Chapter 1

Rachel

I cannot die like this.

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

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

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

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

I look around the enclosed place.

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

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

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

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

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

Memories of my mother come rushing back,

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

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

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

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

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

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…

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

The late nights of research.

I had to avenge her.

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

Fuck! I cannot die like this.

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

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

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

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

They have to pay for what they took from me.

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

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

I was a product of that vile night.

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

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

Blood trickles down my cheek.

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

It suddenly feels cold.

“Fuck! I am going to die like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wish my mom will love me forever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am awake. I can get through this.

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

“Hush, little one, don’t you cry,

Momma’s here to sing a lullaby.

Stars above are shining bright,

Chasing away the darkest night.”

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

For a fleeting instant, I feel safe and loved.

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

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

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

Chapter 2

Rachel

Eight years later

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are you running off to, piccola?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I send the message and wait for her response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect, just as I’d hoped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles, “Lei non mi interessa.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Marcia. And yours?”

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

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

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

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

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

“No. But you can show me.”

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

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

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

“My turn!” I say cheerfully.

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

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

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

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

His eyes blaze hot before turning hooded.

Yes. I got him. Hook line and sinker.

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

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

Thought you would never ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Are you scared?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have him exactly where I want him.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck!

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

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

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

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

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

I need as few people to recognize me as possible.

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

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

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

I nuzzle Luca’s neck, nipping and biting.

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

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

“Good.”

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

Chapter 3

Rachel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have done this before.

But it never gets easier.

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

He will never see me coming.

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

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

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

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

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

“One minute, Luca.”

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

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

“There you are, bellissima.”

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

“Here I am, Luca Vitori.”

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

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

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

“You were about to suck my cock.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect.

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

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

The fucking audacity.

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

“Ah, she speaks Italian after all.”

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

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

Oh, he is scared now.

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

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

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

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

“Marcia!”

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

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

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

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

“You fucking bitch,” he spits out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He is dangerous.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Dante?” I cock my eyebrow.

He nods his head frantically.

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

Three down, two to go.