Chapter 1

Rachel

I cannot die like this.

I am trapped in my goddamn car, my seat belt biting into my skin. The smell of burning rubber stings my nostrils. Blood is oozing from a nasty gash on my forehead, slowly trickling down my face, mixing with my tears and sweat. My throat is closing up in pain, and I think I have also broken a rib.

Fuck! I don’t want it to end like this.

My head is throbbing and there is a ringing in my ears. It takes me a while to register the voice of the man behind all this. It cuts through the chaos like a sharp knife. “Yes, boss. It is done. The girl is dead.” He adds something, maybe in Italian, but my mind is too fuzzy to make out what he is really saying.

“Let me check,” he adds, and I hear the crunching of his shoes as he steps closer to the car.

I look around the enclosed place.

My red Mini Cooper, the car I dreamed of and got for my sixteenth birthday, is about to turn into my murder scene. My heart sinks as I try to tug on the seat belt again. Panic claws at my throat.

A sharp pain slices through my back. My injuries are a lot worse than I had initially thought.

The man crouches and I immediately shut my eyes, trying really hard to play dead. The smell of stale cigarettes wafts over my face, as he leans in closer.

He laughs, the sound making my skin crawl. His hand reaches out and brushes a few strands of my hair off my face. I hold my breathe. If he finds out I am playing possum, I am dead.

“What a waste!” he tsks, as he runs his fingers over my bruised cheek and the open gashes over my lip and forehead.

Memories of my mother come rushing back,

Her white flowy gown, her still body still warm to the touch.

The open empty pill bottle beside her, the handwritten suicide note, and the dried up shriveled petals and stem of a crumpled up black rose. The final piece of the puzzle.

Then the call to 911 as my hands trembled and shook.

The look of contained pain as the doctor on call informed me later on that they could unfortunately not save her.

The whispered condolences from the waiters who worked at the club with mother.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…

The weeks investigating to try to find out more about the murderers.

The late nights of research.

I had to avenge her.

I can still feel the press of the note in my pocket. I have been carrying it with me every day since.

Fuck! I cannot die like this.

His rough calloused thumb is still tracing my cheekbones and my brows when his phone rings and he abruptly stops. And just as quickly as he walked towards me, he walks away.

I feel an inexplicable sense of relief and warm tears I cannot hold back, even as I try, slide down my face. I have got to get out of here. I am only eighteen, I am way too young to be murdered in this game of fate.

If I die, I let them win. I cannot allow that to happen.

They might have run me off the road, but if I can survive this, I will find another way.

They have to pay for what they took from me.

They have to pay for my mother. They may not have pulled the trigger, but they had pushed her into taking her own life, so to me they were every bit responsible.

They had practically signed her death wish when eighteen years ago, one of them had assaulted at her workplace and raped her.

I was a product of that vile night.

My mother had tried to hold it together but something in her was never the same after that.

They had broken her spirit, and in doing so, they had broken my heart.

Blood trickles down my cheek.

No! No! No! Why won’t this freaking seat belt budge? I feel the prickling in my toes and a shiver runs down my spine.

It suddenly feels cold.

“Fuck! I am going to die like this.

I cannot help the tears that now flow easily from me.

Darkness envelops me, and I’m slipping away, the world fading into distant memories. I’m barely holding onto consciousness, a thread tethering me to reality.

As I drift, I’m transported to a place of warmth and love, to a time when life was simple and safe.

I’m eight years old again, and it’s my birthday.

It’s a sunny day, and my mother has baked me a chocolate cake.

The scent of it fills the air, and I can almost taste the sweet, rich goodness. She lights the candles, and the room flickers with golden light. I can feel the joy bubbling in my chest as I make a wish and blow them out.

I wish my mom will love me forever.

My mother’s soft voice as she sings, “Happy birthday, Rachel.”

She places a piece of cake on my plate, and I savor every bite, chocolatey heaven melting on my tongue.

Then the scene shifts, and I’m standing in the driveway. It’s my sixteenth birthday, and my heart is racing. My mother hands me a set of car keys, and the world seems to spin with excitement. It’s the moment I’ve been waiting for—the keys to my very own red Mini Cooper.

“Happy sweet sixteen, darling,” she says, and I can hear the pride in her voice. I throw my arms around her, hugging her tightly. “Thank you, Mom. I love you.”

I rev the engine, the purr of the car’s power making me giddy with delight. The wind in my hair, the open road ahead—it’s freedom like I’ve never known. My mother stands on the porch, waving, a tear in her eye, knowing that her little girl is growing up.

I see myself driving down a sun-drenched highway in the Mini Cooper. I’m grinning from ear to ear, feeling on top of the world.

I feel a terrible pain slash through my thigh, that keeps me awake.

I am awake. I can get through this.

And then the memory shifts once more, this time to the soft lullaby my mother used to sing to me at bedtime. Her voice, gentle and soothing, fills my ears. I hear a few notes of that melody, a melody that carried me into the land of dreams every night.

“Hush, little one, don’t you cry, 

Momma’s here to sing a lullaby. 

Stars above are shining bright, 

Chasing away the darkest night.”

My eyelids flutter, and I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or if I’ve been transported back to that serene moment.

For a fleeting instant, I feel safe and loved.

All too soon, the darkness pulls me further under, and I can’t hold on any longer.

The lullaby fades, and I’m left with nothing but the sensation of falling into an abyss.

The memories blend, and then, with an echoing silence, everything goes black.

Chapter 2

Rachel

Eight years later

According to my research, he should be here by eight. A quick glance at my phone shows that it is exactly ten minutes to.

Instead of sitting around and having men gawk at me, I decide to go to the small restroom and refresh my lipstick. After all, I need to be absolutely delectable for the moment Luca Vitori walks in.

I pull on my short sequin black dress, then swallow the rest of my whisky, not wanting to leave my drink unattended with all the predators looming around. Then I smile at the waiter, Harvey, and pass him a twenty-dollar bill before taking off in the direction of the restrooms.

I have barely taken ten steps when someone reaches out and grabs my hand.

I feel a strong repulsion roll through me. The last thing I need tonight is to cause a scene, so instead I turn to whoever it is with a giant smile plastered on my face.

“Where are you running off to, piccola?” 

I take a few seconds to mark this man’s features.

His eyes, a murky shade of brown, are shrouded in a layer of smugness that’s hard to ignore. They dart around the room, assessing the crowd, and occasionally, they linger a little too long on some unsuspecting women. It’s a predatory gaze that I’ve come to recognize all too well.

His salt-and-pepper hair is slicked back with an excess of gel, giving it a greasy sheen.

The unmistakable aroma of whisky emanates from him, and it’s not just a whiff; it’s a full-on assault on the senses. It clings to his breath and seeps into his clothing, making it clear that he’s been indulging in more than a few drinks tonight.

“I am running off to the little girl’s room but I will be right back.”

His teeth, as I’ve already noted, are stained a sickly yellow. They’re crooked and uneven. “Can’t it wait?”

Despite his less-than-appealing appearance, he seems to think he’s God’s gift to women, and his confidence, however misplaced, is palpable.

“Not really,” I reply, my smile growing wider as I try to keep up the charade. “But you can buy me a drink.”

He smiles back, and I can’t help but notice the leer in his eyes. “Hurry back, piccola.”

“Of course,” I lie smoothly, and with that, he finally releases his grip on my hand. I sigh in relief as I squeeze my way past the writhing bodies on the dance floor.

La Terrazza is heaving tonight, the music pounding so loud that I can feel the bass thumping in my chest. It’s the kind of night where you lose yourself in the crowd, where anonymity is your greatest ally. I need it to be this busy, to blend in with the crowds of people busy dancing the night away.

The restroom door swings open, and I slip inside, feeling the immediate relief of relative solitude. The dimly lit space is surprisingly clean, given the state of the rest of the bar. The walls are adorned with graffiti art, and the mirrors are covered in a haze of condensation and lipstick marks.

I take a moment to catch my breath and check my reflection. My makeup is still holding up, and my black dress clings to my curves in all the right ways. I give myself a nod of approval before heading to an empty stall.

As I’m washing my hands, I overhear snippets of conversation from the other women in the restroom. It’s the kind of chatter you’d expect in a place like this.

One of the women though mentions a name that makes me stop in place.

“I heard that she was sleeping with someone involved with Cosa Nostra, but no one has seen her since Saturday.”

I study the two women, both dressed in bright pink dresses. I am pretty sure they are escorts. If it was literally any other night, I would have stopped them and tried to get a bit more information from them. But not tonight, tonight I have a date with Luca.

I glance at the mirror in the dimly lit restroom and fluff my newly blonde hair. It’s taken me close to two years to get used to the color, but at work they insisted that a change in my appearance would be exactly what I needed to go undercover as an FBI agent.

I look at my nose, slightly curved, and the cheekbones that are now pronounced thanks to the subtle magic of contouring. Botox has played its part, altering the size and shape of my lips.

I turn my face from side to side, hardly recognizing myself. I was once a brunette, just like my mom. My new shade of blonde looks deceivingly natural.

All I have that still reminds me of her are the kohl-lined gray eyes. I look at them, watching her eyes reflected back at me. The pang of pain causes me to look away. Instead, I grab my lipstick, a fiery shade of crimson with a matte finish.

I apply a fresh coat, carefully tracing the contours of my lips, and blotting them together to ensure an even, velvety finish.

Then I spritz myself with my signature perfume which I selected for nights like this. It’s the kind of fragrance that lingers in the air, leaving a trail of intrigue as I pass by. It also grants me anonymity.

Confirming I look amazing, or at least as close to amazing as my undercover persona can be, I take out my phone to text my friend Sophie.

Heading out to meet him. I’ll text you later

I send the message and wait for her response.

A thumbs-up emoji appears on my screen a few minutes later.

With one final glance in the mirror, I square my shoulders, adopting the confident posture I’ve learned to wear like a second skin.

It’s showtime. I step out of the washroom and reenter the throng of La Terrazza’s patrons.

I look around trying to find my date. My eyes snag on the older man from earlier. He has his arms around a blonde girl, his face buried in her neck. Seems he has a type.

I make my way past him as fast as I can.

I’m walking through the crowded bar when a waiter carelessly bumps into me, sending a cold cascade of drinks spilling onto my hand. He mumbles an apology and quickly begins wiping up the mess. I give him a small, understanding smile and a nod, but my attention has shifted.

My eyes lock onto him, my target. Dressed head to toe in a sleek black suit, he stands out like a shadow in the dimly lit room. His wavy, disheveled hair seems to flop in every direction, giving him a casual charm that belies the calculated danger lurking beneath. A glint of his gold watch catches my eye as he lifts a glass filled with amber liquid to his lips.

One of the women, dressed in a seductive shade of pink, is openly flirting with him. Her laughter is too loud, her touch too familiar. He obliges with a casual laugh before his eyes flicker around the room and, as if by some magnetic force, lock onto me.

Perfect, just as I’d hoped.

Rather than walking directly towards him, I opt for a calculated approach. I bite gently on my lip and flutter my eyes, my gaze feigning an enticing invitation. Then, with a deliberate sway in my step, I make my way to the bar. The plan is simple: wait. I’ve studied him enough to know he’ll be here any minute now.

I place my handbag on the counter with an exaggerated sigh of relief, drawing the bartender’s attention. He hurries over, and I seize the moment to order a cocktail. “A mojito, please,” I request, making sure my voice carries a hint of sultriness. The bartender nods and begins preparing my drink, giving me the perfect excuse to linger by the bar.

The man in the black suit is momentarily distracted by the woman in pink, who’s draped herself over him with unapologetic familiarity. I can see the tension in his jaw as he smiles politely. Luca is a pro at this, playing the part of the charming stranger who’s enthralled by a woman’s charms.

At the end of the night, he always finds someone to go home with, and tonight, I need that person to be me.

I bide my time, stealing glances in his direction. He’s engaged in a conversation, but his gaze periodically drifts toward me. I know he’s intrigued, or perhaps suspicious, and that’s exactly where I want him.

Moments later, he excuses himself from the pink-clad woman, whose expression is a mix of disappointment and annoyance. As he begins to approach the bar, I feel a rush of adrenaline. It’s showtime.

“Here’s your mojito,” the bartender says, placing the frosty glass in front of me.

I give him a gracious smile, my fingers lightly brushing his as I take the glass. Then, I turn my attention back to the approaching man in the black suit. His steps are confident, his aura exuding power and danger. It’s alluring and intimidating all at once.

He reaches the bar, and our eyes lock. The tension in the air is palpable as we size each other up. I raise my glass slightly, offering a silent toast, and his lips curl into a knowing smile. The game has officially begun.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he leans down to growl in my ear.

“Needed a night out. Work has been crazy and I needed a break.”

He takes a seat next to me, his strong woodsy smell assaulting me.

“What does a beautiful girl like you do for a living?”

I flex my fingers so he can see the recent manicure I recently got, “Nail tech.”

“Ah!” He smiles at me. “In that case, may I get you something stronger than a mojito and you can tell me one of your client’s secrets?”

I flash a smile at him, loving that he is already taking the bait. Good boy.

“What about your friend over there?” I nod towards the woman he just left behind.

He chuckles, “Lei non mi interessa.”

“What?” I raise my eyebrows in fake confusion.

“Not interested in her. How could I when I have una bellezza like you beside me? You don’t speak Italian, huh?”

“No, I do not,” then I take a sip of my cocktail, smiling to myself as I notice how he watches my red lips wrap around the straw.

One of his hands moves down and he presses the palm of his hand into the seam of his pants.

“Everything okay?” I bite on the corner of my lip.

“Not at all, bellissima. What is your name?”

“Marcia. And yours?”

He leans down, taking the liberty to brush my blonde hair from my neck, letting his hand rest on my pulse point. “Luca. I have seen you around here for a few nights now.”

“I just discovered the place,” I say. Then I shiver, an action that makes him smile.

He turns his attention to the bartender and flags him down. “Due shot di tequila, amico.”

“Sissignore.” And just like that two shot glasses filled to the brim appear before us. There are two slices of lemon and a pinch of salt accompanying them.

I lift the glass in salute but he stops me. “Do you need me to tell you the right way to enjoy tequila?”

“No. But you can show me.”

He growls as I slide down my chair a little further, giving him access to my throat. “Beautiful.”

I grit my teeth as I feel his long, wet tongue lick a trail on the side of my neck. This is followed by a trickle of salt, then he repeats the motion and downs his shot in one scoop.

“Delicious!” He says, sucking on the slice of lemon.

“My turn!” I say cheerfully.

He rolls up his sleeve, exposing his wrist to me. I can see traces of black ink on his hand.

I spill a bit of salt on his skin and then without overthinking it, lean in and lick it off him. I feel his groan as I down my own shot.

“A pretty little thing like you in La Terrazza alone needs someone to look after them.”

His hand trails down my cheek before swiping the drop that has collected on my lip. As our eyes lock, he lifts the thumb to his mouth and sucks.

His eyes blaze hot before turning hooded.

Yes. I got him. Hook line and sinker.

“Maybe that is why you are here,” I stroke his ego.

I can tell that everything is working because he lifts my mojito and downs half the drink before passing the glass to me. “Want to get out of here, bella? I have a deck of cards we can play at my place.”

Thought you would never ask.

We both know what he has in mind. We will not be playing cards tonight.

Instead of answering, I put on a show. I lift the straw to my lips and suck, enjoying just how much it is unravelling him.

He lifts a hundred dollar note and places it on the counter before standing up and taking my hand.

As soon as I take his hand, he begins to lead me outside the bar. From the periphery of my eyes, I can see a tall man walk behind us. That must be his body guard.

Quickly, we make our way into the deserted parking lot.

He leads me towards a black tinted Jeep. I hear the car unlock and I am ready to get into the car, when Luca crowds me pinning me to the side.

“Luca, someone could see us,” I moan, as he grazes his teeth up and down my neck.

“What? Are you scared?”

I moan, letting his hands roam up and down my waist before settling on the small of my back.

“I have never done this before,” I tell him.

I am not sure if he believes me or not, but he seems intrigued as he pulls away. “You are so beautiful; I cannot control myself.”

I cup his cheek tenderly, “I can’t wait for us to be alone.”

Excited, he slants his mouth over mine. It is a rough kiss, coaxing me open. The bodyguard looks away, embarrassed. I don’t blame him.

Luca’s right hand lifts to grab my left breast and squeezes. I moan, making him growl as his lips continue to bruise mine. I can feel the huge print of his cock pressing against my belly.

I have him exactly where I want him.

Now to move to the second phase of the plan. “Can we- “I gasp against his lips, “Can we go to a hotel room instead?”

He stiffens before his hand lifts and he cups the back of my head. “Why? My house is thirty minutes away.”

Your mansion is well guarded and I am pretty sure there are a thousand cameras in the premises.

“I don’t think I can wait thirty minutes Luca.” Then I use my hand to brush at his erection.

This might be the wrong move because the excited gleam returns to his eyes. His fingers play with the hem of my dress as he lifts the fabric higher and higher.

Fuck!

I run my mind through everything I know about the man before landing on my saving grace. An offer he cannot refuse.

“Not here. I want you to tie me down Luca. I want you to make me feel good.”

Everything in him switches as he turns his attention to the bodyguard, “Antonio. Hotel Latto. Now.”

“Yes boss,” Antonio moves to the front of the car and perches himself in the driver’s seat. As he ushers me into the back seat, I try to run through everything I know about the five-star hotel.

I know a lot of politicians fancy it, so that means most of the staff can be easily bought. Most of these hotels don’t have “working cameras” for the sake of discretion, which works best for me.

I need as few people to recognize me as possible.

He shuffles in beside me before pulling me onto his lap. I let my bag fall on the seat across from me as I let him have his fill of me.

His hands skim all over my body, and I moan in response not wanting him to stop long enough to question anything.

The drive is nothing short of uncomfortable, and after about ten minutes, Antonio drives us into the parking lot.

I nuzzle Luca’s neck, nipping and biting.

His arm tightens around me. “Antonio, pick me up tomorrow at eight.”

I can see Antonio eye me from the mirror, “Yes, boss.”

“Good.”

Luca signs his death sentence by taking my hand and pulling me out of the car and into the night.

Chapter 3

Rachel

I stroll around the executive suite, my eyes carefully avoiding the watchful gaze of the camera perched discreetly in the corner.

Luca begins the process of shedding his expensive suit and jacket, followed by his cufflinks. I play the role of a shy and demure woman, allowing my gaze to fall to the plush white carpet, feigning a lack of interest in the world outside. I almost feel bad for the person who is going to have to clean up tomorrow.

While Luca stands there, running a hand through his perfectly tousled hair, I casually move closer to one of the exquisite paintings adorning the walls.

“Beautiful, huh?” Luca’s voice rouses me from my observation.

I lift my head, making sure not to meet the camera’s lens, and offer a delicate nod. “Absolutely.”

He motions me closer with a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Come here.”

I oblige, approaching him with the grace. I place a kiss on his cheek, my lips grazing his perfectly chiseled jawline.

“Let me freshen up in the bathroom, and then I’m all yours.”

He pulls me closer, his lips meeting mine in a possessive kiss. “Okay Marcia,” he murmurs.

With a seductive smile, I grab my handbag and make my way to the luxurious bathroom. It’s all marble and gold accents, with a crystal chandelier overhead casting a warm, soft glow. The spacious room is decked out in shades of ivory, and the mirror framed with intricate golden designs reflects an image of grandeur.

My reflection in the mirror shows me bruised lips and a hickey Luca gave me in the car.

I take a moment to gather my thoughts, realizing I only have three people remaining on my list, including Luca.

I have done this before.

But it never gets easier.

I close my eyes for a moment, steadying my nerves, and silently recite a mantra. Focus, Rachel. It’s for the greater good.

He will never see me coming.

My fingers brush the cold metal of the revolver concealed within my bag.

With newfound determination, I unzip my bag and retrieve the sleek, black revolver. It’s a compact, semi-automatic pistol, with a matte finish that barely reflects any light. I set it down on the marble countertop and proceed to attach the silencer with a practiced ease. The silencer screws onto the barrel, muffling the sharp retort of gunshots into a barely audible pop.

“Marcia, this cock isn’t going to suck itself,” Luca’s voice comes from the other side of the door.

I glance around the pristine bathroom, my heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and dread.

A pair of plush towels hangs from a gold bar, and a selection of designer toiletries lines the marble shelf. I ignore them, turning my attention back to the task at hand.

“One minute, Luca.”

I unclasp the holster from inside my bag and strap it securely to my upper thigh. The cold touch of the gun against my skin serves as a chilling reminder of the weight of my mission. My attire hides it well, the thigh holster sitting snugly beneath the sleek fabric of my dress.

Taking a deep breath, I open the bathroom door and return to Luca, who’s waiting with a smile and a pair of what look like furry handcuffs in his hand.

“There you are, bellissima.”

He’s completely unaware of the cold steel concealed beneath my dress as I stride towards him.

“Here I am, Luca Vitori.”

He smiles lasciviously at me. “I don’t think I told you my second name Marcia?”

“Well, you are a popular man. Everyone knows your name,” I stroke his ego. Then I add, “So, where were we?”

I have just reached the edge of the bed when he places his hand on my ass and pulls me in.

“You were about to suck my cock.”

I smile down at him. “I would want nothing more. Lie down.”

He wants to argue, but judging by his dress pants, he is too horny to actually go through with it, so slowly, he props himself against the pillows.

I unbutton his shirt slowly, dragging my nails over his defined muscles. His body is well honed and I know I have to work my charm on him. If Luca wanted to overpower me right now, he would definitely have the upper hand.

I unzip his pants dipping my hand into them to cup his balls. He hisses in pleasure. His head is thrown back and I can see the smooth expanse of his throat. God. It would feel great to dig a knife into that, watching his blood spurt and stain the sheets red.

But that would be too messy, a lesson I had to learn the hard way when I stabbed Dante Cenere. He had squirmed a lot as I watched the blood drain from him.

Instead, I straddle his waist. His dark eyes trailing my every movement. I reach out and lick his throat as my other hand takes the handcuffs from his hand.

“What are-” but he cuts himself off when I roll my hips. His hips flex seeking me out. Just how I want him.

I am nipping at his jaw as I lock his hand and then wrap the handcuff through a gap in the headboard to tie his other hand. He flexes his hands realizing that he cannot move.

Perfect.

I roll my hips once more making him groan. The sound makes my chest clench in disgust.

“Piccola troia,” he says. I did not catch the rest but I am pretty sure troia means slut.

The fucking audacity.

“I am not a slut,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Ah, she speaks Italian after all.”

I lift my dress and pull the gun from the holster, “No Luca, I speak revenge.”

His gaze skirts from me to the gun in my hand. I can see the moment fear materializes in his eyes. “What are you doing?” he asks, his Italian accent heavier than before.

Oh, he is scared now.

“Not much. I just have a few questions for you.”

He twists his hands, panic crossing his face as he realizes the precarious position I have got him in now.

“Marcia, cazzo, get these fucking handcuffs off me. This is not funny.”

I lean in brushing my lips against his, “Do I look like I am laughing?”

“Marcia!”

I lift my gun and smash it on his nose, loving the way a slow trickle of blood forms from his nostril. His eyes widen in pain. “What the actual fuck?”

“Exactly!” I cock my gun now and press the barrel to the spot where his heart beats. “Now, tell me. Where is Ricci?”

“You have got to be kidding me,” he spits out.

I use the butt of my phone to crush into his nose once, enjoying the new trickle of blood. “Wrong answer. Let’s try that again.”

“You fucking bitch,” he spits out.

I smirk before hitting him again, “Let’s try that again.”

“Are you a fucking cop?” Blood is now spilling from his gums.

I smile before pressing the gun into his temple. “I ask the questions here. Tell me about Ricci.”

“He will fucking kill me. Cazzo. Whatever you think you are after, he will kill you too.”

I smack him again, before pressing the gun deeper into his temple, “Why don’t you worry about your own mortality Luca?”

When I shift the gun to the bottom of his jaw, he realizes that I might actually kill him. His eyes dart from me to the wall.

“He is dangerous.”

“If you tell me the truth, I might let you leave,” I lie. His fate was already sealed the moment he walked into the club, but he does not need to know that.

He looks around, clearly weighing his options. Lying might cost him his life, but the truth might cost him his territory, especially if the other members learned he talked. “I am waiting.”

He swallows once before saying, “Cenere. He worked directly with Ricci okay?”

“Where can I find Ricci, Luca? Don’t make me ask again.”

He swallows again. “Only Dante Cenere would have more information.”

“Dante?” I cock my eyebrow.

He nods his head frantically.

“Dante is already dead. I was hoping you would tell me something I did not already know,” and then I pull the trigger.

Three down, two to go.

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Chapter One

Rea

My exposed skin glimmered with sweat under the stage lights as I scooped up my ones and fives. Collecting pay is an art; bend at the waist, perky ass in the air. Make sure to draw attention to the way my naked breasts move with my body. Another tantalizing glimpse, my nipples swaying ever-so-close to eye level… then a graceful stand and a flirty wink over my shoulder, and I’m gone.

I was a lot of things, and a damn good stripper was definitely high on the list.

Cold was also on the list the moment I stepped out of the lights. There was always a clear line just past the curtain where the heat of the room stopped reaching and the sweat turned to ice on my skin, a reprieve from the high temperatures for a few moments that quickly turned uncomfortable. I sidestepped the next girl with practiced ease and rushed to the locker room, shivering.

“Ugh,” I grunted, dropping my discarded clothing on a chair. The locker room was far toastier, warmed by a little space heater one of the girls had brought in before I started dancing here.

“I know, right?” Cleo sighed, busy wiping her chest clean of her last client. “I just came out of the Rose Room and trust me, it’s fucking freezing. At least it keeps my nips hard.”

I laughed. “Oh, so that’s why they do it,” I joked.

“Nah, they’re just being stingy with the heating bill,” Cleo grinned back. I pressed my finger to the padlock on my lock box—I’d sprung for one of the fancy fingerprint identification ones when I first started—and waited impatiently for the little blue light. Everyone knew not to count money backstage, but that didn’t mean I had to leave it where anyone could get to it.

“You done for the night?”

“Yeah,” I answered, pulling out a makeup wipe. “I don’t like leaving after a stage dance, but that’s just how the cookie crumbled tonight. What about you?”

Cleo shrugged. “I could leave now, but it’s been a good night for me. I’m thinking of staying another hour or so, see if I can’t sell another VIP room before calling it.”

“Got something you’re saving up for?”

“Yeah, I’m thinking about laser. I’m so tired of waxing.”

“Damn. Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Yeah, but they’d have to zap my butthole to make it happen,” Cleo whined, pouting dramatically. I smirked.

“Oh? And here I thought you were into butt stuff.”

“I told you that in confidence!” Cleo gasped.

“You told the whole locker room. At the top of your lungs.”

“Melanie said anal was gross! What was I supposed to do, let that kind of misinformation stand?”

“O-kay, not sure what I walked into here,” Cici said, strutting in, “but there’s a customer waiting for Flora in the Dahlia Room. Bartender sent me back to tell you.” I pouted at hearing my stage name.

“Did he ask for me specifically?” I asked, hoping for a way out of the dance. I already had my flip-flops on for fuck’s sake.

“Yep,” Cici said, stooping down to her own locker. She was insanely tall, and that was without the heels. “Curtis looked pretty frantic about it too, so whoever it is must have some power. The kind of guy you don’t question, you know?”

“Fuck. Alright, fine. He’s going to have to wait for me to put my makeup back on though.”

“Think he’s one of the mafia guys?” Cleo asked. I shrugged.

“I don’t care who he is, but he’d better pay me real damn well to make up for keeping me here. Blue or black?”

“I hope he does, babydoll,” Cleo said, pointing at the bright navy lingerie in my left hand. It was one of those strappy monstrosities that was weird to get into, but looked damn good on and was easy to get off. It would take a second to get the “bra cup”, aka the wide horizontal strap that stretched over my breasts, to cover my nipples just right but otherwise it was a swift, easy outfit. Criss cross some blue ribbon up my legs and throw a men’s button-up over it and bam, good enough for a last-minute dance. Even though a dance was all this guy was getting. I didn’t feel like serving it up when I should be going home.

Cici shut her locker and headed back out to the floor, while Cleo grabbed some baby wipes and took it upon herself to freshen me up while I reapplied my makeup. Private dances were so close-quarters, and nothing was a bigger turn off than a smelly stripper.

“Thanks babe,” I said, spreading my legs obediently so Cleo could get the creases of my thighs.

“Well apparently this guy shouldn’t be kept waiting, and I like your head attached, so…” I snorted, fanning my face so the primer would dry faster. I didn’t have time for a fully made-up face but I could do concealer, foundation, a little bit of contouring…I’d skip the eyeshadow and just go for an exaggerated winged liner. That plus fake lashes should be enough, as long as I went for a bold lip.

“If it’s that fucking tank top guy again…” I huffed, letting the open threat hang in the air.

“Ugh, yeah, him,” Cleo said, crunching her nose up like she’d smelled something foul. “I guess we are due for another visit from him. Though if we’re lucky, maybe he finally got caught.”

“A woman can dream,” I sighed. Honestly, he was the worst kind of guy. Always demanded our services while sneering down his nose at us, pretending he was somebody oh-so-important like his Rolex wasn’t knock-off. He was stingy as shit with his money too. “You know he wanted to fuck me for a twenty?” Cleo’s reaction was a barked out disbelieving laugh.

“And that $20 bill was probably the most he’s ever brought in at one time. Boy’s coming into a steakhouse on a McDonald’s budget. There, you’re good. Need anything else?”

“Don’t think so, but thanks. You know you’re a lifesaver, right?”

Cleo waved me off. “Bring me a supreme crunch wrap and I’ll call it even.” Cleo tapped my ass the way some people patted a horse’s flank after a good run, moving past me. “Hope he doesn’t keep you too long. I gotta get back out there.”

“Make your money,” I said, pulling out my lash glue. “I’m almost done anyway.” The two of us made kissy noises at each other, and then I was left alone for my finishing touches. It didn’t take long before I was sauntering up the steps to the VIP rooms, an orange tik-tak filling my mouth with its sugary flavor. The sleek glass staircase was fully visible to those below but once I slid behind the thick curtain I was out of sight. Normally I’d take just a second to center myself but I couldn’t tonight. I beelined for the third door on the right, carved with an intricate art-deco scene of a dahlia, and knocked.

“Hello” I cooed, hiding my body a little behind the door as I opened it for that extra tease, “I heard someone asked for me specifically.”

But my flirty smile was without an audience. The Dahlia Room was dark and silent like it hadn’t seen a soul all night, and I frowned. Was he finishing off his drink downstairs or something? I looked to the end of the hallway where a security guard loomed on his stool, gesturing in silent confusion. The large man just shrugged and waved me in, as if to say, ‘what can you do?’

It was fine. I just had to get the room ready and be waiting for him—I could lounge on the circular stage with my legs dangling just right to exude seduction, make him feel all special to see me all laid out just for him. I heaved a sigh. Staying behind for a dance was aggravating, sure, but this mystery man had me rushing in the locker room and he wasn’t even here. Entitled fucking prick. I reached my hand out along the wall to find the light switch, already thinking about my nice cool sheets back at home—

Maybe if I’d been paying a bit more attention to the moment I would have sensed the shift of movement in the air. Maybe I would have heard the rustle of clothing or something and pulled my hand back before it could be caught. But realistically he’d just moved too fast. I’d have been a sitting duck no matter what.

The breath was pushed out of me with a soft ‘oof’, my front cold and my back hot, and it all happened so fast even the adrenaline felt delayed. I’d just been standing in the doorway and now—I realized someone had caught my wrist in an iron grip and used it to pull me into the room, slamming the door behind us and pressing my face into the smooth wood with a brutal efficiency. I was trapped between the cold lacquered wood and a firm, warm body. And I didn’t even know how I’d gotten there.

I gasped as fear zipped through my whole system in a microsecond, instinctively getting ready to scream before a large hand clamped over my mouth without mercy. With long fighter’s fingers putting pressure on the curve of my jaw I couldn’t get my mouth open. I screamed anyway, but it was muffled by my own lips and the assailant’s rough hand.

I squirmed. I kicked back at his shins and slammed my platform heel down with enough strength to break his foot, but his foot wasn’t where I thought it would be. I kicked at the door for the security guard and threw my head back in the hopes of headbutting this bastard in the mouth. Primarily I wanted to get away, but some little part of me said I should make it hurt.

“Shut-” a deep voice rumbled in my ear, “-up.”

I froze. I knew that voice.

Now, hearing the voice of a childhood best friend in a moment like this would comfort most people. Maybe the wave of nostalgia brought back by just two measly words would override the near decade of silence, maybe the pinky promises in third grade and the first awkward jaunt around the dance floor at the junior high homecoming dance would make most people catch their breath with forgotten happiness. And, for a moment, it did the same thing to me. He was the boy who had given me my very first nickname and chased me around with a worm until I tripped and skinned my hands and knees. I’d made him wear matching Barbie bandaids all week in forced solidarity.

But most people hadn’t grown up with Andrea Marino.

I had, and I knew him far, far too well to think this was going to be anything other than an explosion. It always was when he didn’t get his way, and he’d always been a possessive man. When he felt wronged he would wrong the person back ten times over and still hold a grudge, and there wasn’t a single damn thing in my life I was willing to lose.

Images of my apartment flashed through my mind, all the little changes we’d made there to turn it into a home. The pictures on the walls, the renter’s wallpaper in the bathroom, the nice cabinet pulls we had replaced the standard ones with. The look on mom’s face when I gave her the master bedroom. How much she’d cried, as if that wasn’t the absolute minimum she deserved after all she did for me. The second Andy found out about Richard, he’d snatch it all away from us, and I couldn’t let that happen.

By the time he turned me around I’d hid my dread with a poker face honed over years of sex work, because like hell I was going to give him anything to dig his claws into. Not after the way he left. I should have thrown that plate at his fucking head.

Sure enough, there he was. His face was more defined, his bearing more mature, his shoulders broader, and his eyes much much more murderous.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Chapter Two

Andy

I was a man who was used to the target on his back, which was why I only ever held meetings in my own establishments. Some might think it crude to conduct business in a strip club, but those people weren’t in the line of work I was born into.

Of the clubs that I owned, La Serra was the most ideal for meetings. With its low purple lights illuminating a wide-open floor plan and my trained security standing vigilant in every corner, it was about as safe as I could make a public space. Metal detectors outside the door ensured that no weapons entered and the round, high-back booths guaranteed privacy. The only potential setback was a dancer coming over to try to sell us a private dance, and sitting in the furthest booth in the lowest light tended to deter that action. Our—or at least, my— complete apathy to the nudity didn’t hurt either.

My father had favored this club for in-house meetings, but I hadn’t ever needed to until tonight.

I chewed on my lip as my underboss cursed the entire Cireno bloodline, from great-great-grandfather down to the men that pledged allegiance that very minute. “Maledetti bastardi,” Nino growled. “We should salt them like the fucking slugs they are. We can’t let them get away clean—we need to make an example out of them.”

“Of course we will,” I snapped. After four days of crisis control and three nights without sleep my already limited patience might as well have been a delicate spiderweb. “No one shoots goddamned innocents in my territory. Are there any updates on the situation?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Sandro reported, hands folded on the table. “One of the incidental victims, one Arthur McFadden, was admitted to the hospital after being seen in urgent care. He was initially just grazed by a bullet, but infection has set in.” I frowned viciously.

“So we have another potential casualty?” I hissed. Between the violet light of the club and my boiling rage, I’m sure I looked every bit as dangerous as I needed to be. “Civilian?”

“Yes. 42 years of age, divorced with no children. He works as a teller and is diabetic.” I clenched my jaw so hard I heard my teeth creaking under the strain.

Nino slammed his fist down on the table, seething. “Those motherfuckers. They’re doing this to undermine you.”

That much was obvious, but my blood still boiled at having it voiced. The Cirenos were taunting me, pointing their fingers and jeering, Hey, look, Giovanni’s brat thinks he’s all grown up now. They were broadcasting a message on a flashing neon sign to every crime family in Chicago: they didn’t respect the young, inexperienced, new boss. He was a pale follow-up to his father’s legacy, and anyone who could take his family could keep it.

Too bad for them, I was still a Marino. The only Marino left, and I wouldn’t tolerate any disrespect to my family name.

“This is a good time to act strongly,” Sandro agreed. “It will make them think twice about any future attacks and earn some respect from your men.”

“They should respect me already.”

“They respect the Marino name,” Sandro corrected. “They respected your father, and respect that he believed you worthy of standing in his shoes. That’s enough to get you started, yes, but true loyalty and devotion will have to come from respect in you.” I sucked my teeth but didn’t argue. As much as I hated it, Sandro was right, as he often was. He had been serving as consigliere since I was a little boy, so if anyone was going to have the perspective of experience it was him.

“Well this isn’t the dark ages, we can’t just go putting their heads on sticks to scare off bandits. We need to hit them back with twice the force if we’re going to send a message—one that makes it very clear that my father’s no-tolerance policy for innocent deaths still stands.”

Nino groaned, rubbing his hand down his face. “And just how are we going to do that, without causing innocent deaths ourselves? They shot up a popular shopping mall for Christ’s sake. It doesn’t get much bigger than that.”

“Not for us,” Sandro said evenly. “We’re Cosa Nostra. They broke our code of ethics, hitting us where it hurts, but they don’t have the same consideration we do—attacking their innocents won’t have the same effect.”

“So we find what matters to them and destroy it,” I declared. Sandro nodded his head, but Nino didn’t seem pleased.

“And what would that be?” he asked. “They have no code, they have no morals, they have no values, so what the hell do we attack?!”

“They don’t have morals,” Sandro said, “but they do have values. Flavio Cireno is a proud businessman, the thing he cares for the most is maintaining his heavy wallet and his spotless public image. That’s our golden ticket.”

I hummed, tapping my finger against the table as I thought. The Cirenos had bought out several restaurants in the past five years or so, reputable businesses with no criminal activity to speak of, which meant that the Cirenos must be using them to run insurance scams. It was a classic formula: buy the business, heavily insure the business, operate the business as cheaply as possible, and then run the business into the ground and take the hefty insurance payout. Some of the Cirenos’ restaurants were probably ripe to be plucked, but if something shut them down early Cireno would be at a loss.

“Have someone who’s uninitiated or otherwise unrecognizable go into Cireno’s busiest restaurant,” I ordered. “I want them to make a huge scene at the front about how his family got food poisoning there, make sure the customers can hear him. In the meanwhile start falsifying internet reviews and get at least two gossip magazines to publish a piece on it. The editor at Flare still owes us for our generosity, so start there. Their insurance might cover all the loopholes but the court of public opinion won’t care.”

“I’ll see what I can find on their insurance policy,” Nino said, catching on quick.

“Check the water contamination policy specifically,” Sandro advised. “We’ve gotten lucky on that before.”

“Smart,” I nodded, always pleased with my consigliere’s insight. “Shutting down those restaurants would be a huge smack in the face to a greedy bastard like him, but it’ll be the smear campaign that will hit him hardest. His business reputation will be scarred forever.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Nino grinned ferally.

“We’re Italian, we’ll drink to anything,” I rolled my eyes. A quick glance out of our booth showed the club still running smoothly, our conversation covered by the low pumping of the bass and the attention of every customer on the beauty on stage.

My breath jumped in my chest as my eyes returned to the dancer. All of my dancers were attractive women, with varying attitudes and body types to cater to the different tastes that walked through our door, but this woman. Even eight years later, I knew this woman’s body on sight.

Rea.

The air buzzed in my ears as I stared at her. She was still so beautiful, even more than she had been before, time having added a lithe roundness to her curves. She’d clearly kept up with her running regimen, if the tantalizing bounce of her ass was any indication, and were her tits bigger? As she ran her fingers over her breasts I realized they definitely were. Those delicate hands covered less than they had before. I could practically feel them falling into my open palms.

I still wanted her. I had always wanted her. I’d dreamt of her from my empty bed in Milan, thought of her any time I saw cannoli on a restaurant menu, pretended not to compare every girlfriend or one night stand to her. I’d managed to push her firmly into the past, but now she was right in front of me and every bit of it came rushing back in full technicolor. She’d been in the back of my mind for eight long years, and here she was slipping her bra off her shoulder for a room full of strangers.

The rage was intense and immediate, and it was only years of managing my image that kept me from leaping up and punishing her right there for all the room to see.

“A drink might be just what we all need,” Sandro said, snapping my attention back to the moment. “Frankly, after this week, I wouldn’t mind a few. Anyone else?” Nino whooped.

“Alright,” I said evenly. “I think we all deserve a few hours to let loose.” Sandro smiled at him approvingly. I knew I’d worried my father’s best friend recently, too immersed in balancing my grief with my new role to take proper care of myself, and I felt a distant pang of regret for causing Sandro concern. I couldn’t pay it much attention though, not with the white-hot fury pulsing behind my eyes.

I casually waved down a waiter, my brow barely twitching as Rea’s bra finally dropped. “It’s on me tonight. You’ve worked your asses off so let’s enjoy it.”

“If you say so, Don Andrea!” Nino cheered cheekily. I flipped him off, just because I could, and silently seethed as Rea spun leisurely in the air. It was vulgar, the way she pressed the pole between her plush thighs, pressing her hips into it rhythmically like she was begging the cheap, pathetic perverts around her to imagine her moving her ass that way in their beds. This was the little girl who sat next to me in kindergarten, the preteen who had laughed when my voice cracked, the young woman who turned bright red the first time I devoured her. And now she was just a fucking slut.

I slowly sipped my Cezarac, unbuttoning my shirt down to the third button and not hearing a damn thing Nino was blathering on about. One of his many party stories, all of which I had either been there for or had heard about a thousand times. No, I didn’t need to listen to his company, not when my mind was full of the image of my woman crawling to another man on her hands and knees just because he waved a dollar at her. She had the nerve to take it with her fucking mouth.

The waiter came back over to refill us and I subtly passed him a folded note. I watched the waiter take it to the bartender, not taking a single glance at it just like he had been trained, and then watched the bartender read the five words I had scrawled.

This dancer. Dahlia Room. Now.

The bartender glanced up, wisely decided not to question who I was, and flagged over the nearest dancer. I looked away and finished my drink, watching Rea seduce some low-life strangers. Was she planning on taking any of these goons to a private room? Would she wrap them up in her hands, or her lips, and grin at them like she had at me? I let myself watch, let the outrage and betrayal sit inside my chest. She didn’t deserve the mercy of quick, shallow anger.

I placed down my empty glass and stood smoothly, patting my dress pants as if they could possibly be dirty. “I’ll see you two tomorrow,” I said smoothly.

“Are you headed out already?” Sandro frowned.

“No,” I answered, jerking my head to the staircase to the coveted second floor. “I’m headed up.” Nino’s hoots followed me all the way to the Dahlia room, unknowing that I wouldn’t be celebrating anything up there tonight.

I turned off the light, not caring to look at the raised stage where Rea had danced for other men before, or at the black leather sofa where she’d likely ridden some creep’s pathetic dick. I snarled to myself and poised for attack.

It took a few minutes—ha! What was she doing, fingering herself open?—for her to arrive and by then I had the double advantage of adjusted eyesight. It was all I could do to remain still and ready against the wall when she rapped at the door. Her voice was sickeningly sweet when it called out for me. It made my stomach curdle.

I waited, patient but coiled tight like a panther on the prowl, my heart pounding from the adrenaline that shot through me as the door opened. I knew I was invisible, covered by the door as it swung open. A beam of light split the dark room. A moment of silence, a put-upon sigh, and one, two, three steps into the room…

I exploded.

I was a man who knew how to use my formidable frame in battle. I was all too familiar with the heavy thump of bodies, the mind-boggling solidity of impact, the rib-creaking way a wall broke a fall. I’d done it a thousand times. But to have Rea’s body crushed against me again after so long was absolute bliss.

I was pretty sure I heard her head crack against the wall, not hard enough for a concussion but definitely enough for a nasty headache, and a savage thrill burst through me. She kicked backwards, immediately fighting against me where I put all my weight onto her back. It must have been hard to breathe with her cheek crushed against the wall. Still, I was pleased when she tried. It gave me a perfect excuse to clap my hand over her mouth. I wanted her to fucking smother.

I grunted when Rea managed to wrench one arm free to throw an elbow back at me, the impact so much stronger than I expected from her pretty little frame. My blood rushed. Ah, she never did disappoint. Still, I couldn’t let her do it again; I caught her by the wrist, feeling her pulse jackrabbit under my fingers in terror as she tried—and failed—to scream.

“Shut,” I finally grit, “up.”

Her beautiful body, that same pretty little body that had just been displaying itself for anyone with a cock and a dollar, froze instinctively. I growled in the back of my throat. Good. This was how she needed to be, quiet, subservient and obedient to me, if she wanted to walk out of this room on her own two feet. God, those heels were horrific. One low sweep of my leg and she’d be down, both ankles snapped like twigs. My rage grew ever higher. How could she make herself this vulnerable?

Then her body relaxed minutely, as if against her will, and I realized she knew me. The same way I’d known her body at a glance, two words was all it took for her to place my voice in her ear. She hadn’t gotten me out of her head yet either. She couldn’t.

I felt high on the knowledge and I flipped her around, unceremoniously shoving her back against the wall once she was facing me. She winced at the impact, she glared—oh, her eyes were just as deep and dangerous as they had always been. Still that darkest brown, and I knew if I turned the light on there would be a single pinpoint of green swimming near her right pupil. But she had the nerve—the impossible fucking nerve—to glare right back up at me. I’d known better than to expect tears from my vicious little sweetheart, but no fear at all? After all that fight? It was like she’d stopped seeing me as a threat the moment she placed my voice. That just wouldn’t do. I wanted her quaking at my feet, begging me for mercy, but she didn’t seem interested in the slightest and I had never felt more disrespected. She knew exactly who I was, and she wasn’t afraid.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I growled at her, barely holding back. I decided to give her a chance—my clubs did their best to weed out women being pimped out by someone else, but she could have slipped through the cracks. Maybe a relationship gone wrong or a drug addiction led her here. That wasn’t her fault. I could help her.

But she just looked up at me flatly and declared, “Paying my bills.”

That was the last straw. There was no crying, no tragedy, no remorse; she was here of her own free will and I wanted to rip her apart for it. I shook her roughly. “Your bills?” I roared. “Your bills?”

Rea narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, you know, rent and groceries and all that. Prices have really gone up while you were off enjoying the fine life.”

“You have some fucking nerve,” I bit out. “I was preparing to take over my family’s empire, and you were here doing what? Shaking your ass for lowlife johns?!”

She just looked at me blankly. “Are you done yet?”

I saw red. It was just like when we were younger. No matter what I did, how angry I became, she just sat there unimpressed. Like she was watching a child throw a tantrum and not getting a front-row seat to the wrath of the most powerful man in Chicago. And just like back then, I was consumed with the urge to make her react.

I slammed my fist into the wall beside her head with a loud crack, making sure my knuckles passed so close to her that she could feel the air displacement on her cheek. That at least got a minute flinch. I’d had debtors on the ground blubbering for mercy with less but she just stood there like an unmovable stone.

“Oh, I’m not done,” I hissed, “you’re done. This is my club, and you’re never dancing in it again.”

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Chapter One

Giada

I always feel free when I’m bound by him.

It’s the only place I do not feel anger simmering within me.

When Romeo ties me up, the pain from the physical effort of being suspended crowds my mind, and I feel better, as if I can finally breathe. My arms tied tightly together, so I can’t move them an inch. My legs folded to his specifications, leaving me open and vulnerable to him, nothing between him and myself but my flimsy silk panties. My body, suspended like an offering, awaiting my master, to do with me whatever he would.

I twitch in my bindings and moan, “Oh God,” closing my eyes as I revel in the complete freedom from responsibility, even if just for a limited time.

The first clap of the paddle as it makes contact with my ass has me jerking in surprise.

“I said no talking, Juliet,” my dom growls and I incline my head in submission.

My frustrated moan is guttural, the bass and synths of the music playing in the distance drowning it out. Some of the scenes played out at the club can get a little… loud, even with the sound-proofed rooms. The music helps that, and it sets the mood.

My dark hair hangs like a curtain, just barely sweeping the carpeted floor as I lightly swing back and forth.

“Ten strokes for that digression, my sweet.”

I nod my consent.

“Tell me your safe word.”

“Montague.”

“Good girl. Remember to use it.”

I try to let myself relax as much as I can, ready for the sharp sting of the paddle on my flesh. It’s not the strength of the hit that makes me hiss through my teeth. The momentum of the stroke makes me swing and the rope bites mercilessly into my skin and already-strained muscles. The discomfort is so intense that my mind finally detaches itself from the physical stress of our scene, and allows me to unconsciously dive into subspace. Still, I am sentient enough to manage to count the paddle strokes. My dom punishes me slowly, every blow on a different spot of my ass, as I swing helplessly.

The rope presses against the flesh of my breasts, my hands securely tied in front of me. The continuous sting of the paddle on my back is just one more impression in a cacophony of sensation that assaults my senses.

“I’m gonna turn you around now,” he says.

The blindfold enhances my other senses, making me feel everything more intensely. Romeo’s scent envelops me – fresh sweat, leather, cinnamon, and sandalwood. The stress of the situation is something I have now gotten used to with my anonymous dom. I’ve never known his real name, and he’s never known mine.

It’s better this way. His knowing who I am would just complicate his life for no reason.

He is meticulous as always with the ropes around my thighs, making sure to press a knot against my spread legs so that every time I move, it presses on my clit. The anticipation of that alone has me whimpering. I know he likes that. My head brushes against his groin and I can feel the hardness.

The ropes are tied underneath my breasts, circling my arms and then finishing at my hands. I cannot move an inch, my body is completely at his mercy. He unties and ties on one end of the ropes so that my joined hands are now around my head. I can feel my boobs standing to extreme attention, the strain on my shoulders intense. I lean into it with a sigh. This is exactly what I need.

“Safe word?” Romeo asks again, he knows that if a scene gets too intense, a sub might need to be reminded that there is a way out.

“Montague,” I reassure him, repeating our safe word.

“Very well.”

I’m not ready to tap out, even as my body is stressed, my muscles stretched to breaking point, especially around my shoulders and neck. Because this is exactly what I need. His hand on me is soothing, reassuring, running with precision over my body as he makes sure of the ropes’ position. Romeo changes the length of one rope, which makes my body tilt forward, the knot forced against my clit, rubbing roughly, adding to the kaleidoscope of sensation that suffuses me. Every nerve in my body is on fire.

“Squeeze my hand.” He orders.

I reach out blindly, and find his finger, squeezing it for all I’m worth. He’s satisfied that I’m good to go, and the scene can continue.

The knots beneath my breasts press upwards, hurting me so good, but also not enough. My mouth is open in a long-drawn-out groan, drool dripping a little to the floor, my eyes leaking tears, wetting the blindfold.

That’s when I smell the burning wicker.

I hold my breath in anticipation, and I jerk only a little when the first drop of wax hits the skin of my inner thigh, tantalizingly close to my most vulnerable spot. I can’t keep the moan in, and I know Romeo is grinning smugly at my reaction to his ministrations.

I hold my breath as he drips more wax around my thighs. The heat on my burning muscles is transcendent.

My thoughts are running wild and I cannot help but ponder that this is definitely the best way to celebrate my birthday once midnight rolls around. But this is also my goodbye to Romeo. My heart is breaking at the thought of never seeing him again. He has been my scene partner for two years now… ever since I got engaged at twenty-three fucking years of age to fifty-year-old Patrizio Freccia. His family has been in business with Cosa Nostra for generations. It’s a business arrangement between our families. He has valuable connections and is useful to us.

Nobody ever asked me if I consented. I’m lucky I got a two-year reprieve before the wedding thanks to my madrina, my aunt Ludovica. My father told me I’m a very lucky girl because Patrizio is rich and wants me. I’m supposed to feel happy that some old guy is perving on me.

My parents really don’t know me at all.

Romeo spanks me between my open thighs, directly on my pussy. The lightning pain it sends through my nerves is like an electricity shock that brings me out of my musings and back to the present. My thighs are burning from the wax he’s poured on them, my ass is smarting from the spanking. My muscles are screaming from being so tightly bound. This should be helping, making me feel better but reality insists on intruding.

At midnight, I turn twenty-five, which means the wedding planning begins. It’ll get too dangerous to see Romeo; my aunt won’t be able to cover for me anymore.

I suddenly feel teeth on my nipples as Romeo bites down. I bite my lip to keep the moan in. He bites the right one first, then the left. I know there’ll be teeth marks there tomorrow.

Good. I’ll have something to remember him by.

A sob escapes me at the thought and Romeo is there right away, his hand running soothingly along my back. “Are you alright?” he asks.

I hesitate a moment, not wanting to vomit my bullshit all over him, but before I know it, I’m shaking my head.

I want to keep going, I do. But I’m not in the right head space. With a sigh I open my mouth. “Montague.”

Immediately Romeo begins to untie my knots. In less than two minutes he’s leading me to the soft velvet sofa and ringing for a bowl of water to wipe me down before massaging me with hot oil to soothe my aching muscles. He takes the blindfold off of me, but we keep our masks on, for anonymity’s sake, which is a relief to me because he can’t see the steady tears running down my cheeks.

He lays me down on the sofa and lies beside me, caressing me softly. I try to stop myself, but I’m crying in earnest now. I’m grateful for the private room provided by the club because at least the only witness to my tears is Romeo.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly.

I draw in a shuddering breath. “Nothing. Just coming down from subspace. It was intense.”

“Tell me more. It wasn’t anything to do with the scene, was it?”

I shake my head sadly, “No. The scene was perfect but just… shit carried over from my life,” I laugh soundlessly, “don’t ask.” I put my head in my hands.

I can feel him wanting to ask for more details but we agreed when we started this game that we would not ask any personal questions.

“What’s the time?” I ask him after some time.

I hear him shuffle about, “It’s ten past midnight.”

“Oh. Happy birthday to me.”

“You’re kidding me.” He says with a snort.

I cock an eyebrow he can’t see. “Why?”

“Your birthday is August 1st? Same as Juliet’s?”

I can feel him move and then his warm lips are on my cheek. “Happy birthday, Juliet.”

Now I really want to break down. No time for that though. I have to go home and make myself pretty for the birthday party my parents are throwing me later today. I have to go get ready to be claimed by Patrizio. My birthday party doubles as our engagement party.

“Hold me please…” I am practically begging him, and I don’t even care. This will be all I have of him after tonight and I want to cherish it. Romeo puts his arms around me, squeezing me tight against his hard muscular body – a body my hands and my mouth know so well.

It’s a bit crazy, the life we live.

He makes me feel so safe and loved that I find myself surrendering to the need to sink into him. Throwing all caution to the winds, I close my eyes and fall asleep.

***

I startle awake when light starts peeking through the blackout curtains. I’m still curled up on the sofa, but I can’t sense the presence of any other humans close by. With a sigh, I sit up and take my mask off. I stand up, stretching luxuriantly.

I get dressed, ready to morph back into my every day persona – Giada Cardinali, mob boss’ daughter. I know Aunt Ludovica will find a way to cover for my absence but that doesn’t mean I need to make it harder for her.

I feel real sadness at not having been able to say goodbye to Romeo. Even if he doesn’t know that this was our last session, it would have been nice to kiss him, breathe him in one more time. I truly think that without him, I’d have lost my mind these past two years.

Dressed now in my midnight blue corduroys and a white satin shirt, I walk out the door and find Sergio waiting for me. He’s the only person at this club who’s seen my face uncovered. He holds out a note to me.

“Romeo asked me to give this to you.” He smiles as I take the note. It’s not unusual for Romeo to do that. All our communication is done through Sergio. Beautiful handwritten notes that I would cherish if I didn’t have to burn each one after reading it.

I open the note and read it, a frown on my face.

Dearest Juliet,

I hope this note finds you well (or feeling better at least). I had to leave but Sergio should have a coffee and a birthday cupcake for you, to jump start your day, beautiful. Until next time, tis I, your most devoted servant.

Romeo

I chortle at his words. Looking up, I see Sergio approach, a to-go cup in hand as well as a tissue wrapped confection. My face hurts from how much I’m smiling.

Maybe my birthday isn’t going to be all horrible.

Chapter Two

Romano

Once I step out of the BDSM club, Romeo is banished to the back of my mind and Romano Monti, heir of the Monti Cosa Nostra family is back. Juliet is tucked away into the corner of my heart where she resides when we’re not in the same room.

I walk quickly to my black Lexus SUV with the custom bullet-proof tinted windows and get in, just sitting for a minute to reorient myself. I need to check my messages since I’ve been on airplane mode for too long. I don’t carry any security with me to the club where Juliet and I meet.

I place my bag of toys in the back seat. As soon as I get home, I’ll soak them and clean them myself before placing them carefully back in the bag, ready for next time. Nobody touches them but me. Nobody even knows about my activities.

Essentially nobody knows where I am when I am with Juliet at the club.

It’s not an easy thing, this one thing that’s only mine. The only way to manage without being caught is to be unpredictable. Juliet and I don’t meet on a schedule, we never communicate directly with each other, and we certainly never, ever see each other outside of the club. The only thing that’s always the same is the place we meet.

Sergio has been running The Tease Room for almost ten years now. He and I met when I was in college, looking for something to take the edge off, some relief from the craziness that is my life. He has an idea who I am, but discretion is his signature and I have no reason to doubt that he keeps quiet about what he knows.

I begin to frown as I notice how many missed calls and messages I have. I begin to read, and my frown deepens even more.

DO NOT do anything crazy.

That’s from my cousin, Benedetto, who sounds worried.

I click on the second message, which is from Father Lorenzo. He and I are friends, and he is definitely someone I would count as an advisor, but his message still makes no sense to me.

Everything happens for a reason. Come and see me soon.

“Fuck. What is going on?” I murmur to myself.

I sit staring through the windscreen, providing a very stationary target for anyone who would care to take a shot at the Monti family’s one and only heir. Starting the car, I ease into New York traffic, before using the car’s display screen to call my best friend, my second in command. If anyone knows what’s happening, it’ll be Mark.

“Yo. Where you been? I’ve been trying to reach you.” He sounds uncharacteristically somber.

“What the fuck is going on, Mark?”

He huffs so loudly I can hear him clearly, even on speaker. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“Clearly.”

“Okay so it’s like this right–”

“Just spit it out, Mark.” I snarl.

Mark sighs, “Are you driving? Find somewhere to park and then go to TMZ. There’s an article there you might want to see.”

I snort. “Really? All this over some gossip in a tabloid?”

“Just do it.”

I expel a breath. “No, I already spent too much time away from the mansion. Someone’s gonna be asking questions. I’ll come on over there and we can talk about whatever this is.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Your father is in a bad mood because of all the press the Cardinalis are getting over this wedding.”

“Oh yeah?” I grinned. “What’s up? He jealous? Did he want to marry the girl himself instead of her getting hitched with that old guy?”

“That ‘old guy’ as you put it is richer than both your families combined. This could be bad for us.”

I roll my eyes, “Whatever man. Since when do you care about family politics?”

“I don’t. I’m just kinda… stressed about the other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“The one you’re not reading about.”

I huff, shaking my head. “Fine. I’ll see you in a few and then we’ll see how serious this other thing is.”

“Yeah okay. I’ll open some good whisky.”

“Any excuse…”

“You know it.”

I hang up, increasing my speed. As far as I’m concerned there’s nothing life threatening that the tabloids could be writing about me. I don’t see what they could possibly have that would elicit a reaction from both Benedetto and Father Lorenzo.

Probably lies, whatever they are, so why sweat it?

Chapter Three

Giada

My stylist and make-up artist were waiting to get me ready for the evening when I arrived. In other circumstances, I’d be super excited. Now, I can barely muster a smile.

My dark hair is piled high on my head, random curls falling over my face. It’s held together by a diamond brooch that shines brightly from within the inky tresses of my hair. Matching diamond studs sit pretty in my ears, and I am wearing a dark velvet choker with a diamond brooch in the middle.

I run my hand along the soft material. It’s such a perfect representation of how much my family owns me.

If I had my way, the only person I’d wear this collar for is Romeo.

I push that thought away as ruthlessly as I can. He’s in my past now. My present awaits.

My dress is made of midnight blue satin and velvet. It’s a gown really, strapless with a neckline that folds over like the turning of a page. At the fold and the slit on my right side, a lavender satin material is revealed. My shoulders are free of adornment, and I must admit the aesthetic is stunning.

My artist has kept the make-up minimal, just splattering my face, neck and shoulders with foundation before adding some luminizing body lava. A light blush on my cheeks and natural lips with a deep smoky eye in shades of purple to make my dark eyes even darker and deeper, complete the look.

The six-inch silver sandals on my feet are a little uncomfortable to stand in, but nothing I haven’t done before.

I can’t help but feel like a princess. I walk slowly out of my rented hotel room and take a lift down to the ballroom. This party is big enough that the tabloids have been writing about it all week as preparations were ongoing.

It’s more of an engagement party than a birthday party. It’s a display of wealth, power, and the privilege to do crimes without having to pay for them. It’s elicited lots of excitement in my crowd. The guests are an intersection of people from pop stars to actors, influencers to tech bros, and of course, allied Cosa Nostra families of New York.

I step into the room and immediately there’s a spotlight on me. My heart is thrumming way too hard, and I feel like bursting into tears. There are very few people in this room I even want to see.

A shadow pierces the bright spotlight and before I know it, my father is sweeping me into the room, making introductions left and right. I know most of these people already. My father is a huge believer in bringing up your child by nurturing and admonishing them of who you expect them to become.

For me, that was likely being a bride to the next head of the Cardinali family. Which means that, like my mother before me, I have to know every facet of the business, so that I might one day make a good advisor.

“Miss Giada, you look stunning,” Mrs. Santino says.

Her husband works in accounting, and she aspires to be a lady who lunches. I smile, nodding my head at her. “Thank you.”

“Happy birthday!” She continues with a small clap.

I nod, smiling some more, and move on to the next person and the next until they blur together in a long line of obligation, fear and pandering. None of these people care about me as a person. I’m merely an object to be admired that might help them get ahead in some way.

When the smile begins to feel a bit stiff on my face, I glide over to the bar and ask for a whisky on the rocks. The bartender gives me a sympathetic glance and proceeds to mix my drink.

“Only the best thousand-year-old Scotch whisky for the birthday girl,” he says.

I summon a smile from somewhere before grabbing my glass and downing it. “Another.” I say, slamming my glass back on the table.

His smile widens. “A girl after my own heart.”

I know he’s just doing what everyone else is, kissing my ass to impress my dad, but it’s particularly annoying coming from him. I want to lean in to whisper in his ear, ‘You know it won’t work, right?’ but he probably won’t even know what I’m talking about.

I retrieve my new drink and saunter away, keeping an eye on the crowds.

Suddenly there’s a hand on my body, where no hand should be. Someone behind me squeezes my ass hard enough that their finger is between my ass cheeks. I freeze, outraged, and turn, ready to give them a piece of my mind, maybe a face-full of whisky too. I come to a stop, blinking rapidly as I look up into the face of my fiancé-to-be. “Patrizio…” I say shakily, “W-what are you doing?”

He grins wolfishly, leaning in, a lock of his luxuriant salt and pepper hair falling across his forehead. “Just having a little taste of what’s mine.” He says sotto voce.

Not fucking yet.

I’m feeling a little defiant tonight, not very accommodating. When he circles my waist with his hand, and tries to pull me flush against him, I do not move an inch, planting in my heels to help me resist.

His brow furrows, and he looks annoyed. “What’s wrong with you?” he asks.

I toss my head, lifting my chin defiantly. “Nothing’s wrong. Why?”

His fingers dig painfully into my side. “Do not play with me, little girl, I’ve crushed women far more experienced than you.” He says coldly.

I quirk an eyebrow. “What a thing to say to your fiancée. Are you aware that you’re hurting me?”

He growls, actually growls, against my ear and pulls me closer by force. I stumble, almost falling, and am forced to put a hand on his chest to steady myself. He’s looking down my cleavage, which has almost been flattened against him.

I want to slap his face. “Let. Me. Go.” I bite out.

His wandering hands have reached my ass and he’s kneading and shaping it in his hands. “I don’t think so.”

I can feel his erection crushed between us as he grinds against me. Surely, he should be too old for random boners.

Did he take Viagra before coming to my party? I wouldn’t put it past him.

“There you are, Gigi. Been searching all over for you.” I look up, feeling both mortified and relieved to see my cousin Tiziano weaving drunkenly towards us. “Got a present for you.”

Patrizio lets me go and disappears into the crowd as Tiziano reaches me. He digs into his pocket and comes out with a small box. “It’s a charm, for good luck. I’m sure you can use it.” His eyes flick over to the right and I follow his gaze to see Patrizio in conversation with someone I haven’t met.

Maybe Tiziano isn’t as clueless as we all assume he is.

“Thank you.” I try to infuse the words with all the relief and gratitude I’m feeling for the reprieve he’s managed to give me.

“Aww, you’re welcome. Enjoy.” He pats me affectionately on the arm before staggering away.

I pick up my skirts before anyone else can accost me and hot foot out of the ballroom. Towards the front door is a whole gallery of paparazzi. If I go up to my room, someone’s just going to come looking.

“I have to get out of here.” I think as I make my way to the kitchens. There’s always a back way out. I run as fast as I can in my heels, digging out my phone to call my aunt as I do it.

If anyone can get me out of here, she can.

Chapter Four

Romano

Arriving home, a half hour later, I find several cars parked in the driveway. Mark’s Suzuki jeep is instantly recognizable, as is Benedetto’s Chevy Impala in addition to many others. “Hmm, are we having a party too?”

Alighting my vehicle, I walk slowly towards the front door. The Monti House, as we affectionately call it, is a 10-bedroom, 12-bathroom mansion in New Jersey. It sits on five acres of land and has two guest houses on the property. We also own the mansion next door, from where operations are handled.

The Monti House is located at the end of a cul-de-sac. The entire street is populated with members of the family. It’s the safest place in the world for a Monti to be, but I sometimes find it very suffocating.

I step in the door and pause, listening for any disturbance. My mother is a shouter. If there’s a problem, she’s likely shouting about it. Since the house is almost funereal in its silence, I have to conclude that whatever is in the TMZ article isn’t worth her energy.

How bad can it be then?

I make my way downstairs to the basement, where no doubt, Mark and Benedetto are waiting for me in the Man Cave. It runs through half the length of the house with a gym, a shooting range, a soundproof movie minitheater, a gaming room where we gamble on the roulette table or at cards, a lounge where we are wont to chill when we have downtime and of course a bathroom complete with shower, jacuzzi and Japanese toilet.

When we were younger, we could literally spend entire weekends in the Man Cave, not emerging until duty called.

Today I find Mark and Benedetto in the lounge, sitting quietly, scrolling through their phones. I pause at the door, looking from one to the other. “Okay then, where’s the fire?” I ask.

Benedetto is first to look up. He quickly gets to his feet and walks towards me, grabbing my arm to lead me gently to the couch. “Sit down.”

I do as he says though I’m frowning, beginning to get very tired of their stalling. Ben picks up the iPad and drops it in my lap. “See for yourself.”

I pick it up, swipe to open it, the site immediately visible. The page is filled with pictures of my girlfriend Rose, lip locking with some guy in 3D. I stare, and for a moment my mind refuses to compute what my eyes are seeing.

“What…?”

Then it hits me. My girlfriend of two months, Rose Antonelli, is cheating on me with some long-haired scumbag. I wait for the betrayal to hit me but all I feel is anger that she’s disrespected me in this manner. It is one thing for her to cheat – it is not like we are a love match. But to do it where someone could take pictures is just reckless and stupid, not to mention plain rude. I grind my teeth, my jaw clenching. “Where’s Rose now?” I ask.

Mark huffs with frustration. “I tried to find her but couldn’t. As for Tiziano, he should be at that party tonight.”

I looked sharply in his direction. “Tiziano?”

He points at the picture. “That’s Tiziano Cardinali.”

“Fuck, you say?” Now I am mad. It was one thing to carelessly kiss some guy. But to kiss a guy who is a member of a rival family, in public? No, that was deliberate, that was malice.

Both of them will pay.

“Find her. I don’t care what you have to do.”

“What about him?” Benedetto asked, pointing at the pic.

“Oh, don’t you worry. I’ll take care of his ass. I know where to find him tonight!”

“You can’t do anything to Rose, y’know? Not without your father’s permission. He sanctioned this marriage.” Mark reminds me, as if I need it.

I snort. “You think I don’t know that?”

“He might still want the union to go ahead.”

“I don’t think he’s big on disrespect either.”

Benedetto puts a quelling hand on my shoulder as I seek to stand up and get my guns. “Hey how about we think about this a bit longer? We can’t just barge into a Cardinali party guns blazing. That would be a declaration of war. Unsanctioned.”

I smirk at him. “You saying I can’t be subtle?”

He shrugs.

“Ouch. Et tu Benedetto?” I give him a look of betrayal.

He lifts his hands in surrender. “I am trying to protect you, doofus.”

I get to my feet. “Don’t worry. I don’t intend to hurt anyone at this party. We’ll just get Tiziano and go.”

“What are you gonna do with him, when you have him?” Mark asks cautiously.

“I’m going to teach him a lesson about messing with other people’s women.”

Benedetto stares at him, shaking his head. “I mean, I guess they started this, but you gotta be careful, man.”

I walk over to the gun case, unlock it with the key on a chain around my neck and start choosing weapons. “Y’all coming tonight or not?” I ask as I check the guns over.

“Of course, we’re coming.” Mark huffs irritably. “How else are we gonna stop you from fuckery?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Stop me… that’s funny Mark.”

“Look just promise me you won’t shoot Giuseppe Cardinali by accident.” Mark says.

I shrug. “Who knows. It might mark the end of our feud if I did.” I chuckle evilly, just to rile Mark up. I don’t blame him for his fear. I have been known to take things a bit further than necessary in the past.

Rose is a sweetheart and I like her, but she doesn’t do anything for me sexually. Seeing her kiss another man though, that’s a breach of honor. Sure, I have my own thing going with Juliet, but you don’t see me flaunting that shit in public. They both need to be taught a lesson – and I am going to make sure they both never forget it.

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