nora

“The Celia Young disappearance has now been declared a cold case. I’m sorry.”

I stared at detective Reed, my hands clutching the chair so hard it hurt. I’d been expecting him to ask us to identify my sister’s body, or at least for him to say that he had a lead. Having him say instead that they had given up looking was… a mind fuck, to say the least.

All we had was a pile of questions and no shovel to sort them with.

The not knowing was the worst.

“I beg your pardon?” my grandma said. I looked in her direction, seeing how she was clutching her purse, and I knew she was just as close as I was to flying off the handle.

The detective sighed. “Whatever happened to her, the trail has gone cold. I’m sorry.”

“You’re… sorry?”

The detective was looking at me with fake regret in his eyes. He was putting on a show, which was even worse than the fact that they had given up. It had only been six months since my sister’s disappearance. What did they mean, the trail had gone cold?

He shook his head. “The department has limited resources and—”

“Fuck your limited resources! This is my sister you’re—”

My grandmother clutched my hand, her nails digging into my flesh. “Leave it, Princesa. They are doing their best.” She turned to the detective. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Reed?”

He nodded, still avoiding our eyes. “Of course, we are. We understand that this is your family, but as I said, limited resources. We are doing everything we can.”

“I don’t think you are,” I blurted, my hand on my hip. I might have been petite, but I wasn’t going to let this man get away with this. There was something more at play here. Something he wasn’t telling us, and I was going to find out what.

“That British girl, the one who disappeared years ago… What was her name, Lita?” I turned to my grandmother.

“I think it was Madeleine. Madeleine McCann.”

There was no ‘I think’ about it. My grandmother and her friends happened to follow that case obsessively. Conspiracy theories abound.

“Yeah, Madeleine. Fifteen years later, they’re still looking for her, and you give up after six months? How is that fair?”

Detective Reed rolled his eyes. “I can’t speak to what the British police do, ma’am. Here in New York—”

“Don’t speak to me like I don’t understand,” I snapped sticking my finger in his face. The urge to slap him was almost overwhelming.

A flicker of annoyance flashed across his face, but he suppressed it. “Ma’am, I am going to have to ask you to leave. This conversation is no longer produc—”

“No!” I said desperately, “Wait. I’m sorry.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I want us to resolve this amicably. So, let’s begin again, okay? Celia was working at Club Pandemonium. Did you speak with all the workers there?”

Detective Reed gave an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, we did.”

“And what about the owner? Her boyfriend was a bouncer for the club. Did you talk to him?”

“Miss Young, you know very well that we have spoken to all those people.”

“What about her neighbors? Did you get to all of them? Someone must have seen something.”

“That neighborhood is not well known for cooperating with the police.”

“I wonder why that is.”

“Nora,” my grandmother whispered admonishingly.

I met her eyes, taking a deep breath. She was right. Snarking at the cops wouldn’t get us anywhere. “I’m sorry. Just… I don’t think you’ve run down every lead. There are still avenues to pursue.”

“Is that so?” the detective’s mouth twisted in derision. “You know better than us?”

“I know that my sister didn’t just disappear into thin air. She’s twenty-two years old, and a whole hell of a lot of things could have happened to her. We just want to know what.” I fixed him with the most pleading puppy dog eyes I could manage. “Please, Detective Reed.”

He blinked at me and then shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Young. We’ve done everything we can.”

Simply put, I did not believe that he was telling the truth. There was something shifty about him. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what… but yeah, for sure. He was hiding something. I tried to think of a way to get it out of him.

“What did Igor say? Her boyfriend? Have you informed him that you’re stopping the investigation?”

“According to him, they broke up before she disappeared.”

“And you don’t find that convenient?”

Detective Reed shrugged. “She’s not exactly a housewife. We’ve had lots of women like your sister follow the same patterns of behavior—”

I almost leapt over the table to strangle him, but my Lita held me back. “Like my sister? You mean strippers? Are you calling my sister a whore?” I yelled.

“No. Of course not. But you must have known what sort of lifestyle she lived.”

I growled and he sighed, shaking his head.

“Look, all I’m saying is that there is nothing unusual about what happened before she took off. Nothing that would indicate your sister didn’t just skip town on her own. She’s an adult and she can do as she pleases. As someone who has seen this play out over and over, I would really suggest you focus on other things. Your sister will more likely than not show up when she feels like it.”

I just stared at him, my heart pounding. Thank God my grandmother was there. Celia wouldn’t just disappear. Sure, we weren’t as close as we once were, but we were the only family each other had. She wouldn’t just leave without a word.

Something had happened to her.

Something bad.

And if this stupid detective thought I was going to just roll over and let it go, he had another thing coming.

I whirled towards the door, pulling my grandmother along with me. “Alright then, thanks,” I said brusquely as I banged the door to his office open and stormed out. We were halfway down the hall when I heard my name called, much to my surprise. I turned to see Detective Reed following us.

“What now?” I snapped.

He came to a stop in front of me. “Please…let this go. For your own sake. This is doing nothing but causing you, and your grandmother, a tremendous amount of grief.” He turned to nod at her. “Don’t you see that?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicious at his insistence. I didn’t say a word, hoping he’d fill the silence and incriminate himself.

“Again, we’ve done all we can. We have no power over what comes next. Do you understand me?”

I stared mutinously at him.

“Nora?” He raised an eyebrow at me.

“When did we get on a first-name basis?”

He sighed. “Fine. Miss Young, last warning. Drop this. It isn’t going to go anywhere.”

“Thank you very much for your input, detective. Your warning has been noted.” I turned and resumed walking, my grandma by my side, watching me with her cloudy eyes. She didn’t say a word and neither did I, but I guess she knew as well as I did that I wasn’t going to drop it.

Chapter Two

Nora

It was dark and freezing. I could feel every muscle in my body shivering—shaking with both cold and fear.

“Nora?”

Her voice was so tiny in the dark as her small hands grabbed at me.

“Shh,” I whispered, more afraid than I could ever remember being. Then it hit me.

Celia, clinging to me. We were in a dark, enclosed space, claustrophobia closing in on me like an evil cloud…

This is a dream.

I tried to wake up, but all I could hear was Celia crying softly, almost soundlessly; her small body shaking at my side. We were used to that—not making a sound. Papa didn’t like it when we cried. Even when he beat us. We couldn’t stop the tears rolling from our eyes, but we could stop the sounds in our throats. Celia, in particular, learned to be very quiet.

I wanted to get away from the dream, from the shouting I could hear outside the dark space we were in, from the cold… I wanted to be back in my own bed, warm and safe and grown, but I couldn’t make myself wake up.

With a cry, I was suddenly sitting ramrod straight up in bed, my eyes wide open. I blinked a few times and wiped my wet cheeks. My shoulders dropped as I sighed, remembering.

Real life wasn’t much better than my nightmares. Not with Celia missing.

Where are you, Celly? God, I will find you.

I blushed even as I thought it, knowing how much I’d let her down. Getting up, I stomped to the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t stand the girl staring back at me. That girl had sunk into complacency, being content with one phone call a week, letting her sister get further and further away from the little family she had… I shook my head, looking away, unable to face myself.

My sister was in trouble, and I hadn’t known until it was way too late to help her.

I’ll go to the ends of the earth if I have to. But I will bring you home.

I grabbed my toothbrush, aggressively brushed my teeth, then washed my face. I didn’t have to be on duty until an hour later, and the bike ride to the hospital took twenty minutes, so I had some time. I got in the shower, standing under the spray and letting the hot water dissipate the grogginess I was feeling.

A horrible night’s rest, no doubt brought on by too much whisky, meant I was in bad shape. I closed my eyes, trying to think about any clue I might have missed. Celia had failed to mention Igor in our weekly talks—frankly, she rarely mentioned anyone in her life—so maybe Detective Reed was right, and they weren’t important to each other. I wasn’t going to assume anything, though.

Maybe the police hadn’t known the right questions to ask, or maybe Igor wasn’t interested in talking to Five-O. He might tell me something he wouldn’t tell them. It was a start at least. Then I could approach the other strippers at the club. All I had to do was get close enough for them to start talking.

I stepped out of the shower. The difference between the warm steam and the cold air made me shiver. I took my brush, standing naked before the mirror, and combed my dark hair while giving myself a once-over.

The best way to get to speak with Igor and the girls was to get a job at Pandemonium.

My eyes raked over my body. I had an okay cleavage. My waist was fairly small, and I had ample hips—thank you, Spanish heritage. I could dance well enough and had made my way through nursing school on the pole when money was tight. I wasn’t a professional by any means, but I knew enough to fake it.

My muscles were kept tight and toned by the hours of walking in the wards that my nursing career demanded. Plus cycling everywhere of course. I wasn’t a health nut or anything. Riding a bike was just that much cheaper than driving.

My goal had been to get the three of us out of the hood one day, save some money to pay for Celia to go to designer school like she’d wanted… Basically, save my family.

Things were going well. Until they weren’t.

The ER was bedlam. I was so happy I’d had time for breakfast—coffee and avocado toast from Starbucks—before I had to deal with some guy’s gunshot wound to the chest, followed by a kid with a bean stuck up his nose. The kid was fine; his mother, on the other hand, had needed a sedative.

“Do you want to wait thirty minutes for the doctor, or would you like me to extract it?” I asked her. It was a fairly simple procedure, and I had the forceps to do it. The bean thankfully wasn’t very far in.

“You do it! Please, just do it!” she almost screamed, and I could see how freaked out she was.

“Alright. But I need you to calm down, alright? Have a seat. Everything is going to be fine.”

She nodded frantically and sat down—curled up on herself, swaying back and forth, self-soothing. I felt sorry for her, but I knew the best way to help both of them was to get the bean out of the kid’s nose.

I turned to him and smiled. “So, Julius, I’m gonna get that bean out of your nose, alright? It won’t take long, and I don’t think it’ll hurt. Will you be a brave boy for me?”

He nodded slowly, his brown bangs bouncing on his forehead. He reminded me so much of Celia at that age. So cute and responsive, and very quiet.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and picked up the forceps. I talked to him as I burrowed in his nose, clamping onto the bean and pulling it out carefully. He didn’t so much as flinch.

“What a brave boy you are!” I hummed. “There, all done.”

I sprayed some antibacterial mist up his nose just in case, cleaned up the snot, and handed him good as new to his mother. She burst into tears, clutching him close. Julius was unmoved by her hysterics, and I had a feeling she freaked out often enough that it wasn’t new to him. I waved awkwardly and left her to it.

My next patient was more… complicated.

Claudette Stevens, twenty-three years old. Her dark brown hair did nothing to hide the bruises on her neck, and her downcast eyes were tired. I could hardly bear to look at her, but I had to smile and be professional. All my patients were bringing Celia to mind that day.

I felt as if someone was trying to send me a message.

Claudette was five foot six and a hundred-and-ten pounds—way too thin. Her elbows stuck out like tiny spears, sharp enough to pierce her concave stomach. Her collarbone was stark, and her cheeks were slightly hollowed. But she stood straight and unbowed, looking at me with defiant eyes.

Just like Celia.

“So, what brings you to the ER today?”

Claudette looked away. “I fainted and my stomach aches.”

I cocked an eyebrow in disbelief, staring at that bruise around her neck. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I expelled a breath and turned away, shaking my head as I picked up the blood pressure cuff. She pulled back her sleeve so I could get an accurate reading. More bruises. To nobody’s surprise, her blood pressure was on the higher side of normal.

There were so many times I stood to the side while my mother told a nurse or a doctor about her own “accidents”: running into a door or falling down the stairs. I glanced towards the curtains separating the cubicle from the rest of the corridor and saw a man peering in. His eyes were steady on Claudette.

“You know, the hospital has certain resources that can help you in case you’re in… a tricky spot,” I whispered.

She shook her head, still not looking at me. “Thanks, but I’m not in any sort of spot.”

“Do you have kids?”

Her eyes slid along the floor and then flicked towards the curtain. She shook her head. I didn’t know if I believed her, but there was nothing in her file to indicate she was lying.

“Well… if you change your mind, you know where to start,” I whispered.

She nodded, not lifting her head at all. With an inward sigh, I walked out of the room with her file, eyeballing the man lurking in the corridor.

“Excuse me, sir. You can’t be back here unless you’re a patient.”

“It’s fine,” he said, not deigning to look at me. “I’m waiting for someone.”

I hesitated, wondering if I should insist. He was a big guy, at least six foot three, with wide shoulders. His hair was cut close to his skull as if he was in the military. He wore cargo shorts and a striped blue and white shirt. I could describe him to the cops if needed.

I walked away, perfunctorily knocking on the GP’s door before entering the room and placing the file on the desk. “Hey, doc. You need to watch out for this one. Might be some domestic abuse going on.”

The doctor sighed, shaking her head. “I’m guessing she’s not admitting it?”

“Nah. Walked into a door.”

We exchanged commiserating glances before I shook my head and left. One thing I knew for sure: nobody could help Claudette until she was ready to help herself. Being that broken, that damaged, was something I could definitely relate to, so it filled me with guilt to just have to walk away… again.

I checked my watch and saw that it was almost noon. Late enough for me to take my lunch break. I was already sick of this shift, so I alerted the front desk and took off for the taco truck across the street.

Buying two tacos and two coffees, I headed down to the morgue where my friend Jodie worked as a pathologist. I found her in her office, transcribing her notes, and held up the brown paper bag.

She immediately stopped typing and grinned at me. “My Lord and savior.” She held her hands out wide, and I stepped into them and let her hug me before she snatched the bag of food. She opened it and peered inside.

“Mmm, tacos. It’s like you read my mind.”

“Yes, I’m psychic.” I collapsed into an empty chair with a sigh.

She stared at me, her bright blue eyes taking me in. “Rough morning?”

“Ugh.” I covered my face with my hands.

“Is it the clinic or your sis?”

“Both. Got a domestic violence case just now. Chick is denying it and not even trying to do a good job of it.”

“Maybe she needs a knight in shining armor.” Jodie shrugged, taking a bite of her taco.

I snorted. “Yeah, well, best of luck getting through her meathead boyfriend.”

“Is she like… hot?”

I opened my eyes to glare at her. “Did you not hear the part where I said she’s in an abusive relationship?”

Jodie shrugged. “You know I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.”

“You’re a sucker for any damsel.”

“Hey!”

I grinned at her, feeling a lot better. “What? You know I call them as I see them.”

She shrugged. “Fair.” She handed me a taco, “Now eat and tell me what else is bothering you. You look rough, and I know it’s not just because of this.”

“Jeez, thanks. Always good to know that I look as bad as I feel.”

“You know what I mean.”

I sighed. “Yeah. I do.” I bit into the taco.

“So, what’s up, doc? Is it your sis?”

I sighed, leaning on my hands before telling her about our visit to the detective. She was outraged on my behalf and totally agreed with me that the detective was hiding something.

“Dick. Do you think he’s on someone’s payroll?”

I stared at her. I hadn’t even thought of that. I just thought he was being a lazy son of a bitch. “You think so?”

“Hey, Jeffrey Epstein had some cops in his pockets.”

My eyes widened further. “She’s too old to be caught up in something like that.”

“Would you prefer to think that she’s dead?”

I didn’t want to think about that.

“Well… anyway, I’ll find out soon enough,” I said.

“What do you mean by that?”

I gave Jodie a side-eye. She was my best friend, and she had my back, but I didn’t feel comfortable bringing anyone else into my plan. If I told her what I intended on doing, she might have insisted on helping me… or changing my mind. If I knew one thing for sure, it was that my plan was dangerous and possibly stupid. I wasn’t going to drag anyone else into it.

“Let’s talk about something else. I need a distraction from the bad dreams and the worse thoughts. What are you up to?”

“Nothing fun. Madly swiping left on Tinder, trying to find my soulmate.” She shrugged but her blue eyes twinkled.

I had to laugh. “Maybe lower your expectations a bit?”

“Okay, fine. I just want a hot girl with a sharp mind and one hell of an ass.”

“Ah, much more attainable.” I grinned as I took another bite of my taco. I sat back and we ate in silence. I felt the peace of the morgue wash over me, the deep quiet, the sense of profundity brought about by the fact that we were surrounded by the end of life. It was impossible to think petty thoughts while I was down here.

Jodie finished her taco and wiped her hands on her tissue. She straightened up, grabbing her latte and sipping at it with a frown on her face. She flicked back her dark hair and focused on me.

“So… to return to your Detective Reed. What are you gonna do? Report him to his superiors?”

I gave her a look. “Does that ever work?”

She shrugged. “No idea.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

She lowered her head. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’ll figure it out.”

Jodie shook her head at me. “What are you planning, my dear scheming friend?”

My mouth twisted as I took a sip of my coffee. “Something stupid, obviously.”

Chapter Three

Alexei

I threw my head back, almost hitting the wall behind me, and I bit my bottom lip to suppress any sound. Jules’ mouth was a godsend, sucking the soul out of my dick like it was her job. She was nothing if not a pro—a valuable resource to have when I was feeling stressed.

My hips jerked as I grunted, coming down her throat.

She pulled away with a soft moan, giving me a lustful look from beneath her lashes. She was kneeling on the floor of my office between my legs, my desk at her back. It was a great look for her, but I knew she was about to start some shit. Asking for a performance review or when we could see each other again.

I had a feeling she was starting to get the wrong idea about us.

The door opened, and Kirill, one of my Brigadiers, came in. “Papa, we have a problem in the club.”

All my brigadiers called me Papa or Pakhan to show their respect. After all, I was the boss. But Kirill and I had grown up together in this business, so it felt weird when he called me that. When we were alone, he stuck with Alexei, but as soon as anyone else was around, he shifted into formality.

I liked that about him. When people saw someone as close to me as Kirill giving me my due respect, it didn’t even occur to them not to do the same.

“What problem?” I pushed Jules off me, buttoning up my fly as I got to my feet.

“Fight broke out on the floor. One of the girls is involved. You want me to take care of it?”

I was tempted for a moment. Blowing my load always left me with a pleasant high for a few minutes. It would have been nice to bask in it.

But then conflict spurred a different but equally attractive kind of adrenaline, and I could walk and chew gum. I shook my head. “Let’s go.”

The Pandemonium was a private club. It had nothing to do with the mob business. It belonged wholly to me, all above board and legal. Almost. Aside from it being an excellent place to launder money, the club was also great for hearing things. My clientele was a mixed pot: other gangs looking to party on neutral ground; rich kids wanting to flirt with danger; Wall Street types wanting to relax somewhere they didn’t have to put up a front; politicians too, mostly those looking to make deals with criminals.

As a result, I expected a certain level of professionalism from my workers. This wasn’t some hole-in-the-wall place. It was a classy joint. I expected my employees to behave accordingly.

Pandemonium had three levels, the first being a dance floor, with a DJ booth and a bar, strobe lights, house music, the works. I had a few girls working the floor, supplying the Wall Street types with every drug they could dream of.

The second floor was the strip club—we had theme nights. Monique, my entertainment manager, set them up. There were cowboy nights on Mondays, where anyone who could stay on the mechanical bull for two minutes got a free, private, lap dance.

We had a live band that played all the country songs.

Tuesdays was BBW night where our plus sized strippers did their thing. It’s been surprising to see what a draw they were. Wednesdays was drag queens. Thursdays, college nights. And Fridays, was free for all.

The third floor was more exclusive—I call it, VIP. Admission was by appointment only. Patrons could order dinner, have their secret meetings, drink the night away, order up strippers, dancers, or drugs, a stenographer, videographer, fax machine… Whatever they wanted, the butler would supply. It was swept for bugs twice a night and no phones were allowed.

I took the elevator down to the second floor, Kirill by my side. It was still early on a Monday night, so thankfully it wasn’t packed yet. There were two men in the open space surrounding the stage, beating the shit out of each other. I sighed, squared my knuckles, and dove in. Taking each man by the scruff of their shirts like dogs, I shook them apart.

“Alright, fuckers. Either of you wanna tell me what’s going on?” I demanded.

One of the men growled, trying to break free of my hold and come at me. I didn’t spend six days a week with a trainer bench pressing three hundred pounds so that some punk in my club could attack me.

I let go of the first guy and punched the second one in the face. Then, quick as a flash, I resumed my hold on the first guy and brought him right up to my face, his feet almost hanging off the ground.

I was never one to display my physical power for fun. But now and then, just to remind the hoi polloi who the hell I was, I did let myself go.

I shook him a bit as he looked at me with wide, scared eyes. “You think this is some piss-soaked back-alley fight club, huh? Nah—here, you drink under me.”

The guy started stammering a reply. He looked to his right where one of my dancers was standing, her arms crossed, shoulders hunched over and looking stressed.

I curled my lip in disgust. “You’re fighting over a girl?”

He blubbered a little more, nothing intelligible, before I threw him on top of the other guy. I looked up at my security that was standing around, ready for anything. “Throw these shitbags out, would you?”

I stepped over the two sprawled bodies before my men picked them up and heaved them off, stalking the girl. I could see her beginning to hyperventilate, her face pale, hands trembling. I came to a stop, looming over her. “Care to explain yourself?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I told him not to come. But my boyfriend gets so jealous and—”

I snorted, lifting a hand up. “Save it. I don’t have time for this.” I raised my voice so the other dancers could hear me. “When you come here to work, you leave your domestic bullshit at the door. I don’t wanna waste my time breaking up fights. You think this is Coyote Ugly? My patrons come here to have a good time, not to be subjected to your baby daddy bullshit. Last warning.” I snapped my fingers before pointing at the stripper in front of me who was trying to sneak away. “Not you. You’re fired.”

She actually whimpered before going down on her knees. “Please, sir! It’ll never happen again. I’ll tell Rob to stay away, I promi—”

“If I had a dime for every time I heard ‘it’ll never happen again’, I’d be rich enough to retire. Go on. Get out. Tell Rob thanks from me.”

She began to cry.

Honestly… I could only roll my eyes. “Come on, stop with that. I’m not gonna hire you back. Collect your things and go.” I pointed sternly towards the door.

“Sir, please.” She came closer, looking me in the eye and trying to bat her eyelashes. “I’ll do anything,” she whispered.

“Yeah? Then leave.”

It annoyed me when girls thought that their pussies could get them out of anything. I turned my back on her as one of my security men took her by the arm, trusting that she got the message.

But something made me look up towards the bar. There was a woman there, staring at me, her dark eyes laser-focused and bright with interest. I found myself changing direction as if a literal magnet was pulling me towards her. She wasn’t the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, but something about the way she stood, the look in her eyes, set her apart from all the other girls in this place.

“Hey,” I said confidently, leaning on the bar next to her. “Sorry you had to see that.” I waved vaguely towards the middle of the now cleared room.

She shrugged. “Don’t apologize. Seeing you pick up that guy so effortlessly was something else.”

Her eyes twinkled with… something. Not really mirth, lust, or interest. More like an amalgam of all those plus some other, undefined emotion. It had me intrigued.

Who was this girl?

I held out my hand. “Alexei Levin, at your service. You have a name?”

She looked at my hand for a moment, as if making up her mind about something. Then she slid her much smaller hand into mine, looking me in the eye. “Nora Walsh—at yours.”

I shook her hand slowly, drowning in her dark eyes. Unlike most people who met me, she didn’t seem the least bit afraid. Maybe, she didn’t let her fear stop her from holding my gaze. I could see the wariness in her eyes, how watchful she was of me, which let me know she knew who I was.

“So, Nora, come here often? Haven’t seen you before.”

Her eyes slid to the place where the dancer had been standing. She looked back at me with a quirked eyebrow. “Yeah, well,” she threw me a one-shouldered shrug, “this isn’t my usual beat.”

“Oh yeah? And what is?” I clicked my fingers at the bartender, indicating that they should replenish Nora’s drink. They did so and brought me my usual—a white Russian. Puns be damned.

“I thought I was out of the business.” Her mouth twisted, “Been out of town, doing the domestic thing. But that didn’t work out.”

My mouth turned down. I gave her a disappointed look. “Damn, don’t tell me. Crazy ex?”

She laughed and then leaned in, beckoning me to do the same. I gave her my ear, eager to hear what she had to say. “The gag is, I’m the crazy ex,” she whispered, her warm breath ghosting against my skin.

I actually laughed out loud. I was not expecting that. I leaned back, seeing that she was smiling up at me. And she had dimples… kissable dimples.

This might be a problem.

“Do tell,” I said.

She inclined her head, mouth turning down. “He made me quit my job all of a sudden… which means no references, right? Took me to this town in the middle of nowhere and substituted my birth control with sugar pills. Blew through my savings while he was ‘looking for a job’, all the while selling me this line about happily ever after. My sister just died, so I wanted to believe him so bad.” Her voice broke and she swallowed hard but didn’t burst into tears or anything. I reached out and squeezed her hand. It would work in my favor to console her.

She gave me a quick, humorless smile. “Finally woke up. Skipped out of town with the one thing he loved. A Harley-Davidson. Mint condition. Sold it when I got back into the city, but I kinda need to get some work… fast.” She looked at me and smirked. “You know what I mean?”

I couldn’t help raking over her body from head to toe. She wore a white chiffon blouse which was practically transparent in the neon lights. I could see the twin peaks of her breasts pushing into a black lacy bra. There was nothing extraordinary about them and yet my palm itched to curve beneath the swell of them and squeeze. My mouth watered at the thought of suckling her nipple through her shirt, wetting the material so it clung to her skin and rendered her practically naked.

I could feel my body react to my fantasies. I wasn’t used to feeling so out of control.

What hoodoo even is this?

“You want to work for me?” My voice was fairly level, which was gratifying.

“I wanna work in your club, if you’ll have me.”

The way she said it… I was ready to plow her right there.

I cleared my throat. “Let’s talk in my office.”

She nodded, following me as I made my way to the elevator, parting the crowds like Moses did the Red Sea.

I know this is stupid. I know it.

I hardly knew anything about this girl—she was an unknown quantity. For all I knew, she could have been a Fed. Yet there I was, letting my dick lead me into trouble for the first time in my life. She stood in front of me in the lift, turning her back on me. I could smell her. She smelled of mint and strawberry. It was a pleasant scent. Not intoxicating. And yet I wanted to lean forward and bury my face in her neck.
There was another smell. One I knew well. One that fascinated me more than the rest.
It was the smell of fear.

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Chapter One

Lori

I’m sitting in the middle of Central Park and all I can focus on is how the sun hits the trees just right. Tall skyscrapers line the backdrop, although I cannot see the details. In fact, I can’t see any details—of anything. I’m lucky that I can even see at all. Light, blurred objects, color, movement, sometimes even a hairstyle on someone’s head. That’s about all my vision can handle thanks to Stargardt’s disease.

I developed it when I was twelve years old, and remember the moment to this day. I was sitting at my family’s dinner table, a long handmade oak piece adorned with crystal plateware, when the crystal suddenly blurred and stopped glistening. My brothers’ faces faded into shadows, and the pangs of fear in the pit of my stomach caused me to spill my gazpacho all over my white sundress.

I slip my bag off my shoulder and set it down on the bench behind me, my head tilting up towards the sun. It is moments like this when I wish I had normal vision. I wish I could count the clouds in the sky, memorize every little detail of the buildings in the skyline. I wish I could look at the couples I hear laughing around me. Perhaps then, I wouldn’t feel this intense loneliness, perhaps then, all the years of being hidden away would’ve been worth it, because I could revel in a moment like this with eyes wide open.

Since birth, my life has been threatened and I have been in danger, however the day that I lost my vision, was the day that the Saracino’s would have a secret child. See, my father is a very important man. Graziano Saracino is perhaps one of the most feared and richest men in New York City, perhaps in the nation, the leader, and head boss of the Saracino Mafia. So ever since I lost my vision, I have been tucked away, hidden from the danger that is my family’s reality. My father bought me an apartment on the other side of Manhattan, my brothers and him taking turns watching me. Thus, I have been living a relatively normal life, despite the blindness and all.

I pull my camera from my bag and remove my sunglasses. When being in the sun or harsh light, I must wear sunglasses, sometimes even a hat.

I fiddle with the lens and line up the perfect shot, capturing the perfect view of Central Park in the middle of the day, telling a sweet story of this amazing city.

I know what you’re thinking, a blind girl that takes pictures? And yes, that does sound bizarre, but I don’t just take pictures, I throw myself into them. I’ve made them a career. I’ve turned my shadowed haze into colorful storylines and now, I get to tell those stories for a living. Iris Media is one of the top marketing firms in the city and thankfully after I graduated college, they took one look at my portfolio and hired me on the spot, without being aware of my disease.

Now I really know what you’re thinking, why does the daughter of one of the richest and most powerful men in the city even have a job? Well, my answer is simple—I want to.

I don’t want to live in my family’s dangerous world. Although I love them more than words, and sometimes even more than photography, I refuse to let money be an additional reason for my lifelong isolation. It’s dirty money, blood money, money that has kept me away from the brutality of the Saracino world, money that has allowed me to build a safe space for myself. A space where I can live a quiet life, taking pictures and hosting dinner parties with my friends, maybe even allow me to have a partner and someday, a family. A normal, happy and safe family.

As soon as I take the picture, a series of loud noises fill the air. I jump and clutch my camera, knowing all too well that the sounds were gunshots. Since my hearing is heightened due to relying on it for so long, I can almost tell where they are coming from, and that immediately triggers my flight response. They were close by and so is my father’s office. Something in my gut tells me it’s not good, that it’s either him or one of my four brothers, so I pack my camera, slide on my sunglasses and make a beeline for the subway. Thankfully, I’ve memorized all the times of transit since this city doesn’t cater too well for blind people. I know that the next link to my apartment is in five minutes, so I need to book it.

I run through Central Park, rushing onto the sidewalk and waiting for the crosswalk guard to signal that it’s okay to pass. When I get to the subway stairs, I run until my lungs are squeezing inside of my chest, my thighs practically chaffing from brushing together beneath my skirt. When I count my steps and stop at my designated spot in the terminal, I wait and listen for the train. It comes, like clockwork and I step inside as soon as the door opens, sliding in my headphones as I tell my phone to call my oldest brother, Carmelo. He answers on the first ring, like always.

“Where are you right now?” I gasp, my voice thick with anxiety.

“Woah, kid, calm down. Are you okay?” he asks, the calm and deep baritone of his voice soothing some of my worry.

“Are… are you okay? I was just working in Central Park and heard gunshots. Where’s papa?” I ask, grabbing a pole and hanging tight as the subway takes off.

“Relax, Lori. Dad’s fine. Not every gunshot is due to or intended for the family. You forget this city is filled with thugs and psychopaths,” he chuckles, but I don’t laugh. My hand is sweaty as it grips the pole.

“You forget that the family is also composed of thugs and psychopaths.” I hiss, not in the mood for his humor today.

He sighs. “This is true. Look, Dad and I are fine—”

“What about Armone, Amelio and Claudio?”

“They’re here with me. Seriously, little one, you need to relax. You’re gonna turn gray at the ripe age of twenty-two.” He says and I sigh, thanking God or whoever resides in the sky for keeping my brothers and father safe just one more day.

“Look, we were planning on coming over to the apartment for dinner tonight. Dad is going to Jersey for some… business and the boys and I are craving your Cavatelli.”

If there’s one thing that’s true about living in a house full of boys, it’s that they eat. A lot.

I had to learn how to cook at a young age because of this. My mom died when I was a toddler so if the nanny was off duty, somebody had to learn their way around the kitchen and that was me. Which is fine, I love to cook. With my loss of vision, I had to learn how to chop safely, but it’s still therapeutic for me and one of the few things I’m good at.

“Fine. I’ll see you at the apartment at seven. Love you.” I disconnect the call and play some music, tilting my head back and closing my eyes as the subway continues, mindless chatter all around me.

~

When I get home, I busy myself with cooking and pour a few glasses of Chianti to calm my nerves. The apartment is quiet and lonely, so I draw the curtains and play my favorite classical playlist.

The space is huge, over five thousand square feet complete with granite countertops and vaulted ceilings. It’s a true gem in Upper Manhattan, and I’m sure it cost my father a pretty penny, but thankfully he paid for it outright so that I would never have to struggle even if I wanted to. To be honest, I don’t make that much at the marketing firm, but I do well for myself and am able to survive while still enjoying some fancy wine and organic food. Once my insurance kicks in, I’m going to talk to my father about switching doctors and paying my medical bills on my own as well, which I’m sure he will object to. Quite frankly, I’m tired of the frequent appointments. Of the pointless surgeries. If this disease is as hopeless as my childhood doctor says it is, then I want to make it easier on myself.

I straighten my throw pillows on the leather couches and reach for the fireplace remote, turning it on and sipping from my glass while gazing out the large, floor-to-ceiling windows. I’ve made this place as colorful as possible to help me move around, but the view is my favorite, albeit blurry.

The doorbell rings and I hear the door open immediately after, all four of my brothers’ laughter filling the apartment. I smile. It’s been a long time since all of them came here. Usually, people visit me in shifts now that I’m an adult, except for holidays. In all honesty, the men in my life are much busier doing crime than they are spending quality time with family. It’s something that I’ve had to accept at a young age.

“Lorena Rose!” My second eldest brother, Armone, shouts from the foyer, causing me to roll my eyes in response.

Nobody calls me by my full name but him and he only does it to agitate me.

I stand up and walk into the kitchen, pausing to kiss each of their cheeks. The eldest, Carmelo, is tall like my father. Like the other three, he was blessed with thick, dark and unruly hair and dark eyes to match. They’re pretty much carbon copies of my father, but they all have something unique about them. Carmelo is tall and wise, Armone has a very buoyant sense of humor, whereas the third eldest, Amelio, has the biggest temper, and the youngest brother, Claudio, is charming beyond belief. However, each and every one of them are players. The number of random women I have seen wrapped around their arms have surpassed the hundred mark and for a while, it grossed me out. Now however, it fills me with envy.

Because, while my brothers are attractive playboys, I am the odd, lonely, disabled girl. The girl with the red brown hair and the overly bright hazel eyes. The skinny, petite waif with poor eyesight. It’s safe to say that the only men I’ve ever known are my family members.

“Smells delicious, little one,” Claudio says, patting my shoulder as he pours a glass of wine, my eyes drifting to the long outline of his dark hair.

They all call me little one. It doesn’t piss me off, but rather fills me with warmth. It makes me feel special. Because even in my lonely world—to them, I am special.

“Thank you. I have most of the table set up, but can you pull the pot from the oven and set it on the table? There’s some Pinot Grigio on the table already,” I say, Claudio following my instructions immediately.

He’s the easiest to get along with, always sweet and polite. I feel safe with all my brothers, but he’s always had a way of calming me the best.

“Boys, come on,” I holler, grabbing my glass and walking into the dining room.

We take our spots at the table and say our prayers, wishing for health and safety as always. I hold my brothers’ hands a bit tighter than usual, the nerves from earlier still not completely dissipated.

As we eat, the boys chatter about their newest romances, and the loneliness stretches inside of my heart. After minutes have passed and they realize I haven’t said much, Amelio sits back and speaks to me directly.

“Car told us that you heard some shots and became frantic. Wanna talk about it?” he asks, his silhouette sipping wine as I sigh and swallow my food.

“Not really,” I say, but I should’ve known they wouldn’t listen anyway.

“Tough shit. What’s the matter?” he says, calling my bluff as I play with the food on my plate.

“I just… I haven’t seen papa lately and I guess I’m just anxious,” I say, the room silent as I speak.

“Maybe I just miss home.” I regret the words instantly.

“You know why you can’t go back there, Lori. It’s not safe for you.” Carmelo scolds, sounding just like my father.

“I know. I didn’t say I wanted to go back. Just that I miss it.” I whisper, swirling the wine in my glass as I bite my lip.

“I guess I’m just lonely. I hear you talk about these women, these companions, and I can’t help but wish for something like that for myself. To have someone to come home to—share my life with.” Armone’s hand rests over mine when I fall silent.

“You’re only twenty-two, little one. You have all the time in the world. Trust that you will find someone someday. You’re beautiful, intelligent, and have many talents. Any man would be lucky to call you his,” he says earnestly, my heart sinking at his words.

“I have two talents and a disability. I think I may be off the market for good.” I wallow in my own self-pity now.

“You are special and a prize, Lori. Don’t tell yourself otherwise,” Armone says, patting me comfortingly as I smile at him.

“Enough of this loneliness talk, where’s the cake?” Amelio asks, everyone erupting with laughter as we finish our meal.

“How are you ever going to have a wife if that’s how you speak to a woman?” I tease, reaching to pour myself a glass, but retreating when Carmelo brushes me off and does it for me.

He hates when I try to be self-sufficient in his presence.

“Who said I speak to every woman like that?” Ameilo teases. “And who said I want a wife anyway?” I roll my eyes at him, getting up as Claudio clears the plates from the table.

Carmelo takes the tiramisu from my hands before cutting into it as I walk it into the dining room.

I stare at all four of them, the outline of their laughing figures filling what little vision I have.

“What?” Armone asks.

“Promise me that you’re being safe. I don’t know what I would do without any of you.” I whisper, the men falling silent and all but confirming that something did happen today.

“What happened?” I ask, gazing at them as they sigh.

“There was a robbery. One of the De Vico boys. Our guards caught him a block away from the office with some of our contraband,” Claudio says, the other three hissing and chastising him.

“She’s going to worry, idiot—”

“I’m fine! Jesus, I’m not an invalid. Just because I’m hidden away doesn’t mean I need to be kept out of the loop. The De Vico’s? Again?” I ask, frowning as they confirm.

The De Vico family has been an enemy of my family since the dawn of time. The Saracino’s have fought hard to maintain control over the city, but these people are relentless. Heinous, relentless, and fucking brutal.

“Do I need to worry?” I ask, Carmelo getting up to grab the knife from my hand before he cuts into the dessert.

“Never, little one. We’re finally gaining the upper hand in our war. Now is the greatest time to relax and live your life with ease,” he says, kissing my forehead before he hands a slice of cake to all of us.

Regardless of his words, I can still feel the worry seep into my blood and blossom through my veins.

Chapter Two

Lori

My alarm is blaring, and I have a headache from Hell. My brothers stayed late last night and although I missed and enjoyed their company, I am now regretting my decision as I walk to the shower just before six in the morning.

I shower quickly and dress in my favorite red skirt and white silk blouse, sliding into a pair of nude flats before I blow dry my hair, spray my favorite perfume, and walk out the door. The trip to work is never long. Thankfully, Iris Media is only a few blocks away from the apartment and I usually make it there before any of the editors do, allowing me to develop my photos and have them on their desks by the time they walk in the office. I have a nice little setup here, my own small office and developer room right next to the editing team and John, the CEO.

I’ve always been worried working for men that I don’t know, but thankfully, John Iris is one of the nicest men I’ve ever met. He and his team have always been understanding of my condition, and he always makes an effort to compliment my work and provide guidance rather than criticism. I enjoy bringing him new photos — his words are always refreshing.

Like today, when I slapped a stack of photos labeled “Central Park Series” on his desk. I can hear his awe and see his head nod in approval, his hand reaching out to pat mine.

“Kid, I don’t know how you do it, but you amaze me every damn time,” he beams, pride filling my heart as a smile stretches my lips.

“Thank you, I can hang around today and work on the next series if you want—”

“Nonsense.” He waves me off, calling in one of his editors to take my stack of photos.

“You’ve been working yourself to the ground and are way ahead of schedule. The next issue deadline isn’t for another two months. Why don’t you take the afternoon off and relax for once?” He laughs and I sigh, unsure of what to do with my day.

If I’m not working or taking photos, I pretty much have no other purpose, but I decide not to argue against him. I want to always be in his good graces.

I shake his hand and grab my bag from my office, putting on my headphones and starting to walk home. Maybe I’ll try a new recipe today. I have a series of audio cookbooks that I’ve yet to dive into.

Right before I tell my phone to open the file, Claudio calls me. I make sure every person in my life has their own specific ringtone so I can identify the caller. Because Claudio is the one who calls me the most, I always hear Elvis’ “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”

“Hey, Claud. What’s up?” I ask, turning the corner towards my apartment.

“She left me.” His slurred voice says through the phone and my heart breaks for him instantly.

Claudio has been with the same woman, Maddalena, since high school. He just bought her an engagement ring, and I can tell by his broken and mumbled voice that this must have happened earlier, which means he’s been drinking all morning.

Fuck.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m so sorry, I know you must be hurting, but we’ll figure this out, okay? It might help for you to talk about it. I’m off for the rest of the day and I’m about to come home, why don’t you come to the apartment, and we can relax together?” I try not to cry for him as he agrees with garbled words.

My sweet, older brother may work for one of the most dangerous businesses in New York City, but he has a heart of gold and, now, that heart is completely shattered. I’m instantly worried for him.

This week has already been a shit show and it’s only Tuesday.

~

Marco

I’m staring at the ten-year-old death certificate of my father when Sergio, my assistant, calls me.

“I found one of the brothers. I was able to tap into his call. He’s absolutely plastered and on his way to the girl’s house. Tracking his location now,” he says, and I immediately sit up in my leather chair, my glass of whiskey shaking on my oak desk.

Ah, the secret daughter of Graziano Saracino. Has the mystery finally been revealed?

“I want the address as soon as you get it and a van sent over to the office in five minutes.” I order, tossing back the rest of my glass as I straighten my Armani suit jacket.

“Copy,” Sergio says, ending the call as I stare at the certificate once more.

Ten years ago, to this day, Leone De Vico, my father and the head boss of the De Vico mafia, was brutally murdered by our sworn enemy, Graziano Saracino. I was only twenty-seven at the time, just an underboss when the century long business was thrown into my hands. Since then, I’ve been on a wild man hunt with a vengeance that has made me a ruthless bastard. I will not rest until I see every single Saracino dead. Even the secret daughter.

But, if you want a successful operation, you must think critically, methodically. And that’s what I’ve been doing for the past decade: carefully plotting and planning, biding my time and waiting for the moment when I can strike from the shadows with an army greater than ever before. And here’s the moment showing itself, on the ten-year anniversary of my father’s death.

Vengeance.

I could strike the head first, killing Graziano and taking out the heart of the family so everything else can fail instantly, but I want them to suffer. I want them to feel the pain that I have felt for years. And what better way to do that than to start with the two youngest first?

I’m not surprised to hear about the boy. After all my digging throughout the years, I’ve known that Claudio was the weakest, too soft for our world. What surprised me is Sergio’s detection of the daughter. Graziano has hidden her well, for ten years he’s kept her locked away, untraceable. Until today. Until God came out from the sky and granted me a key to my own gates of heaven.

I do not know what the girl looks like, I don’t even know her name, but I do know that she is young, and she is weak, otherwise her father wouldn’t have hidden her so well. She may be the weakest spot of this family. She may be the perfect opportunity for my plans. Meaning, I might not want to kill her right away. Maybe I’ll kill the boy and make her watch as he bleeds out on the floors of her hidden palace. Maybe I’ll put her in the van right next to his lifeless body and then throw her in the cages until I bait the rest with her fragile, pathetic existence.

I pour myself another glass and wait for Sergio to send me the address. When he does, I see that the boy has already made it to the spot.

Perfect.

I throw back the contents of my glass and grab my gun, tuck it into my custom trousers and call for my backup. Once we’re in the van, I give them the location and light a cigarette, watching the city pass me by from the tinted windows.

The drive is long, on the other side of town. You’d think her father would move her to a different state if he really cared, but the man loves control. And since his beloved wife died many years ago, I’m sure he didn’t want the last female of the family too far. Even if it meant still risking her life.

When we pull up to the apartment, I smirk. The girl lives in an expensive skyrise, all the way at the top like a princess locked away in a tower. I grab my binoculars and peer around, stopping when I spot an open set of windows, the boy pacing past them and allowing me to identify him immediately.

Stupid girl, why leave your windows open for the monsters of the city to peer through?

I remain posted, searching for any new sightings of the mystery girl for what feels like an eternity. Until she comes into view, two glasses of water in her small hands. I take one look at her and frown, bewildered that the petite thing is somehow related to the dark Saracino men.

There, right in the open view, stands a small woman with light brown hair, shimmers of red highlights all throughout the long wavy tresses. Her skin is pale, unlike her brothers. And although I don’t have a clear look at her face, I can tell that she is stunning. Small, soft features and decent sized breasts that peek out from the slope of her silk blouse. Her long, shapely legs on full display underneath her short, red skirt.

She’s stunning, I’ll give her that. But she’s also damned, now more than ever.

“What do we do, boss?” One of my men say, bloodthirsty and anxious.

I wave him with a flick of my hand, eyes still glued on the woman in the window.

“We wait,” I say, watching for nearly an hour in the idling van until they disappear from the view.

Minutes go by when suddenly, the large double doors of the apartment building open and out comes the boy and his sister. We all draw our guns, but when I spot the walking stick outstretched in front of her, her eyes covered with a pair of expensive looking sunglasses, I freeze.

She’s blind.

The realization comes quick and hits me like a freight train, everything clicking into place.

Yes, Graziano has hidden her. And she’s not just weak, she’s fucking impaired.

So much for making her watch her brother bleed out.

They hug and right when they let go and the boy turns to walk away, one of my guards cocks their gun and looks over at me.

“Now, boss? He’s getting away—”

“No,” I say darkly, tucking my gun back into my pants as the boy leaves and the blind girl turns to walk back into the apartment building.

“Marco, what the fuck! You had your chance for the first time in ten years and you fucking—”

I rear back and elbow my driver right in the face, the crunching sound of his nose echoing throughout the van. I then grab a tissue from the glove compartment and toss it to him.

“That’ll be the first and last time you address me in that manner,” I growl, turning to look at him.

“Critically. Methodically. Successfully,” I bark at him, the same words I repeat to my men every day.

“I have other plans. I want the girl. And I want her alive,” I grunt, looking back at the apartment before I rest my hand on the door handle.

“And I’m going to get her myself. Get the rope ready. I’ll be back in ten minutes,” I say, stepping out of the vehicle as I strip my jacket and roll up my sleeves, tossing the coat into the passenger seat.

“This is personal,” I state, before I slam the door and walk inside the massive apartment building, ready to meet the hidden princess and steal her away from her little palace.

~

Lori

After walking Claudio out, I walk back inside my building and ride the elevator all the way up to the top floor. I set down my walking stick and toss my sunglasses on the foyer table. I haven’t really needed my stick in a while, but I’ve been anxious this week and don’t want to risk tripping or falling.

I walk into the kitchen and grab myself a glass of water. It took me over an hour to calm Claudio down, his drunken tears still echoing in my mind, my heart breaking for him. If this is what love is like, maybe I don’t want it after all. However, I can’t imagine living a life of complete solitude. And the reason she left him was because of the business, the very same reason why I have chosen to not be a part of it. So maybe… love won’t be painful for me since I’ve chosen to stay away.

My thoughts break when a knock sounds on the door. I smile, wondering what Claudio forgot this time. He may have sobered up slightly, but even so, the man forgets everything. He’d lose his head if it wasn’t attached to his body.

I open the door, freezing when I see the outline of a man that is not my brother, a man that I have never met before.

I look him up and down, trying to make out what little details of his features that I can. From what I can tell, his hair is styled on the top of his head, his face shadowed with a thick, black beard. His body is massive, like incredibly massive. His shoulders stretch the entire width of my door frame, bombarding me with his aggressive size. He smells unlike anything I’ve smelt before. Something foreign and rich, like he had been standing in the woods and soaked up all the sun. And handsome, definitely handsome.

“Can-can I help you with something?” I ask, my voice dry and cracked, coming out as a broken whisper as I stand there, mesmerized.

He chuckles. The sound is devoid of humor, and when I hear it, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my entire spine stiffens. This man should not be here. This man is not good.

“Yes, princess. You can help me with something, indeed,” he grumbles, lunging forward as a scream tears from my throat.

Before I can move, his hand is clamped over my mouth while the other wraps around my throat, cutting off my air supply as I flail helplessly in his arms.

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Chapter One

Anna

As I step out onto the curb, I suck in a deep breath and try my best to enjoy the spring air. It sounds dramatic, but when you step onto the Robinson estate you never know whether you’ll see the light of day again. Fresh-cut grass, the faint aroma of lilacs and hydrangeas, and a trace of exhaust from the interstate. Everywhere you look, there is a reminder of destruction disguised as progress. Even when I’m trying to accept my potential end—my mortality—it doesn’t matter.

I haven’t been to the Robinson estate in six years, but it is always too soon to see the place again. It is a modern, sophisticated-looking lion’s den. Blood-thirsty beasts that have no regard for what the society at large has to say, let alone their rules, prowl within those walls. And through the faults of my loving, but harebrained father… it seems as though I’m tied to them forever.

As I walk to the front door, I do everything in my power to calm myself down. The last thing you want to show in front of a mob boss is fear. They can smell it like sharks can smell blood in the water; and Andrey Robinson is absolutely no exception. If he senses fear, he will twist, mangle, and manipulate it just for the hell of it—not to mention his own personal gain.

Deep breaths. I need to take deep breaths and focus on maintaining my composure. I’ll give him nothing to go on, not even an inkling of emotion. No anger, no sadness, and never fear.

I don’t even have to knock on the door; it opens right when I approach. A false sense of security dares to fall over me at the sight of an older woman in a maid’s uniform, with a matching gray tunic and pants. The only splash of color is the pale pink turtleneck she’s wearing underneath. She’s meant to make the unexpecting feel safe, as though visitors aren’t walking into a potential death trap.

“Good afternoon, Miss White,” she greets so cheerfully that my heart longs to warm at the sound. “Come on in.”

She guides me inside and shuts the door behind me. I try my best not to stare, but my mind longs to torment itself, wondering whether or not she is involved with the family. A level of comfort shows in her body language, so I’m guessing she’s worked here for quite some time. Meaning she’s had to have seen quite a bit, right? Hell, why do I care?

Because I’m trying to think of anything that isn’t centered around guessing why the hell I have been called here.

She leads me to the base of the stairs and gestures for me to walk ahead of her. I suppose she doesn’t trust me to trail behind, knowing I could sneak away and end up somewhere they don’t want me to. Without comment, I lead the way. I hate the way my steps sound on the metal, a hollow pang that reminds me too much of the horror movies I watched in my youth. I’m only twenty-two, I should still be ‘in my youth’. Who stays young in a life like this? The person I once was— the bubbly, excitable girl— had died. Getting kidnapped, being treated like nothing more than a pawn in a game I didn’t know I was playing… Well, it changed things.

My father getting arrested cemented those changes for me. I needed to grow up fast, so I did.

We walk down a long, stark white hallway, and I pause right before the only open door. I give her one last look, as though my fate would reveal itself in the fine lines on her face. If she knows whether this meeting will bring me to my end, she isn’t showing an ounce of it. Would that make her cruel, or merciful? Knowing I’ve been staring too long, I nod once and start up the stairs.

I step into view of the open door, and I can hardly think around the sound of my heart beating erratically in my ears. Looking within, I see a tall, older man with salt and pepper hair. He’s leaning against the front of an extravagant, massive, wooden desk. The piece of antique furniture feels out of place with the starkly modern and industrial-styled estate. The wood is warm, handcrafted with care, and inviting—nothing like Andrey Robinson.

Andrey manages to smoke a cigar in an intimidating manner. His eyes constricted before he even met mine. He blows smoke in my direction and flicks the ashes around with reckless abandon. He doesn’t care about anything in the room or the mess he’ll make. Everything in there is pocket change, and like everything else in his life, he has someone to clean up those messes.

“Well, are you going to stand there all day?” he calls. His voice is deep and gruff by nature, and his tone is pointed, maybe even a little irritated.

I step inside the room, and he gestures for me to take a seat in front of him. He tells me to close the door as I come in. I don’t want to. My instincts are screaming at me to stand by the door ready to flee in case something happens. However, I follow his instructions obediently. It’s better to play along; challenging the boss over even the smallest of things could potentially make life hell for me.

Andrey unbuttons his suit jacket as he positions himself to halfway sit atop the desk. I try to act unaware of the way he is eyeing me. I feel put on display for his enjoyment alone, like a private gallery for him to ogle at. Something shifts inside of me at the realization. An irritation comes on so strong that it alters my fear ever so slightly. It’s that grotesque stare of his that reminds me he isn’t some otherworldly figurehead my childhood built him up to be. No, he’s just a man. One that has a history of making me want to crawl out of my skin—which says more about him than me, since the last time I laid eyes on him, I was fifteen.

Still, even with my little flurry of courage, I’m scared. Andrey is not just a cruel man, he has the power and resources to do anything he wants. He can take my life without so much as a second thought, and no one would ever bother to avenge me, not with the state my family is in right now.

“My, my,” he grins. “I have to say, the years have been so, so kind to you… You’re absolutely radiant. With this beautiful blonde hair, eyes as blue and deep as the ocean, and skin as fair as the moon itself… you’ve always been like out of a fairytale, but now—well, you are more like a fantasy.” As though it can’t get any worse, he chuckles a hollow bout of laughter, and adds, “Oh… What was that nickname I used to call you? Annabiotics, wasn’t it? Because your smile can cure any ailment?”

“Yes, you are a true creative genius for that one,” I grumble and soothe my skirt, batting away invisible dust. “Now can you get to the point of why I was called here?” I want to be assertive, to take a semblance of control over the situation. However, my voice fails me. Even to my own ears, I sound strained and meek.

Andrey’s eyes shine with intrigue, apparently viewing my words as a challenge as opposed to anything else. Thankfully. “What’s the matter, sweet Anna, have I happened to catch you in a mood?”

His incessant need to call me some sort of pet name is nauseating. I retort quickly, not to get caught up in my thoughts, “I think anyone in my position would be ‘in a mood’ if they were called to the house of a Don without explanation.”

Immediately, I internally curse myself. While I want to assert myself to attempt to demand some respect, my voice came out snippy. The last thing I want to do is throw attitude his way. He’s not a man to sass.

My nerves are raw. Talking with him feels like navigating a mental minefield. You never know what step could be fatal. Do I assert myself to not be his plaything, or do I fold into his whims and risk angering him?

The hand that isn’t cradling a cigar clasps over his chest and his brow droops. “I have to say, I am hurt —no, wounded— that you are behaving in such a way. Acting as though I am nothing more than some pest on the street. And to use Italian terminology in this beautiful Irish home!” he expresses himself in a tone that suggests it is the worst heartbreak of his life. He follows the sentiment with a tutting sound as he shakes his head side to side. “I have to say, sweet Anna, after all that trouble I went through to get Sean to attack your abductors… I was expecting a little more warmth from you.”

His choice of using the word warmth makes me itch with discomfort. I can’t help but imagine that he is trying to convey physical touch, as though I would owe him anything for a favor I didn’t ask for. Besides, nothing about him saving me back then had anything to do with me yet everything to do with motives for which I was a pawn instead.

I hate it, but even the mention of the abduction brings flashes of it back to me.

Hands all over my body as I go from the hands of one set of abductors, to what feels like another. Squealing tires as a car attacks the Levines— my original abductors— we had been heading back to their place. Vanessa, my friend, had a terrified expression on her face as I was snatched away. I’d never met any of the men before, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out who they were. Knowing I was in the hands of my father’s associates should have made me feel better, but it didn’t. Even if you didn’t ask for it, a favor from the mob always came at a cost.

And the moment I realized the men weren’t Robinsons, but Mullens… Andrey had to have had something to do with it. The last man I wanted to owe anything to. The man who had wanted me in heinous ways since I was far too young.

As my breath threatens to hitch, I let out a long sigh to cover it up and keep my composure. Fear. Don’t let him notice your fear.

“Yes, I meant to send you a thank you card for almost getting my friend killed,” I fire back at him with the sweet hum of sarcasm to my voice. The Mullens practically killed everyone in the car with me that night. “I’m not so naïve, Andrey… That had nothing at all to do with me. It had everything to do with your desire to kill Ethan Levine, in hopes of getting the Levine clan to fall so the Robinsons could take over the market.”

The mock hurt drains from his face, and it is replaced with an ear-to-ear grin. He claps slowly and chuckles, “Bravo, Anna. Who knew it was possible to have beauty and brains? It’s a rare combination indeed. Even rarer these days given how distracted the world has become. Though, I suppose that works to our benefit, doesn’t it? A distracted world pays no mind to what is going on beneath its skin.”

“I wouldn’t group us all together,” I mutter, despite my best efforts to sound brave. I don’t want to be associated with his organization or anything remotely related to it; however, I am because I am my father’s daughter. He is the only reason I’m sitting here instead of running for the hills. Andrey’s eyes are narrowing again, and I’m struggling to keep my cool. Frustration and terror may be fighting within me, but discomfort is the most dominant emotion I am feeling. It’s so powerful that I begin to wonder if my soul will eject itself from my body just to get away from here.

Andrey takes notice of my fidgeting, and I try hard to stop. My only hope is that he registers it as restless annoyance instead of fear. He relaxes and takes another obscenely long drag on his cigar, not bothering to pretend he isn’t staring at my bare legs. Had I been aware when I dressed myself that day that I would end up here, I would have worn a parka, long pants, or even a snowsuit if I needed to. Anything to protect myself from his hellish gaze.

“So, do you really not know why you’re here today, Anna?” he asks once he finally lets the smoke pour out of his mouth – looking more like a dragon to me than a man at this moment.

“If you mean if I know why you called me here, then I’ve already told you I don’t. I know why I agreed to it, though,” I state as clearly and smoothly as possible.

“Go on,” he smirks, again placing the cigar between his lips.

The muscles in my throat tighten as though my body itself is trying to keep me from saying it. There is no going back once I tell him, and I know I’ll be placing myself right in the palm of his hand when I do. However, if I am going to be forced to do anything— which is the only reason I think I’ve been called here— then I’m going to get something out of it. Even if it means playing Andrey’s game by allowing myself to be manipulated by him.

“I want my father out of jail.”

I don’t need to explain the situation because I know he’s aware of it. Andrey is well-versed in the activities of the Robinson mafia and their associates. My father, Louis Holmes, had been arrested in a police sting. Given that he was the only one implicated in the crimes, it stinks of bullshit. Anything connected to him should implicate numerous members of the Holmes and Robinson families. My father’s family, while not part of the Robinson mafia, certainly operates like it. They run protection rackets and cook the Robinsons’ books to ensure that their payroll and expenses do not raise any flags with the IRS.

Five years for tax fraud, five years for evidence tampering, and an additional two years for a laundry list of misdemeanors I can barely keep track of. Twelve years. A man like him probably has done a few things worth a life sentence alone, so maybe twelve years is lucky… But I can’t just stand by and let it happen. He’s my father, and really, he’s my only family. And I know a man like Andrey is the only way I can free him.

Andrey flicks more ashes away and settles in, looking too smug and comfortable to bring me any ease. “What a coincidence, sweet Anna. I have brought you here to make you a deal.” He pauses to take another drag. I have to make a mental and physical effort not to squirm. The wait is killing me. I think he knows it, and he’s savoring it. “An exchange of your soul for your father’s freedom.”

Chapter Two

Liam

I wonder if it makes me subhuman to be able to feel so calm.

It’s a blissful sort of nothingness, the sort of Zen I imagine other people might feel when folding laundry or washing dishes—a routine task that isn’t enjoyable nor horrible per se, but one that is done so often that the mind can wander or think about nothing at all. That’s the only way I can describe my state of being as I pull on a pair of black leather gloves and stand in the factory hallway. The sort of machinery that used to be in use here was deafening, so the builder made the walls as close to soundproof as they could. Whatever is going on in the room I’m about to enter comes through as nothing more than muffled mumbling.

Drinking in the quiet darkness, I take a deep breath and do my best not to smirk as I turn to the door. Getting my hands dirty is the routine Zen that comes with the job— however, this is my American debut. My first brush with business stateside. In their city. So, I suppose that if I’m feeling anything at all, it’s a tingle of excitement.

Swinging the door open, the harsh, crooning voice hit me first, followed by the sight of Colin Doyle strapped to a chair under the only flickering light in the room. A bit stereotypical, but it’s just as I pictured it. Colin seems to be barely clinging to life; his angry, hoarse cries are perhaps acting as the only tether to this life and the next. Anger is a hell of a drug, isn’t it? It can destroy a life, or motivate a person to live. And in this case—it’s both.

“He insists he knows nothing,” Michael, my underboss, calls from the shadows as I start pacing toward Colin. No doubt the other couple of men I’ve enlisted to assist are lingering in the room with him. I’m a sucker for theatrics, I suppose. It gives me a rush to imagine myself as him. He must be terrified, not knowing where the men who had just beaten him to a pulp were. They could emerge from anywhere to finish the job. Only, the unsettling darkness gives you an uneasy feeling that you can’t shake; that the men there do not possess the mercy to let you go with any dignity or peace.

He would be right if he did think that.

“No matter,” I call to Michael. “I’m sure I can convince him to talk.” I am standing just feet from him now. Colin lifts his bloody head and peers up to me with the one eye that isn’t completely swollen shut. “Seen better days, haven’t you?” I ask him with a trace of mockery in my voice.

“Who the fuck are you?” Colin tries to hiss, blood splattering from his mouth as the word fuck is spoken. He is one of the men originally from Ireland, so his pleadings in this accent sound almost comical.

He’s lucky I am just out of range of his spewing. I’m pretty sure it would have sent me over the edge; and what I would have unleashed would have left him looking to his previous tormentors, my men, as potential saviors. Unbuttoning my collar, I answer softly, “Dear friend, I am your reckoning.” The bound man dared to let out a single howl of laughter. “I also happen to be Sean Mullen’s fucking nephew.”

His brows try to knit together from confusion, but he winces and stops; his face too swollen, bruised, and cut to be too emotive. “The fuck are you saying? Sean didn’t have any nephews.”

“Because you knew my uncle so well, right? That’s where this confidence is coming from?” I ask him with a hint of a smile. He was my uncle’s underboss—his friend and most trusted, loyal follower. “You know what they say, Colin. Most crimes of passion are done by those closest to you.”

His face fought through the pain to gape at me. “Are you accusing me of bumping off Sean? Are you taking the piss, boyo?”

“That’s exactly what I’m accusing you of,” I respond by lowering my head and looking him in the eyes. “Only, it wasn’t a crime of passion. What do you think the pigs would call it, Dan?” I call into the darkness. My voice is dripping with sarcasm, and I want to remind Colin that there are people surrounding him. I want to see the panic flare in his eyes, again and again, as he becomes more and more aware that this is the end of the road for him. I’ll savor every little twitch of his split lips and tear that pours out of his blackened eyes. That anxiety in a man’s eyes as you deliver the karma that is meant for them— it’s better than cigarettes after sex, or a stiff drink after a long day.

“Premeditated murder, Boss,” Michael responds from a different spot than he was before.

“Right, right. Premeditated murder,” I smile. “That’s what you’re being accused of,” I tell Colin before poking him playfully in his very obviously broken nose.

Colin swears from the pain and does his best to throw himself away from my touch. Once he recovers, he meekly shakes his head. “Clearly, you aren’t from around here. No one would dare accuse me of such a thing. Sean was like a brother to me!”

“Like a brother he says!” I call to the others. There’s an eruption of mild laughter as I close the distance between Colin and I again. “Now, Colin, I am normally not the most gracious of men, but I am reasonable. And I will give you an opportunity to correct yourself, alright? If you’re honest with me now, you’ll be spared from a world of trouble and pain. There will still be prices to pay, but you will find such fees to be much, much more lenient than the alternative. Got it?”

“You’re being too nice, Boss,” Michael says in humor.

“I know, I know. And there’s plenty to go around. So, what do you say, Colin? Do you want to be honest with me and make all our lives simpler?”

Colin’s chest is heaving. He’s nervous, but he’s trying to pass it off as anger. I can tell because his nostrils are flared but not matching his breathing. The excitement of it all seems to be weakening him, his eyes beginning to struggle to focus on me. “I don’t know where you get off accusing me of such a thing—”

“I’ll tell you, don’t worry,” I state, patting his shoulder. “I think you killed my uncle to take over the Mullen family. You thought it was the perfect plan, didn’t you? There’s so much fighting with the other gangs and you and Sean were always like brothers, right? And seeing as how there weren’t any direct descendants left… that you knew of,” I can’t hide my smirk, and couldn’t even if I tried. “It would have never been brought back to you.”

His head is starting to wobble, but the adrenaline keeps him with me. “I… worked with Sean… my entire life. Since we were boys, even…”

I tut and stand straight. “That’s what makes it all the more heinous, doesn’t it?”

“I didn’t kill Sean Mullen!” Colin cries as sternly as he can. “On my honor, I swear it.”

“Too bad that honor means nothing,” I sigh. From my pocket, I retrieve a digital recorder. It feels like a relic from the past, but the mobs still use them because they are disposable, cheap, and not kept on any sort of database or cloud software.

Tapping play, there’s a metallic clicking before voices appear. “It’s simple,” a voice says on the tape. “So many people want the man dead. Think of all the motives. Money, power, revenge… You name it and it’s a reason for someone to want him dead. All we have to do is find someone with enough tangible evidence to pin it on.”

“If there is anyone they’re going to look at first, it’s gonna be you,” Colin’s distinctly accented voice replies.

“That’s why we need a fall guy,” the man urges. “Someone in the Mullen gang. That way there is infighting, and a takeover is simple. We use the evidence to frame the person. Taking him down will glorify you. They will easily look to you as a leader.”

“Fair enough,” Colin sighs. “How should we do it? That’ll play into who we should set up. Sean’s a big guy—”

I click the tape off, needing to play only until Sean’s name was said. There isn’t anything I needed to say, I simply watch for his reaction. Colin has surrendered his one chance at mercy, and I have hard evidence that he was plotting with an unknown party to murder my uncle. He knows what is coming.

“Alright, fine!” Colin hollers, then pauses to take a few heaving breaths. “I was plotting it, alright?” Another few pants. “But that doesn’t mean I went through with it. I’m telling you here and now that I didn’t do it.”

“You’re still going to sing that song after what I just played?” I ask him with a little chuckle. “I have to say, your stubbornness rivals my uncle’s. But I have to ask, do you think I’m stupid? Do you think selling me that story will convince me? Or are you the stupid one, who thinks that I will listen to the cries of a man plotting my uncle’s death? Do you think I’ll be moved? Do you think I’ll show mercy after you’ve already kissed that chance goodbye?”

“I swear to ya,” Colin croaks, tears bubbling from his eyes. “I didn’t do it. Someone got to him first.” When I tut at him and reach for my waistband, his face turns to the ceiling. “Forgive me for my sins, Holy Father—”

“The only ones here are my men and me,” I interrupt his prayer. “If God does exist, he abandoned you long, long ago.” My hand pauses. “I will ask you only once. Who did you plot his murder with?”

“Holy Spirit, please guide me to the gates of Heaven. I am but a mortal, rife with sins worse than my brothers. But I am requesting mercy—” he goes on praying.

“Last chance,” I warn.

“For the Lord died for all our sins, including my own. I am your humble servant, Dear—”

I roll my eyes. “You’re boring me.”

Withdrawing my gun, I swiftly aim the barrel at the center of his forehead and pull the trigger. The silencer is enough not to make the gunshot crackle like a firework, but it’s enough of a noise to cause it to echo through the massive room. Colin’s head jerks backward one last time, and blood pours from the fresh hole in his face. Letting out a sigh, I tuck my gun away again and adjust my jacket.

Michael steps into the light, his eyes analyzing the body. “What a mess of a man,” he snorts. “Think he thought prayer would actually save him?”

“Possibly. He was an idiot,” I mutter.

He looks over at me with curious eyes. “Why didn’t you give him a while longer to admit who his accomplice was?”

“I told you. He was boring me,” I huff. “If these two were stupid enough to plan their scheme on a landline, without considering my uncle would keep his men’s phones tapped, then they are likely sloppy enough to leave some other sort of evidence about.” I sniff and look at the body one last time. He looks so weak and pathetic, just as he had in life. “Besides, they narrowed down our list of suspects in that recording. There are few men that would be an obvious suspect.”

If there is anyone they are going to look at first, it’s gonna be you. The words buzz about my head like hornets, stinging my mind. Someone was bold enough to orchestrate a hit on my uncle with his best friend—someone we would easily point the finger at.

“Fair enough,” Michael chuckles. His lips curling into a grin make the lines on his face more severe, his hazel eyes a little brighter. There was a time that Michael and I could have passed as twins—both dirty blonde, brown-green hazel eyes, and tall. However, there’s five years between us and age is starting to catch up with him. I’m no spring chicken myself, but he’s more cemented in time. Thirty-six looks good on him.

When I look down at myself finally, a deep sneer appears on my face. I curse under my breath and pivot to leave the room. A great annoyance has blossomed to life in my chest, cursing Colin right to Hell for his indiscretion.

“Everything alright, Boss?” Michael asks.

“He got blood on my fucking shirt,” I spit. “Burn his body, sink it in the river. Do whatever you have to do so I don’t have to lay eyes on him again.”

The heavy metal door slams shut behind me.

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Prologue

Helena

It’s only fitting that it should end like this.

The waves slam violently against the cliffside below me. The white foam rises and falls on the craggy rocks. The sea salt in the air is so thick that it irritates my skin, and the tears streaming down my cheeks do little to percolate through the grime. Adrenaline is pumping blood through my veins so strongly that I can hear it drumming an erratic beat in my ears.

For a moment it’s just me, the sea, and my terrified heart.

People like me don’t deserve a second chance at life.

I shouldn’t have survived the first time. That much is clear to me now. I have been fooling myself into thinking that I could ever have been able to start over again. I have spent the last handful of months living on borrowed time. There’s an all-consuming terror that crawls down my throat and grips my spine like a vice, but there’s also a sense of calm. It’s harder to find… but I’m holding on to it.

I must step forward. I have to force myself to take that final, long step into the water below, and everything will be over. All of the anguish and deception. No more duplicity, no more lies. No more living a double life, keeping track of who knows what. I don’t have to watch my tongue and carry the weight of so many secrets all at once.

I just have to take one last step, and finish what Nikolai started.

“Don’t—” a deep male voice comes from behind me. A familiar voice. But the pain and longing that fuels the word is something new, something desperate. Neither one of us can afford desperation now.

My eyes close and my fists ball at my sides. If I turn around and face him, my cowardice may triumph. I can feel Daniel’s beautiful and cryptic eyes on my back. It would be so easy to run to him and let him wrap his arms around me until I am completely convinced that things will get better—that we can solve this mess together.

“Don’t come any closer, Daniel.” The winds are so loud and ferocious that I doubt for a moment that he even heard me.

“Come away from the cliff’s edge, Helena. Right now.” Daniel’s voice is firm and unyielding.

“I can’t keep living like this!” I shout to the ocean.

The flowing skirt of my dress whips around my legs and does nothing to stop the cold air from biting into my skin. I glance over my shoulder at Daniel’s impossibly handsome face. His dark brow furrows in worry for me. He is keeping just enough distance between us to avoid startling me into jumping.

“I would rather die than do this for even one more day, Daniel!” My shoulders soften as I wrap my arms around myself. “I’m so tired of this… I’m tired of hurting everybody that I care about. I’m tired of constantly living a lie! This is the only solution. Can’t you see that?” I plead with him to understand. I’m at the end of my tether. Of all the people left in my wretched life, he is the most important. He must understand.

“No, it’s not. I have already handled everything, Helena, I have a plan. You trust me, don’t you?” Daniel shakes his head as he speaks. I know that he’s not going to stop. He’s going to keep trying until he gets his way. I hate that this hurts him. I hope he knows that I never meant to hurt him.

“I won’t let you pay for my mistakes. I can’t keep pushing you into a corner. We both know it will end with you being forced to put me down, Daniel. It can’t be you.” Tears slide down my face anew as his eyes widen in understanding. “Did you think that I didn’t know what they would make you do?”

I wish there was another way for me to express my feelings to him. I should have told him sooner, under better circumstances, but this is my last chance. Nikolai’s men will never cease hunting me. Not until he has my head. The Russian Mafia wants me to pay for the crimes I committed. I can’t even say I’m not deserving of death. At the very least, I’m prepared this time. This time it will be my choice, and it will not be by Nikolai’s hands.

I still don’t know how he found out what I did to his father, but it doesn’t matter. I took his life regardless. My mind flashes back to the night that Nikolai, my first fiancé, attempted to end my life.

It’s November. I hear Nikolai’s car screech into the driveway despite the snow on the ground. Alone in his family home outside of Moscow, there isn’t much I can do. I hope that if I gather my personal effects quick enough, I will be able to steal one of his cars and get the hell out of his mansion before he finds me.

My need for revenge trapped me once. I won’t let that happen again.

Nikolai catches me packing. He comes tearing into the room like some sort of demon. He is the sort of man that commands notice and attention. His large, intimidating presence fills a room without him ever having to say a word. The very thing that had captivated me at the start of our relationship is now a source of terror. I’ve never been on the receiving end of his wrath before—accusations spewed from his lips like knives that strike me and burrow deep into my skin. I don’t have a chance to fight back; it wouldn’t have done any good anyway.

I feel the freezing iron railing of the balcony dig into the backs of my hips. I feel the snow collecting in my hair. I’ll never forget the look of pure contempt on my fiancé’s face as he chases me toward our balcony. His sneer of derision will live emblazoned on the backs of my eyelids as a constant reminder of how everything has gone to hell.

My whole body scrapes against the metal railing as I topple backward over it. The bottom of my stomach feels as though it has fallen out of me—like I was briefly weightless. My life doesn’t flash before my eyes. I don’t have some profound realization about all of the things that I will never get to do. Everybody who talks about having a near-death experience always says that those things are supposed to happen. For me, there was only fear.

Nikolai watches me fall. I lock eyes with him as he smugly watches me plummet two stories down to the frozen grounds of the garden.

The crack of my skull against the pavement doesn’t hurt, but it does feel cold. Even now, I can still clearly remember the jarring sensation of my spine impacting the ground as Nikolai watched the life fade from me.

Then there was nothing.

At least I know the balcony fall will be nothing compared to this. Hopefully, the rocks toward the edge of the cliff will make my death swift.

“I want you to know that in spite of it all, Daniel, I never pretended with you. I never lied about what we had. It was real. At least, it was real for me.”

I don’t want him to regret our past or second-guess my feelings for him now. I had always thought I would only ever want Nikolai. Even after all the lies. Even after he tried to murder me—I didn’t think I deserved anything more.

Daniel proved to me that just wasn’t true.

“I love you more than I ever even thought was possible,” I whisper softly.

My lungs fill to the brim and it burns. I jump before Daniel can say another word.

This doesn’t feel so bad.

As I fall, the wind becomes colder, threatening to tear my skin from my bones. I close my eyes against the backdrop of Daniel’s agonizing and desperate screams.

This must be what freedom feels like.

Chapter One

Helena

“This is your life now, Helena.”

I shouldn’t refer to myself as Helena. It’s not going to be my name anymore. As soon as I can convince myself to step out of this rust bucket of a car, I’m going to become Sofia Petrov. Helena Russev no longer exists. I can’t even say with any honesty that I’m going to miss her. She was a backstabbing bitch who didn’t care who she hurt or what she had to do to get what she wanted.

Someday, I fear I’m going to merge completely with the characters I create for myself. After that, I suppose I won’t remember my true self at all. Hell, maybe that’s already happened. My whole life, I’ve had to change myself to be the woman I was expected to be.

The version of me that was once Helena would be ashamed to meet Sofia. She wouldn’t give her a second glance if they passed each other in the street. Helena was on the verge of marrying Nikolai, a Russian mafia boss. She was constantly miserable and bored. She lived in the lap of luxury, but it was only going to get her so far. She was so easily distracted that nothing felt real after a while.

I can’t pretend like I don’t miss the private jets, Louboutin’s, and couture gowns made specifically for me by the best designers in the world. I just have to get over it, somehow. Looking at me now, you would never know what sort of life I lived only a year ago.

Because now I’m parked out front of Creekview Middle School.

The building has seen better days. I imagine that schools receive little funding in a place like this. Some of the red brick has faded, and there are unmanned metal detector stations outside the front doors. At the very least, my beat-up car fits in. Every other car in the nearly empty lot appears to be in need of a tune-up and a new coat of paint. Students crowd around the building’s perimeter, standing in small groups on the dead grass, waiting for the morning bell to ring and let them in.

I can’t remember if I was ever like them. What must it be like to feel so carefree? To spend as much time as you like doing whatever you wanted? Doing homework half-assed and making plans for whatever party or hang-out was planned for the weekend. I suppose it would be like a small kind of bliss.

And it’s exactly the sort of slow life that I’m after now.

I pull down the visor and flip open the small mirror to examine my reflection.

I refuse to cry again.

If I don’t get a grip on myself quickly, my under eyes will be permanently swollen. I don’t have time to waste by missing a range rover. I can’t afford to be late on my first day. I have to make an effort to make a good first impression.

Sighing, I press the pad of my ring finger into the puffy skin of my undereye. At least, my new, shorter hair complements my angular face nicely. I’m still getting used to the honey blonde. I never expected to have to give up my signature black waves, but this is supposed to be a fresh start. New clothes, new hair, new surroundings… new me.

Whether you like it or not, this is your life.

If I keep saying it over and over to myself, it will start to feel real sooner or later.

I’ve kept my makeup neutral, nothing that will make me stick out. For a touch of drama, I’ve allowed myself a pencil skirt that clings to my curves. I got the skirt and a few other pieces for my new business-casual wardrobe from the department store in town—pieces like the flowy, powder-blue shirt that I’ve neatly tucked into the stretchy fabric of my skirt.

The town itself is only slightly more modern than this school, for the most part. The houses are all quaint with white picket fences. I haven’t felt brave enough to scope out the nightlife scene here yet or any of the restaurants. All in good time.

There’s no point in rushing.

I touch up my lip gloss again before I shut the visor and rake my fingers through my hair to push some volume back into it. When my fingers brush over the jagged collection of scars hidden by my hairline, I pause. They serve as a constant reminder of what happened to me and why I’m still here… like a phantom pain that won’t go away no matter how hard I try. The doctors tried to tell me how much work it would take to repair my skull after I awoke from my coma… However, I did not want to hear it. I still don’t. I want to put it all behind me.

I yank my hands from my hair. With a deep breath to steady myself, I shove the door of my car open with a rusty squeak.

The bright sunlight warms my skin as I pull my cello case from the car. Then, I grab my large work bag and pull it over my shoulder.

“Here goes… well, everything,” I whisper to myself as I head for the metal detectors. Just as I suspected, they aren’t even turned on. I have to hope the cops in this town are slightly better equipped to handle things should something go wrong. I walk up the three steps that lead into the building and cast one last glance over my shoulder.

He can’t find me here. I’m as safe as I possibly can be. My grip on my cello case tightens as I walk back into the main building, pushing the door open in front of me with my hip.

To my surprise, the principal is standing at the door in an ill-fitting suit. He greets me, a smile hidden beneath his full black mustache.

“Ms. Petrov!” The principal says with a happy chime. The dove gray color of his suit flatters his dark, golden skin well. His brown hair has been shaved close to his scalp, but he missed a spot just beneath his chin when he must have shaved this morning. These are things I would never dare remark upon out loud but that I can’t help but notice. It’s my nature to be observant. It goes hand in hand with the constant paranoia. “How lovely to meet you. It’s great to have you on board!”

“Hello,” I say softly, trying to hide as much of my Russian accent as possible—yet another remnant of my life that needs to fade as quickly as possible so that I can become Sofia Petrov. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“I was hoping you would make it here nice and early so that I could introduce myself. I’m Principal Alexander Martinez. We spoke on the phone before. The students should be starting to file in shortly, and I wanted to make sure that I personally gave you a tour of the place.” He extends his hand to take my cello case, and I gladly hand it over. He makes a broad motion for me to follow him but I’m still not sure where I’m going. I try to keep up with him at a reasonable pace. At least the inside of the school is much nicer than the outside.

“So, I can’t say just how pleased we are to have a real musician joining us here! I tried to look up some of your symphony performances online, but I had some trouble locating you. I’m not great at all that tech stuff, though I’m sure you can point me in the right direction,” Principal Martinez rambles on. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort of fellow. If he wasn’t so sweet, I wouldn’t feel so bad lying to him.

“Oh, I’m grateful for the opportunity. Really, it’s an honor to be here and share my love of music with the kids,” I answer plainly. No extra details, just like I’m supposed to.

“Is that a hint of an accent I’m picking up on?” Martinez asks with a smile.

“You have a good ear, sir. It is my grandfather’s accent. He comes from Russia, and he had a hand in raising me. I suppose it stuck more than I am aware of.” I try to make it sound like it’s a painful subject. Even just alluding to the fact I have Russian ties is more than I am comfortable with. Again, with the paranoia. Better safe than sorry.

“Ah, can’t say that Russia is high on my bucket list! I haven’t traveled much though, so what do I know?” The principal says with a gentle scoff as we turn into the music room. “Here we are! The music room.” Principal Martinez places my cello case on the ground with a soft thunk against the old, flat carpet. A cloud of dust wafts up, but he pretends not to notice. “I know it’s not like the fancy places I’m sure you’re accustomed to working in, but we like to keep things… modest, here.”

He looks around the room, both hands on his hips. It’s designed in the shape of a half-circle, with four sets of risers spaced about two feet apart. Heavy brown drapes are pushed open against the back wall, concealing large, bulky windows. The carpet was probably once a nice shade of red that went well with the off-white walls, but it’s now faded, and the paint appears yellow and sad. I’m sure I’ll be allowed to spruce up the place and make it feel more like my own.

Black music stands are folded together and pushed up against the far wall beside what I’m guessing is my desk. Said desk is a small, orange, wooden mess with no more than three drawers on one side, and nothing but spindly legs on the other. There is a closet door off to the side where I’m supposed to keep my personal belongings. I place my work bag on the floor beside the desk and turn in a small circle to properly take in the room. It might not be much now, but it has potential.

I clasp my hands in front of my body and tuck my elbows into my sides, imagining what a fresh coat of paint might do. I feel hopeful, as if the place is full of possibilities… until I remember I’m broke.

The bell rings and Principal Martinez jolts and glances at his watch. “Shoot! Fifteen minutes until the buses start to arrive. I meant to show you around the rest of the school, but it will have to wait.” He speaks quickly as he walks back toward the door to the classroom. “Ms. Olivia is across the hall. She’s not too much older than yourself. I think the pair of you will get along famously! She’ll be happy to help you with anything you might need or answer any other questions you might have.” Principal Martinez pauses at the door and reconsiders his exit. He jogs quickly across the room and grabs my hands and shakes them vigorously. “I’m just so happy to finally have the chance to extend our Arts program! Thank you, again. Adios!”

He rushes off in short, shuffled steps back out the door and disappears out of view.

Suddenly, I feel small.

Not just because of the size of the room. I feel insignificant in comparison to the person I used to be. At the very least, I have something to do to keep myself busy. And this isn’t my first time impersonating someone else. I take a seat at my desk. On top of it is a blue folder with the school’s logo embossed in gold. I open it to reveal the onboarding paperwork and my schedule. My own time at school feels so very far away. In just a few moments, I will have to set my new personality in stone and start introducing myself. Already, my nerves and anxiety are starting to give way to excitement. Everybody is so nice… maybe I can be nice here, too.

On that positive note, I push back from my desk and move for my cello. I have always had an affinity for music, ever since I was young. No matter what was happening in my life, music was my way to escape from it all. One of the only things that helped me get out of my recent depression was the cello. It produces such dark, chilling sounds, and it soothes me more than any other instrument I’ve tried.

I open one of the few folded chairs from beside the music stands. I’ll need to get a good sense of the acoustics to determine whether I need to quickly rearrange things for my students. I can’t say I’d ever given much thought to becoming a teacher before now.

I came into my love of music at such a young age; it feels like a natural extension of my soul. My mother taught me how to play. I suppose, in some way, it makes me feel connected to her. That being said, I don’t think she would approve of my choices, as she never thought I was good enough. She said I had the “wrong fingers” for it. Perhaps it’s nothing more than spite that fuels my desire to play.

I’ve never wanted to be a mother, even though I always thought it would happen. I still don’t know whether or not I would be any good at it—hopefully better than the one that I had, at least. It’s a low bar. I just want to be happy again, and music makes me happy. If I can show just one kid the joy of music too… Well, that just might be enough.

My skirt is stretchy, but not as much as I would like. When the cheap nylon doesn’t move the way I want it to, it’s even more irritating. I have to hike it up past my knees to properly fit my cello between my legs as I begin to tune the instrument. To my delight and despite its simplicity, the sound reverberates beautifully through the space. As I position my fingers over the strings, I rotate away from the door. My callouses will take some time to return. And I can hardly wait.

I can do this. Yeah, this might just work.

Chapter Two

Daniel

“I don’t want to go to a new school!” Henry’s voice rings out from the seat behind mine with a low-pitched whine. Anyone would think I was sending him to jail, even though a move is never easy for a child. My nephew sits with his arms tightly crossed over his sweater vest. This morning had been yet another battle. I had tried to persuade him that overdressing would put him at a disadvantage. The kids in this neighborhood will not be the same as the ones he’s used to from wealthy private schools. The designer labels may make him a target. He doesn’t want to alienate himself before he even gets a chance to speak. I wanted him to blend in and take his time. Naturally, he refused.

Henry had been quick to counter my comment with a retort I knew all too well: ‘There’s power in being the best-dressed in the room.’ I can’t argue with him, and he knows it. Hell, I’m the one that taught him that. I know it will only be a week max until he begs me to go buy the same clothes as whatever his friends are wearing.

I had hoped the change might humble him slightly as he’s never attended public school before.

It’s a very far cry from the expensive, exclusive private schools that he’s always known until now. Our family’s wealth has afforded him entrance to many doors that are locked for most. He’s gotten used to it. Removing him from everything he’s grown accustomed to was a necessary evil, so I’m willing to give him some leeway on the things that don’t matter. Like sweater vests.

“I know, Henry. You’ve told me that every day for the last three days,” I answer evenly. I know patience is a difficult virtue, and Henry is currently getting a crash course in it. I’ll maintain my composure until his whining becomes disrespectful. For the past twenty-four hours, he has been toeing the line between bad attitude and adolescent rebellion.

“I don’t understand why I have to come here! I want to go back to New York!” He stares out the window petulantly as he speaks. He observes the winding, narrow country streets as the trees around him begin to thin. It’s no longer the back roads, but rather the more developed areas. I use the term developed loosely. I guide the car around the back of the school. “It’s so green here… there’s nothing to do.”

I smirk and resist the urge to laugh. Having grown up in the city, I’m sure it must be strange for him. He’s accustomed to concrete jungles and skyscrapers. I refuse to acknowledge that I may have spoiled him. I’ve always wanted the best for him. I might have left him in New York if I’d known how long I’d be out in the sticks. But that was not an option.

Henry shifts in his seat and starts to fiddle with the cuff of his sleeve until it sits exactly the way that he wants.

“You’ll adjust,” I answer evenly. “It is perfectly normal to feel anxious about change, Henry, but you will adapt quickly so long as you keep an open mind.”

I do feel guilty that my business affects him. But given my current mission, I didn’t have an abundance of choices. There were so few options, and the only one that made sense was to uproot him from the Upper East and transplant him here. When he’s old enough to join the family business, he won’t have to be kept in the dark about things like this. I know he’ll approach everything with duty and honor, no matter how difficult our lives can be.

Hopefully, he won’t be forced to care for me the way I am for my ailing father. It hadn’t been easy getting him out of town, but it had certainly helped further my cover story.

“As soon as our business here is concluded, I’ll take you back to your beloved penthouse in New York and you’ll be allowed to finish out the remainder of the school year there.” I glance at him once more in the rear-view mirror as we pull into the back parking lot. Yellow buses with cracked and peeling letters are unloading children ahead of us. He should be able to assimilate without drawing overt attention to himself. If his clothes don’t make him a conversation piece, that is.

I can still see so much of my sister in him: the same wide hazel eyes and her full, thick brown hair. Sometimes, I think he looks like me, too: the strong jawline, the high cheekbones, his ability to keep careful control of himself. He’s unlike any ten-year-old I’ve ever met. No doubt his maturity came from watching me. I watch the emotion fade from his face in the rear-view mirror as he puts on his emotionless mask. He’s growing up too fast.

Soon, the car is parked, and we exit. Until he knows how things work with the kids here, he can’t allow himself a moment of weakness. And at that moment I know that someday, he will be far more powerful than me or my father.

“I’ll walk you in.” It’s not so much an offer as an order.

His resolve flickers for a moment as he glances back at me. “What? No! Nobody else’s parents are going in with them.”

“Yeah, but as you are a new transfer, I need to make sure that the principal has all of your correct documents, my contact information, blah blah blah…” I wave my hand dismissively at him and stroll toward the school. Henry jogs after me, trying to keep up with my long strides.

Everything that I said to him is true, but I do have an ulterior motive as well.

We’ve come to this crater in the ground of a town to find Helena Russev. We’ve come to exact our vengeance. If I don’t get Helena, I may never be able to redeem my family. I want to resurrect our legacy and get us out of the black ledgers in which we’ve been rotting. We’ll come back into the light. I won’t stop until the name Colombo is restored to its former glory, until it regains the respect it once commanded, its reputation… a reputation that my father worked tirelessly to destroy.

For her crimes, Helena’s death will be slow and painful. She should have known better than to try and run in the first place. There’s nowhere on this earth she could hide from me, nor any hole deep enough for her to wait out the brutal Nikolai. His ruthlessness and determination will make him a powerful ally to me. Truthfully, it’s almost too simple.

Kill Helena, and I will secure an alliance between our two families.

I hold the door open for Henry and pull my sunglasses from my face to allow my eyes to adjust to the fluorescent lighting of the hallway. Helena’s probably employed as a janitor or working as a secretary. She will have wanted something where she could keep her head down, where she could keep the attention from herself. It might take a bit of time to locate her. The tricky part will be getting her alone in a way that will not draw excess attention to myself.

I accompany Henry to his homeroom after we pick up his information at the registration office. He stands just outside the door and can hardly take his gaze away from the schedule in his hands. That is a good sign in my opinion. Perhaps he’s beginning to allow himself to be excited about his new situation, even if it’s intimidating. I’m not sure he understands where we’re going until we stop walking. He appears to have discovered what he was looking for.

“Thanks. For coming in… when I said not to,” he mumbles sarcastically. Henry keeps his eyes downcast. Since his mother passed, he’s been a bit closed off.

“Of course, I’m always going to be here for you.” I wrap my arm around his shoulders and tousle his hair affectionately to reassure him. Before I start to walk away, he pinches my jacket and stops me from leaving his side. All it takes is a moment of hesitation to show me just how nervous he really is.

“Suppose they don’t like me…” Henry confesses in a small voice.

“Then they’re fools. And you know we don’t abide fools.” I wink at him ominously. He doesn’t know the depth of truth to that comment. “Don’t worry too much. I’ll be here to pick you up when class lets out. Maybe, if you try to have a particularly good day, we can go out for your favorite meal. I saw a place on Main Street that looks good enough.”

Henry hugs me so tightly and quickly that I nearly miss it. He doesn’t say anything before darting into the classroom, leaving me alone in the corridor. It’s never easy to see him go. I’m overcome with sadness as I realize the one that should be here is my sister. Instead of me, she should be the one to accompany him to class. I can almost feel her presence with me right now. She would be overjoyed and proud of her son. Hopefully, she will feel the same way about my raising him in her absence.

I’m hoping he can at least make some new friends. He’s a good kid, he will quickly find a place for himself here. I know it. I only stay long enough for Henry to find a seat.

The hallways slowly empty as the rest of the students filter into their various classrooms, carrying their zealous early morning chatter with them.

I set a slow, almost leisurely pace through the halls on my way back out of the school. Most likely, I don’t have too long to look for the woman I’ve been sent to find before the staff starts asking questions. My steps echo off of the lockers until they set a beat against the background of a haunting cello tune coming from the hallway to my left.

There is no logical reason for my feet to rechart their course toward the music. I suppose I just never considered that somebody from this place could produce something so achingly beautiful as this melody. It’s familiar to me, calling to me from the recesses of my mind as I struggle to recall the name of the piece.

The somber notes carry through the halls in stark contrast to the vibrant conversations that filled them only moments ago. I follow as a man possessed. I almost forget completely about my mission as I walk toward the music. My only purpose now is to find the source of this cello and the person playing it.

I come to a stop in front of a pair of double doors, one of which is still bolted shut. The other is held open by a discarded table leg. I pause in the doorway. I’m not sure why I don’t go inside. I prefer to linger.

A woman sits in a metal chair in the center of the room. She’s posed about halfway away from me. Two teenage girls sit on the carpeted metal stand risers, whispering softly to one another. Their gaze shifts to me, curious about my intrusion but not alarmed enough to disrupt the performance.

The teacher plays with her eyes closed, and I only catch glimpses of her angular features and sharp jawline as she shifts with the notes she plays so beautifully. Her blonde hair is cropped close to the natural line of her jaw. Even from a distance, I can tell she’s a stunningly beautiful woman.

If I close my eyes, I might be able to imagine myself in a private box seat at any symphony concert I’ve ever attended. She’s far more talented than I’d expect a teacher in this place to be.

I attend every live classical performance available to me, not that it’s a fact I would ever readily advertise. It’s both a weakness of mine and my greatest joy, as I never had the talent to play a single note myself.

If she’s aware that she’s no longer alone, she doesn’t show it. It’s a really remarkable way to introduce a new group of students to a class. The few that have already arrived are enraptured by her as her bow slides so easily over the strings. Her passion must come from a place of great sadness to be able to play Chopin so well.

I’m almost ashamed that it took me so long to recognize the piece as Etude Op. 25 No. 7. The music flows through her, magnifies in intensity, and I’m as enthralled as her students.

I want… to know her. I want to know what sort of pain a person from this town could endure to make her play so authentically.

As the final notes begin to play, my hand slides into my pocket and I lean against the closed door. I flip over the small object I’ve brought with me in my hand and back again. It’s a tracker for Helena when I find her. Something that will allow me to monitor her movements and find the ideal moment to exact Nikolai’s revenge on her.

Imagine my surprise when she fumbles the final note and sharply turns to look at me with the most piercing gray eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. And they belong to the woman whose image I’ve been carrying around for weeks while putting this whole plan together.

Helena Russev.

I’ve found you.

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Chapter One

Vanessa

After classes, I went to work at The Rose. With its all-glass exterior, red carpet that led out of doors into the sideway, and massive chandeliers, it was the most beautiful restaurant in the entire city. Even though it was a little too extravagant for me, it felt cool when people asked me where my part-time job was.

“Hey, Vanessa, aren’t you coming in?” I heard a loud noise coming from the side door and saw Anna, my best friend and the source of all my problems, poking her head out of the restaurant. I hadn’t realized I’d been staring at it for so long.

As I entered, I noticed her walking toward the restroom. She raised her eyebrows at me to indicate that she was waiting for me.

I could see where this was going, and I wasn’t about to be interrogated about my date like a criminal in an NCIS episode.

Don’t get me wrong: she was my closest friend, and I enjoyed working with her, but the guy I went out with was far from the one. I felt like I’d rather stuff my head inside my chips than listen to him talk about his car-miniature collection again.

“Spill it already. I’ve been waiting for you for half an hour,” Anna said impatiently, while I pretended I didn’t understand what she meant.

“You won’t like what I’m about to say, and I’m not sure why you keep setting me up on dates.”

I felt a slap on my head. “Hey, stop that,” I whined and then proceeded to explain my big date failure to her with a deadly look.

Anna thought that my being twenty-one and still clueless as to what my type of man is was deeply concerning, so she didn’t believe me when I described how creepy the man was. She always assumed I was the odd and picky one. But let me tell you something: every single guy on the Tinder profile she created for me was definitely not a match.

As I made my way back to the restaurant tables to stop Anna’s “men lessons,” I noticed that it was a packed house this evening. Everyone was moving quickly, knowing exactly what to do and where to go.

“You ladies are late yet again. Vanessa, you honor us with your twenty-minute tardiness!” said Francesca, the assistant manager, in a sarcastic tone when she noticed Anna following behind me.

She was in charge of the restaurant staff and had her gaze fixed on Anna, who was far from an angel. My best friend was a troublemaker, and I was frequently the one who paid the price because I was with her. So, in this case, Francesca thought or hoped that Anna’s name was Vanessa.

However, she and I had nothing in common. Anna White was blonde, tall, and self-assured, so she stood out more than I would have. On the other hand, I was shorter, curvier, and the typical brunette who wouldn’t catch your attention on the street.

“We’ll be changed in a few minutes, Miss Francesca,” Anna raised her voice, drawing everyone’s attention to us.

“Well, get on with it, Vanessa,” Miss Francesca replied in a calm but firm tone. I was certain Anna intended to provoke her further, but I pushed her to the changing room.

“It’s almost as if you enjoy getting on her nerves,” I told her as I took off my large bomber jacket.

“She always calls me ‘Vanessa.’ I mean, I get that it’s more memorable than my name. Still, I can’t give my best to a woman who doesn’t remember who the hell I am.” Anna began undressing. “And I know she’s doing it on purpose,” she grumbled as she tossed her black jacket onto her bag.

“Oh come on, why would she do that? She generally seems like an okay person,” I told her truthfully.

“Francesca knows everyone who works here, and yet she still refers to me as ‘Vanessa.’ She has a grudge against me, I’m telling you, but everyone loves her so much that they don’t notice. Even you can’t see it.” Anna slipped into her pants.

I examined myself in the locker room’s mirror. It felt strange wearing such tight pants. I was a jeans girl, but The Rose had a uniform, and I was more compliant than Anna.

Anna teased behind me, “You should grow taller.”

“You should try to be less obnoxious. The rest of the staff does not arrive late like us, Anna,” I said to her in a motherly tone. “We’re not the only part-timers, but every time we come in, I get called out. You and her need to work out your differences, and let’s just try to enjoy our mundane job as much as possible.”

Anna remained quiet and nodded. She turned away from me, her face sad, to lace up her leather shoe.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized even though I couldn’t tell if Anna was acting hurt or not.

But then her expression changed abruptly, as if she had remembered something important. “My father’s coming tomorrow. I’m skipping, and I’m dragging you along with me,” she stated.

So her grumpy demeanor finally made sense. I’d known Anna for a long time and knew that her family was a sensitive subject for her.

The Whites were an Irish Mafia family. Her father got us the job at The Rose, but it wasn’t enough to repair their broken relationship. She didn’t want to be a part of their shady business, and whenever I happened to cross paths with them, it was like walking on thin ice.

In some ways, seeing her family and learning information from Anna had shaped my perception of the Mafia. Despite the fact that the city was peaceful, the Mafias terrified me. They were a gang of sick men who did whatever they pleased and killed whomever they wanted.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” I went to explain to Anna, but she was already ready to speak, a hurtful expression on her face.

“Seriously? I say I’m not coming to work, but you insist on staying, and for what? To spend time with my obnoxious father and answer questions about me? You know he’ll come looking for you if he finds out I’m not here,” she said.

“My uncle’s birthday is tomorrow,” I told her sternly, having mentioned it at least a dozen times in the previous two weeks.

“Oh my goodness!” She slapped her temple, pretending to be disappointed. She tried to save it by saying, “I thought it was next week.”

“Miss, don’t you play the naivety card on me. You forgot, didn’t you?” I told her, knowing she already had.

“No, no, I didn’t! I know how important your uncle is to you, and how could I forget?” Her straight face didn’t waver, and she would have been convincing if I hadn’t known her so well.

“You forgot,” I said as I yanked my shoulders free of her grip and walked out of the room.

“Vanessa,” Anna apologized as she followed me. “I’ll be there at the birthday party.” I didn’t look back at her, nor did I respond “I’ll help out. Vanessa, please.”

Vanessa, please. Could you blame me for giving her a hard time and having fun whilst doing so? Seeing her assume her puppy expression was priceless.

When we approached Francesca, she ignored us, overlooking the tables and guests.

“We’re here, Miss Francesca,” Anna said in her most annoying tone, the kind of tone that could incite trouble.

Francesca returned her attention to both of us, a wicked smile on her face.

“Vanessa.” She shifted her gaze from me to Anna. “Anna,” she sighed deeply.

Anna made her famous “I told you so” face at me. I could tell what she was thinking because I was thinking the same thing. Francesca definitely had some sort of beef with Anna. She did know her name and had been petty ever since we arrived. My best guess was that it had something to do with how we got our jobs at the restaurant.

Francesca was a woman who firmly believed in the American dream: equal opportunities for all. So I could see why she disliked us, but Anna liked to play with fire.

“Vanessa, you’ll get table number fourteen while—” Francesca began assigning us our tasks for the evening.

“Which Vanessa, me or her?” Anna cut her off, earning me an eye roll as well.

“While you, Anna,” Francesca motioned towards Anna as if she hadn’t said anything, “will be tending to the clients in Room Thirteen. Best of luck.” She said it almost with pity before dismissing both of us.

We returned to the kitchen, and Anna left me to speak with Jefferson, the customer service manager. I assumed she was curious about who was in Room Thirteen. I would have been intrigued as well, given Francesca’s delivery of the instruction as if it were a punishment.

While I waited for people at table fourteen, Anna returned to me, pale.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, concerned that I had missed something crucial.

“I can’t go up to Room Thirteen,” she declared emphatically. I swear I’d never seen anything scare her more than this room.

We were all aware of The Rose’s private rooms. It was more expensive than regular tables and was frequently requested by politicians and other wealthy business people who required privacy and luxury when conducting business. It didn’t make sense to me why Anna would be afraid of some suits.

“Now, I think you are being ridiculous,” I said to her.

“I’m not,” Anna grumbled. “Jeff stated that the men in Room Thirteen are dangerous. He claimed they entered through the back door and that one of them was a cop or something. I’m not going up there.” Anna approached the kitchen wall, arms folded across her breasts. “I’m not going, uh-uh.”

It took me about a minute to realize Anna wasn’t putting up an act. She was terrified and serious about it. She was constantly afraid of cops and worried that she would be arrested, questioned, or tortured one day because of her father’s known connection to the Irish Mafia.

“You must put on your big girl pants and go up there. You don’t want any more problems with Francesca, do you?” I reminded her and looked her firmly in the eyes.

“I’m afraid I can’t, Vanessa.”

I walked past my terrified friend to inspect the tables. Mine remained empty. The Rose was always completely booked every night, so I knew it would be filled in the next ten minutes.

“You already know Jeff is—” I was about to use the word delusional, but I knew he wasn’t. He was a married man who appeared to be far too intelligent for his job. There was no reason for him to lie to Anna about the men in Room Thirteen, but I knew it was up to me to get us both out of new trouble with Francesca.

“We’ll swap,” I told her. Her face instantly brightened, and she hugged me with her mischievous smile once more.

“I’ll serve your table like no one has ever served in the history of restaurant service,” she said before kissing my cheek.

“Room Thirteen!” I heard from the kitchen and knew I was up.

“Be careful,” Anna cautioned before I departed to retrieve the order for Room Thirteen. While the guests were contemplating their meal choices, a bottle of scotch was requested.

I went to the kitchen and came back with only a bucket of ice, a bottle of the good stuff, and three glasses. Three dangerous men, as Anna had predicted, were waiting to be served in this room. And, to be honest, I was more intrigued than scared.

Sure, I’d seen a few dangerous-looking men at The Rose, but there’d never been any trouble. Regardless of what Anna or Jefferson thought, I didn’t think it would start that night.

I carried the bucket and glasses up the stairs to the corridor. I was about to enter the next floor when I heard the “table fourteen” call behind me—such odd timing.

As I continued down the red-carpeted corridor, counting the numbers on the doors until I reached thirteen, there was no sound to be heard from any of the rooms. There was nothing out of the ordinary outside the door. Despite the fact that the hallway was quiet, my heart began to pound in my chest as I reached for the doorknob.

Why are you scared? I was wondering where my confidence had gone. Anna. My cool had been thrown off by her ridiculous, dramatic story.

Nobody would dare to touch you, I told myself before I opened the door slightly and heard two suspicious statements coming from the manly voices.

“What’s the man’s name again?” an older man with a grumpy tone inquired.

“Oh, the one we’re paying you for?” a man with a younger voice said just before the room fell silent.

Should I go in or run? I pondered, but I was aware that I had been noticed.

“Please, come inside. We know you’re here,” the young one ordered.

I wasn’t quick enough, and I knew the decision was no longer in my hands. I needed to get into this room.

Chapter Two

Ethan

An Hour Earlier

 I had no fear of the cops. I didn’t fear anyone after years of seeing blood, death, and life’s many pleasures that drown sorrow and regret because there were rules that governed my little world: money, respect, and, most importantly, devotion to family. I’d been told several times that my devotion to the people I cared about was sometimes bloody, but I was proud of it nonetheless.

It was finally time to start putting things back in order. My older brother Paul’s unfortunate death served as a catalyst for my ascension, which meant access to and control over the family’s vast fortune. But none of that wealth was important to me. All I sought was vengeance.

My plan had been opposed by the few people who had learned of it. They haven’t supported me since I began my crusade of revenge, a quest that started with Paul’s funeral and progressed from there.

My uncle Luke described it as both a sad and happy day because so many people had come to pay their respects to my brother. Despite the fact that, as the new head of the family, I was required to attend the funeral, I was too angry to arrive early that day. I simply failed to be strong enough to be there when my presence was needed.

Being who I am, I have seen a lot of dead people in my time. Hell, I’ve even shot a lot of them myself, but seeing Paul’s lifeless body was a sight I could not bear, especially not after having seen our father’s dead body a few months before. All this death close to me…it got the better of me.

But despite my momentary weakness, the reason for my lateness was attributed to the fact I had tracked down the hitman who had murdered my father. I’d planned to pay a visit to the man’s house, and so I did. Nobody knew, not even my capo, Tristan. My being alone with the man who had stolen the life out of my father was almost poetic, just me and my pistol. Exacting revenge on my own was the only way I wanted to avenge my family, to be standing there watching the bastard take his final breaths on his way to meet his maker in the pits of hell.

I remember standing in front of Saint John’s Cathedral, staring across the street at the house of my father’s murderer. Alberto was a feared assassin among the Mafia families and a hired gun. He had no family and was known for never disclosing the identities of his clients, even when threatened with death.

It was an admirable trait—not ratting your clients out—but, at that moment, the last thing I cared about was the qualities of his personality. The quality I was truly interested in was the fact he murdered my own, and that needed to be dealt with.

When I knocked on Alberto’s door on Sunday morning, he was sound asleep. “Is anyone there?” he inquired warily, his voice infuriatingly calm for someone whose livelihood depended on how much death he scattered on his wake.

“From the cathedral across the street, sir,” I lied, completely unconcerned about my safety. All I wanted to do was shoot him in the head, and I was quite motivated.

“Go away,” he hollered with annoyance.

“Just a minute of your time, sir,” I begged. “I guarantee you won’t have to deal with me again after this.”

Before the door clicked open, there was silence.

“Preacher,” Alberto called as he emerged from behind the open door, a pistol in his hand. He took the first shot but missed. I fired twice, once in the chest and once between his eyes.

It was on that day that I vowed vengeance on anyone and everything who had ever wronged my family. In just a few weeks, we’d become a hot topic among the other Mafia families. The Mullens and Robinsons, in particular, did not take kindly to my ever-growing bloodthirst, but I never knocked on a door that had not previously been at mine.

My uncle’s expression of relief when I told him I was leaving Chicago was palpable. He wasn’t opposed to my quest for vengeance, but he felt it had to be done quietly—something he and Paul agreed on. I used to be like them, I used to be patient and imperturbable, but this part of me died when I lost the people who meant the most to me and grew into this vindictive shell of a person. Only violence could save me now, and I was in a position to use as much of it as I needed to protect my family from old and new enemies.

“If a message must be sent, everyone should get it, so that there are always some reasonable folk who will explain it to those who may be too dim to get it,” I told my uncle Luke just before leaving Chicago with two vehicles.

“He’s a corrupt cop, easy to deal with, but we’ll have to spoil him a little,” Tristan, my capo, said when we arrived in town. He was the only person in whom I had faith.

Our meeting was with Carlos Maine, a fifty-year-old police officer. He worked in homicide, and I was told he was in charge of investigating murders in Buffalo, New York.

When the police in Chicago recognized a death as the result of a Mafia feud, they knew what to do. We have guys; we are deeply connected. In other cities, on the other hand, I had to make my presence and intentions known. It irked me, but due to the lack of enough connections and understandings, I understood the importance of acting more responsibly and staying as close to the law as possible. We were able to divert attention away from the family in this manner.

“So, what’s the best place to eat in this city?” I asked Tristan.

“There’s this restaurant, The Rose. And I promise you, it’s better than the ones we’ve got in Chicago.”

***

A few minutes later, I was inside a small room with a round table, four chairs, and a large sofa. Given its size and lack of exits, I thought it was overly opulent. There was only one door and no windows.

Given my newfound position as the head of the family, everyone was a potential threat because I now wore a crown on my head. As a result, I treated everyone as a such for I had no trust to spare. I sat on the sofa with a sense of uneasiness situated behind the table where Tristan sat across from Carlos, the corrupt cop.

“I was surprised when I received word that we might be getting visitors from Chicago. Few of your kind make it here. There isn’t much going on in Buffalo,” the officer began.

This was a dance I saw my late father and brother perform with the police. The cop would pretend he wasn’t corrupt, and I was supposed to seduce and persuade him into accepting my bribe.

“You said ‘our kind.’ What are you suggesting? What do you believe we are?” Tristan inquired.

When I saw the officer turn frantically from Tristan to me, I hid the smile that threatened my face. His gaze lingered on me, apologetic and terrified. Officer Carlos Maine struck me as a clever man. Despite sharing a table with Tristan, he knew I was the boss.

“I meant no offense or disrespect,” the officer stated, but neither Tristan nor I responded. His hands fidgeted on the table before he hid them under the table.

“Killing a police officer in this town is a terrible idea. It’s a lot of noise, which I’m sure you don’t want,” he attempted to reason with us.

I leaned forward in my seat to address him. “You never answered the question. It is none of your business whether we value a cop’s life or not. Who do you think we are?”

I didn’t trust many people outside of my family, especially crooked cops. They were imposters, as opposed to the Mafia, who knew who they were. Some people referred to us as gentlemen because of our sincerity.

The officer’s gaze shifted from me to Tristan before returning to me. There was no mercy in Tristan’s eyes and even less in mine, but he knew I had the final say.

“Businessmen?” he replied. I tried not to reveal anything, but I was afraid that a smile would break out on my face anyway.

“You two are businessmen,” he finally decided. “If I ever find myself in a situation where I have to answer questions about you two, that’s what I’m going to say.”

I slowly nodded. “You’re a quick learner, indeed. We are businessmen. And as far as everyone’s concerned, this meeting never happened. Is that clear?”

“Yes, yes, very,” he said emphatically.

I didn’t trust the cop, but I knew he was scared enough to agree on cooperating with us.

“I’m thirsty,” I said to Tristan, who stood up and walked to a corner of the room where a phone sat atop a small drawer.

“Hello, this is Room Thirteen. Could you send us one of your best bottles? Scotch? Alright, then,” Tristan placed his order over the phone.

“It’s never a good idea to conduct business with dry tongues,” I advised the tense man before he peed on his pants. Officer Carlos smiled timidly, and it appeared that most of his responses that evening would be just that: smiles.

Our transaction started before the bottle stood up.

“We’re looking for a particular gentleman. I want you to assist me in locating him and then keep things quiet following my encounter with him,” I informed the officer.

“May I ask as to what you intend to do to this man when you two do meet?” Officer Carlos questioned.

“He betrayed my family. So I plan to kill him,” I casually informed him.

I waited for the officer’s response. He didn’t seem as bothered as I expected him to be.

“Do you have a photo?” the officer asked. I nodded to Tristan, who took a picture from his breast pocket and handed it to the officer.

“You realize I can’t leave that with you, right?”

“Yes, yes,” the officer stammered, his grey beady eyes memorizing the photograph. “I’ve never met this man before, but if he’s in town, I’ll find him.”

“When should I expect an update?” I inquired.

“Within two days?” he asked, gauging my face which I was sure looked quite displeased, “Tomorrow. I can get it for you tomorrow,” he eventually said.

“Good,” I said. I didn’t intend to be away from Chicago for long. I’d only come to see Fred Westbrook because he was one of many people who had wronged my family—my uncle, to be exact. My dislike for the town grew stronger with each passing second, and the only thing that kept me seated and breathing its thin air was the spectacular mental image of Fred Westbrook’s beaten face.

“I trust you’ll keep your end of the bargain,” I said just as Tristan placed a large sum of money on the table between him and the officer. Carlo’s eyes shone brightly, giving me hope that the execution would go smoothly.

“Aside from assisting us in locating the man in the photo…” Tristan took the picture and slipped it back into his breast pocket as I continued speaking. “I want this done discreetly. You’ll conduct a minor investigation before the case is dropped due to a lack of evidence. Do you understand what I’m saying?” I asked firmly, never breaking eye contact.

“Yes, yes, loud and clear,” he said back. His gaze shifted from me to the wad of cash on the table.

Tristan took his hand off the bundle and let the police officer touch it with a single nod. To me, this amount of money was insignificant, but to a police officer, it looked like a retirement plan.

“I can cater to all of your requests, but…” he prefaced his next words with a meek expression. “There may be some complications if this man has a family. They will undoubtedly cause a ruckus,” he informed us.

“He has no family. He has always lived alone,” Tristan chimed in.

Before he stabbed my uncle in the back and injured his spine, old Fred Westbrook was a foot soldier of the family.

“All right then,” Officer Carlos said with a smile. “Can I count?”

I motioned with my hand for him to proceed. “You’ll get the other half at the end of the week after everything is cleared out and you deliver your end of the bargain,” I emphasized the final words. I wanted an excuse to shoot the cop in the head, but if he did what I asked, everything would be fine.

“I’ll get it done. You can rest assured,” he promised while counting the money.

When he was finished, he returned to me and asked half-heartedly, “What is his name?” clearly distracted by the money in his greedy hands.

“Westbrook,” I replied, still skeptical of his competence.

When I heard the door slide open just a little, my hand stopped on my thigh, just short of my calf, where my pistol was. Someone was outside the room, and they may have heard a few things.

Tristan was already up and ready to close the door when the police officer froze in his seat.

“Please, come inside. We know you’re here,” I said to the person standing behind the door.

We three waited for the stranger to make a decision.

I contemplated several different scenarios in my head as to how this could unfold, depending on who that was and what they’d overhead. But I chose to wait with the minimal ounce of patience still inside me.

When the door slid open further and a woman entered the room, my breath caught in my throat. I’m not sure why, but I watched her walk into the room unable to take my eyes off of her. She approached us with her head down, setting the ice bucket, the bottle, and our glasses on the table.

I was frustrated that I couldn’t get a good look at her features, but she still looked stunning with a body that her tight pants and shirt did little to conceal. And the fact that it had been several weeks since my last time with someone made it a tad…uncomfortable. Planning revenge had been quite time-consuming, and seeing this lovely brunette right now reminded me how much I missed it. I was certain she would be exceptionally sweet. Normally, I just wanted to have fun and didn’t care who the woman was, but now I felt compelled to taste her and only her.

“May I get you anything?” she inquired as casually as her eyes could allow. Her weight shifted uneasily from one leg to the other, despite the polite smile typical of someone in her profession. Finally, taking a good look at her face, I noticed that she had the most expressive and beautiful eyes, as well as perfectly round, full lips. I could already see them wrapped around my dick while she shyly begged for more.

“You should definitely try one of their meals. They’re the best in town, right?” Officer Carlos said, pulling me out of my thoughts and attempting to reduce the tension in the room.

But I couldn’t hear him; his voice was muted by the woman standing before me. My gaze was drawn to her deep green eyes. I needed to claim her, make her mine. And what she was unaware of yet was that I always got my way.

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Prologue 

Laura 

 There are many things I have wished for in my life.  

I’ve always wanted to win the lottery. I think that at some point in their lives, everybody has. If you were to ask anyone on the street what they would do if they won a million dollars tomorrow, they would have an answer ready to go.  

I’ve always wanted to wake up one morning to find out that I’ve secretly been a princess my whole life with a kingdom to run and a bevy of hot men that want to carry me away from my otherwise mundane life. Who wouldn’t? That sort of money could change anybody’s life overnight, for better or worse. There had been times when I thought that I was willing to do or give anything to have access to that sort of funding.  

I guess I should have been more specific about the terms I was willing to agree to. Something with a little less danger, maybe, less threatening to my general health and mental stability.  

I guess it is exciting, though…having somebody so obsessed with me?  

A tremble tremor runs through my whole body as Pietro’s hand brushes softly down my cheek. It’s not an affectionate gesture, but something warm curls low in my belly. Pietro’s piercing eyes are trained on me – carefully monitoring every minute shift in my expression as he holds my face firmly in his other tattoo-covered hand. He knows how terrified I am….just as he knows how impossibly turned on I am by his authoritative tone.  

His thumb brushes across my bottom lip, feeling the full skin there. I try to pull away and wrench my face backward and away from him. He’s hurting me, and he knows it. He tightens his grip on my face as he pulls me closer. I can’t look away from his emotionless gray eyes. How can he still be ideally in control in a situation like this?  

I need to fight him. I need to hit him, kick him, or attempt to snap my head forward and bite him – that’s what a sane person would do in my situation. He must not think that I am a threat to him.  

I don’t care how badly I want him…. if he thinks that I will roll over and do what he says. I am not some meek girl who will cower and submissively obey him.  

I grind my teeth together and brace my hands against his chest. His eyebrow arches, waiting to see if I’ll manage to summon the strength to fight him. He wants me to fight him. The sick bastard probably gets off on it.  

“You belong to me now, Laura, and there’s nothing you can do to escape,” his voice is pure sex as it washes over me, the deep vibrations making my skin erupt in trails of goosebumps. The sensations culminate as it fans the flames of desire threatening to consume me.  

I scoff and try to appear braver than I feel. I don’t want him to think that I am intimidated by him or how wet his nearness makes me. One of my hands wraps around the wrist he uses to hold me. I know what is likely to come next. I try to keep him from shifting his hand lower as I push him away. How is he so damned strong?  

“So what? You think I’m scared of you?” I say as I force a laugh through my teeth.  

His hand drops from my jaw to clamp firmly around my neck. He moves so fluidly I didn’t have the chance to stop him, and he knows it.  

“But, out of curiosity,” I choke out while attempting to pluck his fingers from around my neck. “What…what would happen if I had managed to get away?” 

I quickly change tactics, grabbing his wrist as I try to pry his fingers off my neck, but it’s no use.  

He chuckles darkly, arrogance and controls practically ooze out of every pore as he yanks me closer to him until his lips are an inch from mine. I can smell the sweet almond scent on his breath from whatever he had been drinking earlier. I can only think about how badly I want to taste him. I want him to pull me closer so that I can wrap my legs around his waist, closing the distance between us. I want to lock our bodies together and ride him until I’m too exhausted to hate him.  

“You know the answer to that, Laura,” he says in his tightly controlled voice – my proximity is starting to get to him.  

His gaze drops to his fingers around my neck and then to the space where the thin strap of my camisole has slid down my shoulder; I probably look like a ravished mess. “If you try to run from me again, I will kill you. Not in a slow, merciful way, honey…I will kill you in every way that you have ever feared…I will draw it out again and again until you beg me to finish you off.” 

I will beg. I can’t stop the dark smile that spreads across my paling lips. I know it’s messed up that I instantly think of him forcing me to beg for something far more pleasurable than death. I know he’s telling the truth. I know he will have no mercy for me if I run away from him…or even attempt to. This is a warning, plain and simple.  

“That’s hardly the threat you think it is,” I gasp and manage to get my knee up between us and push with all of my might while I bring one arm up and over his arm so that he has no choice but to let go of his chokehold on me.  

I scamper a few paces away from him while rubbing my back and coughing. My lungs feel like fire, and I know that there will be nice aggressive bruises on my pale neck come nightfall.  

I force myself to stand up straight and meet his contemptuous gaze. It should be a crime to be that damned attractive. How can I hate somebody with every single part of my being…and want him so much at the same time?  

“We both know that I would be so much better off dead than in your hands.” 

Pietro straightens and rolls up his sleeves, his rage simmering into something so much colder. Terrifying. “Alright, honey. Have it your way.” 

Chapter One 

Laura 

Buzz, buzz.  

Buzz.! 

I can’t tell if the buzzing sound is inside or outside my head. Somewhere in the edges of my mind, I can tell that my cell phone is buzzing against my nightstand…or the floor. It’s buzzing against something solid, at least. Then again, it could be the vibrator that I was using right before I fell asleep…or was that yesterday? Everything has been blurring together this week. I am not the sort of girl who likes to admit when I might be in a little bit over my head…but this week? I am drowning.  

Every morning I wake up and tell myself, “One more night, then I’ll be free.” Just a little longer, and I will be able to take a very well-deserved break. I have one more tuition payment to make with a quickly approaching deadline. I’ve been working my ass off this week to reach my goal. I feel confident that I will get it so long as the money is the same tonight and tomorrow. It has to be. There is no other option. My arms feel like rocks, but I start to fumble blindly in the darkness of my tiny studio apartment for my cell phone. I hear the thing vibrate once more and then take a tumble sideways off of my nightstand to wedge itself between my small twin tiny and the nightstand.  

“Grand,” I mutter bitterly to myself as I stuff my arm into the space until my fingers slip off the corner of the phone, and the stupid thing goes skittering across the bedroom floor. “Shit shit shit,” I groan and try to push myself upward on the bed. I forgot to take off my work clothes last night before crashing. The insanely high heels that I dance in hit the floor awkwardly. My ankle rolls the moment I misjudge the depth of my step, and down I go – face first, right beside my phone.  

Thoroughly pissed off and sorer than I was, I clutch the phone to my chest and place my thumb on the fingerprint scanner. I hist at the brightness of my screen and recoil from the migraine-inducing light when I see the three missed calls and four text messages.  

‘Where are you?’ 

‘Are you almost here? I can’t wait around all day, you know.’ 

‘Okay…now you’re starting to piss me off, and I’m going to spit in your coffee.’ 

‘Five more minutes of ignoring me, Laura, and I’m calling and reporting you as a missing person….and spitting in your coffee.’ 

“Mmm, coffee,” I sigh, and the timestamps on the messages finally register. “Shit…I’m late…I’m so late.” adrenaline bursts through my chest, and I’m forced awake and into motion far too suddenly. It feels like I’ve been electrocuted.  

I move in an erratic pattern around my dorm room. I do not fully realize what I’m doing until my brain wakes up enough to register that I need to scrub all of this glitter off my face and get dressed into something that doesn’t have my small left breast out on full display.  

I start yanking the strappy top off, sliding out of the high-waisted thong-style underwear. I practically fall into the closet, but that turns out to be a good thing as it manages to snap the strap on my heel, helping me get out of them. I pull on clean boyshort underwear and some jogger-style sweatpants, slip into my sperrys and yank a t-shirt down over my torso at random. I grab my cross-body bag and fling it over my head as I dash into the bathroom to scrub wildly at my face.  

‘I’m coming, already on the way. You wouldn’t believe the traffic. Don’t worry, babes, not a statistic yet!’ I text my best friend Maxine quickly and brush my teeth before I dash out of my small apartment.  

When I get to the coffee shop that I was supposed to arrive at over thirty minutes ago, Maxine is nowhere to be found. My shoulders slump in disappointment.  

Maxine is too important to me to risk disappointing her. She shouldn’t have to wait on me. Besides, she just got back from her honeymoon, so it’s not like she doesn’t have a million and seven things that she needs to be doing right now. It was only because she’s a literal angel of a human that she was willing to wait around for me in the first place. I was looking forward to her telling me about all of the adventures she and Dalton had gotten into on their lavish island excursion. That is assuming they managed to make it out of the bedroom long enough to make it to the beaches.  

“About time you showed up.” Maxine’s voice comes from a table across the way.  

` I spin almost too quickly to see her. No wonder I didn’t recognize her. Usually a pale beauty, Maxine is tanned to golden perfection as she has lived on the beach for the last two weeks. She probably has. I make a happy squeal and run over to her. I know she’s not much of a hugger, but I can’t help it. I practically throw myself into her lap and wrap my arms around her.  

She’s the only person who has been able to put up with me constantly over the last three years. Now that we’re in our fourth and final year – I have no idea what I’m going to do once I graduate and don’t have a reason to bother her every day. Things have been so awkward since she left. Her new husband, Dalton, was one of my managers at the Leonessa club, and I like to credit myself in some small part for having set the pair of them up together. If I hadn’t gotten so sick that fateful night that MaxiMaxine offered to fill in for me, I would never have come across Dalton! I’m a firm believer in fate. Clearly, Maxine was precisely where she needed to be at the pretended to be there.  

“You look ah-may-zing!” I curl her hair around my fingers and don’t bother to remove myself from her lap as I grin at her. Something in my chest pulls as the burden of missing her lessons. Growing up, I never had any close female friends. Mostly because my mother never wanted to have anybody around that could be competition for her someday.  

Friendship with Maxie means the whole world to me.  

“Tell me everything! How was the honeymoon! How are things going with Dalton? Holy crap…look at your ring,” I push her torso from mine as I yank her hand into better view, turning it this way. I saw her engagement band before she left, but this is a whole other another you like it? I just got it back from the cleaners. All of the ocean water wasn’t awesome for it.” Maxine shrugs humbly. “I swear it still seems like it grows every that I look at it.” 

“At least you know that should things with you and Dalton go south, you can pawn it and run away to your private island somewhere and live comfortably for the rest of your life!” I grin and tap her softly on the nose. I slide sideways onto the chair beside her and sit with one foot up on the chair. I lean forward so that I can rest my head on my knee. “Did you spit in the coffee? I don’t think that I care; we’ve shared stranger things before, babe,” I shrug as I tease her.  

“Actually, I haven’t ordered yet. I figured you would be late, but I didn’t want to wake up your new roommate by just showing up with coffee in your room or anything.” 

 “Oh, no, roommate, feel free to stop by any time. I won’t ever say no to coffee,” I wave my hand dismissively. I hate that I have a reputation for being late. I used to blame it on being a night owl or stripping. Even if Maxie has always been sweet about it, it’s something I’ve been working on fixing about myself.  

I laugh a little too loudly and have to catch myself. If I don’t dial it back a little bit, she will know that I’m faking it. Maxine has the senses of a bloodhound when it comes to those sorts of things, and she doesn’t like to see I’m suffering. She’s a great person. She won’t let me struggle…but I can’t let her help me either. I’m not her problem anymore.  

“What do you mean no roommate?”  

She lifts a perfectly manicured eyebrow at me, and I can’t stop staring at how good she looks. Her tan, the glowing skin, her professional blowout…she went full Pretty Woman on me, and I can’t be anything but happy for her….and a little jealous, like 95% happy and 5 % jealous…most of the time.  

“Just haven’t found a girl that has stuck!”  

“I know how expensive it is to have a room all to yourself. I know how difficult those campus placements can be. Do they just have everybody already assigned…or?”  

Maxine presses good-naturedly and starts to wave for a barista to come over. Panic starts to set in. I don’t want to be that friend, but there is no way in hell that I can afford to buy coffee and breakfast right now. After work closes for the night, Buffet leftovers are just about the only food t can manage. Since Maxine left, things have been more challenging than I want her to know. 

“Well yeah, but I want somebody as awesome as you to replace you or no dice. They have sent over a few different girls, but they don’t ever seem to last long,” I laugh and shrug again. “Guess I’m just not as easy to love as I like to think!” 

“Laura!” Maxine cuts through my playful tone with one of seriousness. “You can’t just push them all away! What about the boyfriend? Is he still coming around? I know that it’s unorthodox, but maybe they would let you go the co-op way for the last semester or so?” 

“We broke up. I don’t wanna talk about it,” I look down at the table in front of me. The sting of everything is still fresh in my mind. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and hope that she is willing to take that as enough explanation. She had gotten along well enough with him at the time, so she might not drop the subject quickly. This isn’t how this reunion is supposed to be going. It’s supposed to be light-hearted and fun. We’re not even supposed to be talking about me at all.  

Maxine wants to ask what happened, but the barista interrupts.  

“Hey, ladies! What can I get for you?” 

“Another latte for me, please, caramel?” Maxine orders and then turns to me expectantly.  

“Water for me!” I know Maxine will question my order, but the water is free. “A slice of the blueberry loaf if you have it?” I know that they don’t. The barista shakes her head. “Damn, okay…hmm, the pretzel bagel?” I know that they don’t have that either, and she’s sad for me to the beautiful barista’s credit  nothing, st the water – thank you so much!” 

The barista walks away, and Maxine locks her best protective, worried ‘mom’ gaze onto me. “No coffee? Who are you, and what have you done with Laura?” 

“I’m a touch hungover this morning; the water is perfect. No worries,” I lie.  

“Why did you and boy- Markus break up?” 

“It’s not that serious. I guess he just wanted to find somebody that he t have to take care of or something. Found him cheating on me with one of his fellow med students, and that was that! No big deal, I’m used to it. He wasn’t that great in bed anyway,” I am doing everything in my power to make it sound like it doesn’t matter . to me 

“It’s for the best. Now I have no excuses but to focus on the study and the work thing and then with a little bit of luck I will be able to focus on the graduation and then…whatever else comes next.”  

I had thought that I was in love with him. Markus might not have been the most thrilling man. We certainly did not have much in common outside of the bedroom. But, he had been so in love with me (or so he said) that I thought when he made me lofty promises of our future together, he might sincerely mean them. I think, in part, I wanted a ticket out of this life. Something like what Maxine got. I should have known better.  

The barista comes back with Maxine’s coffee and my water and leaves. My mouth starts to water at the sight of her coffee. I had to skip out on the meal package because it was too much money. The powdered coffee cut the hunger for a while, but they started charging for that too. Bastards.  

“…Laura, coffee is on me. I am the one that invited you out here, after all. Please, order anything that you want. My treat.”  

Maxine is genuinely the sweetest person I have ever met in my horrible life… and I would never take advantage of her.  

“It feels like yesterday we were sitting on your bed counting our quarters for laundry, and now look at you. That stunning little sundress is designer something or another, isn’t it? Aren’t you glad that you went to the Leonessa now?” I wink and breeze right past her offer to buy me things. Thankfully, she drops it too.  

“No more talking about sad things!” I lift my glass of water to toast her coffee. We’re here to talk about her, and I want the distraction for a bit longer. I certainly need it. “To your honeymoon! Tell me everything.” 

Chapter Two 

Laura 

It would be a lie to say that coming to work after Maxine had such fantastic luck didn’t suck a little bit more than it used to. I have to remember the reasons that I started. I love dancing. I love being a stripper, and I sure as hell love working for the Leonessa club. Without the place, I certainly wouldn’t have the ability to pay for college. I would have had to drop out a long time ago, and I absolutely would be living on the streets under some bridge somewhere. Sometimes, I have to remind myself that going through all of this and enduring these struggles is for the greater good.  

During my entire childhood, my mother always told me that I would never amount to anything. She told me time and time again that I was going to be a stripper and live the rest of my days in and out of deadbeat boyfriends’ houses. To her, there was no higher place that I could achieve than the Kitty Kat club and all of the redneck scum that frequented it.  

That was her life.  

I made a vow at a very young age that I would never grow up to be my mother. I never wanted any of those things. I certainly didn’t want to be content living in a single-wide trailer in some RV park with a revolving door of boyfriends and baby daddies that I practically have to prostitute myself out to.  

On the days when I’m feeling down on myself, it’s easy to think that I have escaped one small-town life to trade it for an equally lousy version of that life here in the big city. Of course, that’s not true. I’m making a bigger, better future for myself. Some days it’s just harder to summon my inner girl boss than others.  

I’m super happy for Maxie and her new husband. Some people have all of the luck, and I am not one of them. My mother always said that if I didn’t learn how to control my loud mouth, then I was never going to go anywhere in life…and I am about one more verbal sparring away from negating all of the progress that I have made since I left her double-wide trailer home and conned my way to the city.  

Growing up in the sort of situations that my mother routinely put me in, my morals might not line up with many other peoples. Still, it also makes working here a hell of a lot easier given the shady business dealings that happen down in the basements that I’m not supposed to know about.  

“Laura? You’re up in ten!”  

Ismenia pops her head around the corner to the booth, where I’m getting ready to signal that it is time for me to finish setting my face. On any other night, stage work would be my favorite. I make the most money there while I’m shining, doing my thing…but tonight, it is harder to shake the exhaustion from my limbs and get myself up there where I need to be. I have a new dance that I’m supposed to be trying out, and I spent all weekend practicing it. I’ve been saving it all week for tonight, Friday night because that’s when all of the lawyers and higher-end clientele break out their wallets and let off steam from their long, hard weeks.  

I can’t get Maxine out of my head. She’s an inspiration to me. Somebody to look up to, she always has been. She’s the sort of friend who always has her head on right. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to go about doing it. The men that would offer me a path into that life don’t go for girls like me. They go for girls like Maxine, sweet and demure with that girl’s next-door vibe. I’ve always been a touch too loud and outspoken for a lot of men. They don’t know how to handle me. I’ve always wanted a strong man to take control. But I’m fine handling things myself until the unlikely time comes that I find one.  

Suck it up, buttercup. I think to myself. It doesn’t matter. Thinking about things like that isn’t going to help my tired ass get through tonight. I polish off the last of the coffee Maxine forced into my hand on the way out of the coffee shop and stand.  

I rotate in front of the mirror to see how the dress’s fabric that I’ve chosen tonight clings to my curves. I made sure to wear my most scandalous black strappy dress so that nobody would notice the wholesaler heels have a strap that has been glued back together. I pick up the closest perfume and spray away.  

I look passable…but the bags under my eyes are getting harder and harder to cake makeup onto. I give myself a bright, winning smile and grab for my things…but my bag is missing.  

Shit. Where is it?! I turn in a small circle, pushing the largely teased strawberry blonde curls away from my face and behind my shoulder as I look for the small hobo-style bag, I always carry to work every night. Without it, I don’t have anything to collect my tips. I know and trust almost all of the employees that doesn’t mean I would leave large stacks of cash lying around without clearly marking them as my own.  

Nobody else had been in here with me, had they? I can’t be that out of it. No. Absolutely not – oh, there on the floor by the door, it must have fallen off the peg. I bend down and scoop the fallen contents back into the bag and hope that later tonight, it’s going to be a hell of a lot heavier than it is now.  

“Five-minute warning!” they call around the corner to me.  

Room key, pack of gum, wallet…where’s my purse? No, no, no. I check the floor and under the bench, but it’s not there. I can’t go out on stage without my wallet! I have to find it!  

The door to the dressing room cracks open once more, and I can hear the sounds of my song intro starting up. Panic bubbles up the back of my throat. Dread and anxiety start to settle deeper as I frantically look for the wallet that isn’t there.  

Deep breaths, Laura, calm down. It’s not like there’s any money in there, just your I.D.  

I can go out without it, I guess. It’s not like there is anything that can be stolen…not really. Every last dollar and cent that I have made went straight to the tuition department like it always does. If I don’t make this song tonight for my long set, I’m not going to cover my last payment…the humiliation of being kicked out of college right before graduation? I can’t fathom it. I will have to find it after because there is no way that I can miss my song.  

I remove my small personal belongings and shove them into the closest wooden cubby beside the door. I wad up the rest of the bag I use to collect my tips into my hands and start to run out in the direction of the stage – and collide firmly with a huge, very sturdy man. His hands clamp onto my hips to keep me steady and keep me from falling over as I nearly bounce off him.  

Good going.  

Like a deer caught in headlights, I stare at him through my long stage lashes. For a moment, I’m transfixed by the strong cut of his jaw and the firm line his full lips are pulled into. The low club lights dance off of his skin and well-tailored suit. The man glares down at me with the coldest look that I have ever seen in my life. It doesn’t even occur to me to tell him that he’s not supposed to be back here, and I know everybody who works at the Leonessa club, so he’s absolutely not an employee here.  

“Sorry!” I blurt out of reflex. I don’t even try to pull out of his grasp right away, not until I get a better gauge of his temper and how this interaction will go.  

This man is devilishly handsome and looks like he’s walked out of a fantasy. He is tall and broad. I can tell that he’s well-muscled even through the suit that he’s wearing. If I wasn’t about to go on stage for my set right now, I might be thinking about trying to find a way to talk him right back into the dressing room. There are quite a few things that I could do to a man who looked like that for a few hours. Hell, even better of an idea, I might be able to talk him into accompanying me into the back rooms of the club. He looks like he can afford it easily.  

“Shit…I’m so so sorry…so sorry, I misplaced my wallet, I was looking for it…lost track of time, and now I have to get on stage…rushing around like an idiot. I’m so sorry…,” I ramble as my hands run down the man’s chest.  

His suit doesn’t appear wrinkled, and for a moment, he doesn’t do anything to attempt to stop my roaming hands either. He simply watches me with a grunt of disapproval…and doesn’t let go of my hips for anything. His hands are warm, the callouses catching on the blended fabric of my dress as I smile brightly.  

“There you are, good as new,” I wink for good measure…but it doesn’t do anything to crack into that touch exterior that he’s got going on.  

Slowly, his brow arches as he looks down at me. He removes one hand to dip into his back pocket and pulls up the exact thing I was looking for. “This wallet?” 

“Hey! My wallet!” I repeat with a happy chirp and move to reach for it, but he pulls it out of my reach. It’s not hard to do; the man is huge. The happy mask that I’m wearing slips a little.  

“I thought that it must belong to somebody who works here. You ought to be more careful with where you place your things…the barman didn’t even know who this was from your picture,” he flips open the wallet to show my driver’s license. “How do I know this is really  

“Well…they don’t let you wear wigs in the DMV pictures, and the picture was taken long ago,” I reach for the wallet again. “Hey man, you’re being really weird a wallet.” small red warning bells start to go off in my mind. I don’t know why he won’t give me back my property. Is he trying to get a reward or something? Like with most other things, I ignore them quickly and change tactics.  

“This is some ploy to get yourself a finders fee, isn’t it?” I shift my weight onto one hip and twirl a curl of hair around my finger as I bat my lashes up at him. Maybe he’s just looking to play the role that most men who come here assign dancers like me. I’m playing into what men stereotypically want me to act like while in the club. Pretty, overly interested, with the illusion of being easy. All oWe at the Leonessa are supposed to be walking, talking fantasies for the clientele.  

“You could have just said something. It’s not like giving you a free lap dance will be hard…,” I grin suggestively. “Or maybe it will be.” 

I thought that maybe that was what he was hoping for…but the idea seems to repulse him slightly. That hurts. The sting of rejection doesn’t usually hit that hard. I drop the act and look up at him expectantly. I wiggle my fingers to emphasize that I would like my property back. 

He finally pushes my wallet back in my direction, and I snatch it back to my chest.  

“Thank you anyway?” I try, but that doesn’t seem to have much of an effect on him either. What a strange, overly handsome man. He nods in my direction. 

“Laura!” Ismenia barks from down the hallway, and the sudden sound of her voice makes me jump on reflex.  

I whip around to see her waving at me frantically from the other end of the hall. I turn around to tell the man to thank you again and that I have to go… but he’s nowhere to be seen. How can a man like that move so quickly?  

“Girl, now!” Ismenia nearly shouts, and I take off running in her direction.  

I can’t risk putting myself on the shit list here. I need this job too much. I thrust my wallet at Ismenia without explanation while she fumbles to catch it as I sprint past her. I run as quickly as I can to the back of the main stage and slow to a walk right before I start to sway my hips and ascend the three steps onto the stage’s platform. The spotlight warms my tired skin, and the music kicks in.  

Showtime.  

This is the easy part. This is the part where I can pretend that in another life, I am a real dancer, maybe a ballerina somewhere up on a fancy stage where people pay hundreds of dollars for tickets to see my graceful moves alone. Up here, I can be anybody that I want to be, and everything else fades away.  

Nothing matters for the length of my song as I revel in the movements and focus on the fantastic things that my body is capable of. No men gawking at me, hoping to see something more than what they are paying for. No worries about food or how I’m going to make payments – just me and the music.  

Maybe it’s silly, but it’s my happy place. The stage is the place where I can allow the bright lights to make all of the rest of the world simply fade away until there is nothing else but the vibrations of the music and the movements of my body.  

I close my eyes and allow the feeling to consume me.  

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Chapter One

 Lia

Bass thudded against the steel door. It was an ominous, rapid-fire heartbeat locked underground that too closely matched the rhythm of my own. I closed my eyes to breathe in the city—the sharp bite of the coming winter, the sultry tang of cigarettes from the smokers that huddled at the next doorway, and the overpowering cologne that came off the massive bouncer guarding the door.

I opened my eyes and mentally vowed you will let me in, Mr. Bouncer.

But, despite my furrowed brow and grim concentration, I couldn’t believe Mr. Bouncer’s dedication or the fact he was using the world’s tiniest flashlight. As I stood there watching, he had the pinprick of light aimed at the ID of an Irish tourist in the group in front of us. The tourist’s accent lilted with a joke, but Mr. Bouncer didn’t so much as smile.

I released the breath I was holding, my eyes almost watering, when the bouncer finally waved the tourist in and moved on to his friend.

Almost there. He’ll let me in. He has to… But maybe Sara should wait out here.

Glancing over at my best friend, I saw that her usual smile had pressed into a thin line, and her eyes had narrowed at the bouncer. Just beyond her, one of the Irish guys in the group in front of us gave Sara a hopeful and dopey look, which she ignored.

She was a drop-dead gorgeous Korean woman with high cheekbones, flawless gold skin, and a perfect sheaf of black, silken hair. She could turn heads when wearing nothing but an oversized hoodie and leggings. However, tonight she’d outdone herself, embodying the wintery night in a silver jumpsuit and a trim leather jacket.

On the other hand, I should’ve tried harder with my outfit. Compared to Sara’s big-budget, Hollywood look, I looked like an unpaid extra from an indie film. I’d worn my favorite—albeit paint-splattered—jeans, a beat-up, and patched-over vintage air force jacket I’d found in a thrift store in Cambridge, and my combat boots. I’d thrown on a little mascara, but my wild honey-blonde hair had been thrown up in a careless bun that threatened to unravel at any moment.

Sara turned and made a face at me. I knew that look and braced myself for a dose of her common sense to kick my butt into gear.

“Not a good idea,” she hissed. I bit the tip of my tongue and shrugged, watching Sara’s gaze turn ferocious. “Lia. Let’s get out of here before you get your ass booked.”

“You didn’t have to come with me,” I said, but my tone was gentle. I appreciated that she had come, after all. Sara always came along, no matter how many times things went sideways or upside-down. She never stopped letting me drag her along on one of my harebrained schemes.

That was probably why she scoffed and tapped a dainty boot at me. “I did have to come,” Sara retorted, then frowned and added, “I don’t think my fake will fly here.”

“Okay.” I leaned into her and whispered, “Why don’t you wait here? I won’t be long.”

“Because look at this place!” Sara hissed back. “It’s bookie central.” She nodded at the group in front of us. “These Irish dudes were obviously conned into coming here. You know, I read an expose in the Globe about tourism scams—”

“Next,” the bouncer boomed.

“Lia.” Sara caught my elbow. “Please don’t… Let’s just go!”

Her unspoken words pulsed in the air between us: there’s still time to walk away.

“I can’t.” I could feel my sadness leak through my smile. “I need money, and this—” I swallowed hard, “this has to work.”

With a sigh, Sara let me go and stepped out of line. She gestured at the wall while I pulled out my fake ID and handed it to the bouncer. He barely glanced at it and waved me right in, to my surprise.

Wondering why that somehow felt even more troubling than if he’d given me a hard time like the tourists, I hurried inside and almost fell into darkness. A second later, the motion-sensor lights kicked on, illuminating each step I took. As I descended, the bass grew louder.

I’d never heard such urgent and hungry music, as though each note was seeking a willing soul to sign itself over. Or maybe it just wanted me.

At the bottom of the steps, a tunnel snaked and curved until I emerged into a large underground bar. Its entirety stretched backward beneath the street, and I realized I must have been hearing the sound system through the concrete.

It had the feel of an old speakeasy, from the curved and bricked-over ceiling to the 1920’s-themed attire of the servers, and the sense of being locked away from the humdrum city above. Smoky glass lamps swung over the alcoves of plush, red seats and glossy wood tables around the room’s edges. The rest of it was filled with the writhing bodies of the drunk, dancing crowd.

As much as I wished the music would snatch me away and let me leave my problems at the door, my reason for coming here was the furthest thing from pleasure. I was here on business; for information. Pushing through the crowd, I traced my gaze along the fully stocked bar, searching for a particular bottle. It was a bit difficult since the glass shelves stretched to the ceiling, but I didn’t think it would be down here, in the crowd.

Hurrying to the far and empty end of the bar, I scanned the wall. My heart leaped when I saw the black bottle I was looking for, with the lightning bolt on its label. Sauntering up to the polished marble counter, the bearded bartender finished polishing a glass, before setting it aside and nodding at me.

He drawled in a thick Boston accent with a slow grin, “What’ll ya have, blondie?”

Setting my jaw to stone, I had to take a moment to keep my adrenaline in check so it didn’t explode in an inadvertent temper… But fuck if I hated when dudes called me blondie. Finally, I got out, “a Taranis, please. On the rocks.”

His smile slipped, and his pale green eyes narrowed. Suddenly, he imitated a perfect Irish accent, “Aye? The Celtic god of storms for the lass?” I nodded, and he swung around, picking up the bottle and pouring three-fingers worth of strong whiskey. “And what does the lass wish to know from a poor wretch like I?”

I curled my fingers around the drink but didn’t sip it. “You’re Dean, right?”

“When it’s convenient,” he said.

Now his voice was plain old middle America. My scalp prickled, and I tried not to swallow my own tongue. Dean’s ability to change his voice like that bordered on supernatural. For a second, I couldn’t even remember why I was here.

He tugged on a thick beard and eyed me. “If you’re not askin’…”

“Where can I find Ryan White?”

Dean leaned on the bar and gazed at me. “If you know to ask for Mr. White’s location,” he said in a low voice I could barely hear, “you know it doesn’t come cheap.”

Swallowing, I fished in my purse and slid a wrinkled fifty-dollar bill across the bar. Dean whisked it into his pocket and flicked his eyes around the room. For a moment, I wondered how he’d ended up as a part-time bartender, full-time informant for this Ryan White.

I also wondered how many others had come in here, desperate and down to their last dollar, asking for the kind of help you could only find in a place like this.

I’d heard all about the underground bar, Dean the job dealer, and the drink through my cousin Ricky. He’d explained that placing an order for a Taranis on the rocks and paying a small fee of fifty bucks could get you Ryan White’s location. And this Mr. White, according to Ricky, could give you a job—“not just under the table but underground.”

This came from Ricky, who I’d barely seen in the last ten years and now had no choice but to trust. He’d shown up out of nowhere three days ago with torn clothes, a black eye, and bad news.

“Your dad really fucked up this time, kid,” Ricky said by way of hello. “But he’s long gone overseas. The Sons know you’re his daughter, and they’re coming for you.”

Blood drained from my face as I swayed in the doorway, sure I was about to wake up. My long-lost cousin Ricky couldn’t be standing on my doorstep next to frosted-over flowerpots explaining how my father had managed to ruin my life.

Again.

Only, this time I might not survive. Dear old Dad had managed to land me thousands in debt to the most dangerous mob in Boston―not even the mob, but their muscle, The Sons of Celt. Brutal and relentless, the byword on the streets was that they always got paid.

If someone tried to skip out—or, as in my bastard father’s case, managed to skip out—the debt went to the closest blood relative. Of course, when Ricky had suggested I come to one of their bars and ask for a job, I’d balked. That had seemed as naïve and suicidal a move as it got, but he’d persuaded me that it would be ballsy.

And then there was the little matter that I had no other options.

“You’re Ricky’s cousin. He told me you would come,” Dean said, and I jolted back to the underground bar, the music settling to a slower beat, no less dangerous. When I nodded, a flicker of sympathy went through Dean’s eyes, and he pulled over a Guest Check Pad, then scribbled something down with the pen he’d fished from behind his ear. “He’s in Eastie, 336 Border Street. Cut across the parking lot and look for the building about to fall into the river. ‘Got a white door.”

I slowly accepted the torn piece of paper with shaking fingers and nodded. “He’ll have a job? Quick money, and lots of it?”

Dean shrugged. “Every night’s different. And by the way, blondie, you can’t miss it—it’s the only doorway with a working light.”

“What?” I asked. But someone called Dean’s name, and he was gone.

Resisting the urge to throw the drink at another douchebag bailing on me instead of answering a simple question, I instead pushed it away and turned around, shoving my hands into my hair without thinking. My bun came apart, and I ripped out the elastic, almost yelping when it snapped against my fingers. Gold hair fell around me in a torrent, and I made a face, wishing I would have gotten a haircut.

Then I paused, going cold all over, and looking back at the glass of whiskey beginning to sweat on the bar. That fifty for a drink and Ryan’s address had been my last savings, plus what Ricky had given me. I had nothing left, not a nickel to my name, and nowhere to go.

Besides Sara, no one left who gave a damn if I couldn’t afford to pursue my only dream, if I ended up on the streets, or if I died. If this didn’t work out, if Mr. White couldn’t give me a job, I’d be more than screwed. I wouldn’t be able to pay my bills, I wouldn’t be able to get into art school as I’d scrimped and saved for the last year, and I wouldn’t be able to pay back the Sons of Celt for my dad’s idiocy. They’d at least accepted the twenty-five thousand I’d had saved and what Mom had left me.

For a second, my eyes closed, and the bar swirled away into black nothing.

Twenty-five thousand dollars: gone.

A sob threatened to rise and choke me, but I swallowed hard and opened my eyes. Whatever. If anyone was used to the left hooks that life threw, it was me.

Turning, I shoved my hands in my pockets and stalked away from the bar. With my chin lifted and rage curdling in my veins, I dared anyone to try me… only to falter when I stumbled into the dark gaze of a tall stranger. He sauntered towards me, wearing a bespoke suit that screamed blood money, a fancy silver watch, nice shoes, and hair styled straight out of GQ.

At that moment, Ellie Goulding’s silky voice purred through the speakers.

Oh, my my my, what you do to me,

Like lightning when I’m swimming in the sea….

He should have looked approachable and well-to-do. A businessman out on the town. Instead, he radiated dangerous and lethal energy: a coiled storm caught in a big, muscular body, more than capable of carrying the weight of power and strength that sat atop his broad shoulders.

I couldn’t leave if I wanted to,

Cause something keeps pulling me back to you…

I didn’t even realize I’d stopped until someone bumped into me, and I began moving again, trying to look away but being totally unable to. I couldn’t, not when I had the sense that he’d been watching me this whole time.

A smirk kicked up into his cheek, causing the hard lines of his face to be thrown into sharper relief. I’d never seen a man with such an intense pull or that kind of face. He had to be Italian, from the dark olive cast to his skin and the heaviness of those sexy eyebrows.

My mouth went dry, and my bravado vanished as something hotter, and wilder took its place. It was as though my body had been filled with electric lights that were setting vital components on fire, but I didn’t care.

Somehow, I wanted to burn.

There’s an energy when you hold me,

When you touch me, it’s so powerful…

 Around us, the music swung to extreme highs and lows, the singer’s voice clawing at my heartstrings as she cried for relief and release, for the electricity of the storm to take her away. I’d heard “Powerful” a thousand times before, but I’d never understood it until now.

As I got closer to this stranger, our eyes still locked. I wondered how it didn’t seem peculiar, how it made sense. What wouldn’t make sense would be if either of us had looked away. My hands began to shake, my heart was roaring in my chest, and I swore I felt the stars quiver above the city.

I wanted to say something to him—

Hello? No, that seemed too juvenile, too childish. He had to be at least five or so years older than me, maybe more. What interest would he have in a nineteen-year-old artist up to her eyeballs in debt?

Still, his eyes never left mine, and he dipped his head as we passed, offering me a quick and sly smile. With my heart about to beat out of my chest, I gave him what had to be the dumbest and shyest smile in return. Then, once I got a little further, I slipped to the side and stopped, turning to watch him walk away, hoping he’d looked back.

And he did, this time winking before he vanished into the crowd.

Fingers tingling, my core too hot and pulsing frantically, I all but ran up to the street, desperate for the cold air. All I could think of for a brief second were his dark eyes and dangerous smile, his big hands and his perfect, full lips hushing all my troubles away.

I turned and glanced back down the hallway at the stairs, feeling a bit like Alice and her rabbit hole—maybe just like a rabbit.

Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if I chased down that big, bad wolf.

Forget him, said a voice in my head, and I resolutely started up the stairs.

But I couldn’t, even though deep down I knew that sexy stranger probably wouldn’t give me a second thought even as I heard the song chasing after me, a siren’s promise borrowed for the devil himself.

My mind running wild,

With thoughts of your smile,

Oh, you gotta give me some.

Or you could give it all,

But it’s never enough, no…

Chapter Two

Ty

The blonde didn’t make sense, not in this bar.

None of it fit―not her odd, weighted glance, not her shy smile, not her thrift shop clothes of a college kid, and sure as hell not her bartering God knows what from Dylan “The Dean” Owens.

Maybe it was because I could spot a fighter a mile away, someone who never gave up and would fight for life to the very last. She seemed like someone who needed an outlet for all that passion and rage―preferably between the sheets.

It was too easy to imagine winding that long gold hair around my fist, pulling her head back to make her look me in the eye, and seeing that play of stubbornness lose out to desire. I wanted to hear what noise she’d make when I kissed her and how loudly she’d scream when I made her come over and over again.

If there was another thing I could spot, it was a woman who wanted me.

I grinned. Maybe swinging by tonight would take care of more than one of my problems. Mafioso or not, I was a man who appreciated the efficiency of a night that ended with pleasuring a blonde in bed. I got a little hard just thinking about it, and it was surprising. The last time that had happened, I’d been a teenager—and a civilian.

I have to know her name.

 When I came up to Dean’s bar, the little bastard’s skin dropped to an even paler shade than the weird green of his eyes, despite all his accent bullshit trickery. He offered me a nervous smile, “’Lo, Mr. Michaelson.”

“Who’s the blonde, Dean?” I asked as I slid into a seat at the bar and waved at him to pour me my usual. “Damsel in distress?”

Dean lifted one shoulder and busied himself pouring my drink. I had to give him credit. Terrified as Dean was—as anyone with a half-brain was when they knew my face and name—he had some balls keeping shit from me.

My hand drifted to my waist, and I swept my thumb along the edge of my Glock. It was tempting to make him spill his sorry guts, one way or another, but that would be a waste of time. Plus, the Son of Celt who owned this bar was semi-decent, and I didn’t want to foot his cleaning bill.

Blood was a real bitch to get out of vintage stone floors like these.

More than that, though, the Glock reminded me of why I was here. Fuck, as much I wanted to let off some goddamn steam, I couldn’t get distracted by that girl, no matter how curious I might be to know her story and how she ended up here.

Of all the hellholes in Massachusetts…

“Mickey Weiss,” I said, but Dean had his poker face back on as he turned around with my drink. “Detective with the BPD, nineteen years on the force…” I paused. “Too bad he won’t make it to twenty.”

Dean gave me a tight smile. “Too bad.”

“You know him,” I stated, “and I know you’ve given him information—at the behest of your family, of course.” I tapped my fingers on the side of my nose. “Still, being an informant must be a real bitch. Always telling people what they want to hear so they don’t suspect their days are numbered.”

Dean gave me a tight and cold smile. “Pays the bills. And yeah, I know Mickey. He’s not bad for a cop.”

“It’s him, right?” I picked up my drink, and my fingers tightened around it, bracing myself in case I was wrong because that meant it was one of the other names, which were all female. “Not June Duarte? Or Carmen Delacruz?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. It’s a guy cop,” Dean said and gave me that narrow look that I hated. I had to keep myself from reaching for my hardware.

Besides, it wasn’t like I kept it a secret how I operated my business: no killing women, not a damn stripper or sex worker, and especially not a cop.

“This Weiss character’s got balls of brass, I’ll give him that,” I said. “Must want a real big toy from Santa to go after every crime family on the east coast. Big shiny hero’s badge, trophy, the works―all for what? A bullet in his brain by New Year’s?”

“Revenge,” Dean said. “Henny killed his partner or something.”

“Of fucking course.” I gritted my teeth. Caleb Hendrix, the constant, sociopathic thorn in my side, was the reckless, rival boss of the one family that could take down my own—if they weren’t so busy making messes and not cleaning them up. They made business harder for everyone. Jerkoffs. “So, Weiss, what’s he got? Names?”

Dean let out a rough laugh and shook his head. “That’s only the tip of the damn iceberg.”

My jaw tightened even more. I’d only become aware of this mess yesterday. At first, me and my right-hand capo my cousin Daniel, were convinced we had a rat. We’d had too many close-calls, and then the Feds had caught two of our best men.

Only Daniel followed up on a rumor, and when it turned out half-true, I knew only one person would have the whole story.

And now here I was, in this goddamn Sons of Celt speakeasy, paying Dean for information about a cop on a suicidal power trip who wanted to play the white knight and bring down all of Mafia-dom.

“I know,” I said in a low voice to Dean. “I heard about the Calotti Boys bust. Everyone’s talkin’ about how the cops got lucky for once.”

Dean snorted and shook his head. “You could say that.”

I glanced around and leaned in closer, gripping the bar’s edge. “So, I’ve got a guy saying it was a cop in shining white armor and another on a guy who’s got dirt on all the families from Manhattan to Miami—is it true?”

Now, Dean glanced around and nodded.

He was lucky I didn’t grab the back of his head and smash it into the bar top. “Care to fucking elaborate, Dean?” I hissed.

“Shit, kid,” Dean whispered. “We’re talking a bust like the kind that took down Teflon Don, and the Five Families, and Donnie Brasco. It’s going to level the criminal empires of the east into fine powder.” Dean’s hand shook, and he poured himself a shot, throwing it back. “I’m thinking of skipping town.”

“Cazzo.” I slammed my palm on the bar top, and people around me jumped while Dean took a step back. “Is Weiss our Brasco? Or is it someone else?”

“Listen, I got no clue how this jackass got his hands on any of this information,” Dean said and poured me another glassful with a shaking hand. “He’s no Donnie Brasco, but I think Weiss is working alone. I mean, he has to be—it’s the only way he could’ve managed to keep it under wraps so long.”

“Patient, too, it sounds like,” I said. “I’d almost admire the guy if I didn’t want to throttle him with my bare hands.”

Dean scratched at his beard. “He’s got a lot of people after him right now. And before you ask, I don’t know where Weiss is. I do know that, for now, no one’s got a hit on him. Families want to find him and figure out what he knows.”

I laughed. “Dean, don’t be cute. If you don’t know where he is, then you know the name of someone who does.”

A small smile formed on his face, and Dean’s eyes flicked toward the door. “Maybe.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I reached in my jacket and pulled out a stack of cash as thick as my forearm. “Tell me.”

“Well,” Dean said and picked up the stack with a big grin, his green gaze becoming covetous. “For this kind of intel, I think—”

I pulled out my gun and placed it on the bar. Dean’s eyes went wide, and he stumbled backward, knocking into the bottles. One slipped and smashed at his feet, but he didn’t so much as flinch, his eyes locked on the gun.

“I don’t have all night.” I clicked off the safety and grinned at Dean. “And neither do you.”

***

Lia

 For a terrifying ten minutes, I couldn’t find Sara.

The cold of the Boston night bit into me relentlessly, and I shivered, wondering if she had finally had enough. The contrast between the heat from that stranger’s gaze and the cold outside was almost too much to handle. I considered going back downstairs into the bar when I heard a familiar shout, and my body sagged with relief.

Through the blur of faces, Sara appeared and grasped my hands. Gesturing with her head, she pulled me along and asked over her shoulder, “how’d it go?”

“I got it,” I said as I got my bearings back and looked around. “Woah, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Sara said, following my gaze. “But I think we need to get out of here.”

Several black SUVs had pulled up in front of the club with a bunch of seriously big and scary dudes milled around them. Even though it was ten freakin’ degrees out, almost none of them had coats on. Instead, they were wearing nice suits and heavy chains, and, from a glance, I could see tattoos on their hands and necks.

I wondered if my stranger had come with them.

Sara stiffened next to me, and I jolted since unbothered should’ve been Sara’s middle name. I glanced over, then followed her gaze, wondering what she had locked eyes onto.

“Oh,” I murmured.

A tall man with golden-olive skin lounged against one of the cars, utterly uninterested in what was going on around him. White-blond hair fell into his eyes as he leaned over, and his chiseled features flared into sight as he lit a cigarette.

For a moment, I couldn’t put my finger on why the smoker stood out, even when I accounted for the fact that he was the only one not in a suit. Instead, he wore ripped jeans, beat-up Timberland boots, and a bomber jacket with a shearling collar. It wasn’t until he tipped back his head and blew out a plume of smoke that it hit me.

Even though this man was sensuous and gorgeous—any girl would know it with a glance—the man gave off such an icy indifference, it almost hurt to look at him.

No matter what, the smoker would be damned before he gave you the time of day… or so I thought until he looked over, and the cigarette drooped against his lower lip as he caught sight of Sara. But besides a minute tic and the slight tilt of his head, nothing in his facial expression changed.

Damn. Smoker had the best poker face I’d ever laid eyes on.

A shiver ran through Sara, and she grabbed my elbow, hauling me away.

I couldn’t help it; I leaned in and teased, “Sure you don’t want to get that hottie’s number? Seems like your type.”

“No,” Sara said and cleared her throat. “I don’t date smokers.”

A laugh burst out of me. “Oh, Sara. I bet you could get him to quit.”

“I also don’t date guys I can’t get a read on.” Sara began walking faster. She glanced back, and I did too. The smoker still had his eyes locked on Sara, then flicked them briefly over to me, and I almost fell over in shock.

I’d only ever seen that kind of sharp prescience in one other person’s eyes: Sara’s.

“Maybe you should,” I said, unnerved to the point that I almost forgot about my sexy stranger. Almost.

Sara rolled her eyes. “Just get in the damn taxi.”

A sweet and melodic Spanish love song crooned through the taxi’s speakers. We sat in the cab for over twenty minutes, and I swore each song had gotten smuttier than the last. It didn’t help my mental state as I watched the city drift past, lost in the memory of that stranger.

Again and again, I replayed what had happened.

I’d never been so caught up in an encounter, and I had never been so taken by a man before. Never had this heavy awareness of heat and want curling in my chest, causing me to press my thighs together as flashes of daydreams teased licks of fire up my spine.

I imagined how he’d smile down at me, maybe slide his thumb along my jaw before tipping my face up for a kiss. Flexing my fingers, I wondered what it would feel like to have his big hands holding my face or, better yet, on my waist as he dragged me into his embrace. What would it feel like to be held against him?

Why didn’t I say something to him? I almost groaned out loud. We could have danced. I could have found out his name, maybe gotten his number.

God, how could someone be so freakishly hot?

“Lia.” Fingers snapped in front of my nose. “You’re doing it again.”

“Huh?” I blinked over at Sara.

“Spacing out on me,” she said. “Did you hear a word I just said?”

“No.” I straightened from where I’d slumped by the window, shaking myself. “Sorry.”

“Did something else happen in that bar?” Sara’s gaze filled with a familiar and shrewd look while I tried not to smile.

Dammit, why did Sara have to be so excellent at reading people? Sometimes, I swore she was psychic. Then again, she had the unfair advantage of having known me since we were two years old.

What could I say, though? There were no words to explain away this insane, sudden attraction or how I felt like I was going out of my mind wondering about that guy. He’d seemed like the best of bad ideas.

If you dared to spend a night with him, it’d be one that you’d never forget. With only a glance, I’d felt different, and the world seemed to end at an edge that I’d never noticed before—one that I wanted to go right up to and jump over.

“Fine, whatever, don’t tell me.” Sara rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I was asking you—those cars and all those guys…” She bit her lip, and I sat up straighter, wondering if she was thinking about the smoker. “What do you think that was all about?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” I said carelessly. “I’m sure it was fine.”

“Were they Sons?” she whispered. “Do you think they were looking for you?”

“No,” I fibbed. “No, of course not. That doesn’t make any sense.”

Cold fear curled in my gut, and I hurriedly thought back, trying to remember anyone else except the guy who’d been checking out Sara. She could kid herself all she wanted, but he’d been into her.

“No,” I finally said. “All those guys in suits by the SUVs looked Italian. Even that guy with the really blond hair—he’s gotta be Northern Italian.”

“How would you know?” Sara asked. I gave her an incredulous look. Pink rose in her cheeks, and she ducked her head. “Oh, right, because you’re Northern Italian. Sorry.”

“Wow, that pretty boy really did a number on you, huh?” I poked the side of Sara’s head. “Stop worrying.”

“We’re, uh, here,” the cab driver announced and turned to look back at us. “Not sure I should leave you, little ladies, alone, though.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said and scrambled out as Sara paid. “Thanks,” I told her as she joined me on the sidewalk.

“Lia, I wish you’d let me pay for more than a cab fare. You know that I make plenty of money with my side gigs.” She stepped in front of me and grabbed my forearms. “Let me—”

“You’ve already done way too much,” I said, “even for a best friend.”

“That’s not how it works,” Sara said, and her eyes searched my face. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” I said, and we continued walking. Then I put my arm around her shoulders as we turned the corner and came upon the shadowed parking lot where a distant and hulking building blocked out Boston harbor.

“Jesus,” Sara said weakly.

My eyes found the single lightbulb illuminating a white door, and I swallowed hard as I tightened my grip on Sara’s arm. Our eyes met, and she shook her head.

I tried to smile as I asked for the second time that night, “Why don’t you wait out here?”

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Chapter One

Camila

It’s funny how the weather can affect your mood. On bright, sunny days I have always found that my confidence is better. I walk with a little bit of a bounce in my step. I generally feel very pleased with myself, like the world is my oyster.

I am unstoppable. I am woman, hear me roar.

But today? The sun wouldn’t touch me today, not with a ten-foot pole.

Today is the sort of day that begs for an indoor rereading of my favorite chick-lit novels, for spending time on my computer playing video games. Today needs fluffy, comfortable socks and mountains of gummy worms or coffee, depending on how I feel.

Am I doing that? No, of course not. Instead, I’m sitting in a pencil skirt that’s too tight to ever sit comfortably in an office with—an office that was professionally decorated on my behalf, but that doesn’t have a single thing inside of its four walls that looks like I would have chosen it. It’s formal sterile, save for a large potted indoor tree and its soft floral scent. The bookshelves lining the far wall are nothing but research tomes and case studies, much like the ones stretched out across my desk, so thick I can’t even see the jam-packed calendar underneath of it. One corner of the massive surface serves as a coffee cup graveyard for all of the caffeine that I’ve burned through already.  The cap of my red pen is prized between my teeth, as I bounce the pen over my fingers, reading and rereading the same three lines as the rain beats steadily against the window behind me.

I don’t even know how long I’ve been hunched over my desk—a long time if the soreness in my back is any indicator.

“This is getting me nowhere,” I groan to myself and drop the pen and its lid from my hand at the same time. I pinch the bridge of my nose and massage the inner corners of my eyes to will myself back to a more concentrated state of mind. It’s proving difficult to do. I almost regret sending my secretary home for the evening, however long ago it was… Somebody to fetch me more coffee would be really nice right about now.

I untuck my lavender blouse from my pencil skirt and inhale deeply. I’m getting a cramp in my legs from sitting so strangely. If the other partners in my firm didn’t also keep such random hours, I might be tempted to ditch the skirt entirely just so that I can move freely while I work.

It’s not like they can see into my office… I could get away with it. Probably.

Thankfully my train of thought is disrupted by a knocking on my door that nearly scares me right out of my skin.

“Knock, knock!” A familiar voice says in an overly chipper tone. A bright, warm light mixes into the dim lighting of my office as my best friend eases open the door to my office without waiting for me to invite her inside. “Are you alive in here?”

The scent of fresh coffee and cinnamon wafts in with her entrance, swirling about the room until the bright, happy notes of her perfume mix with the breakfast that she’s brought me. Just like that, I feel refreshed.

“It looks like a vampire den in here, you know?” Amanda teases with good-natured humor as she kicks the door shut behind her. “Earth to Camila?”

I realize that I’ve been staring covetously at the cardboard coffee holder in her hand with something akin to lust in my eyes. I snap out of it as she waves her hand in front of my face and a smile follows. “Sorry, I forget that you’re an angel.” I extend my hands out toward her greedily. “What have I done to deserve such wonderful gifts?” I pause, “What are you even doing awake at this hour?”

Amanda grins, “It’s four in the morning, babe. It’s the normal time that all of us legal-minded types have to be awake if we want to get anywhere.” Now she pauses and sighs. Her eyes rake down my frame, the untucked shirt, the way my hair is slowly falling from the updo I put it in yesterday, and she shakes her head. “You’ve been here all night again, haven’t you?”

I smile bashfully and flutter my lashes at her. “Would you believe me if I said that I was just that dedicated to my work?” I cup the latte she brought me in both of my hands, absorbing every bit of comforting warmth from it that I can. The steam washes over my face as she sets the rest of her items on my already crowded desk. She steps out of her black patent pumps and starts to rummage inside her large designer purse for her small makeup bag.

“I would believe you if you said that you were working this late so that your bear of a father didn’t beat your ass. That I would believe.”

I wave off her comment. “What? Him? Never.” I’m teasing, but we both know damn well that my father would do a lot more than that if I couldn’t solve this problem for him. “I’m more worried about my eyes rebelling and walking out of my head from the strain that I’ve been putting on them.” I take a small scalding sip of the latte and gesture to all the documents covering my space. “I have been over them dozens of times, and I cannot find a single thing that’s going to keep Raul off the chopping block this time.”

Amanda looks uncomfortable, she always does whenever the subject of my father’s empire comes up. I can’t even blame her—it’s not for the faint-hearted. I just don’t have the luxury of ignoring any of it because it would be easier. Given her history with my family, it’s probably cruel that I mention it to her at all. Technically, it’s a conflict of interest to discuss anything with her. I bite down on my bottom lip, feeling guilty even as she walks around the desk to refresh my makeup. I don’t deserve her, I really don’t.

“Sorry,” I mutter lamely.

“For what?” she forces a smile, but I know she’s bothered. “It’s not your fault that you’re terrible at makeup. This is the real reason that you keep me around, don’t even try to deny it.” She loosens the clips from my updo, letting thick brown waves of my chestnut hair tumble around my shoulders. “You look so much better with your hair down, babe. I don’t know why you keep fighting me on it.”

I swat her hands away and clip it right back up. “Because it gets into my face if I have it down… And I have far more important things to worry about, than whether or not the pencil pushers in my office find me attractive.”

“You’re looking at it all the wrong way, babe. Your looks are a thing of power! When you realize the potential in that, you will be unstoppable. Having an ass like yours, with those legs and your exotic features?” She shook her head and swept a brush over my cheekbones. “It wouldn’t matter if you knew this case inside and out.” Her smile softens as she uses her ring finger to blend out the color. “It was part of what made your brother so irresistible to everybody too, you know. At least he owned the perfect face that the two of you shared.”

I pull her hands away from my face and hold them tightly. “True… But you were the one that he chose.”

Emotion swells in her throat, wrapping her voice in sadness. “Yeah well,” she starts. I can tell that she’s about to cry again. Pain and heartbreak like the ones we share don’t ever fade, not really. While we stand on opposite ends of the spectrum, the love that we share for my late twin is equally fierce.  I brush my thumbs over the backs of her hands and she sniffles, looking up to dispel the tears.

“Look at me, blubbering again. I didn’t come here for this. I came here to ply you with sugary goodness and coffee, so you’re forced to listen to me bitch and complain about my new job.”

“I would do that anyway,” I say as I greedily wrap my fingers around the pastry bag and pull it toward myself, rifling through the contents. “But this certainly doesn’t hurt.” I pull out a chocolate croissant, but I don’t give the bag back either.

“My boss is a twat. Worse than your father, worse than anybody that I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting.  If he hovers over me while I’m working one more time, I’m going to get sued. I’m going to hit him, and then I’m going to get sued and you will have to promise to defend me in court.”

“Assuming that I finish with the litigation of this trial, you have a deal,” I laugh.

“See, if your brother were still alive, he would do it for me. Pull that sexy, scary thing that he always did and make the bastard disappear off the face of the earth—solving my problem and probably getting me a nice little promotion in the meantime. There would literally be no downside. “

“That’s rich coming from a girl who doesn’t want to help me out with the same business you want to benefit from.” My shoulders sag.

I want to ask her to come back for the millionth time. I want to tell her that she needs to be here, fighting these cases beside me. Between the two of us, my father and all of his men were practically untouchable—but I need her. I get why she left. I really do. She couldn’t be here, looking at me every day. I know seeing me hurts her since Alessandro died because we looked almost identical. She couldn’t work for my father the way that she had worked for Alessandro. It was for the best anyway; my father wouldn’t tolerate her backtalk the way that Alessandro did.

All the more reason to get this gun trading deal swept as far under the proverbial rug as I can—and fast. The trial is only days away, and if I can’t find the loophole that I’ve already promised to find, my father will turn all his boundless wrath in my direction.

Yet another thing that had changed since Alessandro’s murder—there is nobody to stand between myself and my father.

Where I have always been the meek one, the quiet one who would rather spend her time in her room minding her own business or reading, Alessandro was a force to be reckoned with. He was the sun and the stars. He was the entire solar system, and everybody was in his gravitational pull. There was nothing that he couldn’t do. Nothing. Like Amanda, I had always seen my twin as this untouchable being, impervious to damage. He was larger than everything, and he knew how to handle everything.

Since his death, the hole in the Martinez mafia has become a giant vacuum threatening to suck all of us in.

“Here’s what you need to do,” Amanda starts, grabbing her own coffee as she’s sat on the corner of my desk, crossing her legs. I know that she’s reading the research papers that I have spread out. And I know that if I make sure to turn them toward her, she’s going to offer me her advice. I desperately need her advice, and quickly, before my father comes into the office and asks for a status report. “You need to get a whole lot of tattoos to cover your perfect skin, and then I need you to get about a foot taller and come to my office and sucker punch my pervert of a boss right in the mouth.”

“You know, with a track record like yours, you could work anywhere, Amanda. You don’t have to stay there if you really hate it this much. A couple of phone calls and you could work at any firm in the city.”

“Not without having to run into your father and begging him for a reference. He’s never going to forgive me for what happened at Alessandro’s funeral.”

I press my lips together to keep from smiling. It isn’t funny, not really. “I don’t think that anyone has ever spoken to my father the way that you did that afternoon.”

“I just said what everybody was thinking,” Amanda says sheepishly. “I shouldn’t have lost it like that. I shouldn’t have yelled at him. I think I remember literally flicking my tears at him.”

I cover the lower half of my mouth with my hand to keep my composure. It hadn’t been funny at the time but looking back at it now… It gets funnier each time I replay the memory in my mind. “Right before he had you physically thrown out of the funeral, you mean.”

“I was upset!” Amanda says firmly. “If it weren’t for him, Alessandro would still be with us!” She crosses her legs once, and then once more. It doesn’t look like she is able to get comfortable. Even with all the time that’s passed, I can tell the memory is still fresh in her mind. “I shouldn’t have called him a bastard. Maybe.” She refuses to look at me. “Just, maybe.”

“Maybe if you just-” I swallow hard. Silence falls between us, and in the distance the elevator dings. I glance at my watch. How has an hour passed? It doesn’t feel real. I curse under my breath and start to gather all the documents into a neat pile.

Amanda huffs. “I’m not going to apologize to him. Over my dead body. Which I’m actually sure he would like very much. The chances of me apologizing to your father are about as high as you growing a pair and standing up to him yourself for dumping everything on your shoulders.”

I shake my head. “He didn’t dump anything on me. It’s my family. I’m happy to help.”

“You were never meant for the spotlight, babe.”

My brow pinches. I want to ask her what she means, but the door to my office swings open loudly and I startle, fumbling the files in my hand. My father presses a formidable aura everywhere that he goes. His domineering presence fills any room he enters.

Amanda swallows, then she squeaks something I can’t understand and hops quickly off my desk. “Mr. Martinez,” she says softly and nods in his direction.

My father isn’t happy to see her. “I see security still hasn’t exterminated our rat problem. Camila, darling, remind me to have words with the boys downstairs.”

“She was here to see me. She wasn’t causing any harm,” I say softly. I want to be braver, to speak up on my best friend’s behalf. “It isn’t security’s fault. They didn’t do anything wrong either.”

My father gives me a severe look and I swear the air in the room thins out. I start to feel lightheaded as he levels me in silent consequence and with the promise of future punishment if I don’t shut up.

“No matter. I’ll have the entire department replaced by morning,” he repeats again, firmly. His mind is clearly made up.

I can feel Amanda’s accusation burning in my chest. I’m too timid to even disagree with him to defend my best friend. I gather the files up into my arms and nod softly.

“Yes, Papa.” It feels juvenile to call him that, but he insists. I tried addressing him by his name once, and it is not a mistake that I’m ever going to make again.

“I’ll see you later, Camila,” Amanda mutters, but I know she’s hurt that I didn’t defend her more. I’m mad at myself about it too, but I do nothing else.

“After security is dealt with, Camila, perhaps we should have a serious discussion about the sort of company that you keep.” His nostrils flare as Amanda grabs her shoes and coffee and sidles past him without making eye contact.  “Now that the trash has been taken out… Sit down, darling.”

“I have a few more things to prepare before our meeting this morning, Papa. Not that I’m not happy to see you-”

“That was not a request, Mija.”

Dutifully, I sit down. I can feel the weight of his stare pressing down on me as I struggle to sit as straight as possible.

“The dealings that I am about to discuss with you must not leave this room, Mija, and they are going to take precedence over every other item on your caseload. So, pay close attention…”

Chapter Two

Camila

This is the part I hate.

I haven’t done anything wrong and yet I feel guilty, almost bordering on paranoia. My father has always had this special power over me, where I feel as though I should just start spewing apologies at random until, somehow, I manage to apologize for whatever crime he thinks I’ve committed. Especially when I haven’t even committed one! I always feel like, if I just take responsibility for something, I can grovel for forgiveness and move on from the situation. This is something Alessandro used to love to take advantage of.

I clear my throat and interlace my fingers on the desk in front of me. I want to look professional; I want to look like the adult that I am—the savvy businesswoman and cutthroat lawyer that I know I’m capable of being. But every time that I’m around my father, that woman ceases to exist. Instead, I’m always reduced to a small child pleading to have something, to get something, to not be in trouble. Always the girl apologizing for her brother’s wicked ways… But Alessandro isn’t here anymore, I have to remind myself.

“Papa, perhaps you will be more comfortable if you leave your wet coat in the hallway.”

Something in my father’s eyes hardens at my suggestion. “If I wanted to leave my coat in the hallway, Mija, then I would have done so. Yet, I have not.”

My father’s condescension rolls over me like slime, leaving heavy residue all over my skin. I refuse to slouch under its weight. “I only meant that, with all of the rain coming down outside, you should be careful not to catch a cold.”

“It is not your place to worry about my health, Mija. I am more than capable of handling a little bit of water. Do you really think I’m weak?”

I can see the trap in his words. It is laid out in front of me, bare and glaring and I have no choice but to walk into it.  “I just do not want you to become ill, Papa.”

He cracks the knuckles on his left hand one at a time. “I don’t have time to deal with your wants, Mija. I have been in this office for only a few moments and already you are wasting my time. If this is how you conduct all of your conversations, perhaps I ought to reconsider how much freedom you have with my clients.” His voice remains flat, and accusation laces every accented syllable that he speaks.

Water from his coat sleeve is already starting to sink into the leather of the armchair. Leather isn’t supposed to get wet like this, or it will mess up the finish. I can’t tell him that. I can’t tell him anything. In his mind, women should not speak until they are spoken to. It doesn’t matter that I am a grown woman, it doesn’t matter that I can support myself and am only working for this firm because of my loyalty to my family—to him!

“Of course, Papa. I’m sorry.” The words are like acid on my tongue.

“You are sorry. Sorry that you have the nerve to speak to me like this. Do I not own this building? Do I not own everything in it? Every floor, every lightbulb, and every person in it. That includes you, Mija, and you should know your place well enough than to goad me about a little water.” He gives me a thorough once over. “How can you even speak to me about rain and coats when you are hardly presentable yourself? You left the house looking like that?”

I can’t tell him that I haven’t slept. I can’t tell him that I’ve been here all night attempting to find a way to cover up for his guns deal that went sour.  Five of his men are facing serious charges for having been caught. Even if it was their own carelessness that got them caught in the first place, it is my job to make sure that they never see the inside of a prison cell. The list of enemies that the Martinez Mafia has is lengthy, and among the names on that list are quite a few members of the present courthouse staff. Three judges are actively fighting for their chance to send any of our men to jail on any maximum sentence they can swing.

I bite down on my tongue. It’s not me that he’s angry with. I tell myself softly. He isn’t angry with you, Camila. He’s just angry at life, and you are within his firing line. It doesn’t make the words hurt any less.

“This is my firm, and I will do as I please,” he continues, pressing a finger into the armchair as he waits expectantly.

“Yes, Papa. I know! I’m sorry.”

Anger pulsates in his jaw, and he’s going to take things one of two ways. Either his temper is going to get the better of him, his rage is going to boil over and this will turn into a full-blown lecture… Or he’s going to sit back and his whole demeanor is going to frost over.

I shouldn’t fault him for the way that he handles things, but it gets harder and harder to not take his anger personally. He has so much on his plate, he handles so much—the task of running the Martinez Mafia is greater than I can fully comprehend. With that in mind, I stay quiet, and I wait.

Mercifully, his shoulders soften, and I can breathe again.

“Clearly, my nerves are fueling my temper, Mija. You will understand, I’m sure.”

It’s far from an apology, but it is the closest thing to one that I will ever get from my father.

“I come with bad news, Camila… Very bad tidings indeed.”

If he didn’t have my attention before, he does now. I push every other thought from my mind as my mouth dries up. I’m frozen in place, dread unfurling in my stomach because I know that he would not be here so early if it wasn’t important. It’s in these rare moments that I can really see him for the man he is inside. He’s more than just the Mafia boss, he’s a man capable of genuine emotion and affection for his children. Tension sets into his squared jawline, and he lifts a hand to pull at his neatly maintained, thick beard. He traces the grain of hair from under his chin, and back up again. Gray specks pepper the thick black hair of his beard and hair.

Alessandro would have looked just like him when he reached middle age.

It feels crazy to say that my father looks uncomfortable. He hardly moves but I can see the subtle change in his expression—the little rotation of his wrist and a change in his posture. He seems to focus on a spot on the wall behind my head, only for a lingering moment so as to compose himself. Whatever he’s about to tell me, it isn’t good.

“Nathaniel Angelo is alive.”

Molten lead burns hot in my belly. My hands flatten out over my desk as the oxygen leaves the room. I feel like a fish out of water, gasping for something, anything.

That man is a monster. I put him behind bars where he was supposed to rot for the rest of his days. He is the only man I’ve felt ever deserved to die, the man who had tormented me since childhood, who had made my life hell, who had stolen the one thing from me that I can’t ever get back. He broke me, fractured something so deep inside of me that I was happy when the news of his death reached my ears.

“He is alive and free. Mija, we have been betrayed.”

This is the worst thing he could have said.

I never would have been able to guess those words would leave his mouth in a thousand years. In a sudden burst of rage, hot angry tears slide down my cheeks as my fingers curl to make a fist. “That’s not possible,” I grind out between my teeth without thinking how the words might be taken.

“It is entirely possible. The snake that we were working with has betrayed us. He must have removed him from the hole he was buried in, all the while telling us that he had died in that cell we fought so hard to put him in.” Papa’s rage was an icy, lethal thing. “He lied to us… He lied to me.”

I put him away myself, and I handled the threats to his family in a way that Alessandro would have been proud of. I handled the whole Angelo family. I left them scrambling to find a head for the family, while I buried Nathaniel in so many charges that he had to serve life sentences. He never would have been a free man. Of course, the prison that I sent the rotten bastard to die in was filled with our men too. Still, even making every one of his final days feel like hell on earth wasn’t enough. It would never be enough to pay for the things that he did to me, for what he stole from me.

The room is too hot. My face feels like it’s on fire. I am burning from the inside out as too many emotions to name roil around inside of me. The pain and hurt only further fuel the rage until it threatens to consume me. I don’t know what to say. My father never makes mistakes. This all feels like the world’s cruelest joke.

I put him away. My father gave the kill order. He was buried in some rat-infested dung heap in France. His bones were rotting in a hole where not even carrion birds would be nourished from him. He paid for his crime… And yet now he hadn’t. He was out? Alive and well? He was walking around this earth, still breathing?

Bile rises in my stomach as the impromptu breakfast threatens to leave me, and I have to choke it back down.

I want to be pragmatic, but all of my higher brain function is threatening to revolt. I want to throw everything off my desk. I want to burn something down. I want to scream, and cry, and curl up into a frustrated version of myself… But I can’t.

“S-so… What does that mean?”

Papa sighs softly. “It means that you have to get out of the city. It means that you have to pack your things and get out of town for a while. At least, until I am certain the coast is clear. I have already made travel arrangements for you to be moved to one of my safe houses. I’m not going to tell you which one, so don’t even bother asking.”

It doesn’t feel right. I know that if he has already decided that this is how things are going to go, there is really no point in arguing with him. But running away with my tail tucked between my legs doesn’t feel right. Of course, Nathaniel would be coming after me. After all, I played a huge part in making his life as miserable as I was able to make it. I don’t know how long he’s been out and I almost don’t want to ask.

“The jet will be leaving this afternoon with you on it. I expect you to have all your affairs in order by then. You are going to pass your caseload off onto your associates as soon as I leave this office. I will be leaving to finish arranging everything, then we will meet for lunch in the cafe by the lobby where you will get your papers. After that, you will leave early for the day, pack your things, and get to the runway. You will do this because I have commanded you to do so, Mija, am I understood?”

Arguing would be stupid at this point. “Yes, Papa. I will do it.”

He’s giving me hours—just a few precious hours to get everything in order so that I can leave my whole life behind for an indeterminate amount of time. I might not ever be able to come back here and pick up my position again. I don’t want to, anyway. I want to know more.

“Has anyone made any threats on our lives?”

The muscles in my father’s jaw tick in irritation. “That is not for you to worry about. Do not get any stupid ideas about looking into this case, and do not start to poke around. You will simply put your life in the care of my many, many security officers and you will go to the safehouse. Understand that if you do not go willingly, Mija, I will have you taken anyway.” His eyes narrow. “I will not lose another child to that monster. I will not allow him to take you… Mija, you’re all I have left.”

My rebellion dies in my throat.

Just like that, I’m defeated.

“I will do it, Papa. I promise I’ll be careful.”

“That’s my darling daughter.” He reaches forward and grabs both of my hands in his larger scarred ones, and he pulls me closer. He stands and leans over the desk to press a kiss into my knuckles. “Then I shall see you for lunch.” I force a small smile, and I nod.

“Yes, Papa. I’ll take care of everything up here, just like you asked. You can count on me.”

He smiles. It’s such a foreign gesture for him to make that I almost don’t trust it on instinct. Can he really be scared of Nathaniel? Can he really be worried that something might happen to me?

I want to tell him not to send me away, that the safest place that I can possibly be is here with him. Nobody is stronger, nobody can take better care of me. For a moment I consider telling him that I will move back home until all of this is done, that I want to see justice for Alessandro too… But instead, I say nothing.

My father stands and leaves without another word. He leaves the door to my office open in his wake. The other associates aren’t going to be happy to have to take on my workload, but each pair of eyes unloading from the elevator turn to give my father a once-over. They all know that he is not to be trifled with. Silence falls over the floor until the elevator doors close and carry my father away.

Slowly, those same curious sets of eyes start to drift toward my open office door. They must now have some idea of what’s coming. They don’t say anything, but I feel it.

How am I supposed to pack up my life in only a few hours? I don’t even know what to pack, what the weather will be like where I’m going. But what I do know is that I have a few hours before lunch… And that means I have a few hours to find out everything I can about the sudden reemergence of Nathaniel Angelo.

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Chapter One

Maria

“Sometimes, I feel like if you treated me with a little more love, I’d be out of your hair, Maria.”

I looked down at the old man on the bed. He smiled innocently at me with his front teeth missing. “Sometimes, I feel if you stopped looking forward to the sponge baths you get here, you’d actually fully recover and off this machine.”

His smile went even wider. “I get bathed every day by beautiful women! Why would I want to leave? This is paradise!”

I ignored the man and finished checking on the dialysis machine next to him. He had been at Stan Merriweather Hospital for the last seven months and seemed to be getting worse by the day. I was amazed that he could keep a cheerful spirit, one that could even bring a smile to my gloomy heart. I finished with him and left the room, looking down at my watch. It was a few minutes until I completed my shift.

“Maria!” A voice at the end of the corridor called out to me. It was the head nurse, Vanessa Valeska. A woman whose sole purpose was to work me to the bone. I considered ignoring the woman and just walking away—my shift was over; I could just go home. Whatever it is I was needed, for now, I would have to deal with it the next day. “Maria Doyle, down the hall. I’m speaking to you!”

I whipped my red hair around to face her with a glum smile. “Sorry, I was distracted.”

“Well, snap out of it. A few patients along wing E have not gotten any attention. I have to head up to give a report to management, and the other nurses are busy in the south wing. If you have a minute, help me check on them and sort their reports, okay?”

I looked at my watch again and began to speak, “My shift ends—”

“I know, but are you really going to risk the lives of people because your shift is over?” I lowered my head. “I thought so.”

I picked up my pad and went through the rooms, checking on the patients. I had no choice but to do so, regardless of how much it annoyed me. If I refused to check on them, Valeska would ensure that my schedule the next day was packed with activities that served as some sort of sick punishment.

By the time I had finished, it was a full half-hour after the time I was supposed to head home. I had missed the bus which would have carried me to my stop, and now I would have to take a taxi. I hung up my lab coat and picked up my jacket, heading out into the streets outside. The frigid evening air struck me, reminding me why exactly I had worn the jacket to work. The flash of lightning above told of the impending rain.

Vanessa drove out of the parking lot in her car and looked over at me standing on the side of the building, waiting for a taxi. Without a word, the woman drove off.

“Bitch,” I said out loud. As much as I knew it wasn’t going to happen, a small part of me wished that Vanessa would grow a heart and offer me a ride, or maybe just offer me some kind words. But the woman was nothing of the sort and did everything she could to make sure people who ranked under her were reminded of their lower status in the hospital.

I considered the train station for a moment, as it would drop me off only a few blocks from my place, but from the hospital to the nearest station was too far for me to walk, and I was feeling exhausted. A taxi to my house would just cost too much, and I did not have much money. I sighed as I considered just walking home. I did not have work the next day, but it would probably take me until well past eleven to get home.

I would be able to see the city at night, take a stroll to clear my head, but the thought of stalkers and raping serial killers made me think otherwise. I walked towards the central street where I would have higher chances of finding a taxi. I pulled out my phone and considered calling my neighbor, Owen, to come to pick me up. He had a car, but he also had a girlfriend, and I was certain that they had had the talk more than a few times. I had even overheard her telling Owen that he was doing way too much for me. I had used his help more than enough times, so I decided I would have to make it home all by myself. I put the phone back in my purse as lightning illuminated the sky above me for a second.

The clouds gave out, and it began raining heavily. I swore, wondering if the world could not be any more against me. I was working a minimum wage job, trying to pay off my college debt and credit card debt, caring for my sick mother, struggling to make ends meet, and the weather decided to just take me out of it. I looked around for an open shop or an alcove where I could run into and hide, but all the stores around were closed and had boarded up their entrances to ward off robbers.

I spotted a taxi heading by and raised a hand to hail the vehicle to stop, but it drove by quickly, splashing water from the puddle which had formed in front of me, all over my already wet body. A cold shiver ran through me. The taxi had someone in it, and I could swear that Vanessa had probably sent it that way, just to spite me. I ran my fingers through my hair, tying it into a knot behind my head, trying to get it out of the way.

I heard the sound of a vehicle approaching, and I turned to see that it was not another taxi like I had expected. However, I did not notice that the vehicle had swerved up on the sidewalk that I was standing on. I turned just in time to see the headlights as the car slammed into me, knocking me onto the windshield of the vehicle before I bounced off and landed in a heap on the sidewalk. I groaned in pain as I felt my body going numb from the crash. I couldn’t feel my hand, and when I put some weight on it, I was hit with sharp pain.

The car drove off the sidewalk and got back on the road hastily. I managed to look up at the vehicle, watching as its driver gunned the car down the road, heading off. Just before the pain and exhaustion caused me to go unconscious, I managed to catch the number plate, saying it over and over in my head as the taillights receded. My photographic memory was one of the few things I was proud of, and it was time to put it to good use. I had to remember the plate’s number when I woke up… I just had to.

“Control one…control one…control…”

***

Angelo

Two cars arrived at the warehouse, with two others already parked and waiting. Many people liked to think that most of their dealings went on in abandoned or old warehouses, but there were only so many a city could have. I made it a rule to use warehouses that were still operational, just closed for the time I wanted to use them. I got out of the car and looked around, with lightning flashing overhead. I knew what I had come to do, and I was certain it was going to be a huge waste of time, but I was there because it is what my father would have wanted.

I adjusted the collar of my Armani suit as the lights of the Cadillac blinked twice behind me, locking shut. The son of Michael Preston, the former head of the south side mafia. But with only a few weeks since the man’s passing, I was forced to take up the mantle of my father and fill shoes that I had been groomed to fit since I was born. I had come to meet with Pete Vasquez, a longtime rival of my father, and a man who would do anything to take over the territories which I had gotten.

Vasquez was the head of the east side mafia, a ruthless gang that cared less about those under its jurisdiction and more about the territory that it controlled. Since the word got out that Michael was dead, Vasquez had moved quickly, sending his men to try to take out the competition. But I knew that he would be coming, and he had already made moves to secure their investments. Obviously, Vasquez had denied any involvement in the attacks and claimed to be a part of the larger mafia family that ran the city. But everyone knew what he wanted.

“Look, I don’t want you to be here either, but this is tradition and it’s what your dad would want. It’s what he would do, so let’s just get in there and talk things over, how about it?”

I looked over at Benny- the man was my best friend since high school, and I was more than grateful for this. Both our parents had been close, with his father being the personal physician of Michael. Benny was around for a lot of things, and in the end, he had become one of the first people that I had gotten on my crew. As time passed, Benny turned out to be my right-hand man, knowing it all and helping out with everything.

“How many men do we have here?”

“The gang’s here; we have two backups waiting just a few blocks out,” Benny replied.

“Good. Vasquez is a fucking asshole, and if he tries to pull a stunt, it might just be the last thing he does,” I replied. I looked over at the car where five men waited. They were all handpicked by me, the men I trusted the most. Each of them was willing to give up their lives for me and were adequate fighters.

Two stayed outside, and the other three followed me and Benny into the warehouse. It was some sort of mill that cut out sheets of metal. There were large blades and lots of sheet metal stacked around, along with rods, pipes, and other pieces of metal laid all around, and a laser cutter sat in the far back. The owner of the mill had fallen under my jurisdiction and had allowed me to use the place for the meeting. It was his own way of paying protection for the month, and I was fine with that.

Once a year, the two sides of the family would meet to discuss their new jurisdictions and routes, along with other business dealings that would allow the smooth operation of both sides of the family. The meeting for the year had already occurred, but since the death of my father, I knew that I had to take my own turn at it and explain how things would be under my leadership, showing that I was not afraid of Vasquez or any of his attacks. I would defend my regions with all my power and make sure I lost nothing.

“You’re late!” Vasquez yelled across the warehouse. His voice boomed across the large empty space.

“I came at the right time,” I replied with an even louder voice, walking up to Vasquez.

The man was a lot like me. We both had the same build – six feet tall, a strong jawline, and jet-black hair. But Vasquez was almost twenty years older than I was and had his hair slightly greying on the sides. He had kept it trimmed and fashionable, in a manner which I liked. It was probably the only thing about the man I could agree with. I shook his hand before we took a few steps back.

“Shame we did not get a chance to meet at the manor. I would have loved to have some of your fathers’ legendary wine. Is it true that they are from a vineyard he owns?”

“As much as I would like to answer that, we are not here to discuss the truth behind myths, Vasquez,” I said to him with a blank face.

“Oh yes, we are here to discuss your new temporary… What should I call it? Reign?”

“Excuse me?” I called out, frowning at the man.

“Well, I heard about the incidents at your clubs and liquor stores. Damn shame about all of those who were hurt.” Vasquez said with a laugh. “But honestly, boy, if this is how you are going to run your father’s empire, you might run it to the ground.”

“You better watch your words, Vasquez,” I replied, my face contorted with rage. Benny walked up beside me, knowing how aggressive I could get.

“You know when you were born, your father became a lot more aggressive. All the competition, he snuffed them out like a flame between his thumb and index. We began calling him the sculptor. Michelangelo. Because he made sure that everything he wanted, he got, exactly the way he wanted it. Instead of whining about it when it got hit by punks, who obviously had no stakes in the grand scheme of things.”

I pulled out my gun and pointed it at Vasquez, causing the east side men to pull out their guns as well. “Don’t fucking talk about my old man!”

“Well, who else am I supposed to compare a failure like you to?” Vasquez laughed and put his head against my gun, “Go ahead, pull the trigger, and show everyone what I know. You aren’t fit to run anything. You are just a spoiled brat, handed the keys to a car and your feet can’t even touch the pedals.”

I pulled the gun away and tucked it into my waistband as Benny touched my shoulder. “We are done here.”

“Was nice seeing you! Hope we get to do great things together!” Vasquez yelled to me as I walked out. Benny got into the driver’s seat as I got in behind him. Lightning flashed as the rain continued to pelt down on the car.

“You need to calm down, Angelo,” Benny began.

“Calm down? That fucker was making fun of me! He was making fun of my father, and I’m supposed to just relax? I understand how the families work, but we know he has some ulterior motive. We can’t just have that. We can’t!” I yelled, the memory of all the times in the past when Vasquez would try his best to undercut a deal from my father or order a hit on someone who was looking to do business with us. Vasquez was always looking to gain the advantage, and he did not care if he had to play dirty.

The sound of gunshots drew our attention towards the building we had just left. We turned just in time to see the other men get shot down in their vehicle. Before I could react, Benny hit the gas, sending us firing into the street, away from the gunfire. Vasquez sent his men to attack, and we had to get away before they got to us. Backup had not arrived, and we were outgunned.

Benny took a hard turn and climbed up on the sidewalk of the next street, fighting to maintain control of the vehicle in the rain. I heard something bump into the car. He held the brakes as we saw the side of a face and red hair bounce off the front windshield. He froze, realizing that he had just run into someone. Benny looked into the rearview mirror and saw that no other vehicles were on the street, and no one had seen them.

“Wait!” I yelled as Benny continued to drive.

“What?” Benny asked. “We stay, they’ll catch up. We have to go, now!”

Chapter Two

Maria

I moved skillfully through the kitchen, setting the bacon on the plate. Normally, it would have taken me two moves to get it from the pan to a plate, but with my right arm in a sling, I was forced to work with a single hand. However, I was still able to work quickly and managed to get the meal dished out in one piece. I moved it all to a tray and carried the tray on one hand, then I walked over to the adjoining bedroom in my house.

“You know, even though I never broke my arm, I had to serve meals with one hand sometimes, just to show that I could do it. But looking at you now, with just some bacon…”

“Oh, come on, Mom,” I cut in as she put the food down on the cabinet that served as a table for my mother.

“I’m just saying that I could do better,” the older woman replied from the bed. She attempted to sit up, and I reached for her with my good arm, but she slapped the hand away. “I have cancer. I’m not brain dead. Besides, what are you going to do, one-armed wonder?”

I shook my head and laughed; my mother was known for constantly teasing and berating people. It was something that she did for fun, but a lot of people did not understand and just called her the “grumpy grandma”. In truth, Candice Doyle was the most cheerful person I knew. After her husband had died, Candice worked through it, putting up a strong image of herself. We did not have much money, but we were able to live a fairly happy life, one in which she worked hard to ensure that I finished my education.

Even after cancer had hit, Candice still managed to keep her cheerful attitude.  Her spirits were never dulled by anything, even the bills which we could no longer keep up with. Against her wishes, Candice still went out every day, looking for ways to make money, until cancer forced her to stay in bed. With her debt and my minimum wage job, I could not keep up with the medical expenses, and Candice knew this too, telling me on one occasion to stop getting the drugs to treat her. She had basically asked me to let her die, and she had done it with a smile on her face.

I would never understand the positive nature of my mother, where it came from, and how the woman could keep it in the face of impossible odds. I had lost my own positivity a long time ago as reality had smacked me in the face. The little which I had managed to save up looking to take care of Candice, had instead gone into treating my arm after the car accident. And now we were back to square one… But I was not going down without a fight.

“Oh yeah, an officer came by earlier. Said something about you calling him,” Candice began.

“Earlier?” I asked I had not left the house and we were having breakfast. “Earlier today?”

“No, I don’t… No, not today. Yesterday, I think. That was when you went to the grocery store, yes?”

I sighed. “Yeah. Thanks, Ma.”

I left the bedroom and went out to the balcony where I would take the call, away from the ears of my mother. As I stepped out, I spotted Carlos, the man from across the street who always took his time to say a kind word to everyone. I waved at him first, and he waved back.

“¿Cómo está tu madre?” Carlos yelled. “Your mother, how is she?”

“Madre está bien! Mom ‘s good… You?”

“The Superbowl is on!” Carlos yelled back, lifting his beer bottle before turning back to his radio.

I turned back to my phone and scrolled through the contacts to find the number that the police officer had given me. There was some fog on the screen of the flip phone, as water from the rain on the night I was hit had gotten into it. But thank God it was not badly damaged. I found the number and called.

I had woken up in a hospital the next day, picked up by a taxi driver who had come around the corner a second after the car that had hit me had disappeared. The driver picked me up and rushed me back to Merriweather, the same hospital I worked at. Once I was able to speak again, an officer was called in for me to talk to, and I had narrated the ordeal to him, with the main thing I recalled being the number plate of the car. It had CTRL1 written on it, and I took my time to make sure I remembered it since it was the only way to find who had done this.

“Hello? Officer Kensington?”

“Miss Doyle, hello. I came by yesterday and tried calling, but I couldn’t reach you.”

“Sorry, my mother just told me. How is it going?”

“Well, since you could not get the make of the car, we did run the plates through our system, and there were no matches. We checked with some of the top custom plate manufacturers, and there were no reports of plates like that either. I think our best bet is that the vehicle is not from the US; that’s why it’s not on our record. But I got word out for people to look out for the plates. If any officer spots it, we will find the person who hit you. Might just take some time.”

“I’m guessing you can’t tell me how long it would take?” I said, feeling the disappointment already.

“We wish we could work miracles like that. There is no telling. If I’m honest with you, I believe whoever has the vehicle is either gone, out of the state, or has already changed the plates to avoid detection. If they have enough money for a custom, they can get another one in an instant.”

“Thank you, officer,” I replied. “Call me if you get anything! You can always reach me here.”

“Of course,” Kensington replied. “Have a good day.”

I fell against the wall, letting out a breath of exhaustion. I had put a lot of hope on the fact that the police would find the bastard that had hit me. I was looking to press charges and get a settlement from the person. It was an expensive car, so obviously, the person would have some money. That money would help out around the house, get more meds for my mother, and cut down on some of our debt.

But now, the individual had most likely vanished into thin air. Now I was left with a fractured arm and a lot of bills that would be so exhausting for me to pay off. Living in debt was not something that I could do for much longer. I needed a break, a way to make more than the pennies I had. I wondered why they did not do the whole CCTV thing to find the vehicle. They would only have taken the case seriously if I had died. Without a murder on their hands, it seemed like they were just going to relax. I could not have that. I grabbed a note and walked over to my mother, taking away the dishes as she had finished eating. “Do you need anything, Ma?”

“You got that fountain of youth water? If not, leave me alone.” She said, trying to sound mean, though the smile on her face didn’t add to her role.

“Sure, I’ll be back in a bit,” I replied after rolling my eyes. “Take your medication!”

“Get me some cigarettes!” My mother yelled at me as she walked out.

“I will not be responsible for your death, Ma, love you!” Laughing, I left the house.

I walked down the stairs and began making my way down the street. I was given time off from work so I could heal, but I wasn’t taking it. I had only taken the day off so I could spend time with my mother. But once I was certain that there were no other injuries except for my arm, I would be back to work, despite the fact that Vanessa did not want me there. I did not want to be working with a broken arm, but I also needed money to buy food and support my mother.

Strolling to the end of the block, I went into an apartment building that was pretty similar to my own. I smiled at a buff guy at the entrance before I walked in, hoping that he was not going to be a problem. I made my way up the stairs and to the door, I was looking for. Someone was screaming inside the room, shouting at them to get cover. I sighed, realizing that the person who I had come to see was playing video games again. I banged against the door even louder, drawing his attention.

“Maria!”

“Hey, Johnny,” I replied, putting my good arm between myself and his hug, “Sorry, my arm.”

“Oh, damn shame! What happened?” Johnny replied. “Come in, come in!”

“Thanks.” I took a seat in the only chair that did not have clothes strewn over it. The house looked like a mess, with clothes everywhere and trash from takeout food piling beside the door. Johnny lived like a rat, but he was a very useful rat, one of the only ones in my entire block. We had both been friends since I moved in—he had helped my mother and I that day, and after a coffee, we had been close ever since.

“So, what happened? I don’t have any coffee, but I have a protein shake. You want that?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” I replied as he reached for a cup and began pouring. Then he stopped.

“Yeah, I think you’d rather not. I can’t tell if it was the caffeine or the lean I put in this, but it definitely would give you a kick you can’t handle.”

“Water is fine then,” I replied, nodding to one of the bottles of water which sat to the side of his gaming chair. He picked out one and passed it to me.

“So, the arm?”

“I got hit by a car,” I replied with a sour look.

“Damn shame… Broken?”

“Fractured. It hurt like a bitch for an entire week.”

Johnny perked up. “I got something for the pain.”

“If you are about to offer me your opioids, I’ll have to decline. I have my own pain meds.”

“Which you won’t supply me with. I mean I’m a dealer, and you are in contact with this stuff every day. Help me out, man!” Johnny replied with a big grin.

“You know my answer to that,” I replied.

“Whatever. So, what do you need help with?” Johnny asked, ruffling up his hair before looking at his hands.

“I got the plates on the car that hit me. I spoke to the police, but they don’t seem too keen on putting in the effort to find the guy who did this to me.”

“Alright, I got some guys who can help check that out. We can get your results in two, maybe three days, but it’ll cost you. I’m going to need a favor from you at some point, and I don’t want you backing out when I come to you.”

My shoulders dropped, “Come on, Johnny, you know how I feel about doing illegal stuff.”

“But you are fine with letting me do it for you, huh? Double standards all over the place with you folks.”

“Fine, I’ll owe you. But try as much as you can to make sure I don’t have to do something which would get me in trouble because I cannot have that… At all!”

“Whatever. Gimme’ the digits.”

“Control One,” I replied.

“What?”

“Like on the computer. C-T-R-L-1.”

“No, I heard you the first time. Are you sure that is the car that hit you?” Johnny asked, with his face locked in shock.

“Well, yes. Because I had my entire face up against the plates, so yeah. I made sure to memorize it before I passed out.”

“Yo, sorry, darling. I can’t help you out here.”

I frowned. “You haven’t even tried. Just get it to your people. I’m sure they can find the person. You said they do stuff like this; it was an expensive car too.”

“A Cadillac, yeah. But trust me on this one, Maria, you don’t want to deal with any of this.”

“So, you know who it is?”

“Yeah, I do. Listen, I can’t help you. Even if I wanted to, I would be in too much trouble.”

“No one is going to know that it was you, and all I want is some money from him. I’m broke, Johnny, and you know the situation with my mom. I have to get treatment for her, and now I have extra medical expenses over my head with this accident. I can’t deal with all of this. I need the money. I could just talk to him, not even go to court, just see if he is willing to go for a settlement, anything that could just help me out,” I pleaded.

Johnny stood up. “Maria, this guy is a monster. You do not want to get on his bad side, you got me? If you go to him telling him that you don’t want to have to take him to court, threatening him, not only would you lose, he would make you disappear. You do not want his money or anything to do with him. I understand how things are, I get it. But as a friend who knows this part of the world better than you, take me up on this one: drop it.”

“But Johnny, I…”

“Drop it, Maria. For your mom’s sake, too.”

I got to my feet, sealing the bottle of water, “You know I am doing everything I can to make sure that I have a home, and I thought you’d understand as a friend, I thought you’d want to help me! You come to me with cuts, and I stitch you up. Now that I’m the one who is at your front door, bleeding, you won’t even hand me a band-aid,” I said, feeling my disappointment growing. I was determined to find whoever this guy was, but no one seemed willing to help. “It’s fine, I see how it is now. Thanks for telling me the make of the car. I got something else I can give the cops.”

I walked out of the building, fuming. Who was in the car that had made Johnny so scared? Whoever it was, they were powerful enough that a street drug dealer did not even want to utter their name. I considered calling the officer and giving him the description of the black Cadillac, but that would not do much. So, I decided to consider Johnny’s warnings, regardless of how angry they made me. He lived a dangerous life, and if he warned me of something that scared him, I certainly had to heed his warning.  It did not mean that I would let it go. I was going to find out who the man that had scared Johnny so badly was. I’d find the bastard who had hit me with his car and hadn’t bothered to see if I was still alive.

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