Chapter 1 

Rose  

This is the end of the road for me. 

Of all the many painless ways to die still, the universe decides mine is by the hands of Benedetto Corte. 

Poetic Justice. 

I sniff, grinding my teeth from the pain of aching bones shaking rabidly from fear.   

I guess I underestimated the fallout of humiliating a family like his. Even I know when you poke the beast, you get added to its menu.  

“Where are you taking me?” I try in a futile effort to shrug out of his strong brooding hand that is wrapped tightly around my upper arm.  

“To safety,” he gruffs, with his deep silky voice, and keeps dragging me along.  

Reassuring indeed. Except this is Benedetto for crying out loud, the cousin to Romano that I was engaged to and cheated on. Publicly. The media made my infidelity the headline news for days as if rubbing salt to injury.  

I made out with Tiziano in public. I don’t know what I was thinking, and now that I think about it, I wasn’t thinking. Because I of all people should know that you don’t mess with a family like the Montis and expect not to get stung. You can’t humiliate them and have them take you to safety.  

“Benedetto, I don’t want…” 

“You don’t have to want it, you need it,” he keeps his eyes on the dark road ahead of us.  

I’m dying. I know he is going to kill me. He will do it for Romano. The scary thing about Benedetto is that it’s impossible to see him coming. I didn’t see him coming. I didn’t think he would be the one coming. I was so into my head I didn’t think anything or anyone would be coming.  

“I don’t need your safety” I scoff, trying to sound as brave as I can, but I’m one squirm away from peeing on myself, “How about you let me go and I find my way to safety?” I wriggle, trying to get free with my knees constantly knocking against each other.  

“How about you say thank you?” He stops, his hold lessening around my upper arm.   

“You have some nerves to think I’ll believe your safety theory,” I tug my arm away from his grip, and it swings, hitting something in front of me which is now registering as a black matte car, which explains why it blended into the darkness easily.  

“You don’t have to believe it, just get in the car” He opens the door of the car and the warm car light comes on. 

His hand captures mine before I can think of an escape, and swings me in front of him, tacking me in place with hooded eyes, and dark hair ruffled on his head. I clutch my purse that’s in my other hand, that he is not making numb from holding too tight, to my trembling stomach.  

Is this what death looks like?  

Because I feel like I’m staring at death right in the face. Deadly handsome one. I gulp dry air into my drought lungs.   

Whoever used the word drop-dead gorgeous, probably meant Benedetto. And it’s funny that I never actually spared him more than a glance all the years that I have known him. But it’s not funny that I am seeing this dicey side of him. It’s spine spiking.  

“In the car,” he points to the open door that I am standing in front of with his head, gives a dry chin lift smile, and frowns immediately.  

“Kill me here,” no please don’t.  

If I step into this car, everything changes. There’s no undoing that, there’s no escaping from him.  

“Ben     …” 

“Do me a favor Rosaline, for the rest of this trip, keep your pretty mouth shut,” that chin lift smile again that has mobster scribbled all over it.  

“I will open my mouth as much as I want to,” I swallow more dry air, maybe talking will make him let me go.  

My father once said if I’m ever kidnapped, I can make the kidnappers want to kill themselves from the pain of having to listen to me ramble.  

“You will open your mouth?” he scoffs dryly. 

“Yes,” I hold my breath, crossing my fingers.  

On a mission to get free through rambling. 

“You want my cock in it so badly?” he cocks his eyebrow.  

“What?” I cough out and blink repeatedly as the picture of his length shoved into my mouth sprints through my mind.  

Abort mission.  

I clamp my lips. Insufferable grouch.  

“It’s good to see we are beginning to have mutual understanding,” he shoves me slightly into the car, and I sit, defeated, “seat belt,” he closes the door.  

 I hate his commanding tone and the fact that I am strapping my seatbelt on instead of trying to open the door and escape. That part I’m just being logical. He has a gun somewhere, just one pull, and this will end quickly.  

I inhale and almost choke on the oak scent blanketing the charcoal-black interior of his car. The scent is dry, woody, and with hints of a sensuous undertone. Like the grouch rounding the car and climbing into the driver’s seat. 

He straps his seat belt on and turns on the car, the engine purrs gently to life. He takes one hand to the steering wheel and wraps his cosmic tattooed fingers around it, and in the same debonair charisma, he starts to drive us out of the alley and into the ever-buzzing streets of New York City.  

My mind is moving in a spiral right now, thinking of any clue that might make everything that’s happening right now make sense to me. I don’t know if he wants to take me somewhere quiet to kill me, I don’t know exactly how he intends to do it, I don’t know why he is delaying or not saying he wants to kill me.  

“Benedetto, I know I messed up, I know I shouldn’t have humiliated Romano like that with Tiziano,” I hug my purse to my stomach with both hands.  

“It’s a little too late for that Rosaline,” he keeps his eyes on the road ahead, which is a good thing. What is not a good thing is him calling me Rosaline instead of Rose. 

“Rose,” I mumble. I don’t like how he calls it in a way that makes it look like he named me. As if the name      Rosaline is his to call.  

“What is that?” 

“It’s Rose, not Rosaline,” I look to the side, watching as streetlights swing past us.  

“Okay,” he shrugs briskly with one shoulder.  

I didn’t think he was going to listen. Maybe he can be reasoned with after all.  

I rush my family words, “I was saying I’m sorry, that I know you want to kill me for what I did to Romano and I know I deserve…” 

“Shut up, Rosaline,” he clips and turns to the left as we get to a crossroad.  

I nod like it’s an answer and kill the thought immediately. He cannot be reasoned with.  

He navigates through a one-way street that brings us out to a pedestrian which thankfully doesn’t have anybody walking. It’s looking, unlike New York City with its usual heavy traffic and many harlequin splashes.  

“Are we leaving New York?” I look behind me, feeling my stomach wall jam. It starts to vibrate and I swallow down a lump in my throat.  

“Pick that,” he sucks his teeth in a fit of irritation.  

Pick what? My mind does a reboot and the vibration registers as my phone and not my stomach walls. I don’t see a difference though. I’m visibly trembling. And it’s with shaky hands I open my purse, adjust the rim of my oxblood mini slit dress and pull out my phone to look at the screen. My father is calling.  

Benedetto stretches his hand out to me, and I suck in the oak-soaked air as I drop the phone on his palm.  I’m feeling lightheaded. The streetlights and cars moving past us are beginning to blur out.  

He receives the call, and puts it on loudspeaker, only looking at the screen slightly to do that before returning his eyes on the road.   

“Rose,” I can smell the fog of fear from the creakiness of my father’s voice.  

“Rose!” Lawrence screeches. 

“Dad,” I gulp, “Lawrence,” I sniff. I never thought a day like this would come where I’d rather be home with them than partying with friends.  

“Are you alright?” my father whispers into the phone.  

“We heard Benedetto has you, is he around you?” Lawrence joins in the whispering.  

“He is…” I clear my throat, “yes,” I whisper like he cannot hear me.  

“Don’t trust him, don’t trust whatever he tells you,” my father warns and I can picture the crinkles on his forehead deepening like it does whenever he is trying to make a strong point.  

“Run Rose, whatever chance you get, run and never turn back till you get to a safe ground     ” Lawrence rushes his words in like he does when he has so much to say and very little time, I can almost feel the veins on his neck straining and his eyes onyx eyes bulging as he talks.  

I want to go home. It’s when the worst time comes that you realize you had it better.  

“Don’t, I repeat,” my father grits, “trust whatever he has to…” 

Benedetto ends the call and tosses my phone on the dashboard. 

“I’m going to throw up,” I dry heave and wrap my hands tightly around my nauseous stomach.  

The buzz from the club and the now looming danger are driving me sick to my brain. I can’t stomach any of it anymore. I can’t deal with it without letting some out of my system.  

“Don’t you dare throw up in my car,” he unbuttons the collar button of his black t-shirt. 

“I can’t hold it back,” another dry heave.  

He drives to the side of the road that is scarce of cars and hits the brake abruptly. He undoes his seatbelt and climbs out of the car.   

The only things in sight are the street lights and the occasional cars that sprint past us. Other than that, this environment looks lifeless. Which is exactly how I feel.  

I undo my seatbelt, then open the door of the passenger seat at the same time he rounds the car to help me with the door.  

I drop my purse on the seat, climb out with shaky legs, and gulp in the clean, void-of-oak air, taking as much of the clean air as I can into my lungs.  

“Be quick,” he dips one hand in the back pocket of his jeans. 

I can see him now, thanks to the street light.  

Waves of temple-length coffee brown hair that has a golden sheen because of the warm street lights. Studded earrings on both ears. A furrow of brows in a permanent grumpy scowl. Dreamy honey brown eyes, with thick kohl lashes around. High cheekbones looking tight from how hard he is clenching his lips, sunken cheeks which by the way makes me feel like life is unfair to give all of these to a monster like him. And those full lips that have only managed to say annoying words in the short while we’ve communicated tonight.  

“It’s not coming,” I tear my eyes away from him and dip my head to look at the floor instead.  

“I don’t know what you are thinking, but I’m trying to protect you,” he closes the distance and I stumble back, wishing I could melt into the car.  

“How so?”  

“Romano will kill you if he sets his eyes on you, and there’s no place in New York City that you can hide that he won’t find you,” he places both hands on the car, by the sides of my head, keeping me trapped.  

“And why would you want to protect me? He is your cousin,” it doesn’t make any sense. Not Romano wanting to kill me, because that makes a lot of sense. But every other thing about him wanting to protect makes no sense.  

My father and Lawrence are right. He is dangerous. And he just almost had me for a quick bit to think he wants to protect me but I’m seeing past his words that nonetheless sound so convincing.  

“Killing you is tempting, especially when you won’t keep your thoughts to yourself, and keep your mouth shut,” he scoffs.  

“Let me go, I’d rather face Romano’s fury than your so-called protection,” I don’t mean that, but I just want to not be associated with him at this point because of how shrunken he makes me feel, physically and emotionally.  

“You’re missing the point,” he moves away and opens the door for me. 

“What Is the point?” I throw both hands in the air, “I don’t feel safe with you,” I feel tears dance around my eyes, making my vision watery. 

The uncertainty is driving me to the edge of insanity. Only a sociopath would want to toil with someone like this only to kill them in the end.  

“The point is that I don’t need you to.” 

Chapter 2 

Benedetto  

Why, why, fucking why? 

Why am I on this side of the fucking fence?  

I guess it is true what they say, that no matter how much you fight it, the heart just always wants what it wants. And unfortunately for the both of us, I can’t stop wanting her.  

Fuck me. Fuck her. Fuck whoever made that disturbingly truthful quote. Fuck my fried brain for not being able to stop fixating on her.  

I bite down on my lower lip, conjuring the pain to rush to my brain and quiet my twirling mind.  

Pain is a tool for the tumult.  

I’m close to going berserk with the rampaging thoughts of regret after losing myself and acting on impulse instead of logic.  

I shove my phone back in the pocket of my black jeans, after sending a text to Orazio, my childhood best friend and still my right-hand man, to explain the situation on ground as best as I can with my right hand, while my left-hand does the driving.  

I cannot believe I am fucking doing this. 

I tighten my grip around the steering wheel as I drive us to my city, my territory, Boston, to keep her safe from the one man I should be taking sides with and delivering her to for her betrayal.  

I should be going in the fucking opposite direction. I should be doing the fucking opposite thing from what I’m doing right now.  

Someone, please tell me why the fuck I decided to get myself into this mess? This girl is a cheat. She mocked my family with Tiziano, that was seen tongue fucking her in the open.  

My grip around the steering wheel tightens some more as the images of them captured by the press and all the videos that became a trend start to swing past my mind. My knuckles start to turn white from how hard I’m gripping the steering wheel. If I clench any fucking harder I’ll see my knucklebones tear their way through my skin.  

“Damnit,” I grit under my breath.     It’s fucked up. It’s going to get a lot messier than this. I can feel the many ways that this can come back to bite me hard in the ass. Mark is dead.      

This party is about to get fucking wild, but I still can’t fucking stop driving     Instead, if there’s a way this can drive faster than this, or maybe turn into a fucking airplane, I’d appreciate it.  

I steal a look from my side eye and notice she has her head resting on the window frame and her hands folded across her chest.  

She looks different from hours ago. She is no longer quivering as much as before, and her breath sounds a lot calmer from the whizzing ragged tempo they had when I took her out of the rave.  

She was so sure she would be dead.  

Poor thing.  

I turn to look at her for a quick minute and see that she is sleeping. Shoot me already. One minute she is talking about being killed and not sure of her safety with me, and the next she is curled into a comfortable position and sleeping like this is some family on a vacation road trip.  

She makes a soft sound from her sleep, then sweeps her cascading caramel waves off the side of her face to the back of one ear, and hugs herself tighter than before, making her skimpy dress drag up a bit to show velvety flesh.  

I clear my throat and give my attention back to the somewhat hazy road ahead of us. We are out of New York now and in Boston, driving all night must have worn her out, that and the fact that she didn’t speak again after she entered the car, which by the way I’m grateful for.  

I can’t deal with her breathy dulcet voice that makes words sound like lyrics from a favorite song. It’s sickening how good her voice sounds, it’s like she could hypnotize with words. And it’s not what I need. I don’t need an extra voice adding to the ones in my head. The noises in my head are enough, I hate external noises especially with no weed in sight to quiet them and filter them.  

I make a swerve and she jumps from her seat, almost hitting her head against the dashboard but my hand stretches in front of her to protect her and her forehead hits my palm instead.  

“Easy,” I sprang into action on reflex.  

I don’t have to look to feel the death glare she is giving to me. If looks could kill, I’d be dead already.  

“Where are we?” she yawns, recoiling from my touch, then looks out the window and I retrieve my hand.  

“Boston,” it’s morning and I had time to clear my head while driving, not like she would notice much difference.  

She sits up and looks around again, this time blinking, gulping, gapping, and closing her mouth repeatedly.  

“Whatever it Is, don’t say it,” I take another turn, this one leading into the driveway of my family’s manor.  

It’s been a minute since I’ve been here and I don’t miss it one bit. But unfortunately, I’ll be gracing them with my presence for a long misery guaranteed while.  

“What makes you think I want to talk to you?” she clicks her tongue.  

Pretty thing.  

I drive through the conifer driveway to the parking lot that Is known as my spot. It’s just in front of the cream and orange building. I don’t have the patience to drive to the main parking lot and then walk down to the building. I’ve been parking here since I started to drive at sixteen and there’s nobody who can stop me.  

I turn the engine off, and climb out of the car, about to turn and start another round of get down with Rosaline, but she surprises me by coming out herself.  

I lead the way, as the housekeeper, Evelyn walks out, with a smile that is unnecessarily too bright for the morning and maybe straining the tight pony she has her gray-black hair tied in.  

What exactly is so good about waking up so fucking early to attend to me and my guest that is making her smile so much?  

She bounces her large blue eyes between Rosaline and me, then dips her hands in the pocket of her apron, which looks more like a washcloth around her waist because of her plus size.  

“Good morning      Benedetto,” she sends some of her smile Rosaline’s way, “good morning miss…” 

“Rose,” she returns the affection.  

“Is Orazio here?”  

“Yes, there,” she nods, pointing behind me.  

“Take her in and make her comfortable,” I dismiss them both. 

“This way,” Evelyn does her charm and leads Rosaline in.  

“This is far from over, Benedetto Corte, far from over,” As expected, Rosaline turns and stabs her index finger at me, with her doe coffee brown eyes spreading open to make her point.  

If she hadn’t said anything, I’d have asked Evelyn to take her to the doctor to check for head injury.  

She claps her lips and turns with Evelyn, walking into the building, in her usual hips-swaying strides on black strap heels that spotlight her shapely legs.  

There’s no escaping this now. And I don’t give a fuck what she thinks, I’m seeing it to the end. When I      leaped into action and took it upon myself to protect her, I hadn’t thought about it thoroughly. But I’m in too deep now.  

“It’s about time you came back,” Orazio punches my shoulder and throws his hand across to give me a side hug.  

“What can I say, had my fun and needed to leave,” I move away from his hug.  

He knows I despise physical touch but he started coming up with this rubbish about a love language that is physical touch. One of these days I’ll kill him. If he’s got a special language he should speak it with the people that understand the damn thing in the first place.  

“I got your text,” he exhales, shutting his stupid drowsy black eyes for a quick second, then rakes his jet black hair with his fingers, “why is she here?”   

“Romano will kill her if she isn’t,” I start to walk into the building.  

He follows after me, “And you brought her here because?” 

“To teach her to play ping pong, why the fuck do you think?” The door opens and I walk into the detailed woodwork and opulent interior of the manor.  

“This is not good,” he comes to stand in front of me and rests his hands on the waistline of his sweatpants.  

“You think?” I try to move past him but he comes in front of me again.  

I get he is the voice of reasoning that’s on some days like today if he could pass for a voice of reasoning, but I’m done having this conversation with a shirtless man who has physical touch as his love language.  

“Tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” he tries to bring his hands to rest on my shoulders but holds them in the air when he meets my eyes. 

“I do one good thing for humanity and it looks suspicious?” I know what he is saying. It’s my disease and my cause. And I know it’s partly responsible for why I dived into the feud and brought her back home with me.  

“I’ll do what you asked, I’ll call Paul, and Lawrence and tell them they have to move to this side of the country for safety, I will start the preparation, but I want to know one thing,” he has a serious expression now, “is it what I think it is?”  

“You fucked the wrong pussy last night or what?” I switch the conversation.  

He should know this is neither the place nor time. 

“We will come back to this,” he exhales, “but I’m here for you.” he starts to move in closer with open arms. 

“Touch me,” I scowl and he moves back with a grin.  

“It’s called accepting and letting my inner self out,” he scratches the stubble on his cheeks. 

“It’s inner self for a fucking reason, it should stay in,” I walk past him to go look for the one person I don’t want to see but have to anyway.  

She should be in her quarter which is on the second floor of the manor. I know she is not alone, but I don’t have a business with the fucker she is with. Blood or not, he should avoid me.  

I take the stairs and it must be my lucky day because she is just coming down from her quarter, still in a pastel blue satin nightwear, her dark hair is fizzled up on her head, with glossy eyes, a streak of mascara on her face, and flushed cheeks.  

She clearly just had sex. Which also explains why she is out this early.  

“Benedetto,” her caramel eyes squint a little as I come up to her, meeting halfway. 

“Mother,” there’s no need for niceties that don’t fucking exist between the both of us.  

“You’re back,” she stutters, “I didn’t know you’d be coming back so soon,” she wraps the robe of her nightwear around herself, trying to cover up some of her shame perhaps.  

“I’m back, and here with a guest that will be here for a while, I have something to fix,” Scraps of information, that’s what she deserves. It’s a little more than what she deserves.  

“How long will you be staying?” She is slowly getting to the full height of her irksomeness.  

“That’s none of your business,” I clip and she knows I mean it.  

“Benedetto, the household has been doing fine since you left, Claudio has it all under control and now that you’re here, you should let him know you’re back     and for how long you will be staying.” She rushes her words out like they’re burning coal on her tongue that she needs to spit out.  

“What did you say?” I take a step closer and she stumbles back.  

I swear to the fucking devil I am one fucking snap away from throwing her down the fucking stairs.  

“I’m not saying this to upset you I’m…” 

“I should take permission from him to stay because you decided to make your brother-in-law your husband? He is not my father. And this is my fucking house.” I’m burning hot and with how she trembles and cower I know my mannerism matches the force of the wildfire spreading through me. 

The last time she did this     was when she told me she was getting married to my uncle, Claudio, just a few weeks after my father died.   

They can preach all they want about true love, and I don’t give fucks, but they should draw a line when it comes to what can be said to me.  

“I’ll just go back…” she spins and takes the remaining stairs to her quarter.  

Asking me to take permission to stay in my fucking house. Madness. 

I dig my fingers into my palm and bite down hard on my lower lip till I feel the pinch of a cut and taste the iron of blood.   

Damn, she vexes me.  

I take the next round of stairs to my father’s office, trying to find solace in the one place that distracts me from giving into my rage and the compulsive need to lay my hands on her. My anger isn’t something I wish on my enemy, and she is hardly one.  

I punch the code into the drawer by the door that houses the key of the office and when it opens, I dip my hand in and retrieve the key. I turn it into the keyhole and twist. With a click and clang it opens and I walk into the office that comes alive with warm lights at the scent of a living thing.  

I head straight for the scotch in a decanter on the bar by the side of his desk and chair. I don’t bother for a glass, I open it and take a swig, wanting the bitter-sweet burning liquid to wash past my throat quickly and go to do a good job of easing the pit fire in my stomach.  

I take more swigs, I can’t even count how many I’ve taken and with the way I’m feeling, I might need to gobble down the entire thing to feel its effect. I’m not lightheaded when it comes to alcohol. I was told I started drinking when I was a toddler because my old man would scoop a spoonful and feed me with it. And the older I got, the more scoops I got.  

I miss that man. I miss him so damn much it hurts to see how they are soiling the legacy he left behind. He wasn’t the easiest father to have, but he got some things right. And when my cause started manifesting, he was the only one who taught me how to harness it and bend it to my will.  

I start to pace, feeling unsettled as the thought of having to put up with Claudio and my mother for the rest of my life starts to gain momentum in my mind. It’ll be subjecting myself to a nightmare. But leaving, running, I won’t do it again. It’s the reason they feel they have this right in the first fucking place because I left. 

I blow out an exasperated breath. I need to rest my head, I had a long night and a longer day ahead. I drop the decanter on the desk and walk to the mini library to randomly pick up something from his history section to read that can bore me to hell and make me sleep. 

As I walk past the little center table with a quill and a sage that has not been used for years since his death, I have the urge to sit exactly where he used to sit, which is on the forest green one-seat cushion close to the table.  

I’ve been avoiding certain things but I think it’s time to change that. I have to start walking in the prints of his footsteps if there’s hope for his legacy to stay evergreen.  

I sit on the cushion and as I adjust my legs to fit into the space between the cushion and table, an off-sound piques my interest.  

It’s coming from the floor. I stamp my boots against the hardwood and hear the hallowed sound again like there is something beneath. I stamp my boots around but I don’t get the same sound.  

I search around the things on the table and find a letter opener that belongs to my father. I push the table to the side, then use the letter opener to glide through the sides of the rectangular woodcut and I pull.  

A letter.  

In a dusty white envelope, with my father’s stamp pressed into a blob of red wax on it, and… I pick it up and flip it. It’s addressed to me. And it’s been here all along. 

My father spoke to me about everything, no matter how grisly the details. I knew his will before he died because I was in the room with his lawyer while he updated it. If he has something to tell me that he couldn’t say to me, best believe I won’t like what I’d be finding.  

I drop my face in my palm and exhale sharply.  

This is a secret.  

I can feel the weight of it even though it’s only paper because the words that couldn’t be said in person speak volumes. 

And the one thing I know about secrets, especially when it’s left by the dead, to be found by the living. 

It’s never good.  

Chapter 3 

Benito  

Son, 

My fierce boy.  

Like I always say, death has no friend.  

If you are reading this, it would be because I’m already dead.  

I know death comes with grief but I hope you can look past yours and find this letter soon, before the iron gets too cold to twist. Because I know you enough to know that when your heart is home you will come into this study and you will find this letter.  

Listen son,  

There’s a seed of discord that has been sown between me and your uncle Claudio, and as you know, a house divided against itself cannot stand. The Corte clan is experiencing a division and your Uncle is at the forefront of it.  

Knowing my brother, he will not stop until he gets what he wants, which is my place, and he wants it now more than ever. If he doesn’t take it now, it will be harder to get it later when you are ready to take over. And with his threatening tone yesterday, he will strike sooner, even though I am keeping things in place to make that vain.  

If my death happens within the next week after the date of this letter, then that’s all the proof you need. 

Listen, Son. Protect your mother, protect yourself, protect La Famiglia.  

I have faith in you to take out the bad egg.  

There’s no stronger emotion like pain, use it to keep yourself grounded. That’s what being a leader entails.  

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