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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.” 

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

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.

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

Chapter One

Ada

“The reflection in the mirror is my friend.”

I whisper the same words almost every time that I look at it. Staring at my reflection, I can’t help but feel like I’m a kid playing dress up in something far too fancy for me. Which is just stupid. Objectively, if I were looking at a picture instead of a mirror, I would have a million and one compliments to give the woman about the dress that she’s wearing. I would tell her how lovely her skin looks and to make sure to smile.

I look away before I can start to pick apart the flaws that only I ever seem to see in my reflection.

With my back safely turned against the full-length mirror, I turn my focus to the team of stylists and makeup artists waiting to finish getting me ready for the Met Gala tonight instead. It’s my first. To say that I’m nervous would be an understatement.

My spacious Manhattan apartment is filled with many more people than I have ever invited over myself. Yet, I wish that the designer of the dress was here to keep me company. Maeve, my best friend, is a fashion designer and I’m wearing the gown that will serve as her debut to the public. It’s the first time that one of her dresses is being worn to something so huge. She’s really pulled out the stops on this masterpiece, too. A perfect combination of soft ivory fabric, delicate lace and shimmering satin. I look like an otherworldly creature. It shows off my lithe frame in all of the places that Maeve wanted it to. The subtle sparkle of the sequins catches the light in all of the right places. Maybe I’m crazy, but it almost looks like there’s an ethereal sort of glow hovering around me. It’s like the gown has managed to shift and change the light of the room around me magically. That’s enough of a reason to go. More people need to see just how amazing of a designer Maeve is. I owe her at least that much.

Forgetting my troubles for a minute, I can’t help but smile at Maeve’s sheer genius.

“Are you done? Can you sit now, please?” Lila, my stylist and makeup artist, cuts through my thoughts and nods pointedly to the chair in front of her. The one where I’m supposed to be getting the finishing touches on my hair put in. I sit obediently. It’s an effort to keep from pulling my knees up to my chest as I sit. It’s lucky that the dress is tight enough to limit movements like that. It’s also going to force my posture to be perfect.

At least I can pass the time looking at the spectacular view of Manhattan.

I chose this apartment for the floor to ceiling windows that line the whole living room. The views are breathtaking.

A warm golden hue paints the room and soft classical music that my manager always insists on pervades it. Everybody is speaking in hushed tones because of her as well. She insists on it to ensure that when I walk those infamous stairs in an hour or so I will be at peak performance. She’s all for zen energy.

My bodyguard, Alberto, is standing over by the front door with his hands clasped comfortably in front of him. Decked in black from head to toe, he is the only one in the room not in neutral earth tones, so he stands out. I can’t even remember a point in my life where I didn’t have security guards surrounding me everywhere I go. Alberto is a godsend. Such is the life of a Dominio and of someone whose brother is a powerful Cosa Nostra clan leader.

Standing at six foot two, Alberto is tall and imposing. His muscular build exudes an air of quiet authority that somehow attracts attention and simultaneously makes others want to not look at him directly.

But, despite his intimidating aura, I’ve always taken comfort in his steadfastness.

He catches me looking at him, and sends a friendly wink in my direction. I don’t know exactly at what point over the last five years he and I became such good friends, but we have. Apart from Lila, he’s likely the one that I’m close with here in the room. The only two that I would feel comfortable trusting with my actual inner thoughts, that’s for sure. No one else. I have to be the top model persona with everybody but them.

“Are you sure about the dress, Ada?” Alberto asks, his deep voice cutting through the hum of activity.

I turn to him, a playful smile on my lips. “It’s perfect, Alberto. Maeve outdid herself this time, don’t you think?”

Alberto’s stern expression softens slightly as he nods. “It’s beautiful. You look stunning.”

My smile widens but it quickly falters as I catch sight of myself in the mirror once more. I don’t understand how nobody else can see the toll that years in this industry has started to take on me. I can see the dark circles under my eyes despite the lovely makeup. There’s a hollowness to my cheeks that wasn’t there before. I know that I look exactly the way my agency wants me to look, but I don’t feel like I’m actually the person looking back at me. Why does everything have to be so complicated?

“I think that’s enough for the hair. What do you think?”

I look up to the small handheld that Lila is holding and it takes my breath away. “I think that you’ve outdone yourself, like you always do.”

“You flatter me.”

I wink at her cheekily. “You make it easy.”

She puts the mirror down and grabs a palette of shimmering eyeshadows before walking around in front of me to touch up my makeup for the third time in the last hour.

Lila has a vibrant presence, with curly, shoulder-length auburn hair, warm brown eyes and a penchant for bold, colorful fashion. Her medium build and radiant smile always puts everyone at ease. She’s been with me through the highs and lows of my career these past five years and I trust her completely.

“Alright, let’s make you look like the goddess you are,” Lila says, her voice filled with determination. She finishes my eyeshadow with practiced precision, adding a touch of glamor to the look.

As Lila works, I internally fight the hunger pangs building in my stomach silently. When’s the last time that I ate something? With everything going on, does it really matter? I had to fit into the dress. I just hope that nobody hears the grumbling. I take a calming breath, determined not to move and mess up Lila’s work. It’s my body. I’m the one in control. I decide.

As far as everybody around me is concerned, I overcame my eating disorder many years ago. Most people in my life think that it was some sort of phase that I had had in high school. Cristiano, my older brother, sent me to rehab just before college thinking everything was fixed. He’s kept a watchful eye since and I know he would think of itas some sort of personal failure if he knew that I still had so many lingering symptoms. I know that the first time that he saw me upchuck my lunch, he would be on me all over again. I can’t let that happen.

I certainly didn’t choose the best industry to be in for a person with an eating disorder. I make it look effortless now but for so many years the other girls that were trying to be scouted like me, bullied me mercilessly. That’s why my little “phase” started in the first place but I never told Cristiano that. He would have never let me keep modeling and it’s the only thing I’m good at. I need this.

Nobody can know that it’s something that will always be lurking right below the surface.

Almost against my will, my eyes flick back over to the reflection of Maeve’s dress. I can’t even begin to calculate how many hours the two of us had spent together working to get to this point in our lives. So many nights sewing into the wee hours of the morning while I modeled creation after creation. Maeve was constantly sketching and measuring. She’s easily the hardest working person that I’ve ever met in my life. And now, here we are. I’m one of the top models in the industry and she’s about to take off into the stratosphere of fashion. Maeve’s unwavering belief in me was a lifeline to her, pulling her back from the brink time and again. Dominio is about to be the next big thing. I can feel it in my bones.

This dress isn’t just a garment; it’s a symbol of our friendship, our shared dreams, and our journey.

“Earth to Ada?” Lila’s hand waved in front of my face, snapping me back to the present. “Where did you go?”

I force a smile and shake my head, dismissing her concerns for me. “I’m just nervous, that’s all. The Met Galais a big deal.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Lila snorts a laugh. Then she gives me a knowing look. “You’ve faced bigger challenges than this, Ada, and you’ve always come out on top.”

I nod, always grateful for Lila’s words of support.

I glance at Alberto, who also gives me another encouraging nod as he pushes off of the wall he had been leaning against. With friends like these, I can’t help but to feel a surge of strength and determination.

Finally, Lila steps back from me and admires her work. “There you go. A true masterpiece, if I do say so myself.”

I turn to the mirror for the last time, and I’m speechless. I almost don’t look like myself at all. The makeup is flawless, enhancing my natural beauty without overpowering it. I feel a sense of pride, not just in my appearance, but in the journey that has brought me here.

Alberto steps forward, offering his arm. “Shall we, Miss Dominio?”

I ease out of my seat and smile at him brightly as I take his proffered arm. “How could I ever say no to a face like that?”

Chapter Two

Kieran

If anybody asked my opinion, I would happily tell whoever was asking that the famed Met Gala might just be the most asinine function that I’ve ever witnessed with my own two eyes.

Here I stand, in my designated post, by the main stairway – and I might as well be invisible. So many layers of fabric and faces of high-profile people that I couldn’t keep track even if I wanted to. Each one more oblivious and entitled than the last. The grand entrance is a sick spectacle of opulence and artistry, the famous stairs adorned with a lush red carpet and surrounded by a throng of photographers and journalists clamoring for a glimpse of the elite attendees. The air is polluted by the buzz of excitement, punctuated by the stinging flash of cameras and the murmur of hushed conversations.

A-listers, influencers, designers, all of the rich elite moving past the sea of people that they will always feel are beneath them. They don’t see the photographers, all they see are the flashing lights. They don’t see the security guards or staff, they only see the champagne and the glitter. The entire event is supposed to be for charity, but everybody who is outside of this room knows that it’s just a pissing contest. There’s no other way to put it.

But, in this instance, it works to my advantage.

My sharp eyes scan over the glamorous crowd, taking in the dazzling array of couture and high fashion that parades past me. It’s sickening but, tonight, I need to blend in.

I am here for one purpose, and one purpose only.

I played the long game to get here. Five years of planning and biding my time. Doing everything that was needed in order to get me to this very moment. There is no way that my plan will fail. I’ve been dedicated to this with a single-minded focus.

Now that the moment is here, I expected a sort of giddy excitement but instead, I feel almost anxious. There is very little that could go wrong, but my analytical mind can’t help but to turn over all of the variables over and over again. After tonight, it’s clear sailing. Everything has led up to this – I just have to find her.

Getting a legitimate position on the event’s security detail had almost been child’s play. Truly, their vetting process is comical. I wonder how they would all feel if they knew how easily their security documents were wholly forged. Nothing about my presence raised even a single red flag. Which was perfect, because I needed to ensure that nothing would raise suspicion in Cristiano Dominio’s meticulous planning. My ego almost can’t take the fact that I finally have one up on him. I’m finally going to make a move that he doesn’t see coming.

I stand with comfortable but perfect posture, my hands clasped in front of me wearing the same plain black suit that every other security guard has been assigned. Granted, most of my co-workers wouldn’t have been able to afford Dior suits like mine, but hey the perks are the things that make stuff like this worth it. My face is a mask of professional detachment. Only those who know me well would recognize the cold calculation behind my green eyes. Every few guests announced into the room has me checking my phone. I’m so close to the prize. I just have to keep an eye out for any changes noted by my contacts. I certainly have enough contingency plans in place for anything that might happen.

Ada Dominio should be here any moment.

While she can’t choose her family, she’s the key to my revenge. Her brother is responsible for dismantling my father’s clan and ending his life. My jaw tightens at the very thought of Cristiano. He deserves everything that’s coming to him. My resolve hardens. He will pay for what he’s done, starting with his baby sister Ada.

A text message vibrates on my phone in my pocket. I take only a moment to read the message. It’s from Liam, my cousin. After my father’s death, they are the relatives I had to turn to. I have never felt like more of a failure than the day that I showed up on my uncle’s doorstep.

Are you sure that this girl is really worth all of this trouble?

The message belies how bored my cousin must be. I know that for all his teasing and complaining, he will do whatever I ask of him. It’s a street that goes both ways. My fingers hover over the keyboard for just a moment, debating whether I should dignify his comment with a response at all.

But the choice is made for me, because, just as I start to type, she appears.

Ada Dominio.

Her pictures don’t do her justice. She’s ethereal. Angelic.

Somebody that seems so effortlessly perfect ought to be criminal in some fashion or another. My breath catches in my chest. Stunning would be putting it lightly. She is wearing the dress on her body as if she were doing it a favor. No doubt the ivory and cream creation is one of Maeve’s. Cristiano’s wife was actually my ex-fiancée for a minute or two, and she is also on my hit list, but I have to be careful how I start this.

The gown flows like liquid silver, hugging her delicate curves and shimmering under the lights. The intricate lacework and delicate beading highlights her stunning beauty, making her look like a goddess descended from the heavens. Her dark hair has been styled elegantly, and her makeup is flawless, enhancing her striking features. For a moment, I’m struck dumb. I forget why I’m here and what I’m supposed to be doing. I forget everything that isn’t her as she walks up those stairs.

I shake my head, forcing myself to look at something, anything that isn’t her. I have to focus on the mission at hand. There will be plenty of time to admire her later. She might be incredibly gorgeous, but she’s still my target. I can’t afford to be distracted by her looks. I’ve worked way too hard for this opportunity and waited too long. Nothing will get in the way of my revenge. I won’t allow it.

Ada ascends the stairs alone, gracefully. Her bodyguard, the flea that’s been bugging me for months, has not been allowed to accompany her through the main entrance. Alberto will have been stopped by now and is working on her clearance. All according to my plan. I had to ensure that Ada would be vulnerable and unprotected as she makes her way inside.

To me.

My phone buzzes in my pocket for a second time. Liam doesn’t tolerate being ignored very well. No doubt the longer I let him sit there being bored, the more messages I’m going to get. But, for now, I need to keep my eye on the prize. So, I ignore my clingy cousin.

I wait, my patience slowly slipping with every passing second. The night has only just begun and I have to wait for the perfect opening. Ada starts to move back down the steps and into the room itself as I trail after her, blending into the background that most guests are oblivious to as Ada strikes pose after pose for the photographers and journalists. She seems to float from place to place as she moves easily in her skin. It’s an effortless sort of grace that simply cannot be taught. She has no idea of the true danger that she’s in right now, lurking so near. She makes such perfect prey, wholly oblivious of the predator so close to her. Ready and waiting to exploit even the smallest weakness that she might show.

I note the way she moves between people, the way she walks, the comments that she makes to those who address her.

However, between the pops of camera flashes, I notice something else, something I couldn’t have anticipated.

There in the spaces between, when she thinks that people are not looking at her, I see subtle signs of what I can only assume is strain. There are moments where her megawatt smile… slips. Just a fraction, when her eyes grow distant.

What sort of burdens does she carry to have such weight on her shoulders? To affect her in a place like this? What secrets lay beneath her polished exterior?

I intend to find them all out.

She moves further toward the large crowd and away from the photographers when her footing slips. Her heel catches on a step. She is about to humiliate herself in front of hundreds of people.

I don’t mean to move, but my body acts without thinking. My hand is around her slender waist as my other catches her by the wrist, elegantly saving her from planting that perfect face at the foot of the stairs. Her breath catches in her throat as she turns those bright, wide eyes up at me with a shocked expression. Slowly, my hand slides over her waist and her lower back, relishing in the silky feel of the dress sliding over her skin. When I’m sure that she’s steady on her own feet, I slowly let her go.

“T-thank you, sir.” She stammers, catching her breath and smiling like the slip was somehow deliberate and that she had planned the whole thing for attention. As she looks up at me once more, her hand sliding out of mine, there is some sort of unexpected jolt deep in my gut. Something that I’ve never felt before, like a flicker of something that I can’t quite identify.

I push it down as deep as possible and take a swift step back and away from her so that she can continue moving. As security, I’m not supposed to interact with the guests and I don’t want to blow my cover.

“You’re welcome.” I keep my eyes averted until I speak again. “Just doing my job.”

Her eyes widen in surprise when our gazes lock once more. Even as she starts to move back down the stairs, I clock the way that she glances back gratefully over her shoulders as if she might even be a little bit curious about me. All things that will work further in my favor.

My resolve solidifies. No matter how beautiful or kind she seems, she is still the key to his revenge. And I will not let anything, not even a moment of unexpected connection, deter me from my goal.

Chapter Three

Ada

I need Alberto to come back quickly.

The Met Gala is in full swing. It should be more than enough to keep me completely occupied, but I don’t see a single friendly face around me. The vast halls of the Metropolitan Museum are wonderfully decorated and filled with more art than I can properly appreciate at this moment. Being surrounded by luminaries of the fashion and artworld, and celebrities everywhere, is somewhat overwhelming if I’m being perfectly honest. The air is buzzing with chatter, and I am standing in the center of it all. I know that I cut a pretty picture, because I’m forcing myself to. The fabric of my dress seems to shimmer like liquid silver under the lights. I try to move as gracefully as possible, but a persistent feeling of unease gnaws at me.

It would be easier with Alberto behind me. I don’t know why one of the event organizers needed him of all people for their little emergency, but they put him in a position that he couldn’t refuse. All he told me was that, in order for me to attend the exclusive after party arrangements, this issue needed to be handled now before everything got fully underway. All things that just go right over my head. Alberto, ever dutiful, had of course insisted on handling it personally.

Have I really become so dependent on him that I can’t be alone for a few minutes on my own? Surely I haven’t sank quite that far. Have I? Anna Wintour, who always organizes the event, always insists on a super strict no phone policy, so I can’t even check up on him or get an estimated time he’ll be back.

Breathe, Ada.

I inhale slowly through my nose, trying to keep myself as steady as possible. I try to reset and refocus. It’s just a few hours and then I can go back and hide away in my apartment as long as I want to, in order to recharge myself.

When I open my eyes, I find I’m no longer alone. The security guard from earlier is standing in front of me with a flat expression.

He’s likely not supposed to be here, but I’m kind of glad that he is.

We had a moment on the stairs and that’s not something that happens to me very often. Even less with men that are actually as damned attractive as the man in front of me is..

“Hello again,” I greet him with a smile.

When the man doesn’t return the expression, only then do I start to feel my anxiety building. Up close like this, I can see green in his eyes that I hadn’t noticed before. It’s a wonder that more eyes aren’t on us right now. He’s a tall man, dark hair cut close to his head and neatly trimmed and styled. When we were on the stairs, he didn’t have the same level of intensity in his eyes.

It’s intimidating.

“I apologize for interrupting, Miss Dominio, but there’s a situation that requires your immediate attention,” he says, his tone professional but urgent.

I have to presume that this has something to do with the issue that stopped Alberto at the door. I can’t imagine for the life of me what could have happened. I wish I had my phone to call my manager and ask her to sort all of this out for me.

“Situation?” I say with the same bright smile that I’ve been wearing all night. “What kind of situation?” I ask, my heart beating faster.

The man isn’t helping. He glances around to those around us before answering. He cups my elbow gently and starts to lead me away from the main floor that we stand on.

Clearly, whatever he’s about to say isn’t something that should be overheard by others. Should I be grateful that he’s helping me avoid a scandal or should I be worried that this stranger is pulling me away from witnesses? The training that Cristiano forced into my mind since I was a child is telling me that I should never go to a different location with anybody that I don’t know. Least of all now, when it’s been awhile since Cristiano updated me on just my kidnapping insurance policy is.

When we near the edge of the throng of people, he starts to speak again. “I’m afraid it’s quite serious, Miss Dominio. But do not worry, Mr. Sampietro has asked me to come and fetch you to bring you to him. I just need you to come with me.”

That makes me feel a tiny bit better at least.

I still don’t like it, but if that is what Alberto has ordered, why wouldn’t I go. Even still, my mind can’t seem to stop racing with all of the various worst-case scenarios. The grip on my elbow is firm but not painful, and the man seems to be intently listening to something on the in-ear piece that he is likely using to communicate with the rest of the staff.

When we are out of the main room, his speed starts to increase. My heels almost catch on my dress from how quickly I have to move to keep up with him. He’s leading me toward a side exit. Was the safety of the place compromised? It’s not the first time that Alberto has had me pulled from an event, usually at Cristiano’s request.

But the minute he pulls me out into a dimly lit corridor and Alberto isn’t waiting for me all of the warning bells in my head started to warn me. A little too late.

This can’t be right. I just need to wait for Alberto. I try to pull my arm free, but the man’s grip on me tightens.

“What are you doing? Let me go.” I command.

The man turns to face me and I see the hard, predatory gleam in his eyes as he smirks at me. Fuck. What have I gotten myself into? He isn’t a security guard, this is something far more sinister a I’ve walked right into it.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Miss Dominio,” he says, his voice unyielding.

Icy cold panic surges through me as I struggle against his hold. I try to pry his fingers from my arms but I know that his punishing grip is going to leave bruises.

Before I even have a chance to scream, the man clamps a large hand over the lower half of my face and swiftly pulls me into a waiting service elevator as if I weigh nothing at all. He whips out a clearance badge and the doors close, sealing my fate.

I swear it feels like the elevator is moving more quickly than anything that I’ve been on before. Panic is making my vision blur and my heart feel like it’s hammering in my throat. I have to fight. I know what to do. I’ve trained for this, but I never thought that I would be this terrified.

My body won’t move. I feel like somebody has wrapped me in an icy cold blanket that’s threatening to suffocate me. I can barely inhale for how shallow my breaths are coming. My training with Alberto didn’t cover this.

I finally convince my mouth to open as the elevator doors ding. I summon just enough breath to scream but he clamps his hand over my mouth. Hot tears slide down my cheeks while he hauls me out of the elevator into a floor on the parking garage. It looks abandoned apart from the single black SUV with an idling engine.

I can’t let him get me in that car.

Every alarm bell starts resounding as a dry sob leaves my chest. My body crumbles. My legs wholly give out as I deadweight in his arms. His grip falters. Just for a moment. It’s the opening that I need, if only my limbs weren’t failing me. I hit the floor and attempt to crawl away from him but it’s like I’m moving in slow motion.

I’m only free for half a second before the man hauls me up again, his arm around my waist as I attempt to claw and scramble away from him. “No, please,” I pant, ashamed at how small my voice sounds. “Please don’t do this, please.”

The closer he brings me to the car, the more my strength seems to return. My legs flail, my chest heaves as tears start to flow more freely. I know that if I let him put me in that car, it’s all over for me. Alberto won’t have the time to come and find me. Nobody will be able to rescue me and then only God knows what’s going to happen tome.

The man yanks the car door open and throws me inside, seemingly effortlessly.

“Why are you doing this?!” I finally scream, my voice breaking. “Who are you?”

All my efforts and lame attempts at struggling only seem to amuse him. I’ve never felt so weak in my whole life.

“Name’s Kieran, Kieran Doyle,” he mocks me, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “And you, Ada, are coming with me. You can stop attempting to fight, it won’t do you any good. But you can scream all you want, it’s not like anyone can hear you.”

“No! Please!” I scream anyway, hoping against hope that somebody, anybody will hear me. It won’t work, but I have to try. He pulls zip ties from his pocket, and climbs into the car with me. I claw and kick to the best of my ability but he it only seems to encourage him when I actually manage to scratch his face.

Kieran laughs at me as he slams the car door behind him.

“Let me go!” I half sob, half scream, my voice trembling with fear and anger.

Kieran grabs my face, his eyes locking onto mine and for a moment, I’m stunned into silence and submission. His thumb sweeps out over the curve of my jaw and for the span of a heartbeat, I’m struck once again by how damned handsome he is. Exactly the last thing that I need to be thinking at a time like this, but the human mind is a very strange thing.

I almost don’t hear the zip tie closing around my wrists with his other hand.

In another setting, I would admire his dexterous fingers.

“This isn’t personal, Ada. It’s just business.”

“Business?” I spit, “What kind of business involves kidnapping?!”

“The kind that requires leverage, unfortunately for you.” Kieran says with a wink as he secures my other wrist.

My mind won’t stop racing. Then it hits me, it should have been obvious from the beginning. It’s for my brother. Cristiano.

“You’re making a big mistake,” I say, trying to sound braver than I feel. I need to be braver for Cristiano. “He will never forgive you for this. He will come after you with everything he has. I swear it.”

Kieran leans in closer to me, his gaze darting to my lips for only a heartbeat.

“Oh, I’m counting on it, gorgeous.”

Before another thought can come to mind, he pulls out a cloth from his pocket. With efficiency, he presses it against the lower half of my stunned face. The sickly-sweet smell of chloroform fills my nostrils. I try to fight it, but it’s no use. Everything around me begins to turn blue, hazy, and then starts to fade away into near nothingness. My limbs grow heavy.

The last thing that I see is Kieran’s cold, determined eyes looking down on me. “Sweet dreams, gorgeous.” I can hear his laugh, now a distant sound.

I have to stay strong, somehow. I have to be strong for Cristiano, for our family.

And I’m out.

Chapter 1

Virgilio

This devil is out to bargain.

After being cleared by some bodyguards just outside the door, I step into the VIP section of this Bratva-owned club.

I stop at the entrance and scan the room. It is not my turf, and while I do not feel uncomfortable in any way, I know it’s better to study the environment you are entering, just in case.

That is why I also brought along four bodyguards.

I finally spot Mikhail, the Bratva Pakhan I’m here to see, sprawled on a semi-circle French rose lounge couch, with fairy lights in the same color hanging down from its headrest to the floor.

This will be a simple and quick negotiation.

I take a step in Mikhail’s direction. At the same time, a girl in a glimmering, deep-colored, very skimpy bikini with fairy-like feathers strapped to her, saunters elegantly on strappy heels to his table with a champagne bucket and bottle, and flutes.

She is an exotic dancer, and I’m fully aware that after this meeting, this place will be crowded with men who come here to have their pick for the night.

I know these are girls who no longer own their lives. They have been kidnapped and reduced to nothing but objects. This bar is exclusive for a reason. The girls have nowhere to go and are at the mercy of the Bratva until they outlive their use.

“Ettore Russo,” Mikhail calls to me. “Welcome.” The man has always blended perfectly with all the trends.

I already hate more than half the human population, so my hatred for him is just a grain of sand on the beach.

I strut to him. No rush.

“Champagne?” Mikhail asks as I approach him, hand pointing for me to take the seat beside him. It is another semi-circle lounge couch with a better view of the cubicles.

“Water,” I sit. “Thank you.” I ignore his drawn-together eyebrows at my request for water, and after contemplating it for a while, he snaps his fingers at the girl who brought the champagne.

She tips her head, and then with the same grace, she saunters to the large, stretched bar under the hanging cubicles to a bartender dressed in the same slutty fairy costume.

“The bartender makes a good mix with eh…” he circles his forefinger, trying to remember, and then snaps his finger when it comes to him, “bourbon, scotch, or whiskey,” he smiles, leaning into his seat with satisfaction for remembering and thinking he sounds classy.

Never seen a man with so much access to class and yet no class of his own.

It is not how he dresses; he pays to look good and he mostly does look put together. He is buffed, tall, and very lousy.

Other than his appearance, though, every single thing that comes out of his mouth that isn’t business-related is classless. It speaks of the rottenness inside the man.

The girl returns with a tray holding a glass of water with a slice of cucumber. She stops by the table beside my seat, and without meeting my eyes, she drops the tray.

“She is beautiful,” Mikhail swells. “All my fairies are.” He taps his lap, and the girl goes over to him, but instead of sitting on it, she kneels beside him and drops her head on his lap, tilting her head in a way that one side of her cheek is on him, making her look like a loyal dog.

I’m bored. “Business?”

“Sure,” he clears his throat, “you never hover, Ettore. Always business, business, business,” he sways, like he is making music with the word, thickening his accent, “All work and no play…” I scowl at him, and he grunts, “Fine, business.”

I’m here to discuss an anti-trust agreement concerning our mutual supplier—the Colombian Cartel. There’s enough cake for both clans; we only have to figure out how to slice it.

“Good enough?” Mikhail asks after stating the conditions of our agreement that he thinks will be favorable to both parties.

“Good enough,” I will give it to him when it comes to business. He knows just how to handle things. He is practical, and I admire that.

“Good,” he claps his hands and pours himself some champagne. “We should do this more often,” he lifts his glass. Life shouldn’t be about business alone; men need to have fun,” he strokes the ponytail of the girl, who is still kneeling on the floor. “Too many toys for a grown man,” he chuckles. “Am I right?”

I won’t dignify his words with an answer. Because if I do, I might just undo whatever truce this meeting has done for both clans.

“I was told you are no fun,” he leans forward, bringing his stoned dark eyes to a snit.

“I have no time for fun while dealing with business matters, and I’m here for work, Mikhail,” I haven’t touched my glass of only the fucking devil knows what, so I pick it up for the sake of courtesy, and stroke the cold glass, enjoying the condensation. “But thank you for…”

My following line of words drowns as I catch a shocking sight in my peripheral vision.

I snap my head in the direction of what feels like a hallucination.

But it is not.

Zoe.

Hell, it is her. Unmistakably her. The light and heavy glitter makeup has done enough to mask her, but I would recognize her anywhere.

The exotic dancers in the cubicles retire, and Zoe, along with another lady dressed in the same fairy costumes, saunters elegantly up the stairs to the cubicles. I watch, unable to tear my eyes off her as she climbs in, waits for the song to cue her, and then starts to dance around the pole like a diva.

She is alive.

I sit straight but then remember where I am and regain my composure.

Zoe is alive. After fifteen fucking years, she is alive and has been under my nose all this while. A slave, stripping at the Bratva club for men who will buy her for the night and use her as a toy.

“See something you like?” Mikhail sips from his champagne.

“How much is she?” I cut to the chase, “The one on the left.”

“For the night or the weekend?” Mikhail leans forward, eager to sponsor this new side of me he sees for the first time, “I can let you have her for a night for free.”

“I want to keep her,” I lean back on my seat, masking my eagerness. I would raze down the club to get her out of here with me if possible. “Forever.”

“No,” Mikhail tuts and shakes his head, “She makes the costumes for the fairies, and people love that shit,” he sips his champagne and then shakes his head again as if he is still thinking about it, “Too valuable.”

“Everyone has a price, Mikhail,” I keep calm, but I want to rip him apart thinking of the inhuman ways Zoe must have been forced to survive, “Name it.”

She has been declared dead for fifteen years now. Was it he who took her and declared her dead to the press?

Fifteen fucking years of being a fucking sex slave.

I grit my teeth harder as I realize she wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t meddled. She wouldn’t have had to fucking live this life if I hadn’t fucking intruded.

I brought this on her.

I can’t fucking leave here without her.

“A price, Mikhail,” fucking damn it, just say your fucking price, for fuck’s sake.

“Still no,” he says as he chugs his champagne, some of the liquid spilling on his beard and suit jacket. “Save your money. I can give you any other girl, but she is too valuable.”

I observe him, “Would six figures be a good start?” I lean forward, resting one elbow on my knee, and in this position, I can see him breaking. Ultimately, they got these girls to make money off them, “On top of it, I will allow you an open request for personal business in the future.”

Now, that one piques his interest, and he sets his champagne flute down on the table. He unbuttons his suit jacket and then harrumphs lousily.

He knows I’m quite influential in our world and very beneficial to anyone who has me on their side. I can give him access to the people he has spent all his bitter years trying to access.

“Five million dollars,” he thinks the amount will make me back away.

“Two million dollars,” I’m determined to bargain. But I’m all too aware that I’m willing to give him whatever he wants if he refuses. I want her. And I’m not leaving this club without her, “Two million and my influence, starting from getting you an invitation to the underground gala next month.”

“There is an underground gala happening next month?” He taps the cheek of the girl kneeling beside him, and she stands, taking that as a dismissal. She saunters away.

“Yes,” I know no one would invite him, especially not the host, but the host owes me a favor, and he can stand Mikhail for a few hours if I tell him to.

“And that’s just one thing I will be getting out of this?” He asks curiously, and I nod.

“Two more invitations and you can tell by the first that they will be completely worth it,” I wait for him to break.

It’s simple.

Being accepted means something to him. He has a wounded ego from being stereotyped. He wants to be accepted because, in truth, we are all made from the same soil. The men who won’t accept him are no lesser evil than he is.

“Three million,” he doesn’t mean it. He can take the two million. It’s an outrageous amount, but I know she is worth it.

I try not to look at her as I make my bargain so he doesn’t see my desperation. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he wants this deal more than anything.

“Two million, but if you want three, I take back the invitation…”

“Two million is fine,” he shrugs, “I can let her go for two million,” he makes a sad face, putting up a caricature show as if he is losing something of irreplaceable value. To me, she is that and more. To him, he can cut the bullshit.

“So?” I lean back in my seat.

“I will get the paperwork ready; let her entertain you while I do that,” he says, reaching into the inner pocket of his suit and bringing out his phone. “I didn’t know you were into slaves.” He smiles as if he has just found a buddy in me.

“I’m not,” I set the glass of shit down on the table, then turn my eyes to stare at her as she spins around the pole, then slides down to do a split.

I’m not into slaves.

I’m into her.

Chapter 2

Virgilio

I try not to touch Zoe as I open the door of my car outside the VIP parking lot for her to go in.

I can’t help staring down at her. The same blue eyes that remind me of the glistening ocean on a sunny day. The same mousy brown hair, chin-length, a little duller than I used to remember, but still the same.

She stands by the door. Her hesitation is like a slingshot aimed at the door of my mind’s dungeon, where I locked up the memories that now make up all of my nightmares.

The last time I saw her, she hesitated. And maybe I should have listened.

She didn’t want to follow through with it, even though a part of her knew it was for her own good.

“Are you sure?” Zoe stuffs her mouth with peanuts like she always does whenever she is anxious, and right now, she is a wreck of nervousness.

“Yes,” I answer again. It doesn’t matter that she has been asking the same question since we got here; I will keep giving the same answer until we get out of here and for good. “You will love Milan,” I add because I have seen pictures, but it’s not that we are leaving just for the love of Milan.

Zoe is pursuing her dream of becoming a fashion designer, and I am pursuing my dream of watching her succeed.

We are so close to putting everything and everyone behind us, and each step we take, hands interlocked, leading to the airport terminal feels like a step into the promise of a new beginning for both of us.

She is leaving her abusive father behind, and so am I.

All the hard work she has put into designing and having me model for her became fruitful when she got picked to be part of the breaking-out designers to showcase their collection in this season’s Milan Fashion Week.

“We are never coming back,” she smiles, and then more peanuts get poured into her mouth directly from the pack.

No more covering up her bruises with makeup. No more masking her pain, pretending to be happy. Now, she can truly live and live freely. She has been given a shot and I’m grateful just to be a part of it.

We breeze through the crowd, and I can feel the excitement inside her just by glancing at her face from the corner of my eyes.

“Did you remember to get the toothbrush?” She asks, not stopping like she normally does when she remembers something she has forgotten.

“Yes,” I chuckle, “But I told you we don’t need to fly across countries with toothbrushes,” I resist the pinch to suck my teeth, “No one does that.”

“It’s better to be safe, to be prepared,” she ruffles through the pocket of her faded copper hoodie, my hoodie that she is never giving back. With her hand holding the pack of peanuts, she brings out a rumpled paper that is our to-do list: “You get rashes when you don’t use your soap. Did you bring a bar at least?”

I laugh now, loving that she remembers so much for both of us, “I will take a rash anytime in Milan with you…”

“Did you bring it, Virgilio?” She frowns, and I come in front of her, walking backward to give her my best reassuring smile that everything will be fine, but then, in the distance, I see him.

Cold skates through my veins and goosebumps rise on my skin, visible through the parts of my lower arms that aren’t covered by the folded sleeves of my ivory sweater.

Officer Joseph Gray.

Her father and, what’s worse, he is in his cop uniform, meaning he will be unstoppable. All he has to do is flash a badge and alert airport security that Zoe is his daughter.

I can’t let him win. We are so close to freedom. Maybe not we, but she is. She can go to Milan. I can always catch up with her. But if he gets her now, I doubt he will let her out of his sight ever again.

“I need to use the restroom,” I shrug out of my backpack and shove it to her, making her halt from the weight and force, “Zoe,” I keep my cool as best as I can, observing that Officer Gray is now standing and talking to airport security, “You go and never look back.”

She snorts, “You want to use the restroom, why would I not wait for you?”

I smile at her, then tenderly brush her cheek with the pad of my thumb. “Board the plane,” I say, leaning down to kiss her on the lips. I savor the moment, knowing it will never be like I dreamed it to be. I wanted our first kiss to be in Milan.

She follows my gaze to see her father behind me, and her blue eyes go wide in panic, “No, I’m not leaving you behind, Virgilio, we are doing this together, please,” she grips my sweater, my backpack smothering between us, “You can’t be here alone with him. He will kill you.” 

“Listen, he must not see you. If he does, all of this will go to waste,” I drop my hands on her shoulders. “Get to Milan, and I will be right behind you, I promise.” I know I might never be able to keep my promise, but I make it anyway. “Go, now,” I bark.

She clasps my backpack to her chest, the one with all our savings, hesitation waving in her now teary eyes. She nods and then dashes past me to slip into the crowd.

I take a detour in case Joseph sees me so he doesn’t look straight behind me and find her. I aim towards him, and he lifts his eyes from the airport security to me.

“Where is she?” He thunders, his brows weaving in a straight line, his forehead beaded with sweat. Brown eyes like his hair, the same color as hers. Aside from that, they have nothing else in common. I have seen pictures of her mother and thank heavens she took after her.   

He closes the distance and tries to move past me, but I tackle him to the ground with all the strength I can muster.

Right now, the best form of defense is to attack him.

He is a big man, and I’m a tall kid, but I do not stand a chance with his build and height.

He switches, turning me over, and then the punches come down like a gush of wind. Everywhere he hits hurt like shit, and I’m screaming my guts out, spurting blood. He keeps hitting.

The pain is not unfamiliar thanks to my father but this feels different because, with every blow, I think of how she has had to endure this.

Even when someone tries to get him off me, he still manages to get them off to continue with his assault.

I’m fighting back as much as I can. Crowds gather, chaos breaks out, and it’s the perfect mix to keep buying her time. Just a little bit more and…

The announcement for our flight comes on, and I cave in, allowing my bruised body to rest before I push it too far and get dragged out of this airport as a dead body.

It would have been worth it to die for her, but she needs me alive.

I drop to the floor, but it’s fine.

The sound of the boarding call for her flight makes me smile as my body and mind fold into numbness.

She is on her way. She made it. And that means we made it.

Chapter 3

Zoe

Mine?

Why?

I stare at the bedroom I have been given in my new owner’s estate, tugging at his shirt—the one he took off to give to me when he noticed I was cold in his car.

Why would he give me his shirt?

I also wondered why he wasn’t saying anything or asking to sample his purchase.

I thought about the fact that I had never been owned for more than a few nights, and then, somehow, he bought me for himself. For life.

I flip my eyes from the queen-size bed covered in black sheets to the window behind it. A glass wall gives a view into the expanse of New York, one I have never been privileged enough to see.

Except for the whiskey-gold lights arranged around the floor and ceiling, my bedroom is completely black. The color scheme is the same as the charcoal-dipped exterior, with more whiskey-gold lights lining the rails of the staircase.

He cannot be handing this bedroom to me. I’m a slave. The only time I’m glamorized is when I have to perform on stage. It’s the only time I’m worthy of anything flashy or fancy. Not expensive, just eye-catching so I can make more money for my owner. Former owner.

This is not for me. I shake my head, taking a step back, refusing to accept this space as mine. It’s new and clean. It’s not a place for me.

I cringe at the neatness of it.

I can sleep in the garage or somewhere else. If he is giving me this, what would I have to do to earn it?

My former owner made me work and owned my body because it was a way to pay for the food I ate, the water I had access to, the mattress, and the four walls I was given. Still, I could never pay off their kindness.

What would I have to do to earn this?

I can feel his eyes on me as I step back again. His breathing on my neck spikes the hairs on my skin.

I gulp down nervous knots in my throat and take a step forward.

I turn to him, clasping my hands in front of me, feeling out of place since I’m still in my costume and this is not a stage. Or could it be what he wants me to be? A stripper. I can be that. I have been trained to be that.

I take cautious steps towards him, hearing the sound of my clattering heart and berserk pulse. He hasn’t said anything to me. He has been quiet. I don’t like quiet. It forces me to think. It forces me to remember. It forces me to accept reality.

I stop in front of him, not sure what to do with myself or what to do for him.

I do want him to say something. I want him to give me something to work with. Tell me what to do. Give me an order. State the rules. Lay out the punishments.

Tell me how many times I will be allowed to eat in a week or how many times I will be allowed to bathe with warm water. I want him to tell me something.

I lift my eyes from his black dress shoes, trace the seam of his black slacks, the loop of his black leathered belt, the black-stoned cufflinks hooking the collared sleeve of his black dress shirt, the rings on his fingers, the traces of tattoos that disappear into the sleeves of his shirt, back to the black-stoned buttons, and then I pause when I get to the small opening around his neck.

It is not that I find his scars scary, but I wonder if he wants me staring at them.

I want to throw my head back down and keep my eyes on the floor, fearing that I will get punished for this, but again, I should frame his face, even if for the last time.

I suck in air charged by the poignancy of his scent. It’s strong. It’s black. Bold. Daring. Evoking. Provocative. Like him.

I lift my eyes from the slashes of burn marks on one side of his neck, watching the division on his full, perky pastel-pink lips, with one side shrinking from the scars, stretched in a glossy slash.

I keep going, tracing the swipe of the burns until I meet his eyes—dark eyes, black as the color of his hair and aura.

But in them is a pull of familiarity like I have looked into those eyes before. I would remember him if I had seen him somewhere. It would be hard to miss remembering someone who makes something that is supposed to be bizarre and hideous so divine.

It’s like an eclipse on his face. It’s like war in his eyes.

He wears his scars in a way that makes me unashamed to have mine. He wears them beautifully. And he is beautiful.

I drop my eyes, then flutter my lashes to send the thought back to wherever it came from.

More silence.

Deafening. Brain-screeching. Mind-chugging.

We stay breathing, and with each breath I draw, I feel like clawing at my skin because of how the silence crawls on me.

“Food will come,” his voice is the same as everything about him. Black. Only this time it feels the same as molten, still retaining the heat but clogged already from the absence of fire.

It makes me shiver. He makes me shiver.

“Eat and go to bed, it’s been a long night,” he turns to leave, but I catch up quickly.

“Please, music,” I shrink as I feel his eyes on me, and I don’t wait for him to ask why, “I can’t sleep without noise, please,” I explain anyway. “Master?” It’s a question because I don’t know what he would want to be addressed as yet.

“Alexa,” he thrums, the timbre ricocheting in my clattering bones, “Play something… classical.”

A sound booms through invisible speakers, and I shudder, darting around searching for it. Then the music comes. Classical is my favorite.

Tears swell in my chest and mound my eyes as the song fills the room.

“Tell Alexa whatever you want to listen to,” he spins and struts with glacial steps out of the bedroom that is supposed to be mine.

I sit on the floor, pulling my knees to my chest as the soft harmony forms a bubble wrap around my worn-thin frame. I feel like a fabric that has been overworn and patched too many times, and at any point, I will turn chafed between the hard crush of fingers.

I drop my head on my knees and hug myself, marking this position as mine because I’m not leaving this spot. Everything else feels too good to be real.

He feels too good to be real.

But more than that, he feels familiar. Like the missing piece from the center of a puzzle. Like something I’m missing. Like someone I’m missing.

He might be a good thing—the first in fifteen years.

He might be the worst thing to happen to me yet.

Chapter 1

Dom

I walk with one of Carmelo’s men as he leads me to his study. The guy is built like a brick wall. His arms are as thick as tree trunks, and he has the neck of a bull. It is a very intimidating body to the average Joe, but I know that if I hit a few pressure points just right, he’d drop like a sack of potatoes. After years as a Camorra underboss and the last six in deep cover, a goon like him doesn’t faze me one bit.

We walk down the hall lined with ugly paintings and gaudy vases. There are CCTV cameras in almost every corner, just like the map showed. Whoever designed this place had one thing in mind: security. I can’t say they’ve done a good job though. I snicker at the thought because if they had, I wouldn’t have a detailed map of the house or know its blind spots. We reach the double doors of Carmelo’s study, where two more meatheads are guarding the entrance. Brick Wall knocks and a gravelly voice calls out “Come in.”

My pulse jumps at the sound of that voice. All the hairs on my body stand up. I’ve spoken to Carmelo before but hearing that voice now that I know he planned Jennifer’s death sends a cold thrill down my spine.

Brick Wall opens the heavy oak door and pokes his head into the study.

“Mr. Barone, the new guy is here,” he announces.

“Well don’t just stand there, send him in,” Carmelo replies impatiently.

Brick Wall steps back and gestures for me to enter. I steel myself and walk through the doorway, hearing the door shut close behind me.

Inside, a short, wiry man sits behind an ornate, antique desk. His hairline is receding and his face looks like it was chiseled from granite. His beady eyes fix on me as I approach. This is Carmelo Barone, Capodecina of the Cosa Nostra New York crime family. The man I am here to kill. It takes all my self-control not to leap over the desk and snap his scrawny neck right now.

“Giovanni Micheli, right?” he asks, extending a bony hand. I resist the urge to crush his fingers as I shake it.

“Please, have a seat.” He gestures to the leather chair across from his desk. I sit down slowly, hyper aware of the pistol strapped to my ankle. Carmelo settles back into his own chair but perches on the edge, as if he’s ready to leap up at any moment. His attempt to seem imposing would be comical if I didn’t know what he is capable of.

“Thank you for hiring me, Mr. Barone,” I reply evenly. “I’m grateful for the opportunity to join your security team.”

Carmelo studies me with his beady eyes. “I only hire the best to protect my family. Don Carlo highly recommended you”

I nod as Carmelo stands up. Even standing, he is not much taller than me.

“So, Micheli, you’ll be taking over as my wife’s personal bodyguard,” Carmelo begins, pointing a finger at me. “I expect you to keep an eye on her at all times. No slacking off.”

He paces back and forth behind his desk. “Report to me on everywhere she goes and everything she does. I want detailed daily reports. Understand?”

I nod. “Yes sir, of course.”

“She’s only allowed to go to the gym twice a week. No more than that,” he says sharply. “I can’t have her putting on too much muscle and looking like a freak. A woman needs to look like a woman, with delicate curves and soft breasts. You know what I mean.”

I don’t respond. Because what does he expect me to say? Men who treat their women like this disgust me.

“One more thing,” Carmelo’s lips curl into a cruel smirk. “Mia isn’t allowed any outside contact. No phone, no internet, no leaving the estate unless I give express permission. I need you to monitor her every move.”

I force a neutral nod, swallowing the bitter taste of bile rising in my throat.

“And she only eats when I say so,” he leans forward with a twisted glint in his eyes. “Withholding food is the best way to keep that little firecracker in line. I’ve given the cook instructions to prepare mostly salads and lean protein, small portions. She used to be an athlete so she’ll eat like a horse given the chance.”

He guffaws as if this is hilarious while I force an obliging smile, clenching my fists under the desk. What a sick psycho. This animal and his warped views make me sick. Starving his wife as some twisted form of control.

“You let me know if she tries to sneak any extra food,” he orders.

“Of course, sir,” I reply evenly, despite the rage boiling inside me. It’s taken me six years to get here. Six years of running around and serving the enemy. Six years of constant investigation to find the person who killed my Jennifer. At first, I thought it was Carlo. Maybe the bastard wanted to go back on his word and cause trouble between Cosa Nostra and Camorra. After five years working as his wife’s bodyguard under my fake identity, Giovanni Micheli, I found out that he wasn’t the one who gave the order. It was the capodecina. The man sitting in front of me. I clench my fist so tight my knuckles turn white. Carmelo is not going to know what hit him.

“A woman shouldn’t look like a man! You understand me, right?” Carmelo insists.

I force a laugh, playing along with Carmelo’s twisted misogyny. “Yes, sir. A woman shouldn’t be too muscular or manly.”

Carmelo nods, seeming pleased that I agree with him. He sits back down in his chair, and regards me with a smug expression.

“But a tough guy like you probably doesn’t understand,” he says mockingly. “I know you prefer the company of men.”

I raise my eyebrows, feigning confusion. Carmelo chuckles.

“Come on, Micheli. Don’t play dumb. We all know you’re light in the loafers,” he says, tapping his temple. “Why do you think I picked you for this job?”

I just wait for him to elaborate.

“I need a bodyguard who won’t try to stick it in my wife, ya’ get it?” Carmelo explains. “So you’re perfect.”

I force myself not to react to his crude words, maintaining a neutral expression.

Carmelo leans forward, steepling his fingers. “It has been noticed that you never spend time with women. No dates, no girls on the side, nothing. So we figured out your preferences.” He raises his hands in mock surrender before he continues. “There ain’t nothing wrong with that. It works out very well for me, actually.”

I chuckle, playing along with Carmelo’s homophobic assumptions even as they make my blood boil. This man is truly despicable. But I know I need to play along if I want to get close enough to exact my revenge.

“Well, you don’t need to worry about me making any moves on your wife, sir,” I reply evenly. “My interests lie elsewhere, as you’ve rightly guessed.”

Carmelo laughs loudly, slapping his thigh. “I knew it! A tough guy like you, never chasing any pretty little bitch? It was obvious.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “So tell me, Micheli, you got yourself a fella on the side here in Cosa Nostra? Who does the bending? Ahhh, a guy your size would top I’m sure”

What the hell? He’s not only a sick fuck, he’s also a homophobic bastard. I shake my head. “No sir, I’m afraid I don’t have time for romance in my line of work.”

“Yeah, yeah, the strong silent type. I get it.” Carmelo leans back in his chair. “Good, that means you’ll stay focused on the job. I don’t need you distracted by my wife’s looks. She’s a real knockout, let me tell you.”

I picture just what kind of woman could end up with this vile man. She must be a gold digger or as twisted as him. The thought of her makes my skin crawl already.

Just then, a soft knock sounds at the study door. Carmelo glances at his watch and scowls. “About time!” he barks. “Get in here!”

The door opens and a petite brunette enters the room. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of her. She’s stunning, with large green eyes and delicate features. Her long hair cascades over her shoulders in soft waves.

She’s dressed in a tight red mini dress that clings to every curve, with a neckline that is plunging low. Very low. She is wearing black stiletto heels that accentuate her toned, athletic legs. It’s far too provocative an outfit for the middle of the day.

As she nears, I notice her slight frame is tense, and her shoulders are hunched inward. She reaches up a hand to pull the front of her dress higher, trying to cover more of her exposed cleavage. The movement seems self-conscious, almost protective.

When she glances up, her striking green eyes flash with defiance, and her chin juts out in a subtle show of stubbornness despite her meek posture. Those eyes contrast starkly with her timid demeanor, revealing a hint of the fire within.

“This is my wife Mia,” Carmelo announces.

I stand up immediately, years of etiquette kicking in despite my mission.

Mia Barone is nothing like I pictured when I took this assignment. She’s easily the most beautiful woman I’ve seen since Jennifer. Her green eyes are piercing, and that red dress clings to every sensuous curve. There’s an allure to her that catches me completely off guard. I clench my jaw, regaining my composure through sheer force of will. I cannot forget why I’m here. She is nothing but a means to an end. No matter how strikingly beautiful she may be.

I cannot allow myself to be distracted by this woman. She is just a means to an end: getting my revenge.

Chapter 2

Mia

“Maddie, I’m running low again,” I say into the phone, my voice barely above a whisper. I pace the length of my big room, my prison cell, glancing nervously at the door.

“Oh no,” comes Maddie’s concerned reply. “When will you need more?”

I rake a hand through my hair. “Soon. Very soon.”

She sighs. “I wish you could just come by the clinic. It would be easier.”

“You know I can’t.” I sink onto the edge of the plush king-sized bed, the silky comforter bunching beneath me. “It’s too risky…” I trail off, but she knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“I know, I know. But we’ll figure something out, okay? I promise.” Her voice shakes slightly with emotion.

“What about we meet during…”

There’s a knock at the door and I yelp, flinging my phone under the pillow. I take a deep breath and pull on a brave face before answering in what I hope is a casual tone, “Yes? Who is it?”

“Mrs. Barone, just a reminder that you and the boss have that event tonight,” he says from behind the door.

“I’ll be ready.” I let out a shaky sigh, dreading having to play the doting wife in public again, but I know better than to keep Carmelo waiting.

I walk to the massive closet and pull out the slinky red gown Carmelo bought for me. The neckline is very low and half my breasts will be spilling out of the dress, just like he loves it. Except dressing like this makes me feel like an object on display.

I peel off my comfortable clothes and step into it, zipping it up with some effort. The neckline plunges as I expected and the slit up the side is so high it practically meets my hip. I tug at the top, trying to cover up a bit, but it’s no use. I still look like a prized doll.

I leave the gown primly in place and go to the vanity. I redo my makeup, lining my eyes with a subtle smokey look. Carmelo hates it when I wear too much makeup. Last time I did, he scrubbed it off himself in front of his men. That was humiliating.

“Who is all this make up for? Are you begging to be fucked by my men? You look disgusting,” he’d said.

Another impatient knock. “Andiamo, you don’t have all day!”

I catch my reflection and recoil inwardly. The way the gown clings too tightly makes my skin crawl. This isn’t me. This gaudy, objectified persona is Carmelo’s creation. But it’s not like I have any other choice than to play the role he’s assigned me if I want any chance at freedom.

I take one last breath and head for the door. Time to put on the act once more. The door flies open before I can reach for the handle. The guard’s eyes go wide as he takes in my appearance, but he recovers quickly with a disapproving scowl.

“Mr. Barone is waiting in his study. I suggest you don’t keep him waiting any longer.” His disdainful glare burns into me.

I brush past him without a word, my heart pounding. What new humiliation did my beloved husband have in store this time?

I take a deep breath and enter Carmelo’s luxurious study after knocking, keeping my gaze lowered submissively. But despite my best efforts, my eyes are immediately drawn to the tall, muscular stranger sitting silently near Carmelo’s desk.

Our eyes meet for a brief electric moment before I quickly avert my gaze. But that fleeting connection is enough to send a spark through my entire body.

I keep my gaze lowered, not daring to look at the handsome stranger again. But I can feel his presence like a physical force in the room, making the hairs on my arms stand up. Why does he have to be so handsome? The last thing I need on my hand is another death. Carmelo would not even wait for an explanation. He would place the man’s head on a platter in a second if he suspected anything is happening. He did it to two of my previous bodyguards and I wasn’t even remotely attracted to either of them.

I suppress a shudder as Carmelo’s expensive loafers click against the hardwood, announcing he’s approaching me. Every muscle in my body tenses instinctively, bracing for whatever cruelty he has planned this time.

“You’re late, piccina.” His hand clamps down on my backside with a harsh, possessive squeeze that makes me flinch. “You know I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Forgive me, it won’t happen again,” I murmur automatically, the placating words as hollow and meaningless as they’ve become after months of abuse.

Carmelo chuckles darkly, giving my ass another demeaning grope just to reinforce his control. “No, I don’t suppose it will. Not with your new bodyguard here to keep you in line.”

He gestures dismissively at Giovanni’s imposing form. “This is Giovanni Micheli. From now on, he’ll be watching over you at all times to ensure your… obedience.”

The man stretches out his hand towards me “Mrs. Barone, pleasure to meet you. I’m Giovanni Micheli, your new bodyguard,”

I risk a brief glance at Giovanni. He’s even more striking up close, with sharp cheekbones and smoldering dark eyes. I am in trouble.

I look nervously at Carmelo, seeking his approval before I dare touch another man in his presence. He nods curtly, seeming unconcerned. But I know better than to fully trust any allowance he makes. This is likely a trap, a test to see if I’ll eagerly leap at the chance for male contact. If I take the bait, I’ll likely be punished later for falling into his trap.

Carmelo nods sharply. “Go on, shake his hand.”

Refusing now that he has given his permission could provoke his temper even more. I have no choice but to play along with whatever game he has devised. I reach out and gingerly take Giovanni’s outstretched hand. His palm engulfs my own, warm and calloused. I fight to maintain my composure, though my knees nearly buckle. No man has elicited such a visceral reaction from me before. I want nothing more than to cling to his strong hand forever. But I let go after the briefest contact, dropping my hand quickly to my side.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Micheli,” I murmur demurely. I can still feel the imprint of his touch lingering on my skin and I don’t hate it.

I take another short glance at Giovanni. I can’t decide if his stoic professionalism is more unsettling or reassuring than the leering looks I usually get from Carmelo’s men.

Before I can process anything, Carmelo yanks me back against him. The scratch of his rough stubble scrapes my cheek as he forces his thin lips onto mine, invading my personal space yet again. I clench my jaw and I refuse to make a sound, denying him the satisfaction.

His grip on my arm tightens painfully, nails digging into my skin. Sensing my defiance, he bites down on my lower lip, making me cry out despite myself. Tears prick at my eyes but I force them back, refusing to show weakness in front of this stranger.

Reluctantly, I part my lips just enough to offer the barest glimpse of submission, allowing Carmelo’s tongue to violate me as he pleases. All the while, I can feel Giovanni’s gaze boring into me as I give in to this degradation.

After what feels like an eternity, Carmelo finally pulls back, a smug smirk on his thin lips. His hand travels up to grip my chin roughly before tilting my head up to meet his cold eyes. “You’ll learn to enjoy it eventually,” he sneers, before releasing me with a shove.

I stumble but quickly right myself, blinking back tears of humiliation. His casual cruelty cuts me to the core once again, reducing me to nothing but a plaything for his twisted amusement.

I clench my jaw as Carmelo’s cold hand trails down my exposed cleavage, his long nails scraping my skin. Bile rises in my throat but I force it back down, refusing to show any reaction. He dips the clothes down again to reveal more cleavage before he squeezes my breasts.

Carmelo wants to hide any evidence that I used to be an athlete with muscles. He hates that part of my past, my independence and ambition. So he delights in forcing me into the tiniest, tightest dresses possible, erasing my athletic physique and reducing me to a weak, passive doll.

I have to clench every muscle to keep this dress from slipping indecently. One wrong move and my entire breast could tumble out.

The silky material feels like there are thousands of crawling insects on my body. I feel like a painted hooker in a window, dressed up and displayed for men’s consumption. Except my owner never lets me leave my box, only taking me out to show off before locking me away again.

At the events we go to, Carmelo parades me around like a prized possession. I’m meant to smile vapidly, laugh emptily at vulgar jokes, and ooze sexuality. But God forbid any man tries speaking to me alone. Just a friendly chat could end with a bullet in their brain. And I’m always the one who suffers for it later.

So I play my part, become the doll I’m expected to be. I walk elegantly in these impossible heels and dress, and I even giggle mindlessly at their lewd comments. Anything to avoid Carmelo’s wrath when we’re alone again.

I suppress a sigh as Carmelo’s cold hand finally releases me. My skin still crawls where he touched me, his possessive grip sure to leave bruises on my arm. I smooth my expression into a mask of calm indifference, refusing to let him see how deeply his actions hurt me.

“Let’s go. We don’t have all day.”

As we head for the door, I chance another glance at the imposing form of my new bodyguard. Giovanni’s dark gaze is fixed straight ahead, his expression unreadable. Yet I feel the weight of his attention like a physical force, and it makes my pulse quicken despite my attempts to ignore it.

There’s an undeniable magnetism between us, like opposite poles of a magnet straining to connect. I have to clench my fists to keep from reaching out, just for the relief of human touch without cruelty or possession behind it. But reality crashes back in an instant later when I meet his eyes. They are cold and hard as flint, narrowed with unmistakable contempt and judgment. My cheeks burn with shame under that withering stare. Of course he despises me, just like all the others. And nothing can ever happen between us anyway.

I drop my gaze quickly, angry at myself. I don’t have the luxury of indulging in fantasies. My focus needs to remain on enduring, surviving each day under Carmelo’s thumb until I can finally make my escape. Until I can leave here safely with my family. I can’t afford to be distracted by impossible daydreams, no matter how strong the temptation. Especially not when I know that Carmelo can replace me with my sister if I make the wrong move.

As we step outside, I paste on my best plastic smile, allowing Carmelo to wrap a possessive arm around my waist. His grip is bruising, as usual, even through the layers of my gown, pressing my hip bones together painfully. But I don’t let my smile falter.

My heart feels like a lead weight in my chest, but I ignore it. Just a little longer, I tell myself. Just a little longer and then it will all be over.

Chapter 3

Dom

Six years ago, Boston

I take a long swig of my beer as Ciro claps me on the back. “To my big brother, the best underboss a Don could ask for!”

Ciro’s grin is infectious and I can’t help but smile back. “I should be the one toasting you, little brother. You’re the new leader of the Esposito clan now.”

“Only because you stepped aside to let me take over from Papà,” Ciro says. “I won’t forget that.”

I wave my hand dismissively. “Don’t mention it. You’re better suited to being the boss. Me?” I chuckle and shake my head. “I’m happy to support you from the shadows.”

Ciro’s expression grows serious. “I know you only gave up the position for Jennifer’s sake. For the chance to have a normal life with her.”

At the mention of my beloved’s name, my chest tightens. “She’s my whole world Ciro,” I reply quietly. “I’d sacrifice anything for her. I don’t want Jenny in this life. “

“And that’s why you’ll make a great underboss. Family first, always.” Ciro’s eyes mist over slightly before he recovers, slapping the bar cheerfully. “Drink up! Tonight we celebrate!”

I take another swig of beer, savoring the cold bitterness. Ciro doesn’t know how right he is. I would do anything for my family, even give up my birthright. But Jennifer is my family now too. As long as I have her by my side, I’m content to help Ciro in whatever way I can while avoiding the spotlight.

Ciro has always been better with the politics of running the clan anyway. He has the charm and temperament to manage the soldiers and keep the other families happy. Me? I’m better at working quietly in the background, taking care of problems.

And at the end of the day, I get to leave the darkness behind and return home to Jennifer’s embrace. To her warmth and light that makes all the shadows in my soul fade away. As long as I have that refuge to go back to, I’ll gladly play the silent sentinel while Ciro soaks up the glory. He can have the power, as long as I have the peace that comes from Jennifer’s love.

“When are you going to stop dragging your feet and finally ask Jennifer to marry you?” Ciro asks, nudging me in the side.

I smile and take a sip of my beer. “Actually, I’m planning to propose tonight.”

Ciro’s eyebrows shoot up. “Tonight? Well, it’s about damn time!” He laughs and claps me on the shoulder. “So what’s the plan, big brother? Candles, roses, you down on one knee?”

“Something like that,” I say. “I spoke to Flaminia, like you suggested, and she gave Jennifer her tickets to that opera concert tonight. After the concert, I’m going to have her meet me at the gazebo in the park. That’s where I’ll ask her.”

Ciro nods approvingly. “Ahhh, so you finally agreed and used my wife as an excuse to get Jennifer alone, I like it. See why you should listen to me more often. Sneaky bastard.” He grins and nudges me again.

I chuckle. “Hey, a man’s got to pull out all the stops when it comes to a marriage proposal. I want it to be perfect.” I take another swig of beer as excitement and nerves swirl in my gut.

“She won’t be expecting it at all. And that gazebo is so romantic, with the lights and the fountain,” Ciro says. “You old softy, look at you sweeping Jennifer off her feet.”

“What can I say, she brings it out in me.” I smile thinking about how Jennifer’s kindness and warmth have changed me. “Honestly, it was genius getting your wife involved. Jennifer will have no idea.”

Ciro waves dismissively. “Don’t mention it, anything for my future sister-in-law. Just make sure you don’t screw it up!” He laughs and squeezes my shoulder affectionately.

I grin back at him, gratitude welling up inside. With Ciro’s help, tonight will be absolutely perfect. Jennifer deserves the most beautiful proposal and fairytale romance. After everything we’ve endured, she’s my happy ending.

***

I lean against my sleek black bulletproof BMW x6 car, fiddling with the small velvet box in my pocket. Inside rests the diamond ring I finally bought for Jennifer

I check my watch, then pull out my phone to call her. “Hey babe, I’m outside the theater waiting for you. I’m with the BMW, and it’s parked on 5th near the side entrance.”

I smile as I imagine her excitement at the surprise. “I can’t wait to see you, I’ve got a special night planned for us,” I say into the phone. “Alright, I’ll be right here. Love you, see you soo-“

A deafening boom cuts me off, the force of the explosion throwing me back against the car. I hit the ground hard, ears ringing. Smoke and flames pour out of the theater’s wrecked entrance. Screams pierce through the haze as I stagger to my feet.

“Jennifer!” I shout hoarsely, lurching towards the chaos. My heart hammers against my ribs. This can’t be happening.

I don’t know how long the force of the blast destabilizes me but there are police cars nearby, and some officers have already set up a perimeter. I push through the crowd gathering outside the barricades.

“Sir, you need to stay back!” An officer grabs my arm.

I wrench away from him. “My girlfriend’s in there, I have to find her!”

“It’s too dangerous, we’ll handle search and rescue,” he says, holding me back more firmly.

I run a shaky hand through my hair, blinking back tears as the reality sets in. If Jennifer was inside when the bomb went off…

I sink to my knees on the sidewalk. She can’t be gone. My fierce, vibrant Jennifer, snuffed out in an instant. The aching hole in my chest threatens to swallow me.

The officer’s radio crackles to life. “No survivors found yet, massive casualties reported.”

Bile rises in my throat as his words confirm my worst fears. Jennifer is gone. Just like that.

Rage replaces the despair and it burns through my veins like lava. This is not a coincidence. Someone did this. Someone planned this attack to get at me or Ciro. Flaminia was supposed to be there this evening. This was definitely a hit against our Clan.

I think of the ring resting useless in my pocket now. The proposal that will never happen. The officer places a hand on my shoulder, jolting me from my dark thoughts. “I’m very sorry for your loss, sir. We’ll provide victim support services…”

I stand abruptly, cutting him off. Right now, all I can focus on is making whoever took Jennifer from me suffer a thousand times over.

As I walk numbly back to the car, my phone buzzes with an incoming call – Ciro. My jaw tightens as I answer.

“Did you hear what happened?” His panicked voice fills my ear.

“She’s gone, Ciro,” I choke out. “Jennifer’s dead.”

He swears violently in Italian. “Brother, I don’t… I’m so sorry. I know how much she meant to you.”

I lean against the car, squeezing my eyes shut against a fresh wave of anguish.

“Those Cosa Nostra bastards,” I spit through gritted teeth. “This was them, wasn’t it?”

Ciro is silent on the other end of the line.

“Tell me!” I demand.

He sighs heavily. “I found a message at the warehouse. They’re taking back the supplier shipment, the whole thing. They’re making us pay for encroaching on their territory.”

I pound my fist on the roof of the car. “They promised to honor the agreement! We split the territory, they get their cut of the merch!”

“Yeah well, they lied,” Ciro says bitterly. “And then they hit us where it hurts as payback.”

Red hot rage courses through me. I think of Jennifer’s smile, her laugh, all erased forever by their cowardly attack.

“I’m gonna slaughter every last one of those Cosa Nostra rats myself!” I continue. “I swear on Jennifer’s head, I won’t rest until I kill those responsible for this.”

“Dom, wait. We should…”

“Ciro, this could have been Flaminia.”

Ciro swears and I hear glass shattering on his end – he must have thrown something. He is breathing hard on the other end but doesn’t respond. “You think I don’t fucking know that. I do, she was supposed to be there instead of Jennifer.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Get someone on the inside for me. This is my path. I will handle them myself.”

Ciro exhales slowly, processing this. “Alright… I’ll give you feedback in half an hour.” He pauses. “Dom please don’t do anything rash. We need to plan this perfectly.”

I glance at the still-smoldering theater, steeling my resolve. “Get me the Intel I need, Ciro.”

I end the call and get in the car, welcomed by solitude. Home is the last place I want to be. It is full of Jennifer’s memories, full of the life we were supposed to share.

I clench my jaw, holding back the flood of sorrow threatening to crush me. As I pull away from the curb, a single tear traces down my cheek. Even if that is the last thing I do before I take my las breath, I’ll get my revenge, I’ll kill every one of the bastards that did this.