Author: Bryce Keene

Don’t miss your link for the whole series at the end of the preview.

Chapter One

SIENNA

I tug the hem of my dress down for the fifth time in about thirty seconds. It doesn’t help. The dress still looks illegal. The black silk clings to my body like a second skin, the neckline dipping low enough that if my older sister, Eleonora, saw me right now, she’d throw holy water at me.

I take a deep breath, keep my shoulders relaxed, and stare ahead at the entrance of the mansion glowing gold against the dark hills outside the city.

Luxury cars snake around the circular driveway, and more splendidly dressed guests drift out. Glittering gowns, expensive suits, shiny watches, fake laughter. I swear the whole thing is like a rich cult.

Unease crawls through me.

If someone comes close to recognizing me tonight, it’ll be my funeral by morning. I’ve never deluded myself into thinking my father is above ending my life if I no longer serve him. And right now, where he’s concerned, I’m walking a slippery slope.

The line moves forward.

The woman in front of me laughs as the guards scan her invitation.

I glance down at mine again. It’s fake. The original one belonged to my father. Fortunately, Massimo Caruso thinks parties involving masks and anonymous sex are “desperate displays of weak men seeking attention.” Since he had no intention of attending, I stole—no, borrowed—the invitation card from his office and altered the name.

The paper suddenly feels light in my hands.

What if they notice?

What if they contact my father?

The guard waves the next guest through, and then his attention lands on me. Massimo will never win the Father of the Year award anytime soon, but one thing he taught us in spades was courage.

There are two guards in front of me, and they both look like they bench press trucks for fun. But I step forward sassily, and flash them a smile. The larger guard holds out his hand.

“Invitation.”

I place the card into his palm carefully and pray to every available deity. The guard scans it once. Then nods.

“Enjoy your evening, Miss Caruso.”

He steps aside and opens the door.

The first thing that hits me is the sound. Moans. I stop just past the doorway, my eyes widening behind my mask. Everywhere I look, people are having sex. Wild, animalistic sex.

My gaze is drawn to a woman perched on the lap of a man old enough to have seen the first fossils form. He’s swallowing her face, while another man rubs his bare cock across her back.

Another woman is pushed against the wall, her expensive dress bunched around her waist while her partner pounds relentlessly into her.

My face heats, and I’m glad I have the mask on.

Goodness gracious.

I knew this was a masked sex party, but still…

I hate the fact that for once in my life, I agree with my father. Parties like this are absolutely deplorable and very well beneath me.

Which reminds me of why I’m here.

Think, Sienna, think.

I don’t need much. Just enough information to destroy my sister’s engagement to Alessandro Gallo.

If my own scandal hadn’t ruined me in my father’s eyes, I’d be the one promised to the Gallo family instead of Camilla. I was supposed to marry Matteo Gallo, Alessandro’s older brother, until I ran away with my boyfriend, Domenico.

The thought twists something ugly in my chest.

I thought I would finally escape my father’s clutches. I thought I was in love with him, but now I know better. Domenico as a ticket out of my father’s autocracy and my brain disguised it as love. I was so desperate I didn’t even see that I was putting his life in danger. My father caught us, Domenico paid the ultimate price. Now I’m back and my father treats me worse than ever.

I already destroyed my own future. I won’t let Camilla’s future disappear too.

I scan the room again.

I’ve heard rumors that Alessandro wants an alliance with the Kuznetsov Bratva. If this is true—and I hope to God that it is— then the marriage cannot happen.

The Carusos and Kuznetsovs hate each other too much. My father, as desperate as he is for a power alliance, would not risk one with the Gallos if he finds out they’re meeting the Kuznetsov behind closed doors.

I’m here tonight to confirm those rumors. All I need is proof, except I don’t know where to start. All around me, people are either fucking each other’s brains out, or talking in hushed whispers.

I walk briskly to the farthest end of the room, only stopping when I’m certain I’m out of public eyesight. But when I finally lift my head, the air is punched straight out of my lungs.

A few feet away from me is Alessandro.

He has a black mask on, and it covers his whole face, but it’s him, I know it’s him. I’ve never met anyone who looks quite like him. No, it’s not a compliment. I’d rather cut out my tongue and stuff it up my ass. It’s simply an irritating fact.

It’s the build…

The man is ridiculously tall, standing above every other man in the room. His broad shoulders taper into a lean waist, and his impossibly long legs are encased in tailored black pants.

He wears a white dress shirt with half the buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to reveal corded, muscular forearms. I can see the serpent coiled tightly up his left arm. I roll my eyes. From his stance, I can practically feel the arrogance radiating off him. He’s deep in conversation with a group of men, which reminds me why I’m here.

I tear my gaze away and shuffle closer, pretending to be enthralled by one of the nearby “sex activities” while I inch toward them. I’m finally close enough to hear that annoying, gravelly deep voice of his.

Ugh. This man grates on my nerves.

“I don’t trust anyone,” he says coldly. “But I understand the need for leverage. That’s why I need the Kuznetsovs.”

My breath catches. Yes! He just said it himself! The rumors were right, after all.

One of the men, one with a brown suit that is one size too small, says, “the Union won’t like Russians getting that close to the Gallos.”

Alessandro shrugs his impossibly broad shoulders. I bet he has to have all his clothes custom made.

“It’s a risk I must take,” he answers with finality. “The Bratva will give me more soldiers, ports, and access overseas. Marriage to the Carusos will stabilize New York politically. Together, nobody touches my position.”

My heartbeat stutters.

Arrogant prick!

I’m about to turn away when a masked man touches my arm.

“Hi, beautiful.”

I jerk away from the unwanted touch, trip over my heel, and gravity fails me. I’m falling. But I don’t hit the ground. Strong arms circle my waist, pulling me against a hard chest. Dark and spicy cologne hits my nose, and it takes all my willpower to not lean in and take a big whiff.

“Eyes on the ground, bella,” a deep voice murmurs near my ear.

My stomach drops.

Alessandro-damn-Gallo.

Up close, he’s somehow worse. Terrifyingly masculine. Intimidating. I’ve never been this close to him before. My first instinct is to push and run the other way, but something tells me not to.

Although I know him, he doesn’t know me. He’s never officially met me. I smile lightly, praying the mask and makeup are doing their job.

“Thank you,” I say. “I tripped.”

His eyes move over my face slowly. There’s something assessing about his gaze. Before I can react, I feel light fingers on the strands of my hair. I usually wear my hair back, sleek, but tonight, for a different look, I let it down. A gasp tears out of me when he lightly tugs on the strand, causing my neck to arch.

Heat creeps into my cheeks.

From the corner of my eye, I notice the other men quietly drifting away, giving Alessandro privacy without being told. My breath stutters and I pull out of his grasp. His arm drops, letting me go.

Before I can speak, he does, “You don’t look comfortable.”

I glance around dramatically at the surrounding chaos.

“It’s hard to be,” I quip, with all the confidence I don’t feel. “I prefer my fun a bit more private.”

Something sparkles in his eyes. I think it’s amusement, but it’s gone before I can make sense of it.

He cocks his head at me. “You’ve never been to this house before.”

It wasn’t a question. My pulse flickers.

“How can you tell?” I ask playfully, keeping the tension out of my voice.

He watches me silently for another long moment. “Come,” he says finally. “I’ll show you around.”

I find myself nodding. Anything to get new information. And not to be here alone. I’m that desperate.

“That sounds exactly like the beginning of a murder documentary,” I chuckle.

“If I planned to kill you, bella, I wouldn’t start with a tour.”

He gives me his back as he strides away, expecting me to follow. Of course, I do.

The atmosphere changes the farther we go. The foyer had felt performative, but here, deeper inside, it feels much more intimate. It doesn’t escape my notice that he’d said we were going on a tour of the house, but so far, we’ve just been walking past rooms. He clearly has a destination in mind.

“Why are you showing me around?” I ask. “Is this your house or something?”

“Or something.”

“I see. What kind of business requires masks and public indecency?”

“Private business.”

What’s with him and his annoying two-word answers?

And how do I bring up the Kuznetsovs without risking myself?

Alessandro stops before a door and pushes it open. A breath whooshes out of me as I come upon the most shocking scene of the night yet. Two men. Two women. The women have cocks. While the men have pussies.

My mouth hangs open and I take one step back. Alessandro pauses in the doorway, then shuts the door.

“You blush easily.”

Normally, I’d have a comeback ready, but not right now. I’m still a little thrown by what I just saw. Alessandro approaches the next door. This time when we enter, it’s empty. It’s a bedroom of sorts, and just as I turn to ask what we’re doing here, he locks the door, and slips the key into his breast-pocket.

Suddenly the room feels smaller. My panic rises as the claustrophobia takes over. My gaze strays to the window, and when I find it open, the fresh night air moving the curtains slightly, the tightness in my chest loosens.

Alessandro still stands near the door, watching me. I’ve heard so many stories about him. Many say he’s cruel, violent, ruthless. But no one mentioned his intensity.

“What am I doing here?” I ask carefully, proud that my voice sounds steadier than I feel.

His gaze drifts from my mask to my heels.

“You’re clearly not one of the invited guests,” he says. “How did you get an invite?”

I swallow. Is he on to me? The need to get out of here —alive—is stronger than ever. I plaster a smile on my face and slowly walk toward him.

“I wanted to have some fun, so I stole the card,” I answer, light and cheeky. “Is that what you want to hear?”

I’m in front of him now, only a hair’s breadth between us. The air between us is thick, heavy with an electric current that threatens to snap at any second. Before I can say more, Alessandro slides his fingers into my hair, tightening his grip at the back of my head, and tugs once, forcing my face up toward his. Heat sparks violently through me.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my lips, sending a shiver straight down my spine. “Trembling before I’ve even touched you.”

With his other hand, he slowly takes off his mask, revealing his sharp, striking face. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against mine without quite taking them, teasing me until I’m practically begging for the contact.

“You want this,” he whispers against my skin, his voice a low, gravelly command. “Show me how much you want it.”

Then he lowers his head fully. My lips part just as his mouth crashes over mine. The kiss tastes like violence. Like fire. It devastates me, wiping off every other physical encounter I’ve had. His tongue tangles with mine hungrily, claiming my mouth with an intense, possessive heat, while his free hand slides down my neck, his thumb tracing the racing pulse at my throat before moving lower to bruise the sensitive skin of my collarbone.

I’m no virgin. Domenico and I were together for months before he died. But this kiss alone, the sheer filth and hunger of it, feels more intense than anything I ever experienced with him, which immediately fills me with guilt. Alarm bells start screaming somewhere in my head.

This is wrong. I should shove him away. My hands slide against his chest slowly, feeling hard muscle beneath the thin white shirt. I let my fingers drift up casually, toward the breast-pocket, where he slid the key.

Just before I can reach it, Alessandro catches my wrist. He breaks the kiss suddenly, a dark, knowing smirk playing on his lips.

“Did you really think you could play me?” he growls, his grip tightening.

He spins me around and pushes me onto the bed. A sharp gasp escapes me as warmth floods between my legs.

What is happening to me?

Alessandro stalks forward like a predator cornering its prey. He grabs my ankles, yanking hard until my backside hits the edge of the bed, then he pushes my dress up to my waist. I usually have more underwear under my clothing, but for tonight, because of this flimsy dress, I had to go with just panties. I’ve never felt so exposed.

“Look at you,” he purrs, his eyes dark with pure heat as he stares down at me. “Dressed like a whore for me, begging for it.”

He should not be speaking to me like this, yet his words send heat straight to my pussy. Why do I like this?

“Alessandro,” I gasp, my voice shaking.

He smirks, leaning over me, his hands pinning my wrists above my head. “You know who I am.”

I start to shake my head, but he ignores me. “That means you know exactly what I’m capable of doing to you.”

Before I can respond, he releases my wrists only to push my knees back toward my face until I’m bent in half, completely open to him.

“Stay right there,” he says, like he’s talking to a child. “Don’t you dare move a single inch.”

I frown and am about to spring off the bed, but he’s already leaning down, his hot breath anchoring me in place.

“Let’s see how wet you are for me, slut,” he whispers filthily against my bare skin.

He shifts my panties to the side and gives a long, deliberate lick from my ass to my pussy, before burying his face between my thighs and sucking my clit deeply into his mouth.

I moan so loud that shame floods me.

My whole body spasms, and my hands scramble to fist the silk sheets. Alessandro is relentless. His tongue is rough, swirling around my sensitive clit like he’s punishing me for something.

Every time he sucks, a new wave of heat rolls through me. I’m not a vocal person during sex, I just moan here and there. But I can’t stay still now. I’m thrashing so hard, Alessandro snakes an arm around my waist to lock me in place.

“Please…” I cry. “Please…”

He ignores my plea, and gives me another long lick. My body is tingling, and my legs are spread wider than I knew they could go. When Alessandro sinks his teeth softly into my clit, I explode with another loud cry. Visions of white burst behind my eyes, and for a moment, I’m transported to another realm.

I’m still in the throes of the most powerful orgasm when he pulls back just enough to look up at me, his mouth wet with my fluids, a dark, wicked smirk on his face.

“Tell me how good that felt,” he commands, his voice low and dripping with arrogance. “Say it. Tell me no one has ever made you scream like that.”

“No…” I pant, shaking my head blindly as the aftershocks roll through me.

He grabs my hips, digging his fingers into my skin. “Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. Look at how you’re shaking. Look at how much you’re leaking for me. Admit it. You’ve never felt anything like this in your life, have you?”

“No,” I finally sob out. “Let me go!”

Alessandro chuckles, a dark, victorious sound that vibrates against my thighs. “I thought so. I wonder what kind of fucking fumblers you’ve been with before me that never gave you a real orgasm.”

Humiliation slams into me so fast I practically launch myself off the bed.

“You jerk! I—” My traitorous legs give out.

Alessandro is there, catching me in his arms again, his cologne detailing my train of thoughts. He’s staring so intensely, I touch my mask to confirm it’s still there.

I have a gazillion questions to ask, but it’s been confirmed that my body cannot properly function around him, so it’s important that I leave immediately!

I clear my throat and force my voice steady. “Let’s return to the party.”

To my surprise, he nods. I follow him to the door, willing myself to stay still as he twists the key into the lock. The moment the door swings open, I don’t just run, I pivot on my heel and drive the heel of my shoe straight between his legs, kicking him square in the balls with every ounce of strength I have left.

Alessandro doubles over with a strangled gasp, completely breathless and dropping to his knees. That will buy me the time I need so he doesn’t come after me.

Before he can even recover, I bolt.

I slip past him into the hallway and hurry down the corridor without looking back, my pulse hammering wildly.

I need to get out of this mansion.

Now.

Chapter Two

Alessandro

I stare through the tinted windows of the car as the gates to the Caruso mansion slide open slowly. Too slowly for my patience that’s already running thin this morning. I like to think I’m a levelheaded man, but with my cousin Luca, the senior capo of the Gallo organization, hard at my heels, I’m in the mood for blood. But that will have to wait until after my meeting with Massimo.

As we drive down the winding path, Massimo’s home rises against the gray morning sky. Armed guards patrol the perimeter like soldiers protecting a small country instead of one aging mafia boss and his prissy daughters.

One of them, Camilla, is about to be my wife. I can’t say I’m thrilled about getting hitched to a starry-eyed girl with no clue how the real world works, but it’s an important alliance.

The Carusos are a big name here in New York, and I need all the support I can get right now. If that means marrying a prude, I will. As long as Camilla keeps quiet and her nose out of my business, the marriage will work.

Beside me, Valerio chuckles as he parks the car. He’s my underboss, and currently the only person I trust. He’s been with me since I was a nobody in Italy, and chose to return with me to America to claim my position as the Don of the Gallo family.

There’ve been many complaints about me making him an underboss since he’s not Gallo blood, but I have no problem explaining myself to whoever is bold enough to ask to my face.

“You look irritated already,” Valerio says.

“I am. Let’s get this over with.” I push the door open.

“Is this a good idea?” Valerio rushes. “You’re in a bad mood. And you don’t even like Massimo—”

I cut him off by stepping out of the car and swinging the door shut, my gaze sweeping toward the guard approaching us.

Valerio is right about one thing. I don’t like Massimo. He’s a haughty, scheming, power-hungry geezer who looks down his nose at others.

He doesn’t know I know this, but when I first came to America, he wanted nothing to do with me. I still remember the look on his face during those early meetings with the other families. Like I was some feral dog dragged in from the streets.

But now that I’ve fought my way to the top and carved my throne with the carcass of my enemies, he’s willing to hand over his daughter. I’d be eating out of his skull for lunch if I didn’t need him, too.

The guard stops in front of me just as Valerio reaches my side.

“Mr. Gallo,” he says respectfully.

I adjust the cuffs of my black coat once. “I’m here to see Mr. Caruso.”

The guard hesitates only briefly before nodding.

“Of course.”

We’re ushered into the foyer moments later. It’s a huge space, and it reminds me of the mansion last night. The memory makes my jaw tighten.

Long, silky dark brown hair that made my cock hard. Warm, hazel eyes. Smart mouth that made me want in a way I’ve never wanted before. Interesting woman. Terrible liar.

And gone before I could figure out who the hell she actually was.

The thought irritates me more than it should.

“Wait here, sir,” the guard says. “I’ll tell Mr. Caruso you’re waiting.” He disappears upstairs.

Valerio glances at me once the guard is out of hearing range.

“You think the old man’s going to fight you on this?”

“He won’t. As long as I marry his daughter, the date makes no difference to him.”

But it makes all the difference to me. I need to act. Now.

Luca believes the leadership belongs to him, not me. To my annoyance, he’s moving faster than expected. Pushing harder with the elders. Making promises to men who already resent me for coming back from Italy and taking control of the family. The Kuznetsov negotiations help, but they aren’t enough on their own. I need the Caruso alliance secured immediately before Luca creates bigger problems.

Movement in the stairway catches our attention.

Massimo is standing at the top of the it in a black suit, holding a walking cane embellished with the Caruso crest. His beady black eyes glint at me. He’s probably annoyed that I came unannounced. I don’t care. If he’s waiting for an apology, he won’t be getting one.

Behind him, three women appear.

His daughters.

Camilla is the one I recognize first. My future wife. Pretty. Soft. She doesn’t hold my attention, which I absolutely prefer. I want a wife, not a distraction.

I let my gaze drift to the lady beside her. Probably the youngest Caruso. Small, delicate features, youthful. She’s clinging to the third one in the group.

When I look at the third, she’s already glaring at me. There’s fire in this one, and it sends blood straight to my cock.

Fuck.

I slowly take her in.

Dark hair pulled back in a neat bun. Olive skin that catches the light. Slender frame, feminine curves that’ll make any man hard as granite.

Am I a bastard for staring at my future sister-in-law? Maybe. But I’ve never claimed to be a good man.

I catch her gaze again. This time, I’m tempted to smirk.

She’s welcome to fly down those stairs and strike me if she likes. Whatever I’ve done to earn her ire, I’m more than ready to double the offense.

The sharp click of a cane against marble cuts through the heightened tension. Massimo descends the staircase, eventually coming to a halt a few feet away. His daughters follow.

“Alessandro,” he says, his voice gravelly. “You haven’t met all my daughters.”

He turns slightly toward them.

“Of course, you know Camilla. Your bride-to-be.”

Camilla offers a forced, brittle smile. I offer nothing but a curt nod in return.

“And this,” Massimo continues, “is Daniela. My youngest.”

“Good morning,” Daniela says, her smile looking just as strained as her sister’s.

I give another nod. It’s all I’m capable of right now.

“And this is Sienna.”

The fiery one.

Now that she’s closer, the warm hazel of her eyes does something treacherous to my head—and my cock. Thankfully, my briefs are doing a damn good job of keeping my reaction hidden.

I never forget a face, and something tells me I’ve seen hers before. The other sisters are beautiful in a conventional sense, but Sienna is beautiful in a more specific way I prefer. I can’t explain the pull, and I hate that I can’t.

My lips deliberately curl into a smirk, and I watch with satisfaction as her eyes explode into a private inferno. Beneath my slacks, I harden further.

There’s a problem here.

Between the masked woman from last night and Sienna, my cock is acting like a stray. I’ve always been a man of discipline; I don’t know why my body’s rebelling now. Maybe because I haven’t had sex in two weeks. I should rectify that today.

Massimo gestures with his cane toward the sitting area in the foyer.

“Let’s have a seat. I have a feeling this is important.”

He claims a single armchair while the three sisters crowd onto the larger sofa. My eyes trail back to Sienna, savoring the way she can’t seem to look away from me either.

A sudden, vivid image flashes through my mind. Of Sienna on her knees, those wide, glistening eyes looking up at me while I fuck her throat. The thought is so violent, that a curse slips past my teeth out loud. I plunge right into my business before I embarrass myself any further.

“I’m here regarding the marriage scheduled for next month.”

From the corner of my eye, I see the sisters’ hands find each other, their fingers locking tight.

Do they think I’m about to call it off? I’m sure that would make them ecstatic.

“I didn’t peg you as a man who went back on his word, Alessandro,” Massimo says, his voice like grinding stones. “We had a deal. You marry my daughter.”

I nod. “I’m not going back on my word. I want the wedding moved up. Instead of next month, I want to marry your daughter in two weeks.”

A strangled cry erupts from the sofa. It’s Camilla. Her sisters immediately converge on her, holding her as she begins to fall apart.

I notice Massimo doesn’t even glance in her direction. A father shouldn’t be so desensitized to his daughter’s pain, but I’d be a pretentious bastard if I claimed to care. I didn’t exactly grow up bathed in fatherly love and I sure as hell don’t care how Massimo distributes his.

Massimo gives a single, sharp nod. “I agree.”

“Of course, you agree.”

It’s Sienna. I finally turn, and she’s so fucking glorious as she glares at me. I’ve killed men for less, and yes, I want to punish Sienna’s insolence, too, but not with death.

“Sienna.” Massimo’s voice is curt, and I have a feeling this tone used to work on her before. It doesn’t right now.

“At least, have the decency to look at your daughter as you sell her to the highest bidder, father.”

A muscle ticks in Massimo’s jaw, but he keeps his gaze locked on me.

I’m not looking at him, though. I’m focused entirely on Sienna. She shakes her head at her father and finally turns. I hold her gaze, daring her to look away. She doesn’t. Instead, she stands taller.

“And if you’re so desperate for a wife, at least have the decency to speak to her before making a decision!”

I let my gaze land on Camilla for a beat, before rising back to Sienna.

“Why? Of what use is her opinion to me?”

My words have the desired effect because the hazel in Sienna’s eyes turns into a literal tornado. I almost laugh, which is strange considering I can’t remember the last time I felt the urge.

“You bastard!” she spits. “This is the only way you could ever get a wife. By buying one. No respectable woman with a brain would ever want a man like you.”

I have a dozen retorts ready to fuel her fire, but I’ve gone cold. The lines between this morning and last night are blurring.

Sienna’s voice. Her eyes. Her ire. The specific way her lips move. It’s all blending into the memory of the masked woman. It’s uncanny. It’s impossible. There is no way Massimo would have let his daughter attend an event like that. Everyone in our world knows how he guards them. And yet… I can’t shake the feeling.

“Of course, you’ve got nothing to say,” she continues, undeterred by my silence. “Men like you belong in hell!”

“Enough!” Massimo’s voice is low and dangerous. “You are forgetting your place.”

Sienna’s chest rises and falls, and I feel a spark of irritation when she breaks my gaze to look at her father.

“Someone had to say it—”

“Enough!” He snaps, shutting her up again. “Someone has to learn when and how to speak, and I will gladly teach you.”

Camilla flinches again on the sofa. Daniela lowers her gaze. Sienna meets her father’s gaze squarely, but it doesn’t fool me. I see the fear she’s masking, the way her body braces for impact, and my blood ices in my veins. A red haze stains my vision, and I struggle with the urge to drive a knife straight into Massimo’s old heart.

“My apologies, Alessandro.” Massimo turns to me. “Since we only have two weeks, I suggest you and Camilla meet for lunch tomorrow. You should at least attempt to get to know one another.”

Camilla lets out another broken gasp. This time, Sienna doesn’t reach for her. Instead, she turns and stalks out of the foyer. Just as she reaches the stairs to disappear from sight, she pulls the pins in her bun out. A waterfall of long, rich brown hair tumbles down her back.

The sight is like a physical blow to my skull. I would recognize that hair anywhere.

Sienna is the masked woman from last night.

The shift in me is immediate. I want to own her. I want that hair wrapped like a silk rope around my fist as I take her from behind. I rise to my feet, my body tense. I would plow through anyone who tries to stop me from finishing what I started last night.

“Let me talk to her,” I tell Massimo.

His brow furrows. “Why? As you said, her opinion doesn’t matter. I will deal with her myself.”

The red haze begins to cloud my vision again at the thought of Massimo dealing with Sienna. Only the thought of me getting my hands on her stops it from taking over.

“Give me a moment,” I say, not waiting for his permission.

I stride out of the room, tracking her up the stairs. She’s moving fast, her heels clicking against the stone, her hips swaying with a defiant, angry energy under the fabric of her dress.

That gorgeous curtain of brown hair bounces against her lower back with every step she takes, catching the dim light of the hallway.

Watching it swing against her curves only tightens the knot of hunger in my gut. She looks small in the sprawling, cold hallway, but her posture is stiff with pride.

I close the distance stealthily, my shadow overtaking hers on the wall just as she reaches the intersection of the gallery. Before she can turn the corner, I step into her path, cutting off her escape route and forcing her to a sudden, jarring halt.

I don’t give her room to breathe. I step directly into her personal space, looming over her until she has no choice but to tilt her chin up to look at me.

“You and I have met before, bella,” I say, my voice dropping.

Her eyes go wide. “You’re crazy.”

“Am I?” I step into her space, crowding her against the wall. The tension between us is so thick it’s suffocating. “Does your father know his little daughter spends her nights at sex parties?”

Her face goes pale, and she opens her mouth to lie. I don’t let her. I fist my hand in her hair, yanking her head back. She claws at my wrist, her nails digging into my skin to break my grip, but it only exposes the delicate column of her throat.

Against my better judgement, I lean in, my lips grazing the sensitive skin. I shift my other hand, reaching between her thighs, pressing firmly against her heat.

Her eyes drift close, but they open immediately again as she forces herself to look me in the eye despite the way her pulse races. “You don’t get to touch me whenever you feel like it.”

“But I do,” I answer, leaking closer. “Tell me, Sienna,” I growl against her skin. “Do you regret that we didn’t go further last night? Is that why you’ve been mad at me since you walked in? Hmm?”

“In your dreams,” she breathes, though she whimpers the moment my pressure deepens.

I almost lose it.

Fucking fuck.

I should stay away from her. She’s everything I don’t need right now. But I crave her fire, and the submissive streak she displays when I’m near makes the burn all the more worthwhile.

I want her.

I suddenly pull back.

“You bastard!” she fires at me, eyes blazing. “Don’t mistake my body for permission,” she says, shoving against my chest. “Those are two very different things.”

“I suggest you return to the foyer, Sienna. I have an important announcement to make. You won’t want to miss it.”

I turn and walk away, not needing to look back to know she’ll follow. When I re-enter the foyer, Massimo is waiting for me to take my seat. A moment later, Sienna appears, her bun pinned back at her nape. She looks composed. I want to ruin her. And I will.

I look directly at Massimo.

“I want to change more than just the date.”

His grip on his cane tightens. “What else could you possibly want, Alessandro?”

“I want to change my bride,” I say smoothly. I let my gaze settle on Sienna, watching the color drain from her face. “I’m marrying Sienna instead.” 

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Chapter One

Eleonora

I sit across from Sienna, the limousine gliding through Manhattan, as we head to the cathedral. Full escort trailing us, two SUVs front and back.

Camilla is already working the fastenings on Sienna’s gown, her fingers quick and practiced as she loosens the delicate buttons running down her back. The car sways slightly beneath us, the steady hum of the engine filling the tight space while fabric rustles and beads clink softly against one another.

Sienna’s hands are shaking as she grips the edge of the seat, her breathing uneven. It breaks my heart to see my little sister like this.

“Are you still sure?” Her voice comes out small, barely above the low rumble of the road beneath us.

I don’t hesitate. I nod once.

She swallows hard, her legs bouncing beneath the layers of tulle as Camilla carefully lifts the heavy skirt up and over her hips.

I reach across and cover Sienna’s hands with mine, stilling them. My thumbs brush over her knuckles, grounding her.

“Breathe, Si,” I murmur. “It’s going to go exactly the way we organized.”

She lets out a shaky exhale and nods.

We’ve planned this for weeks and it’s finally happening. Domenico is waiting, somewhere beyond the hedges at the cathedral, ready to take her out of this life the second she reaches him.

It’s risky, I know, but I won’t let her end up like the rest of us, chained to some man who sees her only as an acquisition. We’re all headed for that cage eventually. At least one of us gets out.

Rosalia and Daniela, our other sisters are already at the church with father. As long as the bride arrives veiled, no one will notice anything. Well at least until it’s time to kiss the bride.

Andrea Gallo won’t be happy when the veil comes up and it’s my face staring back at him instead of Sienna’s. He’s not the type to shrug off a bait-and-switch, even if the contract technically holds. One Caruso daughter is as good as another on paper. But men like him don’t care about fine print when their pride is involved.

He’ll see it as disrespect. I’ve heard the stories about how possessive he is, how much he’s ruled by pride. I can already picture the look on his face, the things he’d do to me for this.

Sienna steps out of her dress carefully, goosebumps rising on her arms in the cool air of the car. I step in. The silk is still warm from her body. Camilla yanks the bodice tight around me, hooks snap into place, zipper glides up. We’re almost the same height, same shape, and the dress fits like it was always meant for me.

Next come the jewels. Rings slide off Sienna’s fingers onto mine. Bracelets clasp around my wrists. The Caruso heirloom necklace, emerald and old gold, settles against my collarbone, a symbol our father loves more than his daughters.

Camilla adjusts each piece with meticulous care until there’s nothing left to distinguish me from the bride I’m replacing.

Sienna and I have always looked alike. With only a year between us, we have same height, similar body, the same dark hair and bone structure. Enough resemblance that, under a veil, no one will see the difference they aren’t looking for.

I lower the veil myself. Lace falls over my face, softening the world into pale shadows.

Sienna’s eyes are glassy. She reaches up, touches my cheek through the veil like she’s memorizing me. “I don’t know how to thank you for this, El.”

“You don’t have to.” My voice stays steady. “Just go. Be happy. That’s the only payment I want. Live for us.”

Since Mama died, it’s always been us against the world. With Rosalia married off to Luciano, that leaves me. I look out for the younger ones. I absorb what I can so they don’t have to.

Papa never hid how much he resents the hand he was dealt. Five daughters. No sons. He says it out loud sometimes, “I built an empire, and I have to leave it to are girls who’ll spread their legs for the next man with a better offer.”

The truth is he sees us as nothing but bargaining chips.

The convoy rolls to a final, smooth stop. My breath catches. Through the veil, the cathedral comes into view. Guests are already gathered outside, a polished crowd in tailored suits and couture dresses.

At the base of the steps, Papa waits, hands clasped behind his back, mouth drawn into a thin line. He’s meant to walk Sienna down the aisle. I can feel his irritation from here. He hates waiting. We took longer than we should have back at the house, running through the plan one last time.

If he were not in public, he’d have lashed out. But there are witnesses, and appearances matter.

The door opens. Cool air rushes in, carrying the faint scent of roses which makes me nauseous. Security, two of our men in black, flank the exit. I step out first, Camilla right beside me. I keep my head lowered, eyes fixed on the stone path. The heavy silk of the gown drags slightly with each step.

Behind us, Sienna follows. She’s wrapped in a dark silk scarf Camilla pressed into her hands before the door opened, the fabric draped neatly over her head and around her neck.

Her hair is tucked beneath it, only a few loose strands visible at the edges. With her head bowed, her face stays mostly hidden. She pretends to fuss with the train of my dress, smoothing invisible wrinkles.

Papa’s gaze sweeps over us. I feel it like heat on my skin, even through the lace. He steps forward, ready to offer his arm to the bride.

Camilla moves before he can reach me. “Sienna’s train caught on the step back there,” she says quickly.

He opens his mouth, probably to snap, so Camilla quickly adds, “It’s a small tear, but you know how these photographers are. One good shot of a ripped hem and it’s all over the society pages. We’ll fix it in thirty seconds.”

“Eleonora, make sure you take off that hideous scarf before coming into the church,” he snaps, pointing at Sienna who tries her best to sound like me as she continues to fuss with my dress. “Yes, papa.”

She’s good, because he doesn’t even notice the difference. Camila hooks her hand firmly around my arm, and steers me away from him. “It won’t take long. I promise.”

We slip left.

Sienna and I peel away from the main path, turning into the narrow side garden corridor. Roses line the walls, thorns catching at the chiffon as I move faster than the dress allows.

Gravel crunches softly beneath my shoes as the noise of the crowd fades behind us. The corridor is narrow, hedges rising high on either side, blocking sightlines from the cathedral steps.

“I will stay back and keep watch,” Camilla says, briefly hugging Sienna. She whispers something in her ear before letting her go.

At the end of the path, a matte-black sedan waits. Domenico stands beside it, leaning against the driver’s side. His eyes lock on Sienna the second she appears, and something raw flickers across his face. Relief.

Sienna reaches for me, hands gripping my arms as she pulls me into a quick, fierce embrace, face buried against my shoulder. Her voice breaks on the words. “Thank you. God, Eleonora, thank you.”

I wrap my arms around her. “Go,” I whisper against her hair. “Before the next security sweep.”

She nods, tears soaking into the lace. Then she pulls away, straightens her spine, and steps toward him.

Domenico doesn’t hesitate. He takes her hand and threads his fingers through hers. He gives me a nod.

He’s one of Papa’s soldiers. Sienna met him a year ago at one of Papa’s events, when he was assigned to security. She’s been in love with him ever since. And Papa has no idea they’ve been sneaking around right under his nose. I’m happy they finally get to be together.

Within seconds, they’re gone. I watch until they’re completely out of sight.

A small, fierce happiness blooms in my chest. She’s free. Sienna’s finally getting the thing none of us were ever supposed to have: a happily ever after.

In our world, happily ever after is a myth we’re raised to stop believing in early. Marriages aren’t about love, they’re about leverage. Men take mistresses openly, parade them without shame, while their wives learn to look the other way. If you’re lucky, that’s all you endure. If you’re not… well, some men don’t stop at cheating. Some talk with their fists.

But Domenico? He looks at Sienna like she hung the moon and the stars just for him. He worships her. And she loves him back, the kind of love that makes you stupid and brave at the same time.

They have what the rest of us will never touch. The fact that she’s going to have it, gives me the courage to turn back toward the cathedral instead of running after her. If one of us gets a chance at a life chosen freely, then this is worth it. Worth whatever comes next.

I have no idea where they’re headed. It’s better that way. If Papa decides to hunt them down, none of us can give him answers. Not even under pressure.

I let out a slow breath that fogs the lace in front of my mouth. One sister safe. One life spared the cage. I turn back toward the chapel path. The roses snag at my skirt again as I move.

I lift the veil slightly, just enough to readjust it.

Before I can take another step, a deep baritone slices through the quiet behind, startling me. “Usually, brides don’t sneak around on their wedding day.”

Ice floods my spine. I stop mid-stride.

I lower the veil slowly and turn. He stands a few paces away, as if he’s grown out of the garden itself. Where the hell did he come from? The garden was empty a second ago. I’m sure of it. My gaze flicks to the rose bushes behind him. How long has this man been standing there?

Did he see Sienna leave? The thought crashes through me so fast my chest goes tight. My eyes dart toward the side gate where she disappeared with Domenico. They are gone now. But what if he saw?

A cold wave of panic creeps up my spine. If he knows, if he tells Papa—

The entire plan collapses.

Papa will drag Sienna back before she even reaches the city limits. Domenico won’t make it out alive. Papa will make sure of that.

No.

That can’t happen.

Not before the ceremony begins. Not before Andrea and I stand at the altar and the deal is sealed. Once the vows are said, the alliance stands. Papa can rage all he wants, but the contract will already be done.

The man is several feet away, but close enough that I can smell the faint cedar of his cologne cutting through the roses. He doesn’t look like one of Papa’s guards. He’s tall. Broad enough that the suit looks like it was cut around him instead of worn. Crisp white shirt open at the throat, no tie.

My pulse stutters. It makes no sense. This man is a stranger. A threat, and yet my body reacts before my mind can catch up. Something tightens low in my stomach, spreading slowly through my chest like heat I can’t control. My breath turns shallow, my skin suddenly too aware, too sensitive to his presence.

There’s something in the way he holds himself, like the air bends around him instead of the other way around. A man used to being obeyed. Not the kind who takes orders. Is he a guest? Maybe someone from the Gallo side.

My pulse starts to pound in my ears. I glance toward the cathedral steps, but the hedges block most of the view. I can hear voices drifting through the air, guests talking, someone laughing, the faint echo of music from inside. If I scream, they might hear me.

I open my mouth to say something, then I see the gun. Low in his right hand, barrel pointed at the gravel. He holds it casually, the way someone carries a phone or a cigarette. Black steel catching the last of the afternoon light filtering through the leaves. My breath snags in my throat.

“Whatever’s spinning in that pretty head of yours,” he says, voice baritone-deep and unhurried, the low timbre rolling through the quiet garden, “don’t.”

The words aren’t loud. He doesn’t even raise the gun. But something in his voice settles deep in my bones, and every instinct in me goes still.

He tilts his head, studying me through the veil the way a predator sizes up something interesting that wandered into his territory. Dark hair swept back, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, eyes the color of storm clouds over the harbor. Extremely handsome. The kind of handsome that should come with a warning label.

Whatever he is, he’s not here to admire the bride.

Chapter Two

Eleonora

He approaches calmly, steps measured, like the garden path belongs to him and I’m the intruder. As he closes the distance, I catch the ink peeking from his collar and curling around the cuffs of his sleeves.

He’s tall enough that I have to tilt my head back slightly to meet those flat whisky brown eyes, broad enough that the air feels like it’s shrinking around us. Danger rolls off him in waves.

My heart slams against my ribs so hard I’m sure he can see it fluttering under the silk bodice. Sweat prickles at the base of my spine despite the cool air.

My eyes dart, left toward the main path, right toward the gate Domenico used, back to the roses that suddenly look like they could snag me and hold me here forever.

The dress is heavy, restrictive; the train would tangle around my ankles before I made it ten feet. He’d drop me with one shot before I even cleared the hedge.

He must read every frantic calculation on my face because his voice drops, low and quiet, almost intimate.

“If you make any move, your sister will be dead before security even gets to her.”

My breath catches. I whip my head toward the path.

Through the hedges I see Camilla standing near the path, speaking politely to one of the guests. Just behind her stands another man in a dark suit. Close enough that if he reached out, he could grab her before she even had time to turn. The man looks straight at me. Then he gives a small nod.

I turn back to the man. “Who are you?” The words come out steadier than I feel. “What do you want?”

He tilts his head again, the barest curve touching his mouth. Not a smile. Something darker.

“Inquisitive, aren’t we?” His tone is almost amused, but there’s no warmth in it. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

I look back at Camilla, still talking, and the scream builds in my chest to let her know of the impending danger. I open my mouth to let it out. But he’s on me in an instant.

One hand clamps over my mouth, hard, muffling the sound before it can escape. His palm tastes faintly of gunmetal and cedar. His other arm snakes around my waist, pinning me back against the solid wall of his chest. He’s warm, too warm, and so close the whiff of his cologne invades my senses, and I can feel the steady thud of his heartbeat against my spine, slow and unhurried while mine races like it’s trying to break free.

His lips brush the shell of my ear. “That would be a stupid thing to do.”

His voice is low and vibrates through my skin, sinking straight into my bloodstream. For one stupid, traitorous second, heat coils low in my belly. His breath fans hot against my neck, his grip firm but not bruising, and something inside me flickers, confuses danger with something darker, something that makes my thighs clench before I can stop it.

I snap myself back.

He’s going to kidnap you. Or worse.

The reminder brings me back to my senses.

I thrash, trying to twist free. His hold tightens just enough to remind me he’s not letting go.

“Stop,” he snaps. “Be a good girl,” he murmurs, lips still grazing my ear, “and I won’t have to signal my man over there to put a bullet in your sister’s head.” He pauses, lets the words sink in. “You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

The fight drains out of me like someone pulled a plug. My eyes lock on Camilla again. She’s still engrossed in conversation, head tilted, smiling, completely unaware that a killer is standing at her back.

From here, we can see her clearly through a gap in the foliage, but the angle and the roses hide us from her view. One wrong move and that laugh ends in a gunshot.

“So which is it going to be?” His voice stays low, reasonable, like we’re negotiating dinner plans. “Either way, you’re leaving here with me.”

I nod. Slowly.

He feels the change in me, the way my body goes still, and his grip eases fractionally. Not enough to let go.

“Wise decision,” he murmurs, voice low and satisfied. His hand closes around my upper arm, firm, and he starts steering me away from the garden corridor.

We move toward the service exit tucked behind the cathedral, gravel crunching under our steps. A black SUV idles there, engine purring like it’s been waiting for this exact moment.

I let my steps slow, just a little, enough to pull against his grip and throw off his pace. He adjusts without looking back, tugging me forward.

I twist my wrist, trying to slip free. His fingers shift, cutting off every angle before it goes anywhere.

I lean in and snap my teeth at his hand, catching skin. He doesn’t flinch, looks at me instead, eyes unreadable. His grip changes, now rougher, and he keeps walking. I’m forced to move with him

Where the hell are Papa’s men? The security detail that’s supposed to be everywhere. Useless when it matters most.

“You’re making a big mistake,” I say. “My father will come after you. He’ll find you. And when he does, he’ll kill you slow.”

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest, like I just told a mildly funny joke. “You really believe your father’s some kind of superhero, don’t you?”

He’s not. Massimo Caruso is ruthless. He’s never been a hero to any of us. But the alliance with Matteo Gallo is everything. Letting the bride disappear means letting that deal bleed out. He’ll burn this city down before he lets that happen.

“My father will have his men on you the second he realizes I’m gone,” I tell him. “Let’s see who’s laughing then.”

He doesn’t break stride. “I’ll be waiting when Daddy dearest decides to show.”

We reach the SUV. The back door opens before we get there. He maneuvers me in first, then slides in beside me. The driver pulls away smoothly.

My kidnapper reaches into his jacket, pulls out a zip tie. Before I can react, he’s looping it around my wrists, pulling it snug but not cutting circulation. His eyes lock on mine.

“Do I have to tape your mouth, or are you going to behave?”

I press my lips together hard, swallowing the surge of fury that wants to spill out in a scream. I have no idea who he is or what he wants from me. But one thing is clear, if I’m getting out of this alive, it starts with playing smart.

He raises a thick brow, waiting.

I nod.

“Good.”

The windows are heavily tinted, I twist to look back as we pull away from the cathedral grounds. Guests still mill on the steps, waiting for the bride who’s never coming.

“You should be thanking me,” he says, voice casual, like we’re sharing small talk. “Andrea’s a loser. You’d have hated being married to him.”

I turn my head slowly, meeting his gaze head-on through the veil that’s still obscuring my face.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re a real upgrade,” I say, voice dripping acid. “Kidnapping brides in the middle of their wedding, very chivalrous. Do you practice that line in front of the mirror, or does it just come naturally when you’re ruining someone’s plan?”

His lips twitch. Not quite a smile, but close. One corner of his mouth lifts. “At least I didn’t need an arranged marriage to secure my power.”

“Oh, I’m sure you secured it the old-fashioned way,” I reply sweetly.

His eyes darken. “Careful.”

“I’m just saying, if you’re kidnapping brides for attention, you might want to—”

He cuts me off, leaning in just enough that his presence fills the space between us.

“Keep talking,” he says quietly, “and I’ll tape that pretty mouth shut.”

I shut it.

The driver glances in the rearview mirror and they exchange a look. The car accelerates, weaving into traffic. I study him now that we’re moving, really study him. The way he sits, back straight but relaxed, one arm draped across the seat, screams control.

The extraction was too clean. This isn’t some desperate rogue move. This is organized, calculated.

As I study his face, the pieces click. I’ve seen him before, not up close, but across crowded ballrooms and at charity galas where Massimo paraded us like trophies.

He’s Nico Lombardi. Port Syndicate Don. The man who controls the docks my father needs to keep his weapons flowing east. One of the few rivals who can actually hurt the Gallo alliance before it’s even sealed.

“If you’re taking me because you think I can give you dirt on my father, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” I say, keeping my voice even despite the fear zipping through me,

Nico doesn’t even turn his head just a slow exhale through his nose, like I’m a fly buzzing too close.

“Really?”

“He doesn’t tell any of us anything.”

He quirks a brow. “So you’re useless?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s exactly what you said.”

I lean back against the seat, the zip ties biting into my wrists as I shift. “If you’re expecting trade secrets, you picked the wrong Caruso.”

A small exhale leaves him. Almost a sigh, the first real crack in that iron composure. “What part of be quiet isn’t getting through that pretty head?”

“I understand it perfectly,” I shoot back, inspecting my fingers like they are suddenly interesting. “I’m choosing not to participate.”

His jaw tightens slightly.

“I know who you are,” I add.

He arches a brow.

“Nico Lombardi.”

A pause.

“Then you also know I don’t need your help to get what I want from your father.” The way he says it, sends a ripple of unease through me.

“And if you don’t shut that mouth,” he continues, voice dropping a fraction, “I’m going to be forced to knock you out.”

I hold his gaze. “You need me alive.”

A flicker of something passes through his eyes. Interest? Amusement?

He leans in until his face is inches from mine. His voice drops, velvet over steel.

“I can always go for another one of your sisters after I kill you. Camilla looked easy enough to grab. Or maybe the little one, Daniela. Eleonora perhaps. Plenty of Caruso daughters to choose from.”

A cold shiver slides down my spine before I can stop it. My skin prickles, my breath catching. He’s not bluffing. Men like him never do.

I open my mouth to speak but I’m cut off as a shot cracks through the air like the sky splitting open.

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