Under the Influence

Copyright © 2022 Sarah Amelle

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any
form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, and incidents are the products of the
author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely
coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

TITLE PAGE
EPIGRAPH
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
“We were destined to meet no matter the distance, we return to each other
again and again. It’s that once in a lifetime connection, the ones that make
you feel more alive just sitting next to them; even the silence is comfortable
because you feel more complete in their presence. I don’t know what it is
about him…only that when I look into his eyes I see a reflection of my soul
staring back at me.”

—N.R.Hart
 “Gangsters live for the action. The closer to death, the nearer to the heated
coil of the moment, the more alive they feel.”
—Lorenzo Carcaterra

GREEN EYES SUPPOSEDLY SIGNIFY A MYSTERIOUS

PERSONALITY TRAIT.

I don’t know if I am mysterious, but secrets I have a lot of them. Buried

tight and hidden away.

Submerged in the darkest and deepest places of my consciousness.

Contrary to popular belief, the truth will not set you free, at least not in this
case because if anybody ever found out the truth, life as I knew it would be
over.

“Once I had love, it was divine, soon found out I was losing my mind. it
seemed like the real thing but I was so blind, mucho mistrust, love’s gone
behind.” Blondie reverberates the room as I attempt to sing along with her,
unsuccessfully.

“Lost your mind indeed.” Mama’s voice comes from behind me and
almost makes me jump out of my skin. She has a habit of sneaking up on you
when you least expect it.

Mama gives me one of her famous sideways knowing looks, and

instinctively I know what her look is referring to even if she doesn’t say
anything.
“I’m almost ready, Ma,” I say, ignoring the growing tension in the air.
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” she says, annoyed.
“Would you prefer if I called you Gabriella instead?” I smirk.
“It’s just you and me tonight, papa has other commitments,” she says,
ignoring me.

Other commitments is code for ‘Mafia business,’ and it always amuses me

how coy she is about what Papa does, as if I’d really believe that the
mansion, the cars, and the private jet were all a result of him working a
regular job. The thought of it almost makes me laugh out loud.
My Papa would rather die than be a law-abiding citizen. There is nothing
ordinary about Paolo Falcone, the notorious Don of the Falcone family, one
of the five founding families of New York’s La Cosa Nostra. Respected as
much as he was feared, papa is not a man to be disrespected in any way, and
if you ever did cross Don Paolo Falcone, it was likely to be the last thing you
did.

Mama feigned ignorance to ‘his ways’ and constantly implored the ‘don’t
ask, don’t tell policy’ that most women in our circles followed so rigorously.

“The florist called and said you haven’t gotten back to them about
arrangements,” she says icily.
“I will call them back,” I say, sighing.
“Yes, you will,” she says firmly, giving me another one of her famous
scathing looks before walking out the room.

It wasn’t that I didn’t love Ma, it was just that we were complete
opposites. My refusal to conform to her expectations of a Mafia daughter had
caused a rift between us, and in the last few years, that rift had become a
permanent fracture.

One year ago seemed so far away when I agreed to the marriage but now, like
the sands of an hourglass, time seems to be slipping through my fingers at an
alarming rate. When I say I agreed, it was never like I had a choice; it was
more of a rhetorical question. There is no romance or courtship involved in
these matters, Mafia matters.

The famous La Cosa Nostra didn’t have time for sentiment and heartfelt
meaning. Papa’s business is organized crime in every shape or form. I knew
he was a Don—a powerful Mafia head, and I knew what that meant. In the
Mafia, marriage is two families coming together and strengthening each of
their business interests. In this case, papa would lose nothing and gain
everything, our family held the most strings, controlling every hand and
transaction in the city; that is how he wanted to keep it. On my twenty-first
birthday, I formally became betrothed to Pietro Rossi, the son of Don
Vincenzo Rossi, therefore, fortifying the relationship between two of the
most powerful families in New York. It wasn’t explained to me in these exact
words, but living apart of this world, I learned at an early age to read between
the lines. I had spent my adolescence overhearing things I wasn’t meant to,
something I would later come to regret. Seeing what my papa and all my
‘uncles’ were truly capable of left me with an uneasy feeling, and all the
fancy clothes and expensive vacations couldn’t rid me of the fact that I knew
it was all tainted.

Pietro is only a year or two older than me. A wiry-looking boy with
blonde hair is how I remember him. According to mama, Pietro has now
become even more handsome than the last time I saw him. I hadn’t had the
heart to tell her that he could be a direct descendant of Thor himself and I still
wouldn’t be able to drum up any interest in him. I guess the feeling was
mutual by the look of indifference he gave me when we had met before.
“Sophia, are you listening to me?” She huffs from outside the room.
“Yes, Ma, I’m just finishing getting dressed,” I say, trying to placate her.
Although papa was the Don, it was my mama who really ran things, and her
temper, like most Sicilian women, was legendary. My pensive nature seemed
to piss her off the most out of all my siblings; Gennaro, Claudio, and
Massimo. I already knew they would be following in papa’s footsteps, three
ready-made Dons to keep the Falcone name alive. Mama always interred that
I was permanently lost in a daydream, but sometimes daydreams were a lot
less brutal than reality. I know what the Falcone name means and who papa is
and what exactly he does to keep our family on top. The looks we receive
when we are out are mingled with fear bordering on reverence. The murky
underworld of crime will permanently mark us forever.

I remember it clearly as if it were yesterday, starting college in the city

and being followed by whispers and stares everywhere I went. The words
‘Mafia princess’ seemed to stalk me all over campus. The only people who
wanted to befriend me were those who thought it would be cool to have a
mafioso as a friendship accessory, or they gaged me as a plug they could use
for accessible drugs or to further themselves. Papa owned this city; if you
were friends with a Falcone, it could get you anywhere you wanted. I had
practiced discernment from a young age, and it kept me out of the clutches of
all the users and leeches. It was also that discipline that led me to meet him,
the man I gave everything to and nearly lost everything for.

“I’m almost ready,” I reply as I fumble with my mask, two hours of careful
eye makeup only to be compromised by this masquerade mask. Tonight, I am
attending the engagement of Pietro’s sister Angela. I don’t know who the
intended is, only that he is a made man and already a Don. Angela and I were
the same age, so she was either marrying a man who was fairly older than her
or somebody who had been made early in life. The second option being more
menacing, for a man to be made too early meant he had either a proclivity for
violence or crime or both.
However, I could barely find it in myself to ask mama about this. I was
just going through the motions, like a clock in my head was counting down to
me walking down the aisle and seeing the docile blonde Pietro looking back
at me.

One year had slowly petered down to eight weeks. Why was it when you
dreaded something, it seemed to speed up the event even further? Mama
picked the wedding dress and planned most of the wedding, I was too
disheartened to do anything myself, apart from the floral arrangements which
even I had cast aside in boredom. I often fantasized that I would hightail it
before I even got to the end of the aisle, throw my flowers and heels to one
side, and run until there was no oxygen left, only the burning of my lungs. I
knew it was just a pipe dream, and I would probably be dead before I even
reached the outside building, and if they didn’t kill me, then the shame I
brought on the Falcone name would. How many marriages are based on love
anyway? Perhaps I would grow to like Pietro and, in time, love him. I thought
I had experienced love, but maybe that was just an infatuation and not the
real thing because all I had left from what I experienced was a deep sense of
guilt mingled with shame. Everything in this family came down to image,
there was no way I could ever get away with half the things my brothers or
cousins get up to.

Virginity was a prerequisite for women and not even a concept thought
about for men. I very much doubted my betrothed is a virgin. In fact, I am
hoping he isn’t. Trepidation builds within me, as I realize that the first time I
will be intimate is with a virtual stranger. I blank it out of my mind as I do
one last make-up touch up before leaving my room.

“Where are you going dressed like that?” My brother says frowning
slightly at my attire. “You look like you’re going to one of those kinky
joints,” he says smirking.

I am trying to follow the masquerade theme, wearing a black dress with

mesh panels on either side. My signature black Jimmy Choo heels, with a
classic red lip and now obscured smokey eye.
 “How would you know about them, baby brother?” I ask, smirking and
enjoying the flush of color on his face.
“Vito is waiting by the car,” Mama’s voice barks from downstairs.
“Oh shit, I forgot you’re going to the Rossi engagement,” Massimo
replies while lighting a cigarette.
“You can come, too,” I say eagerly.
“Nope, I have better plans,” he says, smiling and reaching for his phone.
“Basta, how long does it take you to get dressed?” Mama says, walking
up the winding stairs.
“I’m ready,” I say, holding my hands out in mock surrender.
“Where are you going?” she asks, turning her head to Massimo.
“I have plans,” he says but in a more somber tone.
“I don’t want you seeing that medigan. Don’t you bring her round here
anymore!”
“Okay, Ma, I won’t,” he says, but we both know he will.

Massimo’s girlfriend is one of the hostesses at my papa’s clubs in the

city. She was non-Sicilian, non-Italian, and definitely non-anything my mama
stood for. He had made the rookie mistake of bringing her to the house once,
which incensed my mama to pieces.

Papa also wasn’t impressed; I heard him remark to Massimo that the
woman on your arm reflects the man you are. He didn’t say anything after
that except gave him a pointed yet meaningful look. Massimo had kept her at
arm’s length since then, but I knew he was still screwing her along with the
rest of his rotation.

“Let’s go, Ma,” I say, trying to take the heat off Massimo, for which he
grants me a grateful look before disappearing into his room.

An hour later, we are in the heart of the city, the skyscraper penthouse
overlooking the city at such a height that the people below appear as merely
moving ants. Whoever organized this party, went all out. Silver and white
balloons cover the room exterior, as well as large floral centerpieces and
magnum sized champagne bottles on each table.

Mama peers around the room in a hawk-like manner, and I can tell she
could be trying to find fault with something that she can tear apart later to her
friends. We greet all the guests two kisses at a time, my heart pounding at the
thought of running into Pietro, but I try to blank it out of my thoughts.
I knew Angela vaguely, but we aren’t friends. Angela is blonde with doll-
like blue eyes and a pouty smile. She comes across as highly delicate and
seems more like an all-American cheerleader than a daughter of the Mafia.
Angela greets me with a small smile, but when she thinks nobody is looking,
I can see the sadness in her eyes.

“Congratulations, Angela,” I say, returning her smile only it seems to

have changed into a grimace.
“Thanks,” she says faintly.
“Are you enjoying your party?” I ask, struggling for something to talk
about.
“I guess so. I just didn’t expect everything to move so quickly,” she says,
frowning, and I can feel relief washing over me, so it isn’t just me who’s
dreading their wedding.
“Where is your fiancé?” I ask, wanting to see if I was right about him
being old, which is why she looks so distraught.
“He’s around somewhere,” she says in a terrified tone.
“Angela?” I say, looking at her worriedly.
“They call him the jackhammer, you know. Apparently for his first kill he
used one and now it’s his weapon of choice,” she says faintly.
“Maybe it’s just a rumor,” I say in an attempt to placate her.
“They call him that for other reasons, too,” she says, giving me a
knowing look.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” I blurt out.
“Not when your intended spends time in houses of ill repute,” she says
primly.
“That could be a rumor, too.”
“I bet it isn’t, I can tell,” she says, almost hysterical, and her mama shoots
her a warning look.
 “He’s a made man Angela, did you expect him to be a saint?”
“I guess I didn’t think of it that way,” she mumbles.
“Sorry, Angela, ignore me. Like I said, it’s probably a rumor, and I’m
sure he’ll be a great husband,” I say, trying to placate her again.
“At least you won’t be so far behind me, but you know what you’re
getting with Pietro as your husband. He’s a stand-up guy.” She says, smiling
warmly at me.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding as the feeling of ice envelops my chest. I extract
myself from Angela and head straight to the bar.
“Whiskey neat,” I say to the bartender, who raises his eyebrow at me. I
knew he was expecting me to order something girly like champagne or a 7
and 7, but I want something stronger that will melt down my throat.

Three drinks later, I return to my mama’s side, she barely noticed I had left.
She’s talking about my upcoming wedding with one of the guests, and by the
sounds of the cooing and excitement, anyone would think that she is the one
getting married, not the slightly tipsy and uninterested girl beside her.

‘Pietro!” She suddenly cries out like she has been hit by a bullet, her
flailing hands hitting me in the ribs.
Everything suddenly feels like slow motion as my head turns around to
meet my future groom, the mask obscures most of his face, but he is pretty
much as I remember, albeit taller. Pietro, like Angela, has the all-American
look, blonde wiry hair and blue eyes, like he’s just stepped out of an
Abercrombie catalogue.

He locks eyes with me, and I strain to force a smile despite rather being
anywhere but here. He kisses me on both cheeks, and we politely make
conversation. I try to pay attention to his words, but they hold no interest to
me. I care for nothing he says or the mouth it comes out of. Mama looks on
between us and smiles as if there were sparks of passion being exchanged
right before her eyes, but I feel nothing.
 “Are you having a good time?” he asks.
“Yes, you must be very happy for your sister,” I say meekly.
“Not really,” he says bitterly.
I resist the urge to question why, because you don’t ask questions within
Mafia circles. What is understood doesn’t need to be explained, clearly there
is some kind of underlying tension between Pietro and his future brother-in-
law. However, as I am barely interested in him, I could care less about his
familial conflicts.
“He thinks he’s doing us a favor because he’s already made at twenty-
eight, like he’s so fucking special,” Pietro snarls while grounding his
cigarette into cinders underneath his foot. “Special my ass, everybody knows
about him and his fucking disgracia family. It’s an embarrassment we have
to lower ourselves to scum like him just because he’s made.” he says,
furiously.

What was it about this made man who seems to have everyone so riled
up?
“Maybe some women aren’t meant to be tamed. Maybe they just need to run
free until they find someone just as wild to run with them.”
—Candice Bushnell

I STRUGGLE TO THINK KINDLY OF ANYTHING I LIKE ABOUT

PIETRO ROSSI.

Even his aftershave annoys me, it’s a flamboyant zesty citrus scent that
makes my nose itch and eyes water.

If I can’t find something small, I like about him, what chance did I have
for the our entire marriage? The thought instantly sobers me up.

“Well, I’ll see you later,” I say, excusing myself. Nevertheless, he catches
my arm and gives it a soft meaningful squeeze as I move past him. I try to
figure out what it is about him that I can’t seem to find attractive, but I draw a
blank. He is perfect on paper, but besides that, he has zero charisma.

I smile to myself, pushing all thoughts of Pietro Rossi to the back of my

already cluttered mind. It irks me that neither Massimo, Claudio, nor
Gennaro don’t have to deal with this, at least not yet anyway. Gennaro has
been working with papa and is too busy to entertain marriage. Claudio is a
captain and has more women than he knows what to do with, and Massimo is
still in college. Although my parents can disapprove of who my brothers are
either dating or sleeping with, they will never intervene.

Not like how they did with me.

Anguish fills my chest when I think back to Anton, it seems like so many
years ago when it, in fact, is only shy of two years. Every step towards him
had been a step away from my family, from my roots, from everything I had
ever known, yet I kept going. We were two sides of the same coin, both
offspring of organized crime families. The only thing separating us was his
non-Sicilian blood which should have been the dealbreaker.

Have you ever known something terrible was going to happen, yet you
simply kept doing it? I knew the fates were hovering over us like scissors
over a thread, but I kept pushing our luck, a piece of luck that would end up
in an ill-fated ending. What I didn’t anticipate was the fiery war that ensued
from it all.

What I didn’t expect was how it ended, the horror that still shook me
awake in terror most nights.

The restroom on this floor is busy, so I take the elevator up to the rooftop,
which seems to be much quieter, and there isn’t a line to the bathroom here.
The balmy spring air cools me down and helps to control the flurry of
thoughts encapsulating me. Anton’s face flickers through my mind as I try
my best to exorcise it. I push open the doors of the restroom, and two women
ignore me as they cut lines of cocaine in front of the mirror.
“Interesting night for an engagement party. I’m so disappointed in his
choice of bride.”
 “I don’t know what he sees in her,” the other woman chirps back
spitefully, as I hear the sound of more lines being cut before they exit.

I am not sure who they are, but clearly they are not fans of Angela. I
leave the restroom, not giving them a second thought. There’s a bar situated
at the top of the rooftop, and there are hardly any guests here, which is a huge
plus. I sit myself down, my mouth already anticipating the whiskey that will
hit it shortly.
“Whiskey, neat, make it a double,” I say before the bartender even opens
his mouth.
“Whiskey is not a very ladylike choice,” a drunk voice says from behind
me.
“I don’t know about ladylike, but I know it’s none of your business,” I
say, ignoring whoever was talking to me.
“How about you let me buy you a drink, and maybe I’ll put those lips to
good work later,” he says as I feel a clammy hand on my back, moving down
slowly.
I jump up, but another man appears before I can even open my mouth.
“Go,” he says in a low tone.
“Go fuck yourself, buddy,” the drunk says, but the man only walks
towards him and turns his back to me as he lifts his mask, then I watch the
drunk man’s face pale. “I didn’t realize,” he says in a horrified whisper. “Mi
dispiace.”
“Get out of here before they have to scrape you off the sidewalk
tomorrow.”
The drunk staggers off in a hurry before the other man pulls his mask
back up and turns to me. I don’t know what to say so I turn back around and
don’t say anything.

The stranger sits beside me and offers me a cigarette. I’m not a smoker, but
whiskey and nicotine make the perfect mix on social occasions. He doesn’t
say anything as he lights my cigarette, but I can feel his gaze burning through
me, his charcoal eyes devouring me to the point that I think the air has turned
from balmy to heated. I stare back at him for an inkling of recognition, but I
can’t place his face anywhere. His stare almost brands my skin, and I know I
would never have forgotten that indecent feeling of somebody almost
stripping you down with just a mere look.
Without saying a word, he already has my full attention. There isn’t
anything about him that particularly stands out and he isn’t by any means the
tallest or broadest person I have ever seen. However, his presence radiates
power and control. He stands just over six foot and is built, not overly so but
enough for me to notice that his biceps are bulging out of his crisp white
shirt. With the mask on, it is difficult to tell his age, although he does have a
slight smattering of gray peppering his dark hair, which adds to his overall
appeal. The bartender serves me my drink, and the stranger orders the same
watching me with interest as I sip delicately.
“Don’t be shy.” He smirks.
“Drinking it in one go wouldn’t be very ladylike,” I say, sipping with
exaggerated motions.
“You should only be a lady with a gentleman,” he replies, a smile playing
on his lips.
“Are you a gentleman?” I say curiosity getting the best of me.
“In the right company, perhaps,” he says as his smoldering eyes meet
mine again, and I feel a strange whirring in my abdomen.

One of the feathers from my masquerade mask is sticking out and I pull
on it in irritation wishing I could take the whole thing off.
“I take it you’re not a fan of the engagement theme.” He muses.
“I’m not a fan of marriage in general,” I say, thinking of my own
impending nuptials.
“I thought all women were romantics,” he says, smirking.
“Marriage is a transaction, it just depends on which end of the deal you’re
getting. You’re going to get screwed, one way or the other,” I say, draining
the tumbler.
“Hopefully, the good way,” he says as his eyes catch mine, and I feel my
pulse race. His pewter eyes never leave my green ones, and for the first time
in a long time, I feel the heady rush of attraction flooding my body and this is
without seeing his whole face.
“Well, if you’re a gentleman, I guess being a romantic comes naturally?”
I ask, cocking my eyebrow at him.
 “As I said, I’m only a gentleman in the right company,” he says in a low
tone but keeps his eyes fixed on me.
“The right company? What kind of company do you normally keep?” I
ask another question, throwing out my one cardinal rule of not asking
questions.
“You wouldn’t want to know,” he replies easily.

His phone vibrates on the bar top. Naturally a burner phone by the look of
it, and I observe with interest as he fires off a couple of messages. I have
always had a strange fixation with hands, and his are perfectly masculine in
every possible way. I watch on as his deft fingers maneuver, flexing across
the phone pad. I come to realize that I had been staring at him with my mouth
almost open the entire time, so I turn to face the bar to avoid further
embarrassment. The two girls I had seen in the bathroom earlier snorting
cocaine are in high spirits, still gossiping about one thing or another.
“—She’s dead if he ever finds out.”
“—I can’t believe she would risk it.”
I couldn’t hear the whole conversation, but evidently, something was
going down here tonight. I was just glad for once the topic of gossip didn’t
involve me.

I am starting to get cold, and my hands automatically wrap around my

bare shoulders to cover myself from the wind. Mama is probably wondering
where I am, especially since I left my purse downstairs and had been gone for
a while. She always kept a close eye on me these days, but I guess previous
behavior gives her reason to.
I feel something suddenly slip around my shoulders and gather it’s a
jacket, his jacket. I open my mouth to remonstrate, but he puts his finger over
my lips.

“Just proving to you that gentleman do exist,” he whispers into my ear as

his hot whiskey breath sets a fire ablaze within me. I turn towards him
wanting to say a million things, but my head seems to fog. I think he
understands because he just gives me a knowing look before disappearing
into the night.
I clutch the jacket close to me, inhaling his scent and wanting to keep this
moment alive in my head for as long as I can.
 “So much is said with the electricity of the eyes, the intensity of a whisper.
Less is more.”
—Elizabeth Taylor

IF LEFT TO MY OWN DEVICES, I WOULD HAVE STAYED HERE,

ANALYZING EVERY PART OF THE INTERACTION.

I girlishly inhale the soft material of the jacket that is still warm from his
body.

Grudgingly, I venture downstairs to mama, as I imagine she is looking for

me.
“Where have you been?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at me.
“Upstairs, I needed some air.”
“Whose jacket is that?” she says, looking incensed.
“Pietro’s, he offered to me because I was cold,” the lie bouncing off my
tongue effortlessly.
“See, I told you he was a nice boy, what manners he has,” she says, while
nodding approvingly. “At least you behaved yourself tonight.”
 Oh, Mama, if you only knew the truth, I thought to myself, half hiding a
smirk and half horrified at myself.

It almost doesn’t seem real what had happened tonight. I bury the jacket
in the back of my closet when I get home, trying to put what happened to the
back of my mind, though it seems easier said than done.

As the days went on, I almost doubted whether it happened, except the
jacket in the back of my closet saturated with his musk reassured me it did
whilst also scaring me at the same time. I hadn’t felt so drawn to somebody
in a long time and it sent a wave of panic through me.

Days turned into weeks, however, those charcoal eyes still invaded my
dreams every night as my hands caressed forbidden places.

Almost a month had passed since that night, yet it felt like it was yesterday.
My eyes opened as if I had been electrocuted. Ever since that night, I felt like
I had been a part of some alternate reality, drifting through day-to-day
consciousness. The jacket is still hidden at the back of my closet, and I hadn’t
dared to retrieve it.

However, the smell of nicotine, whiskey, and aftershave was embedded in

me so deep I didn’t think I would ever forget it. Not to mention those eyes
that sliced through me like they were spun from hellfire. Hearing a terse rapt
on the door, I shift myself back under the comforter.
“It’s almost midday, and you’re still asleep. What kind of behavior is
this?” Mama says exasperatedly.
“I’m tired,” I mutter from under the blankets.
“Are you sick?” she asks, and I feel her yank the blanket off me and place
a hand on my forehead.
I am undoubtedly feeling as though some kind of sickness was overtaking
me, a fever clinging to me.
“You feel fine. Get your ass downstairs. The Rossi family will be coming
over for lunch later.”
“What?” I reply, certainly feeling ill now.
“What do you mean, what? He is your future husband and will be arriving
with the rest of the family soon, so get ready. This means a lot to your papa,
especially after…” She doesn’t finish, but we both know what she is referring
to.
I ignore her, switch the television on, and flick through the channels
while she hovers around me.
“Reports of gunfire and violence have broken out in Chicago—” I turn
off the television, wishing I never switched it on, to begin with.
Mama gives me a knowing look before walking to the door. “Make sure
you look presentable,” she says as she closes the door.

Presentable on the outside and a mess on the inside. Growing up, Mama
always treated me like glass. These days, she treated me like an explosive
that could go off at any moment. Perhaps, that is what I am, a volatile
substance prone to explosion. The word ‘explosion’ awakens something
within me, and swiftly I was transported back to gunshots, screams, and a
war that started just because I was attracted to the wrong person. Good
intentions only pave the way to bad outcomes, something I had ended up
learning the hard way.

An hour later, I am freshly showered and dressed. I am wearing a simple

white dress with a minimal amount of make-up to present myself as demurely
as possible. I practice my fake smile in the mirror, fully preparing myself for
the forced and tedious conversations with my husband-to-be and his family.
There’s a knock at the door, and papa walks in. “Everybody is waiting for
you,” he says while holding his arm out.
“Thank you,” I say, taking it.
I take his arm, and we walk down the staircase. “Good practice for your
wedding day.”
I look at him but don’t react. What is there left to say? He knows as well
as I do, that I will be going through with the wedding no matter what. I
sometimes wondered whether Mama had any doubts about her own wedding
and the man she married. Did she ever contemplate the amount of blood on
his hands as she slept next to him each night or fact that her sons are killers
just like him.

I ponder if she ever thought that beneath the white marble mansion she
lived in, there was a tainted foundation of vice that helped build it. Mama
never made any reference to being the wife of a Don. She was a typical
Italian housewife, and perhaps she honestly believed that her prayers at
Sunday mass would be enough to rid herself of her husband’s sins.
“You look like you’re going to a funeral.” Papa snaps irritably. “I thought
your ma said you and Pietro got on like a house on fire the other night. He’s a
good boy. Don’t screw this up, Sophia, especially after last time.” His eyes
flash at me threateningly, and I nod.
What he really wants to say is don’t cause another war. Don’t run off with
the son of a rival family and expect not for there to be consequences. He
doesn’t have to say anything, the guilt is already embedded within me, and
nobody will let me forget.

“About fucking time, I was about to eat my own hand,” Claudio says
grouchily as we arrive in the gold embossed dining room.
“Language,” Mama’s Aunt barks at him. “No respecta,” she says in a
heavy Italian accent. “You’re lucky I don’t wash your mouth out with soap.”
“Mi dispiace, Zia,” Claudio says, bowing his head down but giving me a
slight wink making Zia tut at him again, though I knew she wasn’t actually
mad.
“You already know Don Vincenzo and his wife Lady Carmela, Pietro,
Angela and her fiancé, Don Croccifixio De Luca.” Papa says in a low but
commanding voice.

My eyes take in all the familiar faces until I reach the last person at the
table, his eyes burning into me.
 Charcoal gray eyes.

It’s him. It feels like someone has just sucker-punched me. He is Angela’s
fiancé?

“Call me Rocco,” he says lazily as his eyes bore into mine.

I stand there dumbly for a second until Mama impatiently motions for me
to sit down. I bow slightly to Don Vincenzo and Don Rocco before I take my
place next to Pietro, ensuring I avoid Don Rocco’s gaze. I can already feel
my neck start to heat and I don’t want to start blushing and draw any further
attention to myself. Don Vincenzo stands up and makes a toast with my papa,
though I can’t concentrate enough to pay any attention until something is
mentioned about bringing the families closer together and fortifying old
bonds with new ones. Something to that effect.

He turns towards Rocco and Angela and congratulates them on their

impending vows. As everybody else faces Rocco, I take the chance to look at
him myself. He doesn’t appear moved or even particularly interested in what
Don Vincenzo is saying. His eyes remain their steely gray and barely wander
towards Angela, who is sitting next to him. In fact, his body is shifted away
from hers. He is dressed in a black suit and a crisp white shirt. How did he
make such a simple ensemble look so sexy? I try to turn my gaze away from
him, but it’s impossible not to stare. Instead, I focus on Angela, who,
although should be thrilled, seems as if she rather be anywhere but here. Her
hands are clasped together on her lap so tightly that I wonder if her
circulation has been cut off. She still has that despondent expression that she
had at her engagement. Rocco lifts his glass lazily to acknowledge the older
Don but doesn’t say anything.

Little by little, conversation breaks out around the table. Two other men
enter and sit down at the end, and I notice they are wearing an almost
identical suit to Rocco, although theirs are navy with a red handkerchief in
the jacket pocket. This is the sigil of the ‘captains’, to show they are part of
the De Luca regime. Rocco doesn’t wear one, because he is the boss—capo
di tutti capi.
The dreaded wedding conversation arises, and mama jokes about a double
wedding for Angela, Rocco, Pietro, and myself. Which is enough to send a
hot sweat through me. Rocco’s eyes lock with mine and this doesn’t go
unnoticed by papa who gives him an icy glare.

“I hear two of your bookies got turned over in the Bronx,” Pietro says to
Rocco, twirling a cigarette in his hands. “I guess that following in your
father’s footsteps is harder than you thought, huh?” Pietro continues smugly
while Claudio looks at papa warningly, sensing danger.
“The bookies who got turned over were informants, and they were dealt
with like they should be with no ties back to me. I always take the head off
the snake before they get close enough to strike. Maybe that is why I’m a
made man, and you’re still walking around with your thumb up your ass. I
don’t remember you being so chatty when your brother got clipped, Pietro,
you were too busy crying like a bitch over his dead body.”

There is a deadly silence at the table. Not only had Rocco insulted the
bride’s brother, but also his bride-to-be’s dead brother, Simone. Angela looks
nervously around at her papa, who simply shrugs not wanting to make a
scene. However, Pietro stands up suddenly his eyes filled with rage. Rocco
and his men already anticipate this and rise seconds before him. Three guns
are pointed at him as the tension rises to a breaking point before Pietro can
even get his own gun out. When he does, he rocks the table, sending a bottle
of red wine flying into my lap.

Better wine than blood, especially after last time.

The bloody war between the Sicilians and the Russians that I had caused by
following my heart almost led to my own destruction as well as countless
others to their deaths. My hands are now covered in wine, but in my head, it’s
blood. Pietro is supposed to be the penance to right my wrongs, despite every
feeling in my body, I know I need to marry him to redeem myself.
“Enough!” Papa stands up angrily, Claudio and Don Vincenzo follow
suit.
 “Sit down, Pietro,” Don Vincenzo says warningly.
“You heard what he said,” Pietro says, his eyes narrowing as his finger
rests on the trigger.
“Simone is dead, I have made my peace with it. Let us move on.”
“This piece of trailer trash doesn’t deserve to be in our family.”
“He’s a made man, watch your fucking tongue. You know better! Now sit
the fuck down, or I’ll be burying another son.” Don Vincenzo shoots him one
last threatening look and Pietro sits down reluctantly.
“Apologize to my daughter,” Papa snarls before Pietro turns towards me
and gives me a very affable apology. “Go and clean yourself up,” Papa says
in a softer tone, excusing me from the table.

“Can we not get through one meal without someone taking a gun out?”
Zia says irritably. “Pass the Anisette,” she utters to Claudio. He pours her a
glass, and she just shakes her head, grabbing the bottle from him and pouring
herself a generous glass. “The bottle is better, Cazzo, my nerves are shot to
death in this madhouse.”
“Maybe you should go inside, Zia, for a little nap?” Mama says gently.
“Nap? Do I look like a child or an invalid to you?” she says to Mama
angrily, who reddens.
“I just thought—”
“Nobody asked you to think,” she says grumpily, nursing her drink.
“All I have in this world is my balls and my word, and I don’t break them for
no one.”
—Tony Montana

RED WINE SATURATES ME, STAINING THE WHITE MARBLE

FLOORS WITH EACH FOOTSTEP I TAKE.

My heart thumps in my chest, contemplating everything that had just

happened. Those gray eyes belonged to a Don.

Not just any Don but one who would be marrying my future sister-in-law.
Half of me was relieved to be excused while the other half was still in shock.

My white dress is now ruined, but that can’t be helped. If tonight was
supposed to make me more attracted to Pietro, it was an epic failure. His
childish petulance made him more unappetizing than ever. I walk into one of
the bathrooms on the lower level and pull off the sopping dress. Red wine
bleeds through the material, giving my olive skin a pinkish hue. I find a
fabric robe on the back of the door and pull it on, discarding the stained dress
in one of the laundry hampers. Once, I open the door, there are a pair of
steely gray eyes staring at me. My own eyes widen in shock, but before I can
say anything, Rocco puts a finger over my lips and pushes me back into the
room. He enters and closes the door behind him, locking it.

“What are you doing?” I stammer, trying to keep my voice down.

“I just wanted to apologize for ruining your outfit,” he says, looking
down at me, with only an inch of space and material separating his body from
my almost naked one.
“It’s fine,” I mumble, side-stepping him, but he stops me.
“What’s the rush? Are you scared of me?” he chortles.
“Men like you don’t scare me,” I say cocking my eyebrow.
“You mean gentlemen?” He replies, his eyes sparkling in mischief.
“Gentlemen mention when they are engaged. Gentlemen mention it’s
their engagement party,” I say a little too sharply.
“As the old Don said, it’s a business deal just like with you and that
imbecile Pietro.”
“How do you know that? Pietro and I could be madly in love,” I say,
trying to sound confident but faltering.
“Seeing as you don’t believe in romance, I doubt that. I just hope he isn’t
the one who gets to do the screwing, that would be a waste,” he says, smiling.
“You shouldn’t be in here, and you know it.”
“I’m apologizing to my future sister-in-law.”
“Did you know it was me that night?” I ask.
“Perhaps, perhaps not, isn’t that one of the benefits of a masquerade
party?” he says coolly.
“I thought you hated the theme.”
“It had its perks, that mask didn’t do you justice, though.” He says,
licking the bottom of his lip, eliciting a shockwave of pleasure within me.
“I still have your jacket.” I blurt out.
“Keep it. You’ll be seeing me around a lot more.”
“At your wedding,” I say slowly.
“Wedding, business arrangement, or in your words, transaction, it’s all
the same, baby.” He pushes his finger to my lips and slides it down my neck
all the way to the middle of my breasts where I’m still wet from the wine,
before bringing it to his lips and making me gasp involuntarily. “You taste
sweeter than I imagined,” he says before unlocking the door and walking out.
I sit behind the door for a couple of minutes, digesting what just happened,
except I can’t seem to process it. He is marrying Angela, and I am marrying
Pietro, so what is he thinking? What am I thinking? Like Alice, I seem to be
skipping down the infinite rabbit hole again. Some people learn from their
mistakes, but obviously I am not one of them. I am running through every red
light with my foot firmly on the gas pedal, heading for danger while passing
through a million warning signs.

“Like the old Zia said, can we not have a meal without somebody getting
clipped?” Dominic asks sarcastically.
“That pussy Pietro really thinks he something, huh?” My other cousin
Damon growls.
“Hello? Anyone in there?” Dominic asks sarcastically.
“What?” I reply irritably.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it,” Damon says warningly.
“What do you mean?” I say, flicking my lighter.
“You were practically salivating over Falcone’s only daughter, didn’t you
see how the old Don was watching you?”
“I didn’t pay much attention,” I say truthfully. Sophia was the only thing
that held my interest all night.
“Revenge on that little shithead Pietro might look attractive now, but it
won’t be long-term. We need the Falcone’s and the Rossi’s on our side. They
make up two of the powerhouse families. Like you said, with this marriage
contract you’re unstoppable.”

The truth is I’m already unstoppable. Although I am ten years behind

Falcone and Rossi, I had made up that time within a couple of years. What
Falcone and Rossi have in experience, I make up for in mindset. They are set
in the ‘old ways’, only wanting to work within their circles. I took a chance
venturing out to Las Vegas, partnering up with an old friend, and that chance
made me a very wealthy man. I had used my contacts in the west to secure
heroin and cocaine trafficking from Colombia before shipping them through
Mexico and Canada. I had also brought real estate and businesses on the East
Coast, namely restaurants and clubs that I use as legitimate business fronts.
That is where so many of the ‘old Dons’ have gone wrong, when the Feds
come knocking, they can’t prove where most of their assets come from.

My net worth almost matches Paolo Falcone and Vincenzo Rossi

combined, and my contacts span out politically and socially. Where my inept
father had disgraced the name, I had picked it up and refurbished what he
tarnished. I know what people say about him, and it’s true, but I will never
talk about it again. Damon, Dominic, and the rest of my men never ask, and
as far as I am concerned, the subject is as dead as he is.

“Have you thought about where you’re going to live yet?” Damon interjects
my thoughts.
“In my fucking house, where else?” I say, confused.
“When you get married, Don,” he replies patiently.
“I’ll find her somewhere in the city,” I say, distractedly.

Like most made men, I knew I had to take a wife eventually. Dons who
aren’t married after a certain age are deemed untrustworthy. Questions begin
to rise regarding their masculinity and the ability to father children. Although
I know for fucking sure I don’t want some broad cramping my style,
marrying Angela Di Rossi is a shrewd power move. It would be near
impossible for any of the other families to move against me now that I have
brokered the marriage contract with Vincenzo for his daughter, it also sent a
big fuck you out to anyone else who thought that the De Luca family was
finished.

The Don’s daughter and I barely exchanged two words at our

engagement. If I were honest, she bored me which suited me just fine. Her
nature seems to be very meek and mild, which is another plus a less
demanding wife will allow me time to pursue other more favourable activities
of my inclination. Angela and I had sat there making strained conversation
for the better half an hour, which was about when I excused myself because I
wanted a cigarette and found myself on the rooftop with her.

I knew who she was despite her wearing the mask. Rumors of the infamous
Sophia Falcone circulated around New York like wildfire, apparently, she ran
off with a man a while ago. One that her papa didn’t approve of. After Paolo
had put six rounds in him, he ensured Sophia was kept on a tight leash which
I assume brokered the engagement deal to the witless Pietro Rossi. Hell, if I
knew whether half the rumors about her were true or not, New York loved to
gossip. I had been the hot topic of most of that gossip, a large percentage,
muchly fabricated. What I did know was that Sophia Falcone was the only
thing I had been able to think about since that night. Following her into the
bathroom wasn’t exactly a great move, but…

I couldn’t help it.

A montage of Sophia flickers through my mind, like the kaleidoscopes

you peer through on the boardwalks as a kid. I wonder if she knew just how
much self-control it took to sit opposite her. Just one flicker of her green eyes
was almost enough for me to shoot my almost brother-in-law Pietro. I can
still taste the wine mixed with her perfumed scent on my tongue, and I smirk
a little when I think of her shocked face the moment she saw me. My
smugness is soon doused out when I realize it is Pietro who she will be in
possession of soon.
If she had the balls to run off with some other guy, why does she seem so
naïve and shy? Is it an act, or is she everything they say she is? In that case,
why does Pietro want her? If I had been made aware she had been fucked by
another man, would I still want her? I try to think of a cohesive response, but
my fucking mind snaps back to her instead. Her long-tanned legs are wrapped
around me as the back of her head bounces on my headboard in pleasure…

“Rocco?” Damon says, smirking. “You’re almost drooling.”

“He’s just thinking of his soon-to-be bride.”
“Lucky man, blondes are my favorite,” Dominic replies.
“I’ve always been more into brunettes,” I say, thinking of Sophia’s silky
brunette locks.
“Don’t,” Damon says warningly.
“Don’t what?” I say innocently.
“Don’t do what I know you’re thinking of doing, she’s off limits.”
“Nothing is ever off limits to me,” I reply darkly.
“Sophia Falcone is, especially when you are about to be in-laws.”
“I can’t deny she is hot though,” Dominic interjects. “Complete waste on
Pietro, but I guess she doesn’t have much choice.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning the way she has behaved is why she is marrying someone who
is unlikely to become Don. No man in the five families will marry a woman
who has dishonoured her family.”
“Allegedly dishonoured.”
“Whatever, someone else has already been there, and it ain’t the guy
she’s going to marry.” Dominic quips.
“It’s a rumor,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“There is no smoke without fire.”
“Maybe I like playing with fire,” I say, flicking my lighter on and off and
watching the flames.

I resolve to keep my thoughts away from Sophia Falcone. I ask Damon to

organize a florist to send flowers to Angela and Carmela Rossi, an apology
for the spat between Pietro and me. For appearance’s sake, I need to keep
things amicable. I talked myself into this wedding, because I know what is at
stake and I wasn’t going to ruin my business for any woman, no matter how
much I want her. I keep myself busy looking for somewhere for Angela to
live that is far enough not to disrupt my own night-time proclivities but near
enough for me to drop by for the occasional sleepover.
My own house is located in Long Beach, because I have a thing for the
ocean, the calmness that soothes my stormy mind. This is my sanctuary, and I
don’t want anyone else staying here, especially not some broad whose middle
name I don’t even know. Fiancée or not, she’s a virtual stranger to me.
 “Listen to me very carefully. There are three ways of doing things around
here: the right way, the wrong way, and the way that I do it. You
understand?”
—Ace Rothstein

THE DOOR CLATTERS AS LUCIA WALKS IN. LUCIA, THE

OUTCOME OF MY FATHER AND ONE OF HIS MAIDS.

She signed off any claim to his fortune for a hefty maintenance fee, Lucia
liked the finer things in life.

However, she still came around often because we’re ‘family’ or likelier
she needed more money.

“What’s eating you?” she asks, unwrapping a candy bar and frowning.

Lucia unmistakably looks like my father, which is probably one of the

reasons for the deep-seated antipathy I constantly feel for her. I favor my
mother’s dark features, whereas Lucia has my father’s light brown eyes,
sandy blonde hair, and heart-shaped face. Although, now her hair is more a
candy floss pink. Also, like my father, she is unmistakably self-centred with
an utter sense of recklessness.
“I thought I changed the locks,” I say politely.
“I told Rosa you wanted me to have a key,” she says, smiling. “For
emergencies, of course.”
“What emergency? You need a coke fix, or the UN needs an emergency
party planner to solve world peace,” I say acerbically.
“Very funny, dear brother,” she says sarcastically.
“I’m not your brother,” I say, feeling more annoyed than I am usually
with her.
“We share the same father.”
“Yet, you’re more like him than I will ever be.”
“We’re half-siblings.”
“Very distant half-siblings,” I say in a bored tone.
“You look like shit,” she says musingly.
“I’ve been working,” I reply, ignoring her.
“Likewise,” she says, while putting her feet up on the Italian white leather
couch that I just spent five grand upholstering.
“Putting that shit up your nose and partying every night is not working
and take your fucking Manolo’s off my couch.”
“Who lit a fire up your ass?” She frowns, surveying me with narrowed
eyes.
“I tolerate you because it wouldn’t look good if I clipped my sister, but
you keep shooting your mouth off and I might change my mind,” I say,
looking up at her with my chilling glare.
“How was the engagement party?”
“I thought you were there.”
“I was, then I wasn’t,” she says, clearing her throat awkwardly.
“Ah, that’s right, you were found passed out in the ladies.” I say acidly.
“Is my future sister-in-law looking forward to joining the family?”
“Well, it’s happening either way.”
“Have you even spoken to her?” she says, rolling her eyes.
“We have conversated,” I say indifferent.
“What’s her favorite color?”
“No idea.”
“Food? Band? Shoe size? Bra size? Jesus, Rocco, you don’t know a thing
about her.”
“I don’t need to. She’ll live in her place, and I’ll live at mine.”
“So, you’re not going to sleep with her?”
“Obviously, don’t be so fucking obtuse. It doesn’t mean I have to stay
with her 24/7, I’m a busy man. She grew up with Vincenzo as her father, I’m
sure she’s gotten the correct training from her mother.”
“No woman is going to put up with that shit. She will expect you to at
least spend some time with her apart from sleeping with her.”
“What we want and what we get are two different things, Lucia,” I say in
a patient tone.
“I wouldn’t put up with that,” she snorts.
“Yet you were blowing a guy in the men’s toilets in Manhattan last night,
so I don’t think you’re exactly an expert in relationships.”
“How do you know about that?” she says, flushing.
“I know everything, and if you keep embarrassing yourself like this, then
I won’t be held liable for my actions,” I say breezily.
“You won’t hit me, Rocco. You don’t touch women,” she says smugly.
“I can hit you where it really hurts… Your pockets.”
“But—”
“I want you to make a lunch date with Angela Rossi and get all the
information you have made a point of telling me I don’t know.”
“Fine,” she huffs, standing up. “I know what you worried about,” she
says as she stops short of the door, “you’re nothing like him.” Then, Lucia
walks out without saying another word, and I don’t stop her.

It’s Lucia’s way of trying to redeem herself by telling me I’m not like my
father. Once, Ricardo De Luca was a great Don—respected by the other
families in New York, his influence spread far and wide, yet with power
comes temptation. His vices were primarily for women, drugs, and alcohol.
By the age of forty he had almost run his entire empire into the ground, at
fifty he was found dead in a motel surrounded by drug paraphernalia and
hookers.
 I don’t know what was worse, the sympathetic looks or the rumors that I
had the same vices and often frequented whore houses and did drugs. Two
things that I vowed to never touch. My father’s downfall was the drive I
needed to not be like him in any shape or form. In fact, both of my parents
had been huge fuck ups, so I was surprised I had marginally turned out well.

My mother was barely eighteen when she was brought to America against
her will to marry my father, driven mad by years of his constant philandering
she left and never came back. I never tried to look for her out of sheer pride,
though I knew she had gone back to her native Sicily. Nicole De Luca wanted
to forget her cursed existence with her drug-addled, drunk adulterer of a
husband and mistake of a son.

My Nonna had raised me until she died when I was twenty-one; ever
since then, I have been alone. My inner circle encompasses my men, nobody
else breaches the boundary. I don’t trust outsiders, and that includes Lucia.
The truth is she bears too much of a reminder of my father, from her lack of
morals to her drug susceptibility. She is the picture of a past so tainted that I
don’t ever want or need.

I can hear the sound of glasses clinking in the great room. Tonight, Don
Paolo Falcone is hosting one of his famous celebrations. My cousin Alberto
has just passed his initiation and is now a made man. The house is filled with
various influential men of New York; criminal, political, and even some
federal, all under one roof. If these walls could talk, they would be oozing
with secrets, lies, and confessions that would make your ears bleed.

I, of course, make my usual dutiful daughter performative appearance.

Pietro won’t be here tonight, which is a huge relief. Only the top tier crème
de la crème have been invited to this party. Made men only, something Pietro
isn’t and for that I am glad that I don’t have to see him. Only in the Mafia do
we measure somebody’s triumphs alongside how many lives they have taken.
We reward the bloodshed, the murders, the violence; it’s honored, revered,
and glorified.

Normally, I avoid the subject with my family because I know where it

ends up. It isn’t something to be discussed; the mechanics of the inner
workings of the Mafia is not something to be spoken of. There is a moral
code that everybody obeys, a silent law that every family follows religiously.
Omerta is the silent understanding in the Mafia. You don’t talk, you don’t
answer questions, and you most certainly do not confess. Ever.

I did confess once about Anton to a priest not long after it happened. He
told me to say one hundred Hail Mary’s, and when I told him it wasn’t
enough, he told me to forgive myself. He said God does not punish those who
stray from the path if their heart is good. But what if my heart isn’t good? In
fact, I feel it blacken in my chest like ash every time I even think of Anton.

When I close my eyes, I can still feel the heat of his kiss on mine, but it’s
not him who is kissing me. Those lips belong to a man with charcoal gray
eyes, not the blue ones that weigh down my conscience. I hadn’t dared to
retrieve the jacket, which is still at the back of my closet with an old
cheerleading outfit and a pair of roller skates I’d worn in eighth grade. The
touch Rocco’s skin on mine is enough to convince me that any further
dalliances between us would be catastrophic.

Rocco De Luca is dangerous, and I had proven that I am a girl who could
not avoid temptation. Instead, I seem to be the girl who runs through every
barrier and dance too near to the flame. I invite trouble and revel in chaos
while embedding myself in sin.

Pulling my dress down, I walk down the spiral staircase in our home. Guests
are strewn everywhere, and I shake hands with everyone as I approach Papa’s
side. I give my cousin Alberto a kiss on the cheek and congratulate him.
Alberto and I have always been close, and he has never asked nor judged me
on what had happened in Chicago.

Papa’s captains are scattered all around the building. One or two of them
glance at me knowingly because they had been there that fateful night. I
should have known that running wouldn’t take me away from this. You can’t
run away from this life because it just ends up hunting you down and re-
capturing you. I wasn’t sure even that I wanted to run away. Perhaps, I craved
the companionship of somebody who understood me.

Anton Romanov did. A chance in a lifetime meeting at a college party

changed everything for me. When I met him, I knew there wouldn’t be
anyone else who ever came close to the spark I felt. I had always
benevolently followed the rules growing up, so to have a boyfriend was
forbidden, and for me to have someone not approved of was a death sentence.
Initially, it was the thrill that excited me the most; to have something nobody
else knew about. I knew it was wrong, but it never felt that way. It was
effortless being with him, so how could that be wrong? He offered me a way
for us to be together, and I took it. I think I knew deep inside that we would
be found eventually, but I didn’t want to consider the consequences, for I was
drunk on the freedom. We holed up in Illinois for a week on his papa’s turf.
He said we would be safe, and they couldn’t find us. He was wrong, I knew
they wouldn’t stop looking for me until they tore us apart.

I excuse myself and wander to sit outside on the terrace, it feels like all the air
has left my lungs, but it’s slowly coming back now. Even though I had
blocked out much of what happened, familiar faces still seem to jerk the
puzzle pieces back into my memory.
“If I knew I was going to see such beauty tonight, I would never have
hesitated in coming.” Says a low voice behind me.
I swerve around to see a stranger observing me. His eyes lock into mine
as I feel an odd feeling of familiarity grasp me.
“And you would be?” I ask curiously, trying to place his face.
“Henri Beauchamp,” he says, putting his hand out. I reciprocate, and he
kisses mine delicately.
“I take it you’re definitely not Italian.”
“I’m one-sixteenth. Does that count?” he says, flashing me a smile.
“I’ll have to find out and get back to you,” I respond.
“It doesn’t count.” Another voice erupts from the darkness, and my chest
constricts as Rocco emerges, his jaw ticking in annoyance.
“Don Rocco, we meet again.”
“Henri,” Rocco says drily. “I thought only the important people were
attending tonight.”
“That’s right,” he says bemusedly. “I must excuse myself, but I hope to
see you soon,” he says, while giving me a small smile.
“Bye,” I reply as he disappears back into the house.
“What was that about?” Rocco asks in irritation.
“We were having a conversation,” I say sharply.
“No, he was flirting with you, and you weren’t exactly stopping him.”
“I was being polite,” I say pointedly.
“It doesn’t count.”
“What doesn’t?”
“Being polite to someone who just wants to fuck you.”
“So, you don’t want me to be polite to you either?” I say, smirking and
watching his jaw clench further in annoyance. I pull the cigarette out of his
mouth, put it into mine, and walk away.
“Wait,” he says, grabbing my wrist. His face darkens in anger as he
glances down at my wrist, the inked letter ‘A’ hovers under his thumb, and he
stares at it for a second before walking away in disgust. I knew there was
something I had forgotten to do.

The ‘A’ is a dedication to Anton. Mama had found the box under my bed
with everything he had given me and burnt it to cinders, the tattoo is a
permanent solution to make sure he is with me wherever I go. Normally, I
wear a bracelet or used heavy-set concealer to hide the tattoo, but tonight I
seem to have forgotten.
 “Every great love starts with a great story…”
—Nicholas Sparks

I GREET THE OTHER DONS WHEN I WALK IN, THIS PARTY IS

ONLY FOR THE ELITE OF NEW YORK AND NEW JERSEY.

As per usual, I receive a steady amount of ‘looks’ from other members of

East Coast families who recognize me.

Rather than the smirks and looks of disdain, I used to receive they have
now been replaced by grudging respect and somber nods.

Finally, I have made my mark and have their undivided respect. My eyes
scan the room, but I can’t see Sophia and when I do notice her, I feel waves
of lava erupt in watching her speak to that sniveling lawyer Henri. I don’t
give a fuck if he is some blue-blooded aristocrat, at this point he could be
directly descended from Jesus Christ himself and I still wouldn’t like him.

A thick veil of anger builds in me as I watch her eyes light up when she is
talking, and the flirtatious manner in which she tucks her hair behind her ear
as she speaks to him. I have always known I tend to stray on the possessive
side, but at this moment, I feel like I could crush the skull of anybody who
dare look in her direction. Of anyone who even dares to speak to her without
my permission. I don’t want anybody looking or touching her, I want to own
her irrevocably, and any man who dares to touch her will feel my wrath.
Paolo’s eyes meet mine as he watches me survey the interaction between
Sophia and Henri, and he gives me an icy glare of warning, but I ignore him.

She looks surprised when she sees me but doesn’t lose her composure.
Up close, she is even more enticing than she is from a distance, and it takes
all my willpower not to pull her into my arms. She twists a tendril of her
wavy locks around her finger innocently as she gives me a small smile before
taking the cigarette out my mouth. The desire turns to shock when I grab her
wrist and see an inked ‘A’ inked into her wrist. She belonged to another man,
not Pietro, not me, but she craved another and now carries his mark proudly.
Does her father know about this? I feel like marching up to Paolo and
demanding to know why he has allowed his daughter to desecrate herself in
this way. However, my sense manages to get a hold of me, and I understand
just how fucking stupid I will look doing that; letting some broad get to me
and she isn’t even mine.

I let go of her wrist like it’s red hot, and she exchanges a steely look with
me. I storm back into the house, but she doesn’t follow, for which I am glad.
I regain my composure and toast to the newly made man along with the other
captains of New York and New Jersey, and pretend that Sophia Falcone isn’t
invading every part of my consciousness. I can see her in the corner of my
vision and also notice every man here has their eyes on her, completely
enamoured by her beauty. Knowing that she wants someone else, belongs to
not just one man but two should have confirmed everything Dominic has said
about her but instead it has surged a hunger so deep that it shakes me to my
very core. Simply put, I want her because I can’t have her, but I am Rocco De
Luca, and what I want, I get.

No matter what.
Several days later, I am sitting by my pool in Long Beach in an attempt to
still my thoughts which is hard enough without Lucia sitting next to me,
singing ‘Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me’ every five minutes.

“You’re going to be very bored for the next forty years,” Lucia says from
the deckchair next to me.
“Stop speaking in riddles,” I say irritably. My head is still pounding from
the other night, I wasn’t hungover. Still, I felt punch-drunk.
“Angela Rossi has the personality of an Oreo, and that is putting it mildly.
I give it six months tops,” she says smugly.
“You’re not exactly Mensa material either, Lucia,” I say crisply.
“She’s into BTS,” she says, snorting.
“What’s that like a dominatrix thing?” I say disinterested already.
“No, they’re a Korean pop group,” she says, biting her lip from laughing.
“Jesus Christ,” I say, groaning.
“She isn’t the girl for you.”
“I very much doubt there is one.”
“And if there were, she would probably be a masochist,” she says airily.
“Meaning?”
“You’re disconnected. Pain gives you pleasure, you always expect the
worst, so you sabotage anything that gets slightly close to breaching your
boundaries.”
“You don’t know me, Lucia,” I say through gritted teeth.
“You barely know yourself. Speaking of, I know what day it is on
Friday.” she says smugly.
“Don’t even fucking think about it.”
“It’s not every day that it’s your birthday.”
“I don’t want any hint of a celebration.”
“Sure, sure.”
“I mean it,” I reply, but she has already walked back into the house.
Four days later, I groan inwardly before I enter the heavily adorned room
with balloons and a huge birthday banner.
“Which one of you wants to die first? I told you nothing fancy,” I hiss out
the side of my mouth to Dominic and Damon.
“Lucia insisted,” Damon says, shrugging.
“It’s a couple of hours. Stop being such a stronzo about it.”
“Who is invited?”
“All the Capo’s, and half a dozen others. Being a made man has perks,
nobody wants to piss you off,” Dominic says smirking.
“The Rossi’s have already arrived, and Angela is waiting at the top
table.”
“Great,” I say darkly.
“I don’t know who looks more miserable, you or her. She looks like
somebody has told her she’s spending the weekend in Alcatraz. What’s going
on with you two? I thought you would have at least kissed the broad by
now.”
“I’m not doing anything until I put a ring on it. I want everything done
above board, its business, not pleasure.”

I smooth the silk of my suit before walking into the room. This is meant
to be a ‘surprise party,’ but Damon and Dominic know better than to let me
walk into that. I am not a man who likes surprises of any kind; they are
seldomly good and often bad. When I walk into the room, there is a flurry of
applause and ovation amongst a sea of familiar faces—Lucia at the front,
already bombed by the looks of it, surrounded by my men. Angela is at the
top table, looking somber but in intense conversation with her mama. When I
see Sophia’s green eyes looking up at me, everybody else seems to fade into
obscurity.
I thought about not coming. I had the excuses ready in my head. Migraine.
Period. Bubonic plague. Yet when it came down to it, I realized how much I
wanted to see him again. Surely, it wasn’t normal to feel this attached to a
perfect stranger. The need to steal another look at him overtook every rational
thought.
The way he dropped my wrist with such repulsion had looped in my head
over and over. The thought of seeing him made me feel almost giddy inside.
Standing amongst the crowd, my breath hitched violently when he walked
into the room to boundless applause. I felt a surge of jealousy when he was
enveloped in an embrace by another woman, my eyes sliding to Angela but
she looked despondent and once again close to tears. Her mama was beside
her, and she was smiling benignly. I could see the air between them was
fraught with tension.
Pietro greets me, jolting me out of my thoughts but I barely register what
he is saying until mama nudges me and I look up at him.
“Teroso,” he says with a low whistle, looking at my outfit appreciatively.

Usually, I prefer to stay low-key with either black or pastel colors but tonight
I want to be noticed. I am wearing a red bodycon dress with Louboutin red
heels and rose red lipstick to match. Mama had side-eyed me when I walked
out the house but didn’t say anything. She must have thought I was doing this
for Pietro’s arousal and attention.

How wrong she is.

“Grazi,” I say, bowing my head slightly though when I peer up, my eyes
lock on to steely gray ones. My head barely comes up to Rocco’s broad chest,
but the distance between my mouth and his is minimal at this angle.

“Greet Don Rocco,” Mama hisses at me.

I clear my throat and give him an apologetic look and bow to him. He
barely registers me, greeting Mama with a kiss and completely ignoring
Pietro.
“Many happy returns, fratello,” Pietro says stiffly, lifting his glass.
“Cent’anni,” Mama says.
I can’t think of anything to say, so I keep my eyes down and Rocco
doesn’t bother to engage me in conversation, providing a few moments of
awkward silence.
“Let’s dance,” Pietro says as a jazz band starts playing.
“But—” I try to protest, but he whizzes me toward the dancefloor, his
arms wrapping around me and dropping to my waist as the music slows.

He is whispering something into my ear, but the music is deafening, so I

can barely hear over the low seductive sounds of the saxophone. Pietro dips
me, and I see Rocco standing in the same spot I left him, his face set in
displeasure, fury radiating off him like cold steam. Our eyes lock, and I can
practically feel rage erupting from him.

Luckily, I am interrupted by Pietro’s younger niece who wants to cut in,

which I gladly accept. When I walk off the dancefloor, Rocco is nowhere to
be seen, and Mama is talking about floral arrangements with one of the other
wives. I feel like my face has been overcome with heat, so I make my way
into the restroom and lean across the cold sink. I am right, my face and neck
are thoroughly rosy.

When I walk back out, they are singing happy birthday to Rocco. Angela
stands beside him as he blows his candles out, but she barely makes any
contact with him.
“Cent’anni.” the room echoes as a hundred different glasses clink in
approval.
“What’s your name?” A low voice says from beside me.
“Sophia,” I reply, not wanting to be rude.
“Ahh, the famous Sophia Falcone. I’ve heard stories about you.”
“Oh,” I say as my heart plummets.
“I had a brother around your age. Do you know what happened to him?”
 “What?” I ask, meeting his ominous stare.
“Your brother took him from me, so now I’m going to return the favor.”
“My brother?” I say confused.

Before I can react, a gun is pointed at my chest, as a collective hush falls

over the room, followed by the sound of metal as a hundred other guns are
pulled.
“Drop the weapon Fabio,” Rocco’s voice booms across the room. “Stop
embarrassing yourself, cousin.”
“An eye for an eye, Rocco. If you won’t do something about it, I will.” he
says angrily.
“We had an agreement,” Rocco replies, his voice filled with venom.
“I changed my mind,” the man replies, his eyes widening madly.
 “Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.”
—Michael Corleone

HIS FINGER HOVERS OVER THE TRIGGER, BUT BEFORE I CAN

EVEN SCREAM, A GUNSHOT ECHOES.

The man beside me drops to the floor, his eyes wide with shock. Rocco
makes a motion and the music restarts.

Conversations resume and everybody goes back to the party, two men
come and collect the dead guy’s body, and within seconds a cleaning team
has appeared with supplies and a mop. I glance around at Mama, and she
shrugs and returns to her conversation about flowers.

Somebody being murdered is just another day in the La Cosa Nostra.

There is a thin line between life and death; I had just lived to die another day.
Making a beeline towards the fire exit, my knees feel slightly weak, and I
don’t want to make a spectacle of myself by fainting.
I am so grateful for the chilly evening air that hits me as I pull the heavy door
open and sit on one of the stairs below the door. I close my eyes, trying to
control my breathing. The gunshot reverberates in my head, and I jump as I
hear another loud bang but it’s only the door behind me slamming.
“I never figured somebody who grew up in the life would be so jumpy,”
Rocco’s gravelly voice says as he sits beside me.
“I don’t normally see guys get whacked on a day-to-day basis,” I say
slowly. “What the hell was that about?”
“Whacked?” He snorts. “You watch too many Mafia movies. My cousin
Benito had an altercation with Gennaro regarding territories which didn’t go
well, and his brother Fabio was looking to get even.”
“You didn’t let him? Why?”
“Because he was out of line. There are rules to solving these kinds of
disputes, laws of insulation and he bypassed all of them,” he says frowning.
“Not much of a birthday,” I say slowly.
“I’m not much of a birthday guy.” He muses.
“So, you killed your own cousin?” I say slowly after a few moments.
“It was either I killed him, or he killed you. If any other man in there
apart from me killed him, it would have caused a war.”
“Why?” I say slowly.
“Because that is the way it goes, Gennaro killed Benito and Fabio wanted
to return the favor. I couldn’t let him do that, it’s bad for business.”
“Sentimental,” I say smiling.
“Sentimentality will get you clipped.”
“Even on your birthday.”
“Even on your birthday,” he repeats.
He offers me a cigarette and I take it, even though I don’t smoke it I just
keep it to occupy my hands.
“You cause a ruckus everywhere you go,” he says knitting his eyebrows
together.
“Meaning?” I say feeling myself blush.
“How many of us have you got hanging on a string?”
“Us?” I say in repulsion.
 “Pietro, Henri, and the one you got tattooed on your wrist. I guess that
one must have meant something to be permanent.”
“Maybe he still does, what is it to you?” The realization that he sees me
as a whore floods through me like arctic water.
“I guess I don’t like the thought of anyone having access to you, maybe
I’m just a greedy motherfucker,” he says, leaning into me.

I look down to avoid his gaze, but he tilts my chin up, and my eyes meet
his. Like a magnet I’m being pulled closer to the irresistible force of Rocco
De Luca. I can almost taste his scent, whiskey tinged with Nicotine mixed
with a heady aftershave, the same musk from his jacket that still hangs in my
closet.

His lips brush mine gently, and I feel his hands run roughly through my
hair. The low guttural groan in his throat sets goose pimples all over my
body. Suddenly the door slams and we spring apart. When I glance behind
me, I see the woman who brought out Rocco’s cake giving him a quizzical
look. “Your guests are waiting for you,” she says pointedly.

“I will be in shortly,” he says in a clipped tone. She nods and walks back
in as he stands up and straightens his jacket.
“Is that one of your other girlfriends?” I say, feeling an insatiable surge of
jealousy rocket through me.
“My what?” he says in disgust.
“Oh, come on, every man has a side piece. Whatever you want to call it.”
“She’s my sister,” he says, looking at me bemused.
“Oh, I thought…”
“You thought wrong.”
“Is that correct… Jackhammer,” I ask.
“Don’t believe everything you hear, well, apart that part,” he says,
smugly.
“But—”
“Get inside, I’m not leaving you out here to be shot by some other asshole
I’m related to.”
Before I walk inside, he takes a hold of my wrist. “I want this covered up
next time I see you. I don’t want to see it again,” he whispers hoarsely in my
ear.
“That was quick,” I say, looking at the spot where my cousin was shot. It was
squeaky clean,
“Murder is our business, and our business is murder,” Rafael smirks.
“What was that about?” Dominic frowns. “You just let a room full of
witnesses watch you shoot somebody. You’re normally a little more subtle.”
“If I let somebody else take him out, it would look weak. Am I really
going to let some Cazzo kill my own cousin at my birthday party when I am
capable of doing it myself? Plus, I saved Falcone’s daughter from an early
funeral. It doesn’t hurt to get a bit of loyalty building up.”

They were all half-truths. I was beginning to recognize how I’ve recently
become a little too possessive of Miss Falcone, and she isn’t even mine to
possess.
“Yeah, you’re right, Don.” Damon nodded. “I think the level of respect
for you when up after that.”
“There’s always one jerk-off in the family who spoils it for the rest.”
“Make sure his wife and kid are taken care of,” I say to Rafael as he
makes a note in his book.
Jerk-off or not, I always pay my debts in full.

“Did you enjoy your party?” Lucia’s voice pours through my thoughts like
cold water a couple of days later.
“I told you I didn’t want one.”
“You’re working on your bike,” she says, raising her eyebrows.
“What?”
“You haven’t touched this thing in years, and suddenly you’re taking it
apart like you’re a Hells Angel.”
 “It’s called a hobby. Why don’t you get one that doesn’t involve putting
powder up your nose and being fucked by random men in bathrooms.”
“As opposed to kissing women that aren’t my fiancée,” she says
jubilantly.
“How long have you been waiting to say that?” I say, picking up a
wrench.
“Since the second I saw you macking on her.”
“I wasn’t macking on anyone.”
“You were about to do a lot more than that if I never interrupted you.”
“I can do what I fucking want.”
“She’s gotten to you, and you can’t take it. The fact that she is so
different from poor bland Angela has your head spinning because Sophia
Falcone can have any man she wants, which drives you crazy.” she says
gleefully.
“Nothing is out of my grasp, dear sister, if I want it.”
“Well, seeing as you’re going to be married to her future husband’s sister,
I very much doubt it. Even you aren’t that stupid to make that move.” She
smiles victoriously, for the first time reading me like the blank slate I am.

I look at myself in the mirror, we are drawing closer and closer to the
wedding, and this is my final fitting for the wedding suit. Armani, nothing
less, with my men wearing the same except in another color.
“What do you think? A little more….” The tailor tugs on the bottom of
the sleeve, fastening the cuff links before nodding. “Perfecto!” He smiles,
and I nod at his assessment, giving him the wad of hundreds for which he
gives me a deep bow.
“Looking good, boss.” Dominic nods as I walk out of the changing room.
This Armani suit is more expensive than most people’s monthly earnings, so
it better have looked good.

The wedding is definitely going to leave a significant dent in my wallet,

but it will be worth it for all the future action I will be getting cut into. Drugs,
money-laundering, casinos, not to mention the vast networks of informants,
police captains, and Feds that Di Rossi and Falcone have in their grasp. I am
going to have to swallow all of it whether I like Angela or not. Like is such an
obtuse word to use. I don’t outrightly dislike her, but she is so monotone
every time we speak, that it is hardly worth pursuing a conversation.

She isn’t unattractive or hideous, but she just doesn’t seem to have a
spark about her. If she were a color, she would be a beige or off-white; if she
were an ice cream, she would definitely be vanilla. As much as I debate it,
it’s all irrelevant because soon enough she will have my name. This woman
will be forever associated with me; timid is a lot better than loose-lipped, at
least I hope. Talking of loose-lipped, I haven’t spoken to Lucia since Long
Beach. In turn, I have taken my bike apart and put it together six more times
in frustration.
I live by the adage that every problem has a solution, but Sophia Falcone
is the one problem I can’t find the answer to. In fact, Sophia only seems to
emit a hundred million different questions that flare up in my head. I have
always prided myself on having an iron will, but even the saintliest of saints
would have trouble keeping themselves in check with Sophia Falcone.

In less than twenty-four hours, I am going to be saying my vows to Angela

and tonight is the rehearsal dinner. Everything seems to be moving swiftly,
my days of being a bachelor are slowly coming to an end as a new cycle
awaits. I signed off on a small penthouse apartment in the upper East side for
Angela, it was lavishly furnished and located on the top floor. Carmela Rossi
sent over all her clothes and belongings, and I told her that Angela could
decorate it as she saw fit. I have no interest in making it my own. I am going
to be staying in Long Beach most of the time and spending time with her
whenever I am in the city. The honeymoon has been booked to Capri, and in
less than a month, we will be flying to Italy as man and wife.

“It’s almost time, Don,” Dominic calls from outside.

“I’m ready,” I say, giving myself one last look in the mirror. When I walk
out, my reflection stares back at me, nonchalant as always.
 “I liked you the first time I laid eyes on you. I said, ”She’s a tiger. “She’ll
belong to me.”
—Tony Montana

THE EVENING SEEMS TO CRAWL SLOWLY ON, DESPITE THE

GUESTS APPEARING TO BE ENTERTAINED.

Angela’s bridesmaids all give anecdotes about her growing up and funny
little stories that elicited laughter from the guests.

I had probably learned more from them about her than I had from the
woman in question. I look at her from the side, and her face is drawn with
dark shadows under her eyes. She shoots me a small smile before lowering
her gaze again.

Vincenzo stands up to deliver his speech. My lip curls slightly when he

refers to me as a ‘man of honor’ considering it isn’t that long ago that he held
me with little to no regard. Vincenzo’s behavior is indicative of how much a
certain amount of money and influence can sway things. Now that I have
been greasing the old Don’s pockets, he is my biggest fan. He raises his glass,
and the other guests follow. Sophia is seated at one of the tables, and our
gazes lock as she puts her glass up in a toast. She’s wearing a thick bangle
bracelet around her wrist to conceal her tattoo.

At least she listened to what I said last time.

As Vincenzo carries on blowing smoke up my ass, Angela stands up

shakily. I stare up at her in surprise, as we aren’t due to make any toasts
ourselves. Her father shoots me a quizzical look before her mother rises to sit
her back down, but she ignores her.
“Thank you all for coming,” Angela says in a low, breathy voice.
“Angela, sit down,” her mother says in a warning tone, almost wrestling
her.
“Although I regret to inform you this has been a waste of time, I can’t
marry you, Don Rocco. In fact, I won’t be marrying you because I’m in love
with someone else,” she says, turning towards me.

The room goes absolutely silent as everybody turns forward to look at me. I
don’t say anything, but my eyes swivel towards her parents who look furious.
The old Don has turned white in anger compared to his rosy jovial manner a
couple of minutes ago.
“Sit down,” her mother scolds crossly.
“No, I really am sorry,” she says giving me a deeply apologetic look
before leaving the table.
Her mother and sister run after her while Don Rossi whispers into the ear
of his consigliere, seemingly aggrieved and sour faced before disappearing
off after his wife. “It looks like the bride has a touch of cold feet. It happens
to the best of us.” The consigliere says smiling sheepishly as if this were just
a minor inconvenience. “I think it would be in the best interests of everybody
if we wrap this up for tonight until her nerves settle down.” he says in a
firmer voice as Don Rossi’s men start to ask people to leave.
 I turn to Dominic and Damon who look equally as bewildered as I am,
Angela’s surprise revelation reflected on both of their faces.
“Basically, he’s saying, you don’t need to go, but you need to get the fuck
out of here,” Dominic says still stunned.
Slowly a din starts to break out as people begin to leave. Everybody is
visibly taken aback, shock imprinted on their faces as they whisper to one
another and shrug. Nothing has ever happened like this.

Ever.

This wedding would be remembered all right, but for all the wrong
reasons. Vincenzo returns, indicating he wants to speak to me alone. I can see
he has the good sense to look beside himself.

“Cold fucking feet? That’s the best your consigliere can come up with. I want
answers,” I say to Vincenzo as he pours himself a large whiskey and drains it
in one gulp.
“I don’t know what happened, but she will go through with it,” he says
firmly.
“The fuck she will. I just got embarrassed out there in front of all of New
York and New Jersey.”
“You’re backing out?” he says stormily.
“Backing out? You bet your ass I am. Clearly, you weren’t honest about
Angela’s background.”
“She’s nervous, that’s all. There isn’t anyone else, she’s just using that as
an excuse.” he says quickly.
“Your daughter is banging some other guy, and you think I’m still going
to marry her? No fucking way, not after that.”
“We had a deal,” he says squaring up to me.
“You just reneged it,” I say looking at him icily. “Don’t fuck with me,
Vincenzo. I’m not some fucking Cazzo you can walk all over.”
“What will it take for this to move forward?” Paolo says arriving in the
room, I note his polite tone attempting to mediate.
 “It’s not happening, read my motherfucking lips. Do you really think I’m
going to marry Angela after that? Would you let your sons, Paolo?”
“How much?” Paolo says looking at me shrewdly. “Everybody has a
price. What will it take for you to shrug off this ‘incident’? Angela will marry
you. We will guarantee it,” he says giving Vincenzo a dark look.
“She will. I give you my word,” Vincenzo says, nodding enthusiastically.
“I don’t care about the money. The wedding is off,” I say with finality.
“What about Angela’s sister, Gianelle?” Vincenzo says desperately.
“She’s a teenager,” I say disgustedly.
“She’s almost eighteen.”
“Do I look like a fucking pervert to you?” I say, banging my fist on the
desk.
“You can wait a couple of years then. You’re still a young man, after all.”
he says, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.
“No.”
“What can we do to get this deal back on? You need us on board for your
heroin trafficking, Croccifixio. Without us, you won’t have judges or feds on
your payroll so don’t play coy now.” Paolo says crisply.
“And you need me because those heroin shipments are what is keeping
your pockets lined, so don’t play stupid now,” I say checking him.
“Tell us your number, and let’s get on with it. We can make you a very
wealthy man if you cooperate. If you don’t marry Angela, what do you want
in return for us to continue?”
“Your daughter,” I say as I look Paolo squarely in the eye, who returns
my stare with raging fury.

I didn’t know what I was going to say until it came out. I don’t want money, I
don’t want more territory, I only want Sophia. She won’t be just any
consolation; she is the prize, and the thought of finally being able to have her
sends wildfire through my chest, along with the great relief of not having to
marry Angela.
“My daughter is not on the table. Besides, she is engaged,” he says
coldly.
 “To my son,” Vincenzo says, his nostrils flaring in disbelief at my
audacious request.
“Pietro is not a Don. He can’t give her the life I can, and even if he
becomes Don, his pockets will never be as thick as mine.”
“I’ve given my word to Vincenzo,” Paolo says curtly.
“Vincenzo gave his word to me so I guess this is a stalemate.” I say
firmly.
“Paolo, you cannot seriously be considering this.” Vincenzo says, his
voice thick with anger.
“Croccifixio.” Paolo starts to talk but I cut him off.
“Sophia is my only request. Everything else stays as it is. However, if you
say no to me, then this is war, Paolo. Not to mention the public shame of your
daughter, Vincenzo. That type of dishonor will stain you forever. So, what’s
your final answer, gentleman?” I say triumphantly.

They both look at each other in defeat, knowing they could not turn down
this request. I give Paolo a victorious smile which he returns back with a look
of pure hatred.

Shock whips around the room as Angela makes her speech, I glance at mama,
who makes a sign of the cross over her chest and starts to pray in rapid
Italian. Zia shrugs and lights herself a cigarette, whilst pouring herself a
generous glass of Champagne. Papa abruptly stands up looking furious and
making a beeline for Don Vincenzo with Gennaro and Claudio following
behind him. Rocco is the only one who looks indifferent. He has on the
ultimate poker face, his eyes don’t linger on the seat where Angela sits,
either. Instead, he only gazes forward while smoking a cigarette.

Two of his men are sitting on either side of him but they don’t wear the
same pokerface as their Don. After a few minutes I see Rocco turn towards
his men and exchange low conversation. The tables are starting to be cleared
now, and mama stands up in irritation as Don Rossi’s men start shooing the
guests out quickly. I attempt to steal one last look at Rocco before leaving,
but he has left the bridal table. It strangely seems eerie now that the bride and
groom seats are empty, almost an omen. We walk out of the large mansion,
the sound of seagulls breaking the silence in the air.
“A storm is coming,” Zia says, interrupting my thoughts.
“What?”
“They’re fleeing from the storm,” she continues while gazing at the
squawking seagulls before getting into the car.

It’s likely she’s right. Gray clouds are starting to roll over once blue sky
and small drops of rain are beginning to fall, getting heavier with each
second.
“Sophia,” Papa shouts from the mansion terrace as I am about to get into
the car.
“Yes, Papa?” I shout back but he only beckons me over. I peer over at
Mama who gives me a strange look and orders me to go to him.
“What is it?” I say when I reach him, except he doesn’t answer. His jaw
seems to be clenched in anger.

I follow him through the maze of the mansion until we are in a small office.
My heart jolts as I see Rocco standing next to a visibly unsettled Don
Vincenzo. “What is going on?” I say turning towards papa.
“The engagement to Pietro has been canceled,” he says blankly.
“It has?” I say feeling euphoria start to flood me.
“You will be marrying Don Croccifixio instead, taking Angela’s place. It
has been arranged.”
“What?” I say blankly, my eyes roving from my father to Rocco who
stares back at me with a neutral expression.
“You heard me,” he seethes as his nostrils flare slightly.
“I’ll be in touch,” Rocco says quietly before leaving. Don Vincenzo gives
papa a bitter look before following him out.
“I can’t,” I say, taken aback.
“You can and you will,” Papa replies as the door clicks shut. “It’s not like
it will be your first time in a wedding dress,” he comments icily.

My mind jerks back to all those years ago in Chicago.

Everything had been arranged, and those involved had been sworn to
secrecy—at least, that is what we thought. Just as the ring was about to slip
on my finger, men with machetes burst through the church doors and
gunshots rang in my ears as I ducked to the ground.

My white dress soaked with blood as the scent of death reverberated

around the chapel, I searched myself for wounds, but I hadn’t been hit. An
arm jerked me up and put me over his shoulder, one of papa’s captains. As
we walked out, I saw it from the corner of my eye. Anton lying dead on the
floor with papa standing over him. It was the last thing I saw as I was carried
out of the chapel.
 “I think of his riddle. How do people like us take off our armor?
One piece at a time.”
—Holly Black

CHICAGO TO NEW YORK IS NOT A LONG FLIGHT, BUT IT FEELS

LIKE A LIFETIME.

Papa sits opposite me but never says a word. His face is a mask of anger
that is pulsating venom.

His captains are sitting on either side of him, ignoring me as if I’m not
there. Strange, as these are the same men, I’ve known all my life. I guess now
I am an outcast.

Hours later, we are back home in New York. I sit in papa’s stifling office,
hardly able to meet his steely gaze. I can feel the fury radiating off him like a
live electrical current.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Papa says in his painfully slow
monologue. He has the gift of not needing to raise his voice to incite fear into
people, but everybody knows if you are summoned to this office, it won’t be
pretty. I sit back in the leather chair as he rages on, the words ‘shame’ and
‘dishonour’ are frequently being used.
My chest feels frozen to its core, and Anton’s dead eyes replay in my
head.
“You’re lucky you made it out alive,” he says standing up.
“You killed Anton, I saw you.” I say, shivering despite it being a sultry
August night.
“Did you expect another outcome? The Russians are our enemies. Did
you think they weren’t planning to kill you too?”
“No, they weren’t.”
“How do you think we knew where to find you? Stupid girl, it was all a
trap. Have you any idea how much shame you have brought on this family?
My only daughter running off with a Romanov, almost being wed in
matrimony to a non-Sicilian. A Russian no less.”
“I don’t believe you, he would have never hurt me. You should have let
me die there with him then be your prisoner,” I say, almost surprised at my
words.

He slaps me hard across the face, the force so intense that I feel the air
sucked out of me. “You will atone for this shame, and you will not tell anyone
about this. Ever.” he says, his voice shaking with anger. “Take her away
Gabriella.” He motions to mama, who is hovering in the doorway nervously
as he turns his back on me in dismissal mingled with disgust. I don’t move
out of protest, but she pulls me roughly up by the arms.
“Take that off,” she says, ushering me into my bedroom and motioning to
the bloodstained wedding dress. I undress swiftly and she picks it up and
throws it into the fireplace. I watch as the flames swallow the material. The
smell of blood being replaced by ash.
“You’re lucky to still be alive. What were you thinking?” she says,
shaking me hard as if trying to knock sense into me.
“I love him,” I say blankly.
“What do you know about love?” She snorts. “When you do marry, and
that is if you ever do, papa makes that decision. Not you, and don’t you dare
ever question it,” she says with a glare as she walks out the room.
My head shifts back to the present, and I’m back at Angela and Rocco’s
canceled wedding rehearsal, with Papa’s dark eyes burning into mine. “Why
not Pietro? Everything is already organized.” I mumble, not wanting to
provoke him.
“Contractual change, Rocco settled for you to keep business going.”
“Settled?” I say taken aback.
“Yes, settled, you are not a prize, Sophia,” he replies harshly. “Let’s not
pretend that everyone isn’t aware of your past.”
“Nobody knows about Anton. You said—”
“Yes, but they know you were with another man, a non-Sicilian. I never
had high hopes for a good suitor after that but now things have changed.”
“What happens to Angela?” I say slowly.
“That’s for Don Vincenzo to decide, I thought you would be pleased,
Sophia.”
“Pleased?” I say snorting.
“Croccifixio is a Don of the five families. Pietro will not be a Don for a
long time, and Croccifixio can give you all the things he can’t. It will be a
good match, and he has shown willingness to look past your indiscretions.”
“I’m sure he has plenty of his own,” I say tersely.
“We will be holding your engagement party in two days, followed by the
wedding in a week. Don Croccifixio was keen to keep the original wedding
date, but I have brought you some time to acclimatize to the idea of your new
fiancé. I suggest you use that time to fix your attitude, Sophia, because there
are no second chances if you screw up this time.”

Papa walks out and slams the door leaving me standing there in stunned
silence.
The door opens a few minutes later, and I freeze. Those aren’t Papa’s
footsteps, they’re Rocco’s.
 “Isn’t it bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?” I ask sarcastically.
“Only if she’s wearing a wedding dress,” he says with a smirk.
“I’m sure you can get Angela to change her mind,” I say slowly.
“I don’t want her to, you’re a much better bet.”
“Gee, I feel so much more special.”
“Are you looking forward to the engagement party?”
“Looking forward would indicate that it is far away.”
“Your father wants to hold it at your house.”
“Well, I guess that means we don’t have to have a theme.”
“What kind of wedding do you want?” he says, eyeing me.
“Papa told me you wanted to keep the original date.”
“Not for the reasons you think, I guess I just wanted to marry you sooner
rather than later. I don’t like waiting when I want something.” he says
pointedly. “What kind of wedding did you have in mind?” he says, raising his
eyebrow a fraction.
“An expensive one.”
“No shit, I was expecting to take you to the courthouse with your Zia as
our witness.”
“Well, that would have been interesting. I’m not having anything the
same as what you and Angela planned. I want a whole re-do.” I say, folding
my arms.
“Fine.” he says breezily.
“What? That will cost thousands.” I say surprised.
“Hundreds of thousands probably.”
“I don’t want the dress she picked out either. In fact, I want two dresses
and a diamond tiara.” I say, waiting for him to fold.
“Whatever you want.”
“I have very expensive taste.”
“I can tell, that won’t be a problem.”
“Angela’s dress wouldn’t fit you anyway.”
“Meaning?” I say, glaring at him.
“Certain areas you are more generous with.” he says, eyeing my bust.
“Subtlety isn’t your strong point,” I say folding my arms.
“You might as well buy a whole new closet for yourself, including
lingerie.” he says, locking his eyes with mine, “I don’t care what it looks like,
it’s not going to be on for long.” he says, whispering in my ear before
walking off.
 My heart thumps furiously under my chest as lust pulsates through every
pore. Despite not wanting to marry Rocco De Luca or be a stand-in for
Angela, I can’t deny the flame of attraction that lights up every time I am in
his vicinity. My face blushes just thinking of him finally undressing me as his
gray eyes stay fixated on my green ones.

Don’t test me, Croccifixio, because I think I want to be tested, and that is
never a good thing.

“Boss,” Damon says awkwardly as I get in the car. “I don’t know what to
say.”
“It’s all handled.”
“It is?” Dominic says, gaping at me in surprise.
“Sophia will replace Angela as my bride,” I say while putting on my
shades.
“Say what?” Dominic utters, eyeing me from the driver’s seat.
“You heard.”
“That was the quickest negotiation in, well, ever,” Damon says,
seemingly impressed.
“It wasn’t a negotiation, it was a demand. I don’t compromise. Ever. Do
you know that sick fuck Vincenzo actually offered me his teenage daughter,
told me I could come back in a few years?”
“Well, you got what you wanted, the elusive Sophia Falcone. Every
Mafia man’s forbidden wet dream,” he snorts.
“They better just be dreaming because I’ll cut their fucking heads off if
any of them even think about touching her.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Damon asks hesitantly.
“No surer than I was about marrying Angela. Business is business. At
least Sophia isn’t a mute like Angela.”
“You like her. Interesting,” Damon says, giving me a knowing
expression.
 “I like that her father’s politicians and judges will sit in my pocket, and
the alliance between him and me drives a wedge between the Rossi family,” I
say, my tone making it clear that the conversation was not up for further
discussion. “What did you find out about Angela?”
“Her boyfriend is one of her college classmates.”
“You want us to put six in him?”
“No, don’t touch him. Vincenzo can deal with his family. Send the
wedding planner to meet with Gabriella Falcone in the morning to plan the
new wedding arrangements. Her daughter wants a complete overhaul of all
the existing plans.”
“The original wedding date is tomorrow. Can’t you twist Papa Falcone’s
arm into getting it done then?”
“He’s not going to accept a second-hand wedding for his prized daughter,
idiot and neither will she. Tell the wedding planner to make it happen,
whatever the cost. Sophia has expensive taste, so we will be going all-out.”
“Just take her to city hall and call it a day,” Damon grumbles.
“Appearances are everything, little cousin. I wouldn’t want the other
families to think Rocco De Luca is cheap. Besides, the wedding envelopes
should make some of that money back.”
“What do we do with Angela’s stuff and the penthouse?”
“Take her clothes to Goodwill and empty the penthouse out. We can put
it good use if we need a covert meeting spot in the city. Send Sophia’s stuff
to my place in Long Beach.”
“You want her to live with you?” Dominic says visibly taken back.
“Yeah,” I say, even shocking myself. The thought of her being in a
different place than me fills me with irritation. “She’s not docile like Angela,
I want her where I can keep an eye on her. I don’t trust her pop, and I don’t
want her left to her own devices for too long.”
“Sure,” Damon says, looking out the window.
“What did Don Vincenzo have to say about all of this? He must be
pissed?” Dominic says, lighting up a cigarette.
“I don’t care, his loss is my gain.”
“He has other shit to worry about, anyway. His men were attacked in
Brooklyn,” Damon says, viewing his phone.
“They were? By whom?”
“Nobody in New York, that’s for sure. My bets are on the Russians or the
Irish.”
 “They should stay in their own territories. Let’s hope this doesn’t lead to
another war.” I muse.

The last war between the Italians and Russians, New York and Chicago, had
been a long and brutal one. It was known as ‘the black summer’ as it raged on
from June to the following August. The five families of New York had come
out on top, the war marshalled by Paolo Falcone himself. The masterstroke,
Paolo killing the heir of the Bratva. The details of the event were clandestine,
nobody cared how he did it, they were just focused on the victory. Since then,
both sides had carefully tiptoed around talk of another war, but I knew the
Bratva were slowly building steam, partnering with the Triad to acquire
territories out in the West. If Damon is correct, then it seems like the
Russians are looking to make a move soon.

I stare at myself in the mirror at the wedding shop, hardly believing where I
am and what is happening. Mama and Zia are with me, and Zia is sneakily
drinking absinthe in a bottle disguised as water which she thinks nobody
notices. Small bursts of excitement hit me, mixed with anticipation and
anxiety.

What am I doing?

I know I have no choice in this, I know I would rather marry Rocco than
Pietro, but at the same time, with Pietro I have no interest in him. He doesn’t
make me feel anything yet with Rocco, I am terrified I will end up feeling too
much.

“How much?”
 “Twenty-thousand,” the assistant states while she zips me up.
“Hmm,” I say, unsure, peering around at the several dresses sprawled out
everywhere.
“I have one left, but it’s a little pricey,” she says, hesitantly.
“Let me see it.”
“It’s seventy-five thousand dollars.”
“I definitely want to see it then,” I say, smirking.
“It’s a custom Dior, the princess of Spain’s wedding dress was inspired
by this one,” the assistant says as she helps me put on the dress.
“I think this is it,” I say, smoothing it down.
“I hope your husband has deep pockets,” she says, putting on the veil as
well.
“He does.” I nod at her envious look.
“If a man is dumb, someone is going to get the best of him, so why not you? If
you don’t, you’re as dumb as he is.”
—Arnold Rothstein

THE ENGAGEMENT PARTY IS TONIGHT, THE DAYS UNTIL THE

WEDDING ARE WHITTLING DOWN QUICKLY.

I haven’t slept since papa told me I will be marrying Rocco instead,

surprisingly mama has been over the moon.

She has been bragging to anyone and everyone about the engagement,
although she doesn’t voice her pleasure to poor Carmela Rossi who has not
been seen in public since the wedding rehearsal.

“What do you think?” I say, walking out to Mama and Zia. I can’t see
them through the veil, and there is unfamiliar silence.
“Perfecto,” Mama says while examining the dress.
“Maybe take this bit out a little,” Zia says as she points at the chest area,
which is corseted in tightly.
 “No, I like it,” I say firmly, thinking of Rocco’s reaction to the shapely
silhouette the dress provides.
“I think Zia is right,” Mama says while staring at the heaving bustline
reproachfully.
“I like it. Besides, this is only the reception dress.”
“How many dresses do you need? Are you Princess Grace of Monaco?”
she snaps.
“Why do you care? Croccifixio is the one paying.”
“What about your engagement dress? Where is that?”
“I had it custom-made,” I say, smiling to myself.
“Custom-made, Sophia?” Mama shakes her head.
“Yes, I’m sure Croccifixio will like it.”
“Of course, he will. Let her have fun. Furthermore, you only get married
once,” Zia says before clamping her hand over her mouth.
“I’ll get changed,” I say as I hurriedly walk into the dressing room. I
knew I couldn’t get through this day without one reference back to Chicago.

I feel torn in two. On the outside, I am an excited fiancée looking forward to

her dream wedding, but internally, I feel conflicted. Am I betraying Anton’s
memory by marrying somebody else? I have been punishing myself for so
long for his death that any respite makes me feel more guilty.

I want Rocco more than I care to admit, but I don’t know if I can deal
with the pain of love again. Croccifixio De Luca is notorious for leaving a
trail of broken bodies and hearts behind him, and I am not sure if I am ready
to be another name on that list.

I peer down at the white lace, and every moment of fear comes flooding
back to me. When I close my eyes, I see the blood-soaked dress and Anton’s
dead eyes staring at me. It’s like I am re-living it all over again. The moment
my eyes flicker, I am back in the dressing room in my pristine fairytale dress.
I slide down the dressing room wall, my heart was still in pieces from loving
the wrong man. It almost killed me once, I can’t bear to do it again.
“She’s late,” I say to Paolo, watching the clock hand change to five minutes
past eight.
“She’s upstairs, not in Timbuktu,” he seethes.
“Can’t be too careful after last time,” I say breezily.
“Well, it looks like you still got what you wanted,” Paolo says, smiling,
though his smile doesn’t meet his eyes.
“I definitely did,” I say widening my own smile to irritate him further.

Suddenly I hear the clatter of heels and Sophia appears. I frown at her
dress as my mind tries to place where I have seen it before, then I remember.

My jacket.

She’s wearing the fucking jacket I met her in as an engagement dress, it’s
been custom altered, but I still can see the remnants of the original jacket. I’m
impressed by her wit and even more so by her beauty. She’s changed her
hair, it’s in loose finger curls around her shoulders rather than the wavy style
she usually wears it. She looks different somehow, softer. Her eyes lock with
mine, and I feel an involuntary twitch in my groin. Goddamn, the wedding
night can’t come soon enough. Paolo coughs politely and I can tell he is
indicating that the way I am staring at his daughter is becoming a little too
indecent for his taste. I reluctantly pull my gaze away from her gorgeous
eyes.

“Nice outfit,” I say, granting her a smirk.

“It’s a custom suit-dress, I thought you might like it,” she says innocently
as she returns my smile.
“Why would you wear a suit jacket as an engagement dress, Sophia?
Very masculine.” Her mother tuts in annoyance.
“I think it’s very sophisticated,” I declare, sitting down at the set table.
“Yes, maybe that is the fashion nowadays,” her mother backtracks,
slightly placated by my interjection.
“I have something for you,” I say while reaching into my pocket and
opening the ring box to reveal a large red diamond.
“It’s beautiful,” she says, giving me a genuine smile as her cheeks flush
with pleasure.

I want to say, just like you but I don’t want to come off a little too lame. I
look up at her as I slip the ring on, hopefully intending for the message to
come across. The megawatt smile she gives me reassures me that she either
knows what I’m thinking, likes the ring, or hopefully both. Her mother
shrieks theatrically at the ring and excitedly kisses me on both cheeks.
“Zia, come and look at this engagement ring.”
“I can see it from here. You could pour vodka over that rock,” she laughs
huskily whilst smoking a cigarette.
“Very nice,” Paolo says, giving me an appraising look. “Gennaro,
Claudio, Massimo, come and toast your future brother-in-law.”

The two older brothers, Gennaro and Claudio, shake my hand stoically
and sit on either side of Paolo. I assume this is meant to make me feel
threatened in some way—I’m not. Massimo, her youngest brother, greets me
in a friendlier way and Sophia gives him a grateful nod.

“Where did you get your inspiration from for that outfit?” I say in a low
tone as the conversation around the rest of the table breaks out.
“I guess it sort of just came to me all of a sudden.”
“I think it looks better on you than on me. Of course, it would look better
on the floor but that is a discussion for another time.”
“Is that so?” she says raising her eyebrow a fraction.
“Did you take my advice?”
“About what?”
“About the lingerie.”
“I guess you’ll have to find out,” she smirks while sipping her drink
demurely. I reach my hand underneath the table discreetly and place it on her
soft silky leg, my thumb circling her inner thigh as I feel her skin shiver
underneath me.
“To be continued,” I say pulling my hand back and smiling when I see the
spark of excitement in her eyes.
Later in the evening, Paolo has arranged for fireworks on the terrace as well
as a band playing in the gardens. Children run around dressed in the best
clothes whereas the women keep coming up to Sophia to look at her ring in
awe and congratulate her. The men are a little less overt, with a few
handshakes and nods. I obliged Paolo by letting him organize the guestlist for
the engagement, so these were more his friends than mine.

Perhaps he is trying to show me how well connected he is, or maybe he

really is just an asshole in general. Either way, I don’t care. Sophia has
disappeared from view until I find her tottering into the house in the
Louboutin’s she wore to my birthday. I also notice some of the men giving
her furtive glances, but they soon turn away when I glare at them.

“Are you following me, Don De Luca?” she says as she turns around to
find me behind her.
“Just protecting my investment,” I say softly.
“Who says I am yours to protect?”
“If I want something, I normally take it.”
“I bet that gets you into a lot of trouble.”
“Which coincidentally is my middle name.”

The wedding day has arrived and I am getting ready for the church as
hairdressers and make-up artists fan out around me; fluffing, pressing, and
spraying from every angle. I give myself a reassuring smile, appreciating how
well today has gone so far. My dress for the church is a princess strapless
style, I was saving my favorite dress, the Dior one for the reception. My hair
has been set in loose waves that fall over my shoulders and my make-up is
minimal with a hint of pink for cheeks and lips.
 “Have you eaten today? You look like oat milk,” Mama says while trying
to give me crackers from her plastic bag.
“I don’t want anything,” I say pushing her hand away.
“Don’t faint walking down the aisle,” she says warningly, like it’s a
choice.
“Relax, you’re driving everyone insane,” Zia snaps. “Let the poor girl
breath.” Zia fixes my tiara into place, and coos, “Bellissima.” Then asks, “are
you nervous about tonight?”
“Tonight?” I say frowning.
“Your wedding night,” she says bluntly.
“Oh, I hadn’t thought about it that much,” I lie.
“Rocco looks like he knows what to do so I wouldn’t be worried,” she
smirks.
“Zia!” Mama says horrified. “We are in a church.”
“He’ll seek you out, so just be prepared for a tap of the shoulder deep into
the night,” she tells knowingly as her nostrils flare.
“Can we change the subject?” I say, rolling my eyes
“I’m preparing you if rumors of the jackhammer are true—”
“How do you know about that?” I ask, shocked.
“I know everything,” she snorts.
“Just remember to act like a lady,” Mama replies primly.
“She won’t be walking tomorrow if things go well,” Zia says slyly.
I will pretend I didn’t hear that.” Mama says visibly annoyed.
“Well, I still said it,” Zia says and pours herself another large glass of
champagne.

The door opens, and the room becomes silent as papa walks in. “Are you
ready?” he says in a low voice, and I nod.
“How do I look?” I say nervously. “Papa?” I say again, worried he is
displeased, but he looks at me for a second before lifting my veil up and
kissing me softly on the forehead.
A thousand words flow between us, but neither of us utters one. So many
things are left unsaid, but today isn’t the right time. He puts the veil back
over my face as we walk out of the room and head to the small corridor
approaching the church entrance. I smile, watching the flower girls running
ahead of me as they leave rose petals down the aisle. My heart is racing as I
wait for the cue to start the procession. I can’t seem to think, feel, or even
breathe and I pray that my legs don’t fail me as the organ starts. I hold on to
papa’s arm tightly and begin to walk. My breath hitches as a thousand faces
turn towards me as I glide down the aisle.

I can’t see Rocco, only a silhouette and two men standing on either side.
The end of the aisle feels so far away but Rocco’s face slowly comes into
focus and my heart clenches when his eyes meet mine. Papa stops as we
approach the end of the aisle, and he kisses Rocco twice on each cheek before
shaking hands. He whispers something I can’t decipher, and Rocco gives him
a nod before casting his eyes back to me. Papa lifts my veil and kisses me on
the cheek before going to sit down.

My eyes can finally settle on the wonderous Rocco De Luca as I feel a

thousand and one butterflies take flight within my stomach. He reaches out to
take my hand and gives me a small smile. Maybe he is just as nervous as I
am. Can somebody as confident and charismatic as Rocco be nervous? He is
always so nonchalant and assured that it is hard to imagine him being
anything else.

Today he is dressed in charcoal gray with a silver tie that makes his own
gray eyes and olive skin even more pronounced. I seem to be wholly
consumed in Rocco, and when it’s time for the ring exchange, I almost feel
like my legs are going to give out like jelly. I’m sure he feels the clamminess
of my palm, but his expression doesn’t indicate it. As he is about to slip my
ring on, I hear the sound of a large bang and jump in nervousness, but his
hands help steady me.

“Just a car backfiring, relax,” he whispers down at me gently, giving my

hand a squeeze.

In the name of God, I, Sophia Azzura Falcone, take you, Croccifixio

Lorenzo De Luca, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day
forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health,
to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”
I say, my voice coming out in an audible whisper as my shaky hand pushes
the ring down on him. Rocco recites his own vows to me as we exchange
rings.

“You may kiss the bride,” the priest says with a smile, closing the book.

In my worry about tonight, I forgot about the kiss. Should I move closer?
Stay still? Bob and weave? I needn’t worry as he bends down and kisses me,
with applause echoing around the church as he pulls me closer to him.
Although the kiss is chaste it’s also firm and possessive, when his eyes meet
mine, they tell me I belong to him.
 “To love is to burn, to be on fire.”
—Jane Austen

WHEN I SEE SOPHIA WALKING DOWN THE AISLE, TIME SEEMS

TO PAUSE STILL.

Despite my determination that this is just a contractual obligation, I can’t

deny that she is a vision of beauty.

She walks gracefully down to the pew, escorted by Paolo and when she
reaches me, Paolo gives me the obligatory bone-crushing handshake and
reluctant blessing in Italian, before kissing both of my cheeks.

Insatiable hunger seems to erupt within me as Paolo lifts her veil up

before standing aside. Her dress suits her perfectly, the cut complimenting
her silhouette in all the right ways. The diamond tiara making her look like a
real-life princess as she smiles demurely at me. Her eyes meet mine, and I
can’t detect any falter in her demeanor, but when a car backfires outside, I
feel fear flood her as she jumps up. When she smiles at me gratefully, I feel a
wave of possession consume me. I can’t imagine standing here in front of
Angela Rossi, and I was glad that her little indiscretion had brought Sophia
here instead, even though her lover was now dead or worse.

I recite the vows without taking my eyes off her once, and when it was
time for the kiss, I take control when I feel her waiver for a second in
hesitation. It wouldn’t be a flashy Hollywood kiss. After all, we’re in a
church. It wasn’t romantic; it was business but nevertheless the softness of
her lips will be imprinted on my mind forever. Sophia Falcone is now a De
Luca and she belongs to me. I intertwine my fingers with hers, and when I
look down at her wrist, the tattoo has been covered with make-up, barely
noticeable. I make a mental note to ensure she lasered it off as soon as
possible.

Hours later, I am at the wedding party with Sophia sitting by my side at the
top table. In all honesty, I much rather have skipped all this bullshit and spent
some alone time with my now wife, but tradition is tradition. Sophia’s mother
has spent almost half a million of my money on this reception, so I guess I
ought to enjoy it in some capacity. The room is decorated in opulent gold and
lavender, and massive crystal chandeliers fill the room. Bottles of magnum
champagne adorn each table, and the centerpieces comprised of rare purple
orchids.

“Firstly, I would like to toast my brother.” I inwardly groan at the insipid

speech that my almost sloshed sister is giving. “He is the kindest, most loyal
person I have been blessed to have in my life, not just as a brother but as a
friend. I hope you cherish him as much as I do,” she says, hiccupping as she
sits down.
I raise my glass lazily to my sister, and Sophia does the same. When I put
the glass down, I place my hand over hers as it is the only sign of affection, I
can show her right now. The night seems to drag on as we make our way
through the wedding courses. The wedding envelopes also appear to keep
growing, with every envelope seemingly fuller than the last.
 “You must be popular,” Sophia says, whistling low at the growing stack
of envelopes.
“Or unpopular. Perhaps people don’t want to displease me.”
“What does it take to get into your bad books?”
“Disloyalty or just being a complete asshole.”
“I’ll try to bear that in mind.” She smiles.
“Rocco,” a familiar voice purrs from my left side. “I almost thought you
forgot my invite.”

My head snaps back, and Keira Kavanagh stands in front of me.

Shit.

I mentally try to recall why I had invited her, though it would have been
difficult not to. Keira is the daughter of the Irish mob boss, and I didn’t want
to insult them by not allowing a representative of their family to attend. I just
don’t fucking know why they sent her. She is definitely not dressed for a
wedding, but knowing Keira, she is trying to make some kind of ‘you’re
going to miss me’ statement which I don’t.

“Not at all. I extended invites to all my business associates,” I say coldly,

as I watch her eyes flash angrily, but she knows better than to cause a scene
at my wedding.
“Congratulations,” she says demurely, trying to kiss me, but I move so
she only caught my ear.
I can feel Sophia’s eyes burning a hole into me, but I don’t turn around. I
know that this little reunion hadn’t been lost on her.
“Congratulations to you, Mrs. De Luca,” she says, smiling down at
Sophia, who stands up to receive her.
“Thank you, and you would be?” Sophia asks, smiling.
“Just an old friend,” Keira replies. “Congratulations again.” She leans
into Sophia and whispers something in her ear, Sophia turns to look at me
with fury in her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything.
 Keira smirks at her and whispers something in her ear again in an even
lower tone looking victorious. Sophia pauses for a second before giving her a
cold stare and says something that I can’t discern over the loud music.
Keira’s face reddens before she quickly walks off, and Sophia smiles
triumphantly.
“Rocco,” Damon says from behind me, indicating he wants to talk to me
away from the table.
“I’ll be back,” I say, excusing myself.
“What is it?”
“The Russians, they’re getting braver. They’ve hijacked some of our
shipments.”
“Why now? Somebody must be backing them?”
“I don’t know, boss, I just thought you should know.”
“Thanks. Does Paolo know?”
“Yeah, I guess that is why he’s been in one of the conference rooms half
the night. You wanna talk to him about it?”
“No, let’s just get through the rest of the wedding.”
“Who said romance is dead?” Damon replied, snorting.
“This isn’t romance, it’s business.”
Damon stares at me awkwardly, and when I turn around, Sophia is
standing behind me with an unreadable expression on her face.
“It’s time to cut the cake,” she says tonelessly.
“I’ll be there in a second.”
“Good,” she says, turning on her heel and walking away.
“Awkward.”
“She’ll be fine,” I say shrugging.
“I’d like to see you talk your way out of that.”

My smile is removed when I find Sophia talking to Henri Beauchamp.

Watching him kiss her twice on each cheek makes me want to pull his arms
out of his sockets and beat him with them.
“Don Rocco, congratulations,” he says, holding his hand out pointedly.
“Thanks. Next time don’t talk to my wife without me being there,” I
reply, ignoring his handshake.
“Most regretful, Don, I forgot the protocol,” he says, bowing his head.
“She’s wearing a fucking wedding dress, next time, I won’t be so polite,”
I say, putting my arm through hers and walk away from him with her in tow.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing!” she says irritably.
“He was flirting with you,” I shout, and Lucia turns around from behind
me and gives me a death stare before turning back to her conversation.
“He was congratulating me, like you said I’m wearing a wedding dress.
Why do you care anyway? It’s just business,” she says, pulling her arm loose
and walking away.
“You’ve only been married a couple of hours, Rocco,” a drawling voice
whispers in my ear.
“Shut up, Lucia,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her.
“Stop trying to control everything.”
“Lucia, I’m warning you,” I hiss in a low voice.
“Fine, learn the hard way,” she replies, shaking her head.

After Sophia’s third outfit change, it was time to cut the cake, we smile and
pose like we’re filming a scene from a romance movie, but every time her
eyes lock on mine, I feel her cold glare. After the rudimentary dance with her
father, it is our turn to take the floor. My arms wrap around her, but she
remains stiff.
“Would it kill you to pretend that you enjoy my company at least?”
“Prognosis is likely,” she says acerbically.
“What did Keira say to you?”
“Why do you care?”
“Did she upset you?”
“I can take care of myself.”
“What did you say to her? Why did she look so flustered?”
“Are you worried I upset your little girlfriend?” she replies coldly.
“She isn’t my girlfriend.”
“Do what you want, just don’t lie to my face, Rocco,” she snarls.
“She isn’t, and considering you’ll be spending a lot more time with me,
you can see for yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ll be living together.”
 “I’ll have my apartment in the city, and you’ll visit now and then. I can
deal with it,” she says breezily.
“No, you’ll be living in Long Beach with me.”
“Why?” she says, looking at me surprised. “You brought Angela an
apartment, so I assumed—”
“Never assume anything about me. I want you closer than Angela was.”
“Because I’m your consolation prize,” she says rolling her eyes.
“Do you really believe that?”
“You said it yourself earlier, it’s business.”
“It doesn’t mean that there can’t be pleasure,” I reply nuzzling my lips
against her neck. Just the taste of her skin is intoxicating.

I frown at the frostiness between Rocco and the blonde standing in front of
me. She is standing so close to him that I feel an odd wave of jealousy
overcome me. She tries to kiss him, but he turns his face, and I can see two
pink patches on her cheek. She turns to me with a venomous look before she
leans in close to me and says in a low breath.

“Congratulations, sweetie. If you think you’re the one who will tame him,
then I’d think again. After all, a man who spends a lot of time and money on
women of vice is a man to watch out for,” she says, smiling at me. I look at
Rocco, feeling fury overcome me but he doesn’t say anything. I turn back to
Keira but when I open my mouth to argue but she continues on and whispers,
“I’d keep my eye on him if I were you. I hope you can keep him satisfied,
otherwise I will.”

“I’d like to see you try,” I say as cold rage whips through me. Rocco
gazes at me quizzically but I ignore him.

Keira looks at me, clearly flustered that I stood up for myself. I smile
back at her emotionlessly and she turns on her heel angrily and disappears
into the crowd, her platinum blonde ponytail whipping from side to side until
she is no longer visible.

“Ignore that little bitch,” a voice whispers in my ear, as Rocco is whisked

away by his men. I turn around, and Rocco’s sister is eyeing me in a
concerned way.
“I’m fine,” I say trying to shake the unsettling feeling inside of me, but
obviously she doesn’t buy it.
“Lucia.” She holds out her hand. “Rocco hasn’t bothered to introduce us.”
“Sophia, Rocco clearly hasn’t told me a lot,” I mumble. “Thank you for
the wedding speech, it was very nice,” I say giving her a small smile.
“It was nothing.” She says waving her hand.
“Who is the blonde? Is she his girlfriend?” I say swallowing nervously. I
can’t deny she is very pretty, like a Barbie doll but life-size with the matching
plastic tits and ass to match.
“Girlfriend?” She snorts. “Rocco. Never.”
“He’s never had a girlfriend?” I say, surprised.
“I don’t think he’s even cared that much to call anyone his girlfriend.
He’s had women but none of them last long. Keira is the daughter of the Irish
Mob Boss, and she thought if she inserted herself in his life enough, he would
magically decide to put a ring on it.”
“So, they’re not together?”
“I haven’t seen her for a while. It’s you he married, not her. If it’s any
consolation, I prefer you a lot better than her and Angela,” she says,
squeezing my shoulder.

La Cura plays on in the background as the Italian words are sung out huskily
by the band singer. Mama has really gone out all out with the wedding
planning, although this is more like her wedding than mine. Lavender is not
my favorite color, red is but apparently that is ‘too wild’ for a wedding. All
the décor is lavishly exquisite, from the seven-tiered cake to the Swarovski
embossed tablecloths. The music is also mama’s taste; men in their seventies
crooning passionate Italian love songs are definitely not my thing. However,
tonight, I find myself resonating with the melancholy of the lyrics.
 My mind is raging with so many thoughts, namely involving Keira. She
isn’t lying about them sleeping together, Rocco didn’t deny it either. Their
exchange was a little too frosty to just be acquaintances. I’d keep my eye on
him if I were you. I hope you can keep him satisfied; otherwise I will trills in
my ear. Has he already lined her up as his sidepiece? If so, why does he want
me to live with him?

Mama told me that he brought Angela a place in the city, so I assumed it

would be the same deal with me. I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to be in
his presence all the time, but now that had been pulled from me. I can still
feel his lips caressing my neck, and how every drop of oxygen left my body. I
don’t understand any part of him. I have heard from his very own mouth that
this was no more than a contract to him, but when he found me with Henri, I
could see the jealousy in his face.

The game of one-upping each other had already begun. I could feel
Rocco’s eyes on me as soon as Henri approached me. I guess it was okay for
him to showcase his ex-girlfriend at our wedding, but for me to talk to a guest
was overstepping the line. How could he switch between hot and cold so
quickly?

The question is, how do you deal with a man like that? I guess the answer
may be to mirror him. He can never get close enough to me to hurt me, I
won’t give him the satisfaction.

I had let myself slip once before, which had ended in an unimaginable
tragedy, and it couldn’t be repeated. It would have been easier with Pietro,
somebody whom I had little to no interest in, but Rocco stirs up a carnal
interest in me that I can’t ignore. He is like the button you are warned not to
touch but instead are drawn to pushing. Every step towards him is like
inching toward a fiery temptation, but I can’t help it. The song peters out, and
he pulls away from me, his eyes locking into mine.

“It’s time for us to leave, I will meet you in the limousine. Say your
goodbyes.” He makes a hand gesture, and two of his men flank me as the
guests line up to kiss me goodbye. Papa and my brothers emerge from one of
the conference rooms looking slightly careworn, and Mama and Zia stand
next to them with their handkerchiefs. It feels strange to me that I am no
longer standing with them, I can already feel the gulf growing between us.
“He’d always been a man who followed his head and not his heart. The heart
was just a bloody motor. The head was meant to drive.”
—Mario Puzo

SOMEHOW IT FEELS DIFFERENT THAN LAST TIME, THIS IS THE

RIGHT WAY TO GET MARRIED.

Yet I know it’s the wrong person I am doing it with, Mama exchanges
looks with me.

I can see that she is thinking the same thing, perhaps in her eyes I have
managed to siphon a little bit of honour back to make up for everything that
happened in Chicago.

As I get into the limo, I give them one last wave; Sophia Falcone is no
more. Rocco remains silent in the limousine along with two armed men
sitting in front of us, another next to the driver with two jeeps behind us and
another two in front. I swirl around both rings on my finger, the red diamond
engagement right catching the sunlight and sparkling.
 I am still surprised by how much I like the engagement ring he picked
out, it genuinely is beautiful. Walking out of the reception with Rocco was
like an emancipation from being Sophia Falcone, she had been left in the
ashes of my old life.

“Don’t you like them?” he asks, raising his eyebrow.

“Who said I didn’t?” I reply, smiling slightly.
“You told me you had expensive taste, so I honored your request.”
“I’ve never seen a red diamond before.” I say softly.
“Red diamonds are rare, plus I like to be different.”
“You picked this out yourself?” I say, surprised.
“You seem surprised,” he says, lighting a cigarette.
“I just figured you had somebody do it for you.”
“I don’t want to stare at an ugly ring every day, plus I don’t want your
family saying I cheaped out on the engagement ring.”
“You have good taste; red is my favorite color.”
“I know. It was the color you were wearing on my birthday.”

There is an awkward moment as I look at him, shocked to which I can tell

he is slightly pleased about.
“That feels like a long time ago.”
“It was. A lot has changed since then. What happened to Angela?” I say,
swallowing. “I hope you didn’t hurt her?”
“Would it matter if I did?” he says, staring out the window.
“She doesn’t deserve it. Sometimes you can’t help who you fall in love
with,” I mumble.
I look up at him, and he has turned back towards me. His eyes narrows at
me dangerously, the temperature between us dropping to below freezing.
“Rocco?”
“It’s not your concern,” he says curtly.
“But—”
“Subject closed,” he says icily before turning back to gaze outside the
window.
She likes the ring. I can tell by how she’s turning it around on her finger. For
the amount of paper I spent on it, she fucking should. I didn’t need her mama
to tell me what her favorite color was or what kind of ring she would like, I
had it figured out already. I picked it out myself because, for some reason, I
wanted to. I knew she would ask me about the ring because she was the type
to be so pedantic that she would need a story behind it—some kind of
anecdote to tell. I know so much about her, yet still so little. I couldn’t deny
how much it pissed me off when she started making excuses for Angela and
rambling about how you couldn’t help who you loved.

The softening of her face and eyes at that moment told me she was still in
love with whatever guy she was fucking before Paolo put six rounds in him,
A vindictive pleasure overcomes me, knowing that he can never come back
to claim her. He will never challenge me for her. She doesn’t know that I
wouldn’t lay a finger on Angela. I couldn’t promise the same for Don Rossi.
His dour face from the church today told me that he wouldn’t entirely forget
his daughter’s betrayal as quick as everybody else seemed to have.

We arrive at one of my penthouses in the city; I don’t trust hotels. The

security is lax, and I don’t want any other guests in my business or bothering
us. This way, I can have my men on different floors and have my own
privacy. Sophia keeps her gaze low as we enter the elevator to the penthouse,
and I can tell our conversation in the car still preoccupies her. I dismiss
Damon and Dominic as we reach the top floor, and she lets out a little gasp as
we enter. “I told you I had good taste.”
“It’s beautiful,” she says stroking the marble countertop.
“The bedroom is through there,” I say quietly. My tone of voice makes it
clear that I am not here for pleasant conversation of any kind.
The bedroom is just as opulently decorated as the rest of the penthouse. The
huge cream and gold headboard match the silk sheets. I sit down shyly
waiting for him to come in, my mouth drying into the Sahara. I try to reach
the back of my dress but there are so many buttons it is nearly impossible.
“Need some help?” he asks, leaning on the sliding door.
“Yeah,” I say slowly turning around.
I feel him release me from the corset and pull away impatiently at the silk
buttons.
“It’s vintage Dior,” I say to him sternly.
“I’ll buy you another,” he says smirking.
I stand up and the dress falls down around me leaving me in my white
wedding lingerie.
“Give me two seconds,” I say heading to the bathroom.

All my toiletries have been unpacked in here already, it was strange to see all
of my cosmetics laid out in the unfamiliar territory. Even stranger to look at
myself in wedding lingerie, I apply a thin coat of lipstick and unpin my hair. I
want to be comfortable even if I don’t feel it. I open the door and Rocco is
sitting on the edge of the bed, he gives me a small smile that makes me
tremble.
“Are you going to stand there all night?” he says raising his eyebrow.
I walk over to him and stand in between his legs, feeling his hot breath
against my chest as he buries himself in my neck.
“I’ve thought about this for so long,” he groans as he pulls me onto his
lap so I am straddling him. He lifts up my bra cups holding one breast in his
hand and the other he engulfs in his mouth causing me to gasp slightly.
“Croccifixio,” I murmur.
“Rocco,” he replies. “I think we’re a little past formality.” He tells me as
his tongue runs across my nipple making me almost jump out of my skin.
“Rocco,” I moan. He could have probably asked me to call him Satan and
I would have agreed and nodded dumbly.

I move my hand to the back of his head, his thick hair crunching in my
hands, and I tug it slightly wanting to immerse myself in the texture. He peers
up in surprise and my face hovers over his for a second before my lips crash
down on his as his tongue battles against mine.
I had unashamedly repeated this scene in my head several hundred times
from the first time we met but this is so much better. Hearing the guttural
groans from him as his hand lingers over the lace and silk of my underwear. I
feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as he tugs the material
down and his fingers drift over my entrance.

“You feel so soft,” he moans into my neck. I unbutton his shirt pulling the
buttons away carelessly so some of them come off.
“You’re in a hurry,” he says chuckling.
“You’re all I’ve thought about for so long,” I say half-embarrassed that I
said it out loud.
“Good, because I wanted you since the first time I laid eyes on you.” He
shrugs off his shirt revealing his tanned torso. My fingers run over his tattoo
as I trace the cursive inscription

Solo Dio può giudicarmi.

“Only God can judge me,” I whisper, placing my hand over his chest.
“Clever girl,” he says smiling up at me.
I gasp as I feel both his fingers push into me roughly, then he looks up at
me surprised.
“Are you still—” he says stupefied and I nod blushing.
“I thought that… You were with someone else?” he says, still in shock.
“I was but we didn’t—you know,” I say mumbling, trying to avoid his
penetrating gaze.
“So, you’ve never—”
“No,” I say feeling my face flush. “I’m sorry, you must be disappointed.”
Feeling my body awash with shame.
“Disappointed?” he says tilting my chin up seemingly bemused. “On the
contrary, this changes everything.”
“It does?” I say trying to gauge his reaction.
“Yes, because now you only belong to me. Nobody else has touched you
and nobody will. Ever,” he says grabbing the back of my head and kissing me
hard. “Lay down, let’s do this properly,” he says pulling me off him and
laying me flat on the bed.
“What are you thinking?” I say staring up into his stormy eyes.
“I’m thinking of how many times I’m going to make you come tonight.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling myself redden.
“Underneath all the bravado you’re so shy, aren’t you?” he says smirking
down at me.
Rocco unbuttons his pants, peeling them off so all he is wearing are a pair
of black briefs. He gets on top of me, and I can feel his stiffness pushing into
my thigh as he begins to kiss my neck and work his way down. His mouth
bites and licks each breast before moving to the next as his fingers gently
push inside of me, not as hard as the first time.
I’m almost a quivering mess as he pushes past my navel. “Put your legs
around my neck,” he instructs me as I feel his tongue skim my inner thigh.
“Cro—” I stutter as his tongue pushes in further.
“What did I tell you to call me?” he says sternly.
“Rocco.”
I wrap my legs tighter around his neck as my back arches higher so his
tongue can push deeper. “Rocco,” I whisper out hoarsely as I feel my eyes
start to roll in pleasure.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans as I feel him lick the droplets falling
down my thighs.
He pushes in another finger this time and I feel something start to build
from the center of my abdomen as his tongue and finger start to work in sync
pushing me to the brinks of pleasures unknown.

“Rocco,” I gasp as I feel the climax finally wash over me as the tightness
of my body releases and my legs limply drape over his shoulders.
“You taste fucking delicious,” he says licking up all the wetness that has
leaked from my thighs. “So wet for me, say it,” he demands.

“So wet for you,” I say in a high tone that I have never used before.
“Good,” he says smirking and pulling off his boxers.
I gasp inwardly, my eyes taking in the size of his length.

That’s meant to fit inside me?

 “Some girls are full of heartache and poetry and those are the kind of girls
who try to save wolves instead of running away from them.”
—Nikita Gill

MY MOUTH MOVES INTO AN ‘O’ SHAPE, I GUESS THE RUMORS

ABOUT HIS NICKNAME ARE TRUE.

He smirks as if I he can read my mind and I hesitate for a second, before

he gives me a reassuring look.

“You stretch too, don’t worry I’ll be gentle. This time anyway,” he says,
his eyes gleaming wickedly.
He walks over to the bed, and I stand on my knees not sure on how to
receive him. “Let me touch it,” I say looking at him for permission.

He climbs on the bed and pulls me on to him so I’m straddling his lap, he
takes my small hand into his and begins to stroke his length in rapid
movements.
“Hold it tightly and move your wrist up and down,” he says hoarsely.
 I grip tightly and follow his movements. His eyes peer up at me, darkened
in arousal as he pulls me into a fierce kiss. His tongue lashes against mine
fiercely.
I pull away from the kiss and relax my grip, he looks at me for a second
as I indicate what I want to do next. He nods as my lips move down to his
chest until the tip of my tongue finds his manhood. I lick the tip and swirl my
tongue around trying to find a rhythm before he abruptly pulls my hair.
“Stop playing with it, put it in your mouth,” he says, breathing hard in
anticipation.
I put my arms on either side of his thighs for leverage and push him in my
mouth, taking him as far as I can. I let my tongue glide around him as I get
used to the sensation. I feel him tense from up above as his hands wrap
around the tendrils of my hair.

“I’m going to come,” he says giving me enough time to pull away, even
though I don’t. I let the warm liquid seep down my throat until he jerks to a
halt and wipe away the residue messily with the back of my hand.
“Are you sure you’ve never done that to another man?” he says looking
down at me possessively with narrowed eyes.
I shake my head, and he nods. “Good, I don’t like sharing.”
“How many women have you had?” I blurt out.
“Does it matter?” He says while glaring at me.
“Yes, because if you get all of my firsts, what do I get in return?” I say,
feeling abashed suddenly as my mind flashes back to Keira and her wicked
smile.
“You’re the first woman I married, does that count for anything?”
“Not out of choice, it was just business,” I reply, quoting him.
“You’re telling me if you had a choice, I would be the groom you
wanted?” he asks, his eyes burning into mine. I don’t reply, and he rebukes,
“I guess I’m not the only one playing a part.”

“I’m not playing anything,” she says, standing up and turning on her to heel
to leave, but I tug at her arm, and she lands on my lap.
“I never said we were finished,” I say, glancing down at her.
“I’m not in the mood,” she says glaring at me defiantly.
“Your body says otherwise,” I say teasing my finger over her opening,
which is dripping wet.
“Stop it,” she says batting my hand away from her.
This time when she tries to get up, I don’t stop her. The door slams and I
fight every impulse of anger not to follow her.

Some fucking wedding night, I think to myself as I make my way into the
shower, allowing the cold water to beat down hard on me as every single part
of today whips through my mind. Maybe just maybe, this isn’t going to be as
easy as I thought it would. I didn’t imagine Sophia would be as docile as
Angela, but I also didn’t think she would be as volatile as I am. Then again, I
also wasn’t counting on being the first man to fuck her, not that I had got to
yet.

Everything I thought I knew had been washed away and put together with
the realization that she still pined for whoever was inked on her wrist. I can
just imagine the looks of all the other men if they ever found out nothing
happened tonight.

By the time I finish my excruciatingly long shower and return to the

master bedroom Sophia is turned to one side, but she isn’t asleep. The
breathing is a little too forced and ragged for it to be natural. I consider
sleeping next to her for a brief moment before changing my mind. Forcing
her to be in my presence isn’t going to help matters. I will get her to come
around eventually. We both know we need to keep up appearances.
Weak sunlight penetrates through the large penthouse windows. To my
amazement, I realize that I eventually slept despite tossing and turning
throughout most of the night—the consequences of last night setting in
uncomfortably. I had refused Rocco sex on our wedding night, and in turn, he
hadn’t slept here. My eyes burn as I wipe away the tears threatening to spill
out on the corners of the comforter. The marriage was already doomed before
we even started. What if he had called Papa to tell him what I had done?

Would he? I saw the look of fury etched darkly across his face last night
when I pulled away from him, so maybe he would?

I lean against the headboard in silence, half waiting for Mama or one of
Rocco’s men to walk in and drag me back home, but it never happens.
Reluctantly, I stand up and open the bedroom door, nobody else is in the
penthouse. The spare room hasn’t been slept in, nor have any of the couches
sprawled across the lounge. If Rocco hasn’t slept here, where did he sleep?

Keira’s face flashes across my mind, along with a million others who had
attended the wedding and had eyes for Rocco. My stomach clenches
painfully as I get dressed and showered. Walking out of the penthouse door,
one of Rocco’s men escorts me to the patio for breakfast. My heart tightens
seeing him. He is dressed entirely in black with tinted shades on, so I can’t
see his whole expression. He is in deep conversation with his other men, who
stop talking when I walk in. Surely, they don’t know about what happened
last night?

“Morning, Sophia,” Rocco says in a crisp toneless voice. “Coffee?”

“Yes, thanks,” I reply in a strangled tone.
He waves his hand, and a waitress comes over to pour me coffee. I keep
my eyes down as I take a croissant and butter it.
“Sleep well?” Dominic asks cheekily before Rocco turns to him, and his
grin fades. Even with sunglasses on, his look screams anger.
 “Fine, thanks,” I say, biting slowly.

The conversation between the men continues, and I tune them out barely
peering up from my plate to gaze at Rocco. I can already see his jaw is
clenched slightly indicating his mood.
“Party’s here!” A voice comes from behind me, and Rocco groans as
Lucia sits down next to me.
“What are you doing here?” Rocco asks irritably.
“Can’t I spend some quality time with my brother?”
“How much money do you want?” he says, sighing.
“None, I’m not a fucking mercenary,” she snaps.
“Let’s take in the garden view,” I say to her, standing up and steering her
away from Rocco and the other men.

I am trying to return some of the kindness Lucia had shown me at the

wedding reception. I can tell she is wilting under the coldness of Rocco’s
gaze and needing to be rescued.

“Thanks,” she says after a few minutes of silence.

“It’s fine, you gave me a good reason to escape.”
“Welcome to the family,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“I guess so,” I say slowly.
“He’s giving you a hard time too, huh?” she says knowingly.
“It was probably my own fault,” I sigh.
“I guess he met his match with you,” she smirks.
“Sometimes I wish I knew when to just shut up,” I say, shrugging.
“Me too but hey, that’s life. Rocco isn’t that bad. It’s just—” she starts
but then stops looking awkward.
“What?” I say, frowning.
“Rocco doesn’t trust easily. He needs to be in control and sees it as a
weakness to let his guard down. Too many people have disappointed him,
including me,” she says glumly.
“Oh, I don’t see him trusting me anytime soon either,” I say sadly.
“Just don’t lie to him, he hates liars. Our father was a liar, and it hurt him
more than he’ll ever let on—the disappointment.” Her eyes freeze open, and
when I turn around Rocco is standing behind me.
He doesn’t say a word, but I can feel the fury radiating off him like
steamed ice. His sunglasses sit nestled on top of his head, and I feel the full
glacial gaze of his gray eyes.
“I see Lucia has been giving you the E! True Hollywood story of the De
Luca family,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“No,” Sophia says shaking her head. “I was the one who asked her.”
Lucia smiles at her gratefully in sisterly solidarity, but her smile falters
when she meets my steely gaze.
“I guess I’ll be going,” she says in a small voice.
“Why don’t you come with us to Capri?” Sophia says quickly as I raise
my eyebrows in shock.
“You want my sister to come on our honeymoon?” I say in a deadpan
voice.
“It’s not a honeymoon, it’s a business trip that you have incorporated me
into. Besides, who else will I talk to when you’re with the men?”
“Is that what you want?” I say, looking at her.
“Yes,” she says firmly.
“Fine, but no getting wasted or getting high Lucia. The jet is leaving at
five, so don’t be late,” I say reluctantly.
“I can’t wait!” Lucia says, rushing towards me and pulling me into a hug
before she skips off.
“You really just invited my sister to our honeymoon?” I sigh.
“Well, it beats being ignored by you,” she says folding her arms.
“Am I meant to be in an ecstatic mood after last night?” I say returning
her gaze.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles.
“You’re what?” I say unmoved. “Since when do you apologize?”
“About as much as you do,” she says rolling her eyes. “I didn’t perform
the duty I was meant to. Did you tell my parents?” she asks with an
unmistakable look of fear in her eyes.
“No, I haven’t told anybody. It’s not exactly something to brag about,” I
say, rolling my eyes.
 “Where were you last night?” she says softly. I can see the distrust
written on her face.
“It’s none of your concern,” I say firmly.
“I don’t want to start off like this,” she says walking toward me and
resting one hand on my chest.
“A little late now,” I say, enjoying her discomfort.

“Can I make it up to you before we leave?” she asks as she stares up at

me.
“I’m not in the mood,” I say coining her phrase from last night and
walking away.
 “Friends, enemies, I don’t think it matters anymore. The chains are just as
heavy, no matter who holds the key.”
—Laura Sebastian

I NEVER EQUATED LUCIA BEING INVOLVED IN MY

HONEYMOON, MY SISTER TAGGING ALONG WASN’T IN THE
PLAN.

I guess Sophia thinks it will be easier to have Lucia in Capri as a buffer

between us.

Neither of us will have to suffer awkward silences with Lucia’s constant

stream of conversation.

“What was that about?” Dominic says, lighting up a cigarette.

“What?” I say irritably.
“Trouble in paradise already?” Damon says smirking.
“Am I paying you to work or gossip like women?” I say snappily.
“The wedding night was a snooze fest, wasn’t it?” Dominic says, nodding
knowingly.
“It was fine,” I say, trying to rid myself of the sexual frustration and
irritation that had banded itself together.
“You could always visit Keira if things don’t improve? Give it a couple
of weeks though, so it doesn’t look too obvious.”
“No,” I say firmly, although the thought had crossed my mind. “I’m not
going to jeopardize this arrangement when I just signed the marriage license
yesterday.”
“Like Paolo cares, she’s your problem now.”
“Isn’t she just,” I sigh. “Are we all set for Dante’s baptism tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
“Did you get a gift?”
“All taken care of, Godfather,” he says in a mock bow.
“Does Sophia know her honeymoon will consist of someone else’s
wedding and baptism? She will hardly see you.”
“That is where Lucia comes in. I guess Sophia already figured out I won’t
be around much, having Lucia around will ease the boredom. Being the
daughter of the Mafia, I guess she already knew a vacation is just working
away from New York.”
“How are you enjoying married life so far?” Damon asks, smirking.
“A walk in the fucking park,” I say rolling my eyes.

I lean up at him, fully expecting him to cave into my offer and for just a
second, I see him soften, but before I know it, he reneges. He detangles
himself from me so quickly that I nearly fall forward when he steps back. I
should have known he wouldn’t be so easy to persuade. The only bright spot
is that he hasn’t told my parents what happened but the negative being he
probably has spent the night with someone else. Not only have I unwittingly
wrecked the start of my marriage, but I also have sent my husband into the
arms of another woman on the first night.
Several hours later, we are aboard Rocco’s jet. Rocco is sitting opposite me,
reading his newspaper and barely looking up. He only pulls his eyes away
from the paper when he wants to speak to one of his men. Lucia sits behind
me chatting to Rocco’s consigliere, Franco animatedly. Once I realize Rocco
plans to ignore me for the duration of the ten-hour trip, I shift my body
towards the window and put my AirPods in and my sleep mask down, trying
to block out what is going on around me. The melancholy chords of Daddy
Issues by The Neighbourhood funnel through my ears until I fade into an
uneasy sleep.

My mind slips back to Anton. Would it be easier if it were him sitting

opposite me? Everything seemed to be effortless with him, there didn’t seem
to be the cat and mouse game that haunts my relationship with Rocco. After
last night, I know I royally screwed up and with a crushing realization that
Rocco doesn’t need to consummate the marriage to me until he wants
children, especially since he has a plethora of other women to sleep with until
then.

I’m jostled awake by somebody lifting me up. I immediately know it’s

Rocco by his scent—nicotine and sandalwood. I’m sure he can sense that I
am awake, but he never says anything. When I wake up again, I am in a bed
except we aren’t in a hotel but a grandiose villa. I reach beside me, and
realize I am alone. It is at that point in the night where it’s too late for
nightfall yet too early for dawn, so the sky has knitted between lightness in
the dark. I hadn’t checked the time difference beforehand, so I wasn’t sure
whether I would be feeling the aftereffects of jet lag.

I hear the distant sound of low chatter and laughter. When I walk towards
the balcony, I can make out a male and female silhouette sitting closely
together. My heart churns nervously as I squint to see whether it is Rocco. I
take the set of stairs by the balcony and walk down them two at a time, my
chest thumping noisily. When I approach, I recognize it isn’t Rocco but his
consigliere, Franco and Lucia. She seems surprised when she sees me and
gives me a startled look.
“I thought you were out for the count.”
“I was, but I heard voices,” I say trailing off, and she gives me a knowing
look.
“I think Rocco is in the office at the top floor,” she says observing me
meaningfully.
“I’ll go and talk to him. Sorry to have disturbed you,” I say giving her an
equally meaningful look.
I don’t think Rocco will be thrilled with Lucia absconding with his
consigliere but then again, I am not the expert on what makes Rocco De Luca
thrilled—only pissed off.

I walk back up the stairs to the bedroom and riffle through my suitcase
picking out the skimpiest lingerie I could find. After a quick shower and
laborious use of under eye concealer, I nervously make my way up the flight
of stairs to where Rocco is. The door is slightly ajar, and I can see Rocco
working, his head bent down as he furrows in concentration. I make my way
to the door and clear my throat nervously, making him look up quickly.
“What are you doing up here?” he asks sharply.
“I could ask you the same thing. I woke up and I was alone,” I finish
weakly, almost embarrassed for how needy I sound.
“I have work to do,” he says returning his gaze to the papers in front of
him.
“You’re punishing me,” I announce to nobody in particular. “I get it, if
you don’t want to sleep with me. I guess I’ll have to find someone who will,”
I say, folding my arms.
“Be my guest,” he says, looking up. “You’ll end up the same way Angela
Rossi did.”
“What did you do to her?” I say angrily.
“She’s dead. Her body was found outside the city earlier today.”
“Angela,” I say slowly holding my chest.
“You might want to rethink that plan,” he says smirking and leaning back
on his chair.
 “Fuck you.”
“No, fuck you,” he says standing up angrily.

I pick up a glass tumbler from the shelf next to me and throw it at his
head, which narrowly misses him by inches. I turn on my heel to walk out but
Rocco grabs my wrist and yanks me back, pushing me against the wall and
pinning both my wrists over my head. Fury is etched all over his face and his
glare burns into me so intensely that I feel I may burst into flames. The
tension between us has finally come to a head.
“Stop it,” he says firmly.
“Stop what,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Being a brat.”
“I’m not, you’re being a jerk.”
“You’re the one being a jerk, Sophia,” he says dropping my hands and
turning away from me. “Get out of here.”
“No,” I say surprising myself.
“What do you want from me?” he says, in a raspy voice.
“I want you to consummate this marriage so I don’t feel like a fucking
fraud. You’ve screwed most of the East Coast, so you might as well add me
to the list.”
“Is that right?” he says with a glint in his eyes.
“Please,” I say tiptoeing up to look at him. I’m so close to him that I can
see the black of his lashes.
“No,” he says tilting my chin, “I have work to do, leave.”

I walk out, but this time he doesn’t stop me. I can feel hot salty tears start to
build up from my throat as it starts to burn. Getting into bed, I stay awake
considering my options which I have whittled down to two, either ride this
out or return home. I know the latter is unthinkable, my parents would go
berserk, and it would be like last time, only worse. Shame and disgrace
would be repeated until I wanted to tear my hair out.

Rocco isn’t that bad; I have heard worse stories about other made men
that daughters of the Mafia are forced to marry. I just about make peace with
the fact that we are going to be like ships in the night, a public marriage,
before he saunters in. I keep my eyes closed. Even though it’s dark, I don’t
want his eyes to find mine. I hear the rustling of clothes as he undresses and
then the spread of warmth through the sheets as he enters the bed. He remains
on his side of the bed, although I do feel his arm outstretch, so it is only
inches away from my own.

He is sleeping next to me, that is something, I guess.

I nearly lose it with her, the rage almost spilling over but I catch myself in
just in time. She is testing the very edge of my resolve coming in the office
with her barely there lingerie. I wanted to fuck her on the desk, on the floor,
and against the wall. The truth is I want her more than I should but knowing
there is someone else in the picture is a dagger to my ego. If I can’t have all
of her, I don’t want any of her.

This is a motto I will clearly have to revisit as the odds of me not fucking
Sophia on this honeymoon seems to be getting slimmer and slimmer. The
thrill of saying no to her brings me great amusement, I am not going to be a
tick box for her to navigate. Keeping her at a distance seems to be the only
weapon I have against Sophia De Luca née Falcone. The more I get lost in
my work, the easier for me to pry my mind away from her, to focus. When
my eyes can barely stay open any longer, I fight my own stubbornness and
head into the master bedroom. On approaching, I hear sniffing sounds which
sound like it can be crying but when I open the door they cease. The room is
opaquely dark so I can’t see Sophia, I only make out a small figure huddled
in between the covers. Her dark hair sprawled over the pillow.

My arms stretch once I enter the bed and I can almost feel the warmth of
her skin inches away from mine, I try to think of anything else but her body
as I try to coax myself to sleep. The next two days will be hectic; the first
time I will be stepping out as a married man and appearances are everything.
Sophia wasn’t sleeping when I first entered the bed, but after a while, I now
hear her drift off to sleep, her rhythmic breathing a small comfort to me. My
eyes remain open, watching as the night sky turns from inky black to pinkish
blue until sunrise.
 “The Heart wants what it wants —or else it does not care.”
—Emily Dickinson

DAZZLING SUNLIGHT FILLS THE ROOM, WHEN I LOOK AT THE

CLOCK ON THE WALL IT READS, 06:00 AM.

I don’t remember falling asleep last night, but my body feels groggy with
exhaustion.

I look next to me in trepidation, but the other side of the bed is empty.
Where is Rocco this early? A part of me just wonders whether it may be
easier if Rocco were to just change his mind and annul the marriage however,
at that thought, I feel a jolt of sadness. Perhaps, he will end up marrying
someone more suitable to him like Keira Kavanagh. Then at that thought, I
feel a heavier wave of melancholy washing over me. Isn’t that what I had
wanted in the first place, not to marry him?

Anxiety clouds my mind as I walk toward the bathroom. The hot steam of
the shower helps to refocus my mind. The shower door opens and the cold air
hits me as I turn around and am greeted by the glorious vision of Rocco
completely naked.
“What are you doing?” I say, covering myself up.
“I’ve already seen it all, sweetheart,” he says.
“Doesn’t mean I have to put it on display,” I say, walking back.
“You’re sore about last night, huh?” he says smirking as he reaches for
the shampoo bottle.
“Not at all,” I say while applying body wash.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks frowning slightly.
“Sure.”
“I thought I heard crying last night,” he says eyeing me with a strange
look.
“Did you? I didn’t hear anything,” I say politely.
“Must have been my imagination.”
“Must have been. Will you be sleeping here again tonight, or was it just a
one-off?” I ask breezily as if we weren’t both standing naked in a steamy
shower.
“I’m not much of a sleeper, but it would make sense to get used to
sleeping in the same bed if we’re going to be living together.”
“We don’t have to, Rocco. You can just get me an apartment in the city, it
will be easier for both of us. You can do all the things you need to do without
me in the way.”
“I could say the same for you,” he snarls.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I want you to get this fucking thing removed,” he says, lifting
my wrist. “I don’t want to look at you, knowing you have another man’s
mark on you.”
“Yet it’s quite alright for women to come up to me at my wedding and
say they’ve fucked my husband-to-be. Not quite a tattoo but something I
won’t forget, not to mention your many transgressions in whorehouses and
with every socialite on the East Coast.”
“I don’t have their name tattooed on me,” he says through clenched teeth.
“You might as well,” I seethe.
“Are you ever going to let me have the last word?” he says irritably.
“No,” I say angrily, reaching for the door, but he pushes me back roughly
against the shower tiles.
Before I can reply, he picks me up and presses me against the cold tiles, my
legs wrapping around his torso as I can feel his growing erection starting to
brush against me. My hands automatically want to wrap around his neck, but
he pushes them high above my head.
“I don’t know If you realized this about me, but I like being in control,”
he says darkly as his mouth finds mine.

Every kiss is how I remembered it, dark, delicious, and feral—his tongue
fighting for dominance against mine. I can barely make out his face in the
steam of the shower, though every sensation feels heightened in the humidity.
His mouth moves down to my jawline, leaving wet kisses all the way down
my collarbone. I gasp as I feel his erection tease against my entrance.
Pressure and arousal push against me like a tidal wave with each grind of his
hips. He moves lower, and my arms are freed as his lips clamp around my
nipple sending electric sensations throughout the rest of my body before he
moves to the next breast.

My hands wrap around his neck when suddenly he drops to his knees,
letting my own legs fall around his neck instead. The pure primal lust in his
eyes tells me what he will do next before my body has time to react. Each
lash of his tongue pushes me into the deeper throes of ecstasy. I push his head
closer to me as the familiar sense of release falls on me, my body sagging
over his in completion. He drops me gently as he straightens up.
“We have an hour before we need to leave, don’t be late.” he says, as he
walks out of the shower, the door bangs loudly against the tiles.

My legs feel like jelly as I try to regain my composure. Where did any of
that come from?
Although my mother and father were full-blown Sicilian, I had some family
ties in Capri. After my Nonna’s death, I also spent a little time here deciding
on my next move. There was a time when I considered not being Don, letting
my father’s name peter out with his death.

There was a part of me that wanted to fade into obscurity. This was just
as much home to me as New York was, although they were two paradoxes.
The sweet sea air is a nostalgic memory of mine of when I was young and not
carrying such a weight on my shoulders. However, the memory of myself
before being Don Rocco dimmed a little more each day. I had emerged from
my father’s shadow; I had so far surpassed my fears of becoming like him
and planned to keep it that way.

Today had gone perfectly. I played my part as Godfather, and Sophia

played hers as a dutiful wife. Unless I hadn’t been there myself, you couldn’t
have convinced me that what happened earlier was actually real. She barely
acknowledged me unless asked a direct question. Our little moment was left
firmly behind in the shower, except just thinking about it was enough to give
me a hard-on.

“It is a great honor that you have agreed to be Dante’s Godfather,” Don
Romano says, jerking me out of thoughts and bowing deeply.
“You were mine, so it is fitting I do the same for your grandson. After all,
Bruno is one of the few men I trust.”
“I always knew you would be Don,” the old man smiles.
“You’re probably one of the few people that would have said that,” I
snort.
“You had a quiet forcefulness in you from when you were a young boy,
silent but deadly. Your old man was weak, but you have an iron will. I
always knew you would be a better Don.”
“Hopefully I can stay away from the temptations that ruined him,” I say
darkly.
 “Is that why you wanted to get married? Make the gulf between you even
bigger?”
“I needed to strengthen my position in New York, and I want to make the
De Luca family, a formidable one. Getting in between the Rossi and Falcone
powerhouses allows me to do that.”
“Not to mention you get a hot little number thrown in,” he says, giving
Sophia an appreciative look.
“Indeed,” I say lazily.
“The girl looks like she needs a good night’s rest, Rocco,” he says
sniggering as Sophia stifles a yawn. “I can see why you wanted to get
married.” He claps me on the back and walks away.

I guess the old Don knew me a little too well to see through my lie.
“Do you want to hold him?” Bianca says shyly, holding the crying bundle
in her arms.
“Sure, but I’m not really good with kids,” I say as she tries to put him in
my arms.
“It’s good practice. See, you’re a natural.” She smiles as the baby’s cries
fade and his little fist balls around my little finger. His blue eyes squint up at
me as a smile unfurls on his face. “Dante, meet your Godfather,” she says
softly.
“Yep, when you’re eighteen, he’ll take you to the city and introduce you
to some of the hottest pieces of—”
“Bruno!” Bianca says irritably.
“Just kidding, she’s right, you’re a natural,” Bruno says steering the
conversation away.
“Natural indeed,” I say, smiling down at him as drool slathers his chin.
I look up, and Sophia is staring at me with an impenetrable look on her
face.
“Are you planning on having children soon?” she asks Sophia as she joins
me.
“The ink is barely dry on the marriage certificate,” Bruno says, rolling his
eyes.
“It’s not in the plans just yet,” Sophia smiles nervously.
“Rocco wants a football team, so I hope you’re prepared,” Bruno says,
snorting as his wife elbows him in the ribs.
“Kidding, kidding. Time for this one to take a nap. Say goodnight to your
Godfather, Dante.” Dante blows a drool bubble as Bruno and Bianca
disappear into the throng of people.
“Do you think I’m some kind of monster?” I say looking at her.
“No,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me in surprise.
“Why were you looking at me like I was a lion holding a lamb?”
“It’s just hard for me to correlate your actions with something so innocent
as a baby.”
“What about your father? He has children. You think he is a monster?”
“On most occasions, he is,” she says quietly.
“Did he hurt you growing up?” I ask sharply.
“Only once,” she says, closing her eyes, almost reliving that moment.
“I have some business to attend to. Dominic will take you back to the
house.”
“Shall I wait up for you?” she asks, her green eyes meeting mine.
“It’s going to be a late one.”
“Fine,” she says, following Dominic, who is on my right.

“How’s married life so far?” Dominic says as we enter the house.

“It’s fine, thank you,” I say politely.
“At least you know what to expect, with your old man being a Don.”
“I guess so, although I don’t think Rocco and papa are that similar.”
“Probably not, especially after what happened to Angela Rossi.”
“What do you mean?” I ask nervously.
“Your old man went nuts when Rocco didn’t want to punish her for what
happened. Rocco said he didn’t hurt women, but I don’t think Vincenzo and
Paolo shared that sentiment.”
“She’s dead, right?” I say with an uneasy feeling settling.
“She ran, and when they found her, it was either marry Don Cannavaro or
face the consequences.”
“Enrico Cannavaro? Isn’t he like sixty?” I ask horrified.
“Sixty with a cabinet full of Viagra.” Dominic says smirking, “I guess
that is the point. It’s an atonement of shame for her to end up marrying
someone like that.”
“She refused?”
“Yep, and now she’s up there,” he says, making a cross with his finger.
“Maybe it would have been better for Angela if she just married Rocco.
She would still be alive,” I say sadly.
“Why? Did you want to marry Pietro?” he asks frowning.
“No! I just don’t think Angela deserved to die.”
“Live by the sword, die by the sword. Death before dishonor, I thought all
the daughters of the Mafia knew that.” he says before clearing his throat
sheepishly.
“I respectfully decline to answer because I honestly believe my answer might
tend to incriminate me.”
—Joey Gallo

ROCCO CLEARLY KNEW SOMETHING ABOUT MY PAST, EVEN IF

HE DIDN’T KNOW THE FULL DETAILS.

I guess everybody knows something about my indiscretion. New York is

likely bursting with salacious secrets of La Cosa Nostra.

I’ve come to the realization that people are only happy when there is a
scandal, when you’re at your worst. It makes them feel better about their own
mundane lives. My heart tightens thinking of Angela Rossi’s plight and
Rocco’s refusal to punish her.

A slight feeling of reassurance and gratitude sweeps over me at knowing

that Rocco doesn’t have the same streak of cruelty in him that most made
men do.
“Shall I leave you here?” Dominic says, interjecting my thoughts.
 “Sure,” I say as he gives me a quick nod as I hear him walk upstairs to the
office.

I walk up to the bedroom window; the sun has finished setting now and there
is a red hue illuminating the crystal-clear sea. The perfect view. I wonder
how many times Rocco had looked out of this window. He seems to be
familiar with everybody on the island, so I am guessing he has some
affiliation with the place, but it was on the list of many things I don’t know
about him. Maybe if we were on better terms, I would have asked him.

My mind flickers back to this morning, and ashamedly I feel desire

bubble up. I could even taste his skin on mine, and if I thought about it long
enough, I could feel the tip of his cock pushing hard against my opening. A
floorboard creaks as somebody walks across the room, jerking me out of my
daydream. When it creaks again, I look around again and the house seems as
deadly silent as before but this time the silence feels threatening.

“Dominic?” I yell but there is no reply.

I walk out of the main bedroom and halfway down the spiral staircase,
although there is a light on downstairs there doesn’t seem to be anybody
down there. The stair creaks behind me, and I turn around quickly but before
I can see who it is, I feel a pressure behind me before tumbling down the
remaining stairs. For a brief moment, a shadow looms over me before I
surrender to darkness.

“Effendi,” a hoarse familiar voice says from behind me.

“Tysen Hatim,” I say, turning around to meet his matching grin.
“What is this bullshit I hear about you getting married? You of all
people!” He says outraged.
“Needs must.”
“Am I not a close enough friend of yours to be invited?”
“I didn’t invite any of my friends, it was all for show.”
“Who is the unlucky lady?”
“Sophia Falcone.”
“As in Don Falcone’s daughter?”
“You got it.”
“You’re not as stupid as you look,” he says, impressed.
“You might be next,” I say with a snort.
“When I tell you never, I mean never fucking ever.”
“Don’t you want to carry on the good Hatim name?”
“I have two brothers; they can do that.”
“How are things in Las Vegas?”
“The Russians and the Irish are getting in every fucking crevice,” he says
in annoyance.
“Chicago are also getting brave these days, something isn’t sitting right
with me.”
“No fucking kidding.”
“Rocco.” Dominic appears to look alarmed.
“What is it?” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.
“It’s Sophia, somebody got in the house. She’s been hurt.”
“What happened? Where the fuck were you?” I seethe.
“I don’t know how it happened, the place was checked before we
returned. We found her at the bottom of the stairs, but she didn’t fall from the
top. The doctor is with her now and thinks it’s only a mild concussion.”
“Cazzo! I want this whole fucking area swept again; we’re leaving
tomorrow morning.”
“I want you to put every man we have on all the perimeters,” Tysen says
to his capo, Kamal. “Leave no corner unmanned.” Kamal nods and walks off,
shouting instructions in Turkish to the other men.
“Thanks,” I say frowning.
“What?” he says puzzled.
“Not that many people knew I was coming here.”
“Inside job.” He says nodding slowly.
“I’ve got to see my wife; I’ll find you later,” I say, patting his shoulder.
“Sophia?” I say, entering the dimly lit room.
“Yeah,” a small voice replies.
“Are you okay?” I say, kneeling beside her and looking at the already
dark bruise on her face.
“I guess I won’t be winning Miss America anytime soon.” she says,
reading my reaction.
“You look pretty good from where I’m standing,” I say softly. “What
happened?”
“I don’t know,” she says, furrowing her eyebrows. “I was looking out the
window and—” She trails off, looking embarrassed.
“What?” I say, urging her to continue.
“I had felt a presence behind me, the floorboards creaking like somebody
else was there. But when I looked around, I couldn’t see anybody. I started
walking down the stairs, and I felt somebody behind me except when I turned
around I lost my footing.”
“Did somebody push you?” I ask gently.
“That is the part I don’t remember.”
“You’re lucky you weren’t higher up, you could have hurt yourself.”
“On the bright side, you’d get another bride,” she says with a small smile.
“I think you would be quite a tough act to follow. I’m going to leave men
posted at the door, then in the morning, we will find somewhere else to stay
until Francesca’s wedding. You remember Francesca, right?” I say looking at
her.
“Your second cousin, you mentioned it in passing, Rocco. I fell down the
stairs, not down a well.” she says sarcastically.
“Well, thank God you didn’t. Who else would drive me crazy in your
absence? I don’t like the idea that somebody got in so easily. I’ll leave you to
rest.”
“Wait, can you stay with me for a while?” she says softly, “I don’t want
to be alone right now.”
“I guess so if that is what you want.”
“It is.” she says firmly.
I take a shower, and when I return, she is still awake. I slip into the bed
sheets, but when I try to switch off the light, she stops me.
“Leave the light on.”
“Nothing will happen to you when I’m with you. Trust me?” I say,
reassuringly.
“Okay.” she says, nodding as I switch the light off as darkness fills the
room.

From the window, I can see both mine and Tysen’s men guarding the
perimeter and from under the bedroom door the casting shadows of men
walking up and down the corridor. Sophia moves towards me, suddenly
lifting my arm up. Before I can ask her what she is doing, her head is on my
chest and my arm is covering her torso protectively. She looks up at me from
under the nook of my arm but doesn’t say anything.
“You must really have a concussion if you’re nuzzling up to me.” I laugh.
“If you ask me about this tomorrow, I will deny any recollection.”

Her head lowers onto my chest, and to my own surprise, I feel my hand
start to stroke her silky hair.
“I didn’t have you down as the stroking hair type of guy, Croccifixio.”
She murmurs, softly.
“How many times do I have to ask you to call me Rocco.”
“I like Croccifixio.”
“Are you a religious fanatic to like a name that means crucifix?” I snort.
“It’s different, I know a hundred Marco’s and Luca’s, but there is only
one Croccifixio.”
“I guess that’s a compliment.”
“It is, but don’t get used to it,” she says, giggling into my chest.
“Your chest is huge,” she says as her hands move up my body.
“I can say the same thing for you.”
“Cro—Rocco!” she says, poking me playfully.

She moves her head up and kisses me gently, sending an electric

sensation through my body. Without thinking, I pull off her nightdress,
leaving her soft body naked against mine but suddenly then, I feel her spasm
mid-kiss as she puts her hand to her head.
“Let’s raincheck tonight. You’ve gone through a lot,” I say breaking the
kiss.
“You’re not mad like last time?” she mumbles.
“No, jeez, Soph, I’m not a monster. You need to rest.”
“You called me Soph.”
“I guess I did.”
“All it took was a concussion for you to warm up to me, huh?”

I pull on her nightdress as she nestles back into my chest. Within the
hour, she is asleep, but my mind is racing to put together a potential list of
men who tried to kill my wife tonight.
“I never lie to any man because I don’t fear anyone. The only time you lie is
when you are afraid.”
—John Gotti

I HEAR THE SHOWER RUNNING AND WHEN HE ENTERS THE

BEDROOM, HE IS ALREADY UNDRESSED FOR BED.

I feel a secret thrill run through me that he is planning on staying with me

all night.

I have been fighting against falling asleep for the last hour, I want him to
stay with me tonight. I feel vulnerable and surprisingly he is the one I want
the most to comfort me. I won’t let him switch off the light because I’m
scared somebody is still waiting in the darkness, but when he tells me to trust
him—I do. When the lights are out, I find myself drawn to his body as I
nestle into the nook of his arm.

Like a beacon, I feel myself being pulled to him. When he tells me he will
keep me safe, I believe him. Every touch, stroke, and kiss is pulling me
irrevocably to him. When I lean up to kiss him, it starts an electric jolt of
passion that doesn’t stop until I feel a twinge of pain in my head. He didn’t
seem to be too worried about abstaining again. Instead, he pulled me in
tighter towards him as I pushed myself deeper into his chest before falling
into a dreamless sleep.

I don’t wake up until past noon the next day feeling like I’ve been
drugged. My headache has faded into a dull ache, thankfully. The other side
of the bed is empty again and it’s like last night’s small act of intimacy never
happened. There is a knock at the door, and the doctor from last night
appears. She does a few small vision checks on me, but everything seems
fine. She wants me to rest for another night, but I can’t stand the monotony of
being in bed another day. I wanted to leave this house as soon as possible. I
hear Lucia knock on the door and then gasp at my appearance.
“Is it that bad?” I say faintly.
“No,” She lies.
“You need a few lessons from Rocco on a poker face.”
“You’re okay, though, right?”
“Yeah, just a little bruised,” I say, shrugging.
“Bet this really put a dent in your wedding night plans.” she says
smirking.
“Not really,” I say but regret it as soon as it comes out.
“What do you mean?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. “Wait, have you
not-”
“Forget I said anything,” I say quickly, but she cottons on.
“He sleeps in here, but you don’t do sex.” Her eyebrows shoot up.
“Do sex?” I say, trying to stifle my laughter.
“I grew up in Jersey,” she says, swatting away my laughter. “Why?”
Everything that happened over the last couple of days starts to pour out
like water that has been compressed in a dam overflowing. She doesn’t
interrupt me once, and when I’ve finished, she gives me a long hard look.
“You two are so messed up,” she says with deep fascination.
“What?”
“You refused him sex on your wedding night, and you wonder why he’s
pissed.”
“He wouldn’t answer my question,” I say stubbornly.
“You really want to know how many women he’s been with? What
would be gained by knowing that?”
“At least I feel I would know what I’m getting into.”
“You knew who he was when you signed that marriage license. You
knew who he was at his birthday party when I almost caught you making out.
Just admit you used it as an exit strategy to not sleep with him.”
“I didn’t.”
“You don’t want to give all of yourself to him, but you want him to give
himself fully to you. Kinda selfish, Sophia,” she says musingly.
“You’re biased,” I say pointedly.
“Hardly, when you have another man’s initial tattooed to your wrist,” she
says as I pull my sleeve down. “If it was the other way around…”
“So, what? He knew I had this before we got married.”
“Yeah, but he probably figured you would remove it.”
“Everybody has a past,” I say snappily. “Why don’t you lecture your
brother on all the whorehouses he has visited?”
“What?” she says, shocked.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Rocco would never go to a whorehouse, ever.” she says firmly.
“Oh really,” I say sarcastically.
“Yeah, really, because that is how our father died in a whorehouse
surrounded by crackheads.” she seethes. “Who told you that?”
“It was something Keira said at the wedding,” I say, thoroughly
embarrassed.
“You really would take into account anything that heifer would say?”
“Angela said something too.” I say trying to not wilt under her glare.
“You think they’re both reliable characters?” She asks sharply.
“I guess not.” I mumble.
“So, you’re judging him on something that you don’t even know is true,
but when it comes to your transgressions, I’m sure you don’t feel the same.
Yes, Sophia, I’ve heard the rumors… we all have. How do you like having
the past thrown in your face?” she says, turning on her heel and leaving the
room.
I sit there feeling numb for a second before Rocco walks in wearing a cream
pantsuit and a crisp white shirt, a nice change from the usual black.
“Did my sister just come out of here?” he says, raising his eyebrow.
“Uh-huh.”
“What did she say to you? Because she has slammed about a hundred
doors on her way outside.”
“Nothing, it was my fault,” I say, shrugging.
“That is the second time you have covered for her, don’t feel obligated to
just because she is my sister,” he says, sitting on the bed.
“I don’t, it’s fine. Just leave it,” I say hollowly.
“You look better today,” he says cocking his eyebrow.
“I look like I have gone ten rounds with Ali.”
“You looked like a ghost yesterday, and the doctor said there is no
concussion.”
“No, I just feel weak, but I want to get out of this house.”
“I’ve told Francesca we won’t be attending the wedding.”
“No, I want to go. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I can’t sit around here all day.”
“It doesn’t start until four. That should give you enough time to get
ready.”
“Sure, can you just take my dress out of the closet, please?”
“I’ll get one of the maids to steam it before you get dressed. Go back to
sleep for now.”
“Thanks,” I say, turning over to my side and feeling an overwhelming
sense of guilt.

I frown as she turns to one side. There seems to be a sense of dejection

written all over her face. What the fuck did Lucia say to her? As soon as we
leave for the wedding, the men will be packing up and moving, and nobody
will know the location until the very last minute. I wanted to know if there is
a rat amongst us or whether there is just somebody very clever trying to get
the jump on me. Either one is not a great outcome.

“Lucia,” I say, as I find her on the step outside smoking a cigarette.

“Yeah,” she says while avoiding my gaze.
“What did you say to Sophia?”
“Nothing,” she states, although the familiar twitch of her mouth indicates
she is lying.
“You’re lying.”
“Just girl talk.”
“Girl talk? You don’t do girl talk, you have no girlfriends,” I say while
rolling my eyes.
“Only because they’re jealous of me,” she snaps.
“Or because you slept with their boyfriends and husbands,” I say
smirking.
“Like you’re so fucking perfect,” she screeches. “You and Sophia can
both stay as far away from me as possible, you’re made for each other.” She
jumps up and runs off crying.
“I’ll take care of it,” Franco says, patting my shoulder.
“Was it something I said?” I ask sarcastically.
“Just give her a break, she’s going through a hard time,” he says while
lighting a cigarette.
“She’s always going through something,” I say bitterly.
“She’s still young. Sometimes emotions get the better of all of us,” he
says with a knowing look.
“It’s lucky you’re my consiglieri, Franco, because if it were anyone else
saying that to me, they would be taking a long walk off that clifftop over
there.”
“I’ll straighten Lucia out.”
“Good luck with that one.”

I leave Franco to console Lucia and make my way to the office. Tysen has
given me some of his men for the move, just in case there are any more leaks
or security threats. Damon and a slightly ashen-faced Dominic pour over
security cameras, ensuring all angles are covered.
“There’s news from the city,” Damon says waiting for me to sit down.
“What?”
“Don Antonio Fazio of Florida is dead, had his throat slit in the night.”
“And?”
“Earlier in the week, he refused to go into money laundering with the
Russians. Later that day, Irish gunmen shot him down.”
“How do you know they were Irish?”
“They had the O’Shea sigil tattooed on their arms.”
“Hardly subtle,” I say rolling my eyes.
“I don’t think it was meant to be subtle; it was meant as a warning. The
Russians and the Irish are collaborating and by the looks of it, they’re getting
closer to New York.”
“Add the Chinese to their list of allies. From what Tysen tells me, they
seem to have also brought off the Triad.”
“You think it was one of their guns that were here last night?”
“I don’t know,” I say, pushing my temple. “It doesn’t seem to make any
sense. Why now?” “Pushing my wife down the stairs hardly sends a message
when we don’t know who the messenger is.”
“I think you and Sophia should get a jet home after the wedding, maybe
being out here in the open isn’t such a good idea.”
“I think you might be right. Plus, I can’t relax here, not knowing what is
happening. Did you find out about my other inquiry?”
“Yeah, we’ve dropped a few breadcrumbs but no bite as of yet.”
“I guess we’ll soon find out if we have any traitors in our midst.”
“About yesterday,” Dominic says clearing his throat.
“You’re not going to tell me you’re a traitor now?” I say, raising my
eyebrow.
“What? No! I fucked up, Don. I’m sorry. I thought the house had been
cleared, and I should have checked before leaving her alone,” he finishes
meekly.
“It’s done, but don’t make that mistake again.”
“Aren’t you going to get ready for the wedding?”
“Yeah, I want all the men ready and armed half an hour before I leave.
Understood?”
“Yes, Don.”
 “She was a dangerous, dangerous girl. A plague. A Mountain of Adamant
who tore the iron from ships, sinking them to their watery graves without a
second thought. With a mere smile and a wrinkle of her nose.”
—Renée Ahdieh

I WALK DOWN THE SPIRAL STAIRCASE AND INTO THE MASTER

BEDROOM.

The bed is empty, but Sophia is nowhere to be found. An unusual flutter

of panic pushes through me.

Unusual because I rarely panic, nothing has made me feel out of control
—until I met her.

“Sophia?” I call her name.

“In here,” she says as her voice carries through the bathroom.
“Are you sure you should be in the tub on your own?”
“Relax, I’m not going to drown under four inches of water,” she says
while smirking. “If you’re so worried, why don’t you come in?” she asks as
she raises her brow seductively, enough for me to feel a familiar tightness in
my groin area.

I strip down and get into the heated water, her eyes never leaving mine as
I get undressed.
“How hot is this fucking water?” I say, pouring in the cold. “It’s like
lava.”
“Just warming myself up for hell,” she chortles.
“I’ve probably got a VIP pass already,” I say turning off the tap.
“I wonder how many other married couples have conversations like this?”
She says, leaning back.

“I don’t think any of them lead the lives we do,” I say quietly, giving her
a small smile.
“Very true.”
“You’re agreeing with me on something?” I say, raising my eyebrow a
fraction
“Must be the after-effects,” she says, then wrinkles her nose.
“What were you arguing with my sister about?” I ask trying to catch her
unaware, so I get an honest answer.
“The stuff I said to you before about you going to whorehouses, I didn’t
realize it wasn’t true,” she stammers. “Why didn’t you correct me?”
“Where did you hear it from?”
“I don’t remember,” she says pulling a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Her voice sounds awkwardly high.
“Liar, I’m going to need you to start being honest with me, Sophia,” I say
slowly and can tell she is lying. How many scumbags have lied to my face
for me not to realize my own wife is trying to hide something from me.

She reaches over for a shampoo bottle, but I pull her by the wrist, so she
is on top of me.
“What was that for?” She asks softly.
“Because you drive me to the edge of my sanity, I don’t want you to
listen to Keira Kavanagh or any fucking body else about me. Make your own
mind up about your husband, even if he is a complete jackass in your eyes.”
“I never said you were,” she says, laughing softly, her green eyes
glittering with mischief.
 “I need you to be honest with me, no secrets. Otherwise, lines will get
blurred, I can’t afford any more enemies.”
“I don’t want to be your enemy,” she says grimacing slightly.
“Neither do I.”
“How come you’re being so soft to me?” She says, eyeing me
reproachfully.
“Because even though you’re a huge, massive pain in the ass, I can’t deny
how much I want to fuck you right now.”
“Even though I look like hell?” She snorts.
“You still look good to me,” I say, kissing her mouth hard.

Black eye or not, she looks radiant. Her skin seems to reflect on the water
as if she is inwardly glowing, and every time she smiles, I can see faint
dimples appear on her cheeks. When I pull away from her mouth, her lips are
swollen, and her eyes are shining with desire. At this point, I knew I would
go to war for this woman, I would kill for her, and I would kill anybody who
even dared to touch her.

She is mine.

“Why did you stop?”

“Just admiring the view,” I reply, moving down her neck. “Perfect body.”
I clamp my mouth over her nipple. “I could suck on these all day.”
“I kind of wish you would,” she says, as her hands wrap around my neck
and her nails scrape down my back. “Jesus!” she moans breathlessly as my
fingers push inside her gently.
“Not quite,” I say playfully, biting her ear. “More like the other one, but
you can call me Rocco.”
“Rocco.” She moans in my ear as her neck arches back.
“Boss, the men are outside waiting for you,” Dominic says from outside
the door.
“Cazzo,” I say, cursing aloud. “I’ll be there in ten!”
“Are we late?” she says while standing up.
“We’ll be fine.” I smack her wet ass as she leans over to get a towel.
“Hey!” She scolds while slapping my hand away playfully.
“I think it’s time we start this marriage properly,” I say, pulling her
towards me as we both towel off.
 “I agree,” she says, smiling up at me.
“Tonight?”
“It’s a date.” She nods.
“I’ll be waiting downstairs when you’re ready.”
“Sure, I’ll try and be quick, although I may need a little extra time for
makeup. I don’t want people to think you’re into the rough stuff.” She
smirks.
“Then they would be very right.” I kiss her hard on the mouth for a
second before relenting and softening the kiss, for which she gives me an
appreciative little gasp.
“Please, go,” she says, putting her hands up in mock defeat.
“I’m going.” I smirk.

I feel a swell of happiness fill me for the first time in days. Rocco has seemed
to have thawed towards me. My little accident, it seems has brought us
together; the only thing that cinches my stomach is when he mentions secrets.

Unfortunately, I have a whole host of them. Rocco knows I had a

boyfriend; he just doesn’t know that I was almost married, and he definitely
doesn’t know who I was almost married to. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to
handle it. Papers would be filed, and I would be sent back home again, or
depending on his reaction it could be much worse than that. Somebody else
would replace me in a heartbeat to be Mrs. Croccifixio De Luca. I was sworn
to secrecy by Papa all those years ago that nobody was to ever find out that it
was the son of the Bratva who I ran away with.

I can’t uphold my ‘no secrets’ promise to Rocco, but I would try harder to
make things work.
The wedding is situated on a hilltop overlooking the sea and mountains. The
idea of an outdoor wedding never appealed to me, but this is beautiful. The
hilltop is softly lit up by lanterns, twenty tables are scattered around an arch
made of white and pink roses, with the table centerpieces having the same
roses as the arch. It wasn’t particularly ostentatious, and mama would hate it,
but I love the idea of having something so intimate and romantic. I didn’t
know who the bride and groom were to Rocco, but they seemed to greet him
warmly. For the first time this trip, he seemed to have a general air of
carefreeness that I hadn’t seen in him. Usually, he looked so rigid and stiff,
but today he had a color in his cheeks, and he looked like a man in his
twenties, not somebody burdened by being a made man.
“What is that look for?” he says smiling at me.
“Can’t I look at my husband?” I say, smirking.
“You keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to have to cut the
evening short and—” He doesn’t finish the sentence.

I turn around and take a sharp intake of breath. Keira Kavanagh is

standing there, literally dressed to kill. She is wearing an emerald green dress
with two hip-high slits, and her blonde hair has been fixed to the top of her
head like a crown. She gives me a superior glacial look and I feel Rocco’s
hold on my hand tighten to stop me from going over to her.
“I’ll handle this,” he whispers in my ear as he walks over to Keira,
leaving me alone.

I watch as he takes her firmly by the arm to one side, she caresses his
bicep but he doesn’t stop her, which infuriates me. He looks up and catches
my eye, and I turn around and walk back into the crowd of people, cursing
the day I ever set my sights on Croccifixio De Luca and Keira Kavanagh.

I inwardly groan when I see Keira standing there. Does she have some kind
of annual wedding pass that she is taking advantage of? I feel Sophia stiffen
beside me, and I grab her hand to stop her from walking over before she even
moves. I can almost see the reel of their exchange from our wedding
replaying in Sophia’s head and the fire beginning to churn inside her chest.

“I’ll handle this,” I say, giving her a meaningful look. She simply frowns
at me, and I can see the betrayal in her eyes as I let go of her hand and walk
over to Keira.

Keira smirks at me as I walk toward her, but her face drops in indignation
as she sees the dark look on my face when I grab her arm tightly and pull her
off to the side.
“Rocco, what a pleasure,” she says smiling sweetly, attempting to pull her
arm out of my grasp.
“What are you doing here?” I say through gritted teeth.
“If I had known you were so desperate to talk to me, I would have come
over. You didn’t need to grab my arm so roughly, although I do know how
you like it,” she says, gleefully as she strokes my bicep. When I look up, I see
Sophia’s gaze burning a hole into me before she disappears into the crowd.
“Oops,” Keira says, giggling. “We had so much to catch up on too.
Maybe we could have compared notes.” She chuckles.
“What are you doing here?” I say and take her to the side of the hill.
“I was invited. Why else would I be here? And if you don’t mind, this is
Chanel,” she says tugging the material out of my hand.
“I do mind, indeed.” I grit my teeth. “I don’t want you at any events that I
am at. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“You really think you can threaten me?” She glares up at me with her
dark brown eyes, her Irish accent thicker now that she is getting worked up.
“I just did. Stay out of my sight,” I hiss at her.
“You can’t threaten me, you know who my father is. One word to him,
and he’ll chop you up into fucking pieces,” she snarls.
“Your father is a washed-up old drunk who hasn’t run his family since
you were a child.”
“Takes one to know one,” she croons. “Isn’t that why we bonded, both let
down by our fathers and both in positions to lead our families better? I
would’ve been the better choice, and you know it. If only you weren’t such a
traditionalist. I was good enough to fuck but not Italian enough to marry,” she
says furiously.
“I wouldn’t have married you if you were the last fucking piece of ass on
this earth. I’m warning you, Keira, stay away from my wife, and if you say
one more fucking filthy thing to her—”
“You’ll what?” she says mockingly.
She doesn’t have time to finish because I reach out and wrap my hand
around her neck, tightening until she’s pale white and her eyes are almost
popping out of her head. “Have I made myself clear?” I say letting go as she
collapses against a tree. “I said, have I made myself clear?” I ask again,
grabbing her roughly by the wrist.
“Yes,” she wheezes.
“Now what you’re going to do is excuse yourself early, take a flight back
home and when you are back in the city, if you ever see me, make sure you
walk in the fucking opposite direction.”
“You bastard,” she says while stroking her throat.
“I’m glad we understand each other.” I walk off to rejoin the party and
my wife.
 “When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one’s self, and one
always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.”
—Oscar Wilde

I PUSH THROUGH THE BUSTLING CROWD OF WEDDING GUESTS,

WANTING TO GET AWAY FROM EVERYBODY.

I stop when I feel an arm reach out to me, and as I turn around, his eyes
twinkle for a moment as I note an ominous familiarity in them.

“Mademoiselle, it is Henri we met at your cousin’s party.”

“Yes, now, I remember. What a surprise to see you here.”
“When you work in similar circles, you are bound to meet all over the
globe.”
“I guess Capri is a lot smaller than New York,” I say smiling at him.
“Mais oui, champagne?” he asks, reaching out to the waiter walking by.
“Sure,” I say as he hands me one flute.
“Working honeymoon, I am guessing?” He says knowingly.
“How did you know?”
 “I could tell by your expression, you appear anxious.”
“I’m fine,” I say, sipping tentatively.
“Makeup can cover many things but not the sadness in your beautiful
eyes.”
“You’re very charming, a real smooth talker.”
“I have my moments. What is it like being the wife of the Don?
Everything you imagined?” He says teasingly.
“The place of dreams, like Disneyworld.”
“I never figured you as Don’s wife,” he says. “You seem… too spirited.”
“Is that code for difficult?” I say smirking.
“No.” He chuckles, “I’ve been around Mafia wives. They’re just walking,
talking Stepford Wives. You’re different.”
“You have a very nice way of putting things. Most people would label it
being a pain in the ass. I guess it must be the French in you. Is it true that
Frenchmen are more passionate than Italians?” I ask, jokingly.
“Less angry perhaps,” he says with a snort.

“I asked your father for your hand, the first night I met you.”
“What?” I say, surprised.
“He told me you were marrying Pietro, so I was most surprised at being
invited to your wedding to Don Rocco.”
“I never knew that,” I say, flushing awkwardly.
“But I did,” a raspy voice says from behind me.
“Don Rocco,” Henri says lightly, not bothering to shield his displeasure.
“Henri, in a corner with my wife again. What a surprise.”
“I am simply keeping her company, it’s not permissible to leave a young
lady on her own in surroundings she isn’t familiar with, Rocco.”
“Your legs will be keeping the rest of you company when I chop you in
half if you ever flirt with my wife again.”
“As you wish Don,” Henri says, his nostrils flaring as if he was going to
say more before walking away.
“Having fun?” Rocco says spinning towards me, and I can see the vein in
his head pulsating with anger.
“As much fun as you were having with your ex or a current fling? I can’t
keep up these days,” I say putting the empty champagne flute on a empty
table.
“Very funny. I told Keira to back off. You should be thanking me.”
 “Thanking you?” I say staring at him coldly. “She couldn’t keep her
hands off you.”
“Green is not a good color on you, baby,” he says smirking.
“I could say the same to you. At least I didn’t threaten to cut her legs off.”
“He needed to be put in his place.”
“We were simply talking.”
“He wants more than that,” he says firmly.
“You never told me he asked for my hand.”
“Why? Does that change things?” he says, his eyebrows shooting up
accusingly.
“Of course not, how did you know about it?”
“I didn’t until just now, I couldn’t let him think I wasn’t in the know.
Why do you want him instead?” He says angrily.
“No, but I don’t want to be part of your dumb tug of war with him
either,” I say while folding my arms.
“Good, I don’t want to have to kill him on our honeymoon.”
“Who says romance is dead?”
“You want romance, huh?”
“Doesn’t every bride?”
“I wouldn’t know, I’m hardly an expert on marriage.”
“Whose been your longest relationship?” I ask curiously.
“My right hand,” he says with a smirk.
“Rocco!” I say poking him in the arm.
“Nothing is going on with Keira, you believe me, right?” He lights up a
cigarette.
“Maybe, I guess,” I mumble.
“I wouldn’t bring someone I’m sleeping with to my honeymoon, and I’m
not going to parade her in front of you like an animal.”
“So, you’ll just do it behind my back?” I snort
“I can say the same for you.” He glances at my covered wrist.
“A tattoo is less offensive than a blow-up barbie.”
“You’re going to fight me on this?”
“Yep,” I say with a smile.
“I think you’re hitting that champagne a little too hard?” He points at the
other flute I’ve just taken off the serving table.
“Nuh-uh, I can handle my liquor.”
“Drinking on an empty stomach is not a wise move.”
 “I’ll be fine. Relax,” I say, sipping serenely.

Despite my remonstrations, I am indeed starting to feel sickly. Rocco takes

one glance at me through dinner and gives me a knowing smirk. I thought
eating would help soak up the alcohol. Instead, it makes me feel much worse.
I can feel the churning within my stomach, making me feel queasy with each
breath.
“Can I top up your drink, Sophia?” Rocco says smiling.
“I’m good. I want to stay sober for later,” I say, returning his benign
smile.
“You think you’re going to be up for that?” he says, snorting.
“A Falcone never breaks their promise.”
“You’re a De Luca.”
“What do they do?”
“Everything they’re’ not meant to.”
“I must be a true De Luca then,” I say, chuckling.
“Just in time for the main meal, succulent and tender roasted lamb leg
seasoned with spicy red peppers and lots of sauce—”
“Excuse me,” I say, standing up.
“Something I said?” Rocco says, smirking.

I hardly have time to answer as I dash for the ladies’ room, barely making it
there in time before my head is in the toilet. Luckily, I manage to keep my
outfit and hair away from the toilet basin. I lean against the cold wall once
I’m done, vowing never to touch another drop of alcohol again. My throat
feels like sandpaper, and I have a brutal headache that feels like somebody
has hit me over the head with a hammer repeatedly.
 “Sophia?” a voice calls out.
“Sophia can’t come to the phone right now,” I say clutching my head.
“Sophia, it’s Lucia.”
“I hope you haven’t come to argue with me again. I don’t have it in me,”
I say weakly.
“Rocco sent me, open the door.”
“You don’t want to see this,” I mumble.
“You’re talking to the hangover queen, sweetie. If my night doesn’t end
up with my head in the toilet, it isn’t a good night.”
“I’ll be fine, enjoy your evening.”
“Sophia, it’s either I come in or Rocco does.”

I click open the door and she clucks over me like a mother hen. “I’ll have
you sorted it out in a jiffy.”
“Jiffy? Since when did you become Mary Poppins?”
“People have been wiping sick off my face for years, I’m giving back to
the community,” she says smugly.
“Lucia, about earlier—”
“It’s fine.”
“I didn’t know that about your father, if I did—”
“I don’t care about him. He didn’t care about me or Rocco at all, just
don’t hurt my brother, okay? I know he’s the all-big and scary Don most of
the time, but deep down he’s a solid guy.”
“I know,” I say awkwardly.
“Don’t make getting smashed a habit, it will remind him too much of me,
his bastard step-sister who he has to keep bailing out,” she says with a wink.
“He cares about you, even if he doesn’t say it. It’s just how he is.”
“True, let’s reapply your makeup, brush your teeth and then you’ll be
good to go. Stick to water the rest of the night,” she says warningly.
“Thanks, Lucia,” I say sheepishly. “You can’t even tell my head was
down the toilet. Nice work.”
“Smashed girl chic is my specialty.”

Rocco gives me a small victorious smile as I sit beside him. “Anything

you want to say to me?”
“I’m starving,” I say hopefully.
“That is not quite the words I was looking for.” He waves to the waiter.
“What do you want?”
“I thought it was menu only.”
“Clearly, you forgot who you’re with. What do you want?”
“Honestly, I want pizza and fries. The greasier, the better.” I say rubbing
my empty stomach.
“You heard her,” he says giving the waiter by the table a bundle of notes.
“Thanks,” I say awkwardly.
“Don’t thank me, I’m just making sure you’re not calorie deficient for
later,” he whispers seductively into my ear, making every hair on my neck
stand on end.

I watch her in amusement as she hungrily bites into the pizza. It’s as if she
hasn’t eaten in days. She admits to me that I had been right about the
drinking, but I never expected her to. I have never abstained from sex for so
long but tonight that will absolutely be remedied, and maybe in some fucked
up way it’s better we waited.
“Feel better?” I say amusedly.
“Lots,” she says with her mouth still full and grease all around it. “Did
you send Lucia to see me?”
“Yeah, if anyone is an expert in being drunk, it’s her. She fixed you up
good.”
“And I guess you thought it would be a good way to get us talking
again?” she says, raising her eyebrow a fraction.
“Honestly, I don’t care whether you and Lucia talk. I would much prefer
it if she didn’t talk to me either,” I say dryly.
“You have a lot of enemies already, Rocco, let’s make the most of the
people in our corner. She’s your sister, and she loves you so much, she nearly
tore my head off in defense of you.”
“Our corner?” I say smiling at her.
“We’re officially a ‘we’.” She shrugs.
“Does that mean you consider yourself as a De Luca now?”
“Sure, I was never much of a Falcone in Papa’s eyes anyway. You know
as well as I do, I can’t keep my mouth shut and I don’t listen to anyone,” she
says, rolling her eyes.
“Maybe that’s what makes you different.”
“Maybe that is what makes me a problem.”
“My problem. I don’t know what happened with you and your family
before, but they can’t hurt you now.” I narrow my eyes, detecting a secret
lurking behind her green ones.

“What about you? Are you going to hurt me?” she asks, taking me off
guard.

Before he can answer my question, I see a man walking toward us. He

doesn’t say anything initially, but danger seems to be written all over his
face, like an invisible marker. I look at Rocco but he is unusually smiling and
walks over to embrace him for a couple of seconds. When they break apart, I
see genuine warmth in Rocco’s smile.

“You must be the famous Sophia Falcone,” he says in a deep voice.

“De Luca,” Rocco corrects him.
“Tysen Hatim,” he says taking my hand into his, which feels like stiff
leather stitched back together again. “Scars,” he says as if reading my mind
and giving me a bone-crushing handshake.
 “Falling for him would be like cliff diving. It would be either the most
exhilarating thing that ever happened to me or the stupidest mistake I’d ever
make.”
—Colleen Houck

WHEN HIS GAZE MEETS MINE, I FEEL AN UNUSUAL SENSE OF

TREPIDATION TAKE OVER ME.

He has an intimidating presence that makes me want to look away from

his eyes that seem to read me so thoroughly.

His eyes are tinged with hazel and green contrasting with his tanned skin
tone. His mouth is set in a hard line like he’s always ready for a fight.

“Famous or infamous?” I ask, returning his appraising look.

“I think I like you already,” Tysen says with a smirk.
“I need to make a call to New York. I will be back in a second,” Rocco
says, walking off in low conversation with Dominic.
“Is your wife here, too?” I ask primly.
 “Wife? Christ, no, I have no intention of being locked down in any way
through either incarnation or marriage. Congratulations on the nuptials,
though,” he says coolly.
“How do you know Rocco?” I ask.
“We’ve known each other since we were kids. He spent many summers in
Las Vegas with my brothers and me. Lots of stories that would make your
ears burn.” He smirks.
“I’ll bet.”
“You’re a sassy little thing, aren’t you?” he says, clearly amused.
“Did you expect Rocco to marry someone a little demurer?” I ask smiling
back at him.
“I didn’t consider Rocco the marrying type at all, I guess things change.”
“They do indeed.” I say, musingly.
“You’re the daughter of the Mafia, that’s for damn fucking sure. I bet you
keep Rocco on his toes.”
“That would be telling,” I say nonchalantly.
“What are you guys talking about?” Rocco says walking back in.
“Small talk,” Tysen says smiling.
“Tysen!” a shrill female voice calls from behind me.

I spin around to see an olive-skinned woman with folded arms staring at

Tysen with a scowl on her face. She glares at the close proximity between
Tysen and me, and I am already aware she has gotten the wrong impression
by the venomous look she is giving me.

“Persia, I told you to wait in the villa,” his voice says irritably as he
shoots her expression of annoyance.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” she asks pointedly.
“You’re my assistant. What the fuck do I need to introduce you for?”

Assistant my ass, there is no way this relationship is platonic. I glance

over at Rocco and he shakes his head at me as if to say this is a typical
exchange for Tysen.

“Fine, I’ll wait upstairs then,” she says through gritted teeth.
“You’ll be waiting on the fucking trash heap if you come in and try to
dictate to me again,” he says sharply. “You ever look at Don Rocco’s wife
like that again, and it will be the last fucking thing you do. Apologize,” he
demands, the iciness radiating off his voice.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” she mutters as her face flushes, and she
quickly leaves the room.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say awkwardly.
“She needs to know her place,” he mutters irritably.
“You’re all charm, Tysen,” Rocco says, returning.
“We didn’t get to catch up, old man. Why don’t you come and spend
some time in Las Vegas? I guess you could bring the ball and chain, too.” He
sighs.
“You’re too generous,” I say sarcastically.
“Where I go, she goes. You could always come to New York?” Rocco
says, smirking.
“I hate winter and snow, you know that motherfucker. Come and see me,
Las Vegas is the only place to be on New Years Eve.
“Sounds like a plan,” Rocco says as Tysen disappears into the crowd.
“What?” I say looking at Rocco’s bemused expression.
“Seems like you have a fan,” he chortles.
“He just referred to me as a ball and chain.”
“Trust me, he could have said worse. You saw him in action, he doesn’t
exactly mince is words.”
“You would have let him speak to me like that?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be thinking it.”
“Smooth.” I chuckle.
“Shall we stay a little longer or do you want to end the evening early?”
He says quietly.
“I’m ready to leave now,” I say while folding my napkin up slowly and
giving him a meaningful look, knowing that I am ready to take the next step
with him.
“Good, so am I,” he says, giving me his best devilish smile. “Give me a
second.” He stands up and I watch him walk up to the top table and shake the
hand of the groom as well as some of the other men before circling back to
me.

He walks back slowly and indicates for my hand, which I give him. He
pulls me through the throng of wedding guests, his fingers tightly intertwined
with mine, until we reach the other side of the hilltop where a huge car is
parked.

“Where are we going?” I say, frowning, noting a car on the hilltop that
seems out of place amongst the greenery.
“The original plan was to go back to New York after the wedding, but I
figured we could spend one more night here. What do you think?” he asks,
leaning on the hood of the car.
“You want to spend the night in the car?” I snort.
“I can’t deny getting you in the backseat would definitely be a night to
remember, but I was thinking of something a bit classier. I’ve got a place up
in the mountains, it’s nice and discreet.”
“Discreet?” I say curiously
“Where nobody can hear you scream,” he says, smirking.
“You’ve definitely piqued my interest, but where are Dominic and
Damon? You never go anywhere without them.”
“Only Franco knows where I am tonight, I don’t want to be disturbed. I
can handle myself.”
“Not that I am complaining but I thought they are your closest men.”
“Just because someone is close to you, doesn’t mean they can’t betray
you. In fact, it means you’re just an easier target because you never see it
coming.”
“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?” I say, shaking my head.
“It’s better to be prepared for everything.” He jumps off the hood and
opens the door for me to get in before he follows me.
“Let’s go, Alfredo.” He nods at the driver.
“So, you just start with a low expectation and expect them to meet it,” I
say, putting my seatbelt on.
“Pretty much,” he says, loosening his tie.
“Has anyone surprised you?”
“Not yet.”
“Sounds like a challenge.”
“A challenge, indeed.”
“Where is this place?” I look out the window as we drive up a winding
mountain road. “It feels like we’re not even in Capri anymore.”
“Like I said, I wanted to get away, spend a little alone time,” he says,
placing his hand on my leg.
“Sugarcoating what you really want tonight, hm?”
 “I don’t sugarcoat anything.” His hand slides higher.
“Rocco,” I scold, indicating at the driver.
“I don’t like to share.” He chuckles. “We’re here now anyway.”

Its rustic appearance is different from the grandeur of the villa, but it has
more of a homelier feeling.
“A step down from your usual taste?” he says, glimpsing at me for a
reaction.
“I like it.” I smile at him.
“Good,” he says, pleased.
The interior is a modern decor despite its outward appearance. Rocco
carries the bags in and shuts the door. The only sound that can be heard are
the low chirping of crickets.
“So, we really are in the middle of nowhere, huh?” I say as I make for the
stairs.
“No distractions.” He slaps my ass as I walk up the stairs.
His cell phone rings, and I hear him groan behind me. “I thought you said
no distractions.”
“I know, I’ll be quick.”
“Can’t you just ignore it?”
“Just pretend you’re married to a doctor and I’m on call. Get ready for
me, I won’t be long,” he says, kissing me quickly on the lips.

I sit down on the bed, anxiety, and excitement pulsating through me. Do I
get undressed now or wait? I lean back on the headboard and watch the clock
tick while feeling my eyelids droop with every minute that passes by.

“I understand,” I say, repeating myself for the fiftieth time.

 Why does my supplier from Colombia have to call me at this very
second? Part of me is glad he did because the Russians have started burning
down warehouses to sabotage the Italians which is a big fucking problem.

There is little I can do until I get back to New York, but Javier doesn’t
seem to grasp that. It is almost coming up to an hour on this call and I know I
must end it as soon as possible if I want to rescue the rest of the night.
“Ese, you need to give us more protection,” he says worriedly.
“I will, I’ll get Franco to call you tomorrow from New York, okay? I
have something I need to attend to now.”

I click off, almost tearing off the door handle as I exit the office.
“Sophia?” I say, but there is no reply. “Sophia?” I walk into the bedroom, but
she is lying there fast asleep, still fully dressed. For one savage moment, I
consider waking her, but I decide against it and cover her up with one of the
blankets on the side.
Rather than another date in a cold shower, I make a few business calls
and open a bottle of whisky. I look out the window, but the night is so dark
that I can barely make out anything. Only the pale moon provides dim light.
The door creaks as it opens slowly, a dark shadow forming across the room. I
grip my gun and turn around quickly, expecting the worst.

“Are you going to shoot me?” Sophia says in a calm voice.

“I didn’t expect you,” I reply, hastily putting the gun away.
“Clearly.” She raises an eyebrow.
“What are you doing up?” I say, rubbing my eye with the back of my
hand.
“I promised you a night to remember so here I am,” she says slowly while
shrugging off her silk gown to reveal red lacy underwear.

She gives me a small smile, almost reading the pleasure on my face as I

lean back on my desk and take in the sight in front of me. Jesus Christ, with a
body like hers, she could turn a saint into a sinner. Lucky for me, I am
already one.

“You’re not too tired?” I say slowly.

“No, I’m all yours,” she says, walking towards me slowly and positioning
herself between my legs.
“Really?” I say as fiery possession blazes through me.
“Really,” she says softly, staring up at me.
“Get on your knees, I want you to put my cock in your mouth,” I say
huskily, watching as she bends down slowly.

I unbutton my belt buckle and let my pants drop to my knees without

leaving her eyes once. She nestles herself between my thighs as I feel her
heaving breasts push against them as her mouth reaches into me. I let out a
small groan as her tongue touches the tip of my cock. She licks the tip
delicately each time, her hot breath leaving me frustrated.
“Put it in your mouth, take every inch of it,” I command, gazing down on
her.
Her mouth suctions me in, and I let out a more resounding groan as I hit
the back of her throat, cursing wildly in Italian as she continues to take me
deeper. Every swirl of her tongue over my cock pushes me closer to the edge,
and she knows it. Our eyes meet, and I pull her hair, tightly wrapping it
around my fist as I direct her mouth, running a finger against her throat as she
takes me deeper.
“Fuck I’m going to come,” I say, gritting my teeth.
She looks up at me, confused, wanting to continue but I stop her. “I need
to come inside you,” I say in a low voice as she detaches herself from me.

I love the feeling of her thick ponytail wrapped around my wrist as she
deepthroats me. I didn’t want to come in her mouth. There will be time for
that later. I pick her up roughly by her legs, ripping off her underwear before
I even make it into the bedroom. Her bare sex is rubbing against my stomach,
and the wetness against me makes it hard to contain myself. I throw her down
on the bed and climb on top of her, opening her legs. A ravenous sense of
possession overcomes me that I’ve never experienced before.

I need to own her.

 “If everything seems under control, you’re just not going fast enough.”
—Mario Andretti

HE OPENS MY LEGS WIDE AND CLIMBS BETWEEN THEM, HIS

FACE LOOMING OVER MINE.

Our lips are only inches apart from each other, and before I have a chance
to say anything, his mouth comes down on me hard.

His faint stubble providing friction against my skin, each kiss more
dominant and intoxicating than the last. His fingers push into my already wet
pussy one by one, probing deeper a little each time as I writhe powerlessly
underneath him.

“Tell me you’re on the pill,” he says, suddenly looking up.

“No,” I say truthfully.
“I thought your Ma would have sorted all that shit out.” He sighs
exasperatedly.
“We don’t have those types of conversations, so just use a condom.
There’s a stack in the bedroom stand, I checked.”
“Fine, but you’re going on the pill as soon as we get home. I’m not using
a condom with my wife.”
“Should I be honored?” I smirk.
“Yes, I’ve never done that with anyone. Ever.”
I nearly ask about Keira but think better of it. He pulls on the condom and
lines himself up against me.
“Tell me, if I’m too rough with you. Sometimes I get a little caught up in
the moment,” he says, leaning down on me with his elbows propped up on
either side of me.
“Okay.” I feel him push slowly inside me, the pain I can only describe as
the feeling of an elastic band being pulled and then released.
“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He groans as he pulls out then pushes back again
slowly.

I gasp a little as he pushes deeper inside me. Even though I am a novice, I can
tell he is heavily endowed. It feels like he is rearranging my organs every
time he moves inside of me.
“Soph,” he says, using his nickname for me as his breathing gets more
labored. He kisses me again, his tongue pressing against mine, fighting for
dominance in my mouth. “I need to go faster,” he says, looking at me for
permission.
I nod at him as his movements become more fast-paced and a thin sheen
of sweat coats him. I feel one final twinge of pain which is replaced by the
strange sensation of an expanding feeling inside me as Rocco collapses
beside me.
“Fuck,” he says, reaching for his cigarette and lighter.

He doesn’t say anything for a minute before passing me the cigarette

which strangely seems to release some of the tension in my body as I inhale
deeply.
“Where are you going?” he asks while pulling on my wrist possessively.
“Bathroom, I’ll be back.”
 I notice a few droplets of blood on my inner thighs, which I wash off, but
aside from that there is little pain, just a soreness that I assume will go away
in time. I stare at myself in the mirror, I don’t appear any different than
before. Perhaps my eyes look a little brighter and my lips are more flushed
from Rocco’s rough kisses but there are no neon signs that say ‘non-virgin’. I
walk back into the room and Rocco is still lying down.

“Come here,” he says pulling me on his lap. “Higher.” He pushes me

forward until I am sitting on his face, his muscular arms holding me in place.
“Rocco,” I say as my neck arches back and his tongue pushes into me.
“You finally know my name then,” he says, stopping.
“Don’t stop,” I say as I push against him until I feel expended with pools
of moisture. Waves of pleasure consume me as I finally reach my climax.
“You were worth waiting for,” he says lustfully. “You taste so fucking
good.” He pulls me in for a kiss.
My hands reach around his neck as my nails drag across his back, making
him moan in my mouth. “Rocco,” I murmur again as his hands cup my ass
squeezing me.
“I want you to ride my cock,” he says pulling back from the kiss.

I lower myself onto him gingerly, as he unwraps another condom and

sheathes up. I gasp slowly as I feel the tip of his cock against my opening,
sliding slowly within me. I move gradually against him, trying to build up
momentum. Each movement evokes a dull soreness in me but in a twisted
way I enjoy it, the pain bringing me closer to pleasure. Rocco’s mouth locks
on my nipples as he bites and sucks in alternate motions.

I can feel a familiar motion building from my abdomen, each with every
kiss, touch, and caress. I can also feel Rocco is close to his climax too by the
sudden harshness of his breaths as he holds on to my hips controlling every
movement as I ride him. Finally, I feel the sudden jerk of his body against my
hips as he climaxes and I follow him momentarily, floods of ecstasy coursing
through my body. Neither of us speaks for a minute, and all I can hear is the
sound of my own heartbeat ricocheting against my rib cage. I look up at
Rocco and he has a strange expression on his face but doesn’t say anything as
I slowly extract myself from his body.
I want every single one of her firsts, I need complete possession over her.
When we return to New York, I will get the family physician to make sure
she is on the pill, for a couple of months anyway. It takes every inch of my
willpower not to come as I enter her, she is so goddamn tight and wet it
almost sends me over the edge.

I am trying to go slow, attempting to be gentle against every being of my

nature. Her nails scratching hard against my back are the only indicators I
have of her pain levels. She recognizes my need to go faster and gives me a
little nod to continue and I feel her gasp as I finally breach her tight walls.

Fuck, it feels so good as her legs wrap around me and I push in and out of
her. I can sense she has gotten used to it as her body stops tensing and rocks
against me gently as I come inside her. I could do this all night and all day.
Now that I have tasted her, nothing else seems appetizing to me anymore.
When she gets up, I instinctively capture her wrist so that she stays, the
craving starting up again. She rides my face like the pro she is, her hands
tugging through my hair as her body arches back in pleasure. Every taste of
her becomes more addictive than the last, as I pull her down onto my cock
watching her ride me slowly.

I watch her breasts bounce in my face until I cover them with my tongue
and hand. My fingers slowly circle her asshole making her eyes brighten in a
pleasure she never knew existed. I observe as her body finally brings her to
climax, shuddering on top of me as she rolls over me, exhausted. With a
strange realization, I know she has gotten under my skin and the thought of
her not returning that feeling is more terrifying than the person who is trying
to kill me.
We were meant to leave the cabin the next morning, but we don’t leave for
two days after that. In fact, every time I so much as want to leave the
bedroom, I feel Rocco’s strong arms pulling me back to bed. I don’t
remember a time before sex with Rocco; everything else seems to fade into
obscurity. Sleeping, eating, and even showering were all just obstacles
keeping me away from his body.

I suddenly am in the bubble of Croccifixio De Luca. He is the last face I

saw at night and the first one I saw when I woke. Not that we were sleeping
much. I frequently felt Rocco’s lips on mine either late at night or early in the
morning when he wanted my body.

Sometimes it was I who awoke craving him. He enjoyed when I would

wake him up with my hands caressing him, showing how much, I needed
him. I was almost repulsed at myself at how much willpower I had when it
came to Rocco. Suddenly I had become a slave to my own desires. I was even
more surprised that my appetite for sex sometimes surpassed his, and things
that I would have never considered were willingly done for him.

There is no part of my body that he hadn’t made his territory, and in the
short time that we spent together he made me his in every way. There was an
illicit part of me that enjoyed him pulling my hair tightly as he thrusted inside
of me from behind or spending hours in the jacuzzi riding every inch of his
face until I could no longer come. Even though the cabin was fairly small, we
had fucked in every single room. Even by the lake, which we were lucky to
be the only inhabitants.

This isn’t love; I had been in love before that was innocent and pure.
This, on the other hand was raw and primal, going beyond the rationale of my
head or my heart. It was forbidden and it almost felt dirty how I wanted him
so much. There was a part of me that was relieved to leave the cabin because
I felt that if I plunged down the rabbit hole anymore, I would never come
back. On the other hand, returning to New York would probably mean the
return of “Don Croccifixio,” the other side of Rocco.

The flight back to New York is much more enjoyable than the one going
to Capri; it is only Rocco, myself, and Franco. The other men have gone back
to New York with Lucia. Rocco’s hand stayed possessively on my knee
throughout the entire journey, his way of showing physical affection to me
without anybody deciphering the meaning.
 “There are three sides to every story. Mine, yours and the truth.”
—Joe Massino

I LEAN INTO HIM HALF-WAY THROUGH THE FLIGHT, INHALING

HIS FAMILIAR MUSK.

At first, I feel him stiffen, but then he lifts his arm, allowing me to fall
into the nook of it.

The newspaper he’s reading comes into focus, and I feel my body tense
looking at the headline.

“What?” He asks, looking at my expression.

“You didn’t tell me New York and Chicago were on the verge of another
war,” I say in a small voice.
“Yeah, it’s been a long time coming.” He exhales deeply. “Your old man
never told me what he did to win last time. We could really use some of that
this time around. These fuckers are getting brave.” He says angrily.
“Mhmm,” I say, feeling a sickness rise inside of me.
 “Don’t be afraid, it will all get straightened out one way or another,” he
says, mistaking my response.
“It’s not that,” I say.
“What is it then?” He turns his head to look at me quizzically.

For a second, I consider telling him about Anton, about Illinois, about the real
reason I am afraid of another war, but I don’t. Before, I was fearful of my
papa’s reaction if I started telling people. Now I am afraid of the juggernaut
of an impact this will have on Rocco. His one rule is not to lie to him, and I
have already done that and am still doing that. If he finds out about Anton, he
won’t want me. I can almost picture the disgust on his face if he ever finds
out that I almost married one of his enemies, a Russian. The Bratva are
responsible for the many deaths in Rocco’s territories and they are killing
more men with each day that passes. He will never be able to get over it, we
will never get over it. Despite my internal protestations, I am falling for
Rocco. Every step towards him is a step away from my past but the past has a
funny way of pulling you back into line each time you want to run from it.

It’s funny how a week ago I was ready to wave the white flag and admit
defeat, but now I can’t imagine a worser fate than being away from him. I
physically feel a sear of pain run through me at the thought of not waking up
to him every morning. I no longer have the Falcone name strangling the life
out of me, being with Rocco has eased the burden of my past. There is
already a thin line between my life before Rocco and after Rocco. Only I can
notice the small differences between the girl who woke up every night in a
cold sweat dreaming about bloody weddings and the almost identical girl
beside her who wakes up nightmare free in the arms of her husband.
“I just don’t want there to be another war.” I avoid his gaze entirely and
concentrate on the newspaper.
“They rarely touch wives and kids,” he says, still watching me.
“Rarely? So, there might be a chance I’ll be eighty-sixed,” I say
dramatically. “You sure you’re not trying to kill me off so you can be single
again?” I smirk.
“No, too much paperwork,” he says, returning my smile.
“Plus, I’m irreplaceable, you’d miss me too much,” I reply.
“Parts of you, for sure.” He lets his eyes drift down to my chest.
“Going to pretend you’re referring to my generous heart.”
“Generous something,” he mutters, returning to his newspaper. “Before I
forget, your Ma wants you to visit her when you get back.”
“Why?” I frown. “Did something happen?”
“No, but did you think they were not going to see you again?”
“I didn’t really think about it,” I say shrugging.
“They probably want to make sure you’re okay, not being held against
your will or tied up to my bed.” He snorts.
“Well, not right now I’m not,” I say chuckling.
“The night is young.” He squeezes my knee.
“Are things going to change now that we’re back?” I say in a small voice.
“What do you mean?”
“Are you going to go back to being cold and jerky?”
“No, are you going to go back to being bratty and bitchy?”
“You only say that because I wasn’t falling at your feet like—” I stop
before the words Keira Kavanagh come out.
“We’re going to be living together. I never wanted to live with anyone
before, but for you, I made an exception because I wanted to. Because I want
you, nobody else,” he says, putting the paper down.
“What about Angela?”
“What about her?”
“You chose her before you chose me, doesn’t that mean something?”
“I didn’t choose her, it was part of the contract. When Angela walked
away from the engagement, your pops offered me millions in consolation, but
I said I only wanted you or nothing. He doubled, tripled, and threw
everything at me but I didn’t want it. After meeting you that night, I didn’t
want anyone else.”
“He never said that to me,” I say blushing. “He said that you settled for
me even though you knew I had a boyfriend before.”
“He’s a jackass.”
“I know,” I say awkwardly.
“For once you’re speechless.” He says, raising his eyebrow a fraction.
“There is a lot to take in.”
“So, are you going to visit your Ma tomorrow? Damon can take you. I
don’t want you wandering the city alone.”
“Maybe not tomorrow. I have plans.”
“Define plans?” His jaw clenches.
“Relax, I’m not running off into the sunset.” I say rolling my eyes.
“What then?”
“I’m having a consultation about laser tattoo removal,” I say, pushing my
bracelet further up my arm to uncover the inking.
“You are? How come?” He looks surprised.
“Because I did this a long time ago when it meant something to me and
now things have changed. Besides, your face screws up every time you see
it.”
“It doesn’t mean anything now?” He asks slowly.
“It’s kind of a reminder I don’t want, but I kept it there as a warning.”
“What kind of warning?”
“Never to fall for someone again.”
“Did it work?” he says in a low voice.
“No.” I say as our eyes meet, I’m disappointed that he doesn’t say
anything in return. “You want me to take it off, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do,” he says firmly.
“Then I’ll do it for you.”
“Good,” he says, flashing me a devilish smile.

I am surprised that she folds over the tattoo. I have a feeling that if I had
asked her about it a week ago, she would have likely told me to go fuck
myself, but things have changed. I can feel her warming up to me more,
maybe it had been correcting the bullshit Paolo had told her about being a
consolation prize to Angela Rossi. In that second, I think she viewed me a
little differently, maybe she realized that it was a little more than business
that made me put everything on the line for her.

Truth be told, I couldn’t imagine being married to Angela. Maybe I

would have been more inclined to keep Keira on the sly if the wedding did go
ahead, that was the original plan as to why Angela would have stayed in a
separate apartment in the city. There is no way I would have pulled that with
Sophia even before Keira’s actions at the wedding. The night we spent in the
cabin solidified a change of pace in our relationship. I enjoyed fucking her in
all different ways that made her body arch and scream. Watching her eyes
light up in satisfaction for every new position I taught her was stroking my
ego. I had conquered her body, listening to her moan my name as she came
for the millionth time or hearing her whisper in my ear late at night for
another round of fucking was something I had begun to get used to.

If it weren’t for Franco driving up to the cabin, we would still be there. I

had seemed to have lost all concept of time and focus. For the first time in a
while, I hadn’t thought about work, picked up my phone in days, or even
answered a call. My mind seemed hellbent on procrastination. For someone
who formally scoffed at the idea of sharing a bed with someone, it was all I
did that weekend, and long after the multiple rounds of sex, I stayed next to
her all night watching her sleep. Things had changed between us, and I
couldn’t understand why. Maybe it was her submission that made me realize
she wanted me as much as I wanted her. I wasn’t a chaser; I wasn’t going to
be second-best to whoever it was that was still on her mind, but it was the
satisfaction of watching her get on her knees for me that was the game
changer.

“It feels like home should be,” she says standing outside my house in Long
Beach. I was awaiting her opinion with bated breath knowing how blunt she
is was about things.
“What do you mean?” I ask her, cocking my eyebrow.
 “My house—my old house was just cold and empty. It used to freak me
out because it was so white and veneer. It should have been red because that
is what it was built on, decades of bloodshed.” She sighs.
“You do know who you’re married to, right?” I shrug.
“You’re not as bad as my papa. Nobody is,” she says, looking down.
“I’m almost starting to think you like me,” I say trying to cut the tension.
“I would say you’re probably drunk,” she says, smiling. “Actually, you
hardly drink. I’ve seen you nurse the same drink for hours.”
“How do you know that?” I say, surprised.
“Daughters of the Mafia are taught to observe from a young age.”
“What else have you learned about me?”
“That you don’t like to lose control… but who knows, maybe you might
enjoy it,” she says, kissing me gently on the lips.

Even though it had been a little over a month since we married, being back in
my parent’s house makes it seem like it’s been longer. Long Beach is my
home, and New York makes me itch to be away from the suffocation of the
city.
“Well, tell us what’s been happening?” Mama says, looking at me
expectantly.
“Tell us about the wedding night? Was I wrong about him?” Zia laughs
croakily.
“It was fine,” I mumble, flushing slightly.
“You look tired, worn out even,” Mama says, nodding. “I guess that
means Croccifixio is being satisfied.”
“Ma!” I say, putting my hands over my ears. “I’m not having this
conversation with you!”
“All is well,” Zia says nodding knowingly.
“Has Croccifixio asked you to start trying for an heir yet?” Mama asks.
“Trying?” Zia scoffs. “By the size of him he wouldn’t have to try hard,”
she says while lighting a cigarette.
“It’s barely been a month, Ma, I’m just settling in there.”
 “Well, don’t wait too long, you don’t want him getting ideas.”
“Like what?”
“There’s always other women waiting to take your place, don’t give them
the chance.”
“Oh, Ma,” I grimace, putting my head in my hands, trying to get the
horrible images out of my head.
“I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand
in a fire and not be consumed.”
—A.S Byatt

ROCCO’S FAMILY PHYSICIAN PRESCRIBED ME WITH THE

CONTRACEPTIVE PILL AS SOON AS WE GOT HOME.

Although I was sleeping with him already, it was more intimate having
nothing to separate our bodies.

He took my hesitation as thinking he was still sleeping around, to which

he assured me that he hadn’t slept with anyone else. I was waiting for him to
say he wasn’t planning to either, but he didn’t. I’m sure he knew I was
waiting for those words, but they just seemed to sit in between us awkwardly.

How could I say that although it’s customary for him to have a side piece,
I don’t want him to, because I want to be enough for him. I guess some things
are better left unsaid.
 The first night we slept together minus the sheath, I finally understood
why Rocco was so keen to do this. I could feel every inch of him stretching
out my flesh as he pushed inside me, our two bodies fusing together as one
without any material coming in between us.

“I love fucking you raw,” he moaned in my ear as he climaxed. He had

never outrightly said I love you, and neither had I.
He loved my body; he loved fucking me but never quite me as a person or
as his wife. It wasn’t romance, it wasn’t soft and special, but there still
seemed to be something I couldn’t put my finger on. What did I expect? Sex
was just another business transaction included in the marriage contract. Could
I expect someone I barely knew to develop deep feelings for me?

A couple of weeks later, I was back home visiting Mama and Zia. Rocco was
busy with some club business, so it was a perfect opportunity to see the
family and go into the city for some much-loved retail therapy.

“Are you cooking for him?” Mama asks, eyeing me hawkishly.

“Yes, Ma,” I say exasperatedly as my fingers trace the beaded cover on
the couch cushion.
“Good, he won’t have any cause for complaints if you’re doing your
wifely duties,” she says, sniffing approvingly. “$5000 for shoes?” she yells,
outraged, after looking in one of my shopping bags.
“They’re Giuseppe Zanotti, Ma. Am I here for a visit or interrogation?” I
snap.
“Interrogation? So dramatic. I just wanted to ensure everything was going
fine. I know how your mouth often gets you into trouble.” She gives me a
questioning look.
“Well, Rocco doesn’t seem to mind,” I say, smiling demurely.

Mama frowns at me as if trying to read between the lines. Did she think
Rocco would be bored of me already? I want to make a joke about Mafia
wives, but I swallow it. Instead, I just have to simply accept that we are
always going to have different outlooks.

“She’s already got him under manners,” Zia says, nodding. “These men
may think they’re the head of the family, but the women are the necks. They
control where the head turns. Remember that, and you’ll have a good
marriage,” she says, hiccupping.
“How many times have you been married, Zia?” I ask curiously.
“Three times, and I’m not ruling out a fourth.” She chuckles.
“Dio Mio!” Mama says, crossing her chest.
“Can’t you come here more often instead of leaving me with this one?”
Zia sighs.
“Maybe, we’ll see,” I say, privately thinking I would rather cut down my
visits. “Where are my brothers?” I say awkwardly, trying to change the
subject conversation.
“Gennaro and Claudio are with your father, Massimo is out… With that
whore probably.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t fixed him up with one of papa’s friend’s
daughters.”
“Soon, let him have his five minutes of fun first,” she says airily.
“I’ve got an appointment in the city, I’ve got to run.” I say hastily.
“We’ll await the dinner invitation at Long Beach,” Ma says, slyly.
“But don’t forget to visit us again soon,” Zia says, cradling me as I pinch
my nostrils to block the pungent alcohol smell.

I walk out of the house, feeling a sense of relief that I am no longer living
there. Just one visit has made me realize just how much I have blossomed
being free from the oppressive nature of my parents.

“Where are you?” Rocco says as my phone buzzes, and I answer.

“I just left my parents’ house. They’re expecting a dinner invitation
soon.”
“What did you say?” He asks hesitantly.
“Nothing, I could hardly say I would rather put my head in the oven than
have them over for dinner.” I say sarcastically.
“Well, I can.” He snorts. “I can imagine your ma wiping her fingers over
the countertops looking for dust.”
“I wonder how long we can put it off for,” I say, exhaling out slowly.
“Maybe they’ll forget about it.”
“Hopefully, but my ma has a memory like an elephant, so I doubt it.”
“Are you on your way home?”
“I’ve got a hair appointment, so I’ll be back later.”
“Don’t stay in the city too late, it’s not safe after dark. I would be happier
if you let Damon be your driver.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard, I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, I’ll be home late. I have work to do,” he says smoothly.

I don’t ask what work he is doing, and he doesn’t tell me. I am fully
aware of what line of work it probably is. Rocco never gave details of what
he was doing over the phone, he was always aware that there might be
someone listening to things they shouldn’t be. Although I knew what Rocco
did for a living, his presence was never as threatening or as suffocating as
Papa’s. When we first came back from Capri, I was holding my breath that
there would be nights when he didn’t come home or times when I wouldn’t
know what he was doing, but Rocco has always been straight with me.
Something that has erupted an inkling of guilt for which I can’t do the same.

“What do you want for dinner?”

“As long as you’re the one that’s cooking, anything.” He chuckles.
“My ma will be happy that you like my cooking.”
“I like it a little too much. I need to up my cardio if I’m going to keep
eating your meals.”
“I have a few ideas to improve your cardio levels.” I reply, invitingly.

“Something to think about tonight,” I say smirking as I hang up the call.

“Aren’t they adorable?” Damon says mockingly, glancing at me
sideways.
“What?” I say impassively, in an effort to brush off their teasing.
“Paolo must be thrilled,” Franco muses. “I would have imagined he
thought that you and Sophia wouldn’t have lasted longer than a couple of
weeks and he’d be able to monetize from your separation.”
“I like to disappoint, especially him,” I growl, thinking of how he
deceived Sophia by saying she was my second choice.
“I didn’t peg Sophia as enjoying life outside the city.”
“Neither did I,” I say, thinking back to when we first arrived after our
honeymoon.

“How many women have stayed here?” She says, peering around.
“Define stayed.”
“Lived here for a period of time,” she says, looking at me square in the
face.
“Nobody has stayed here for more than a night, if that,” I say struggling
to remember if anyone had made it past even a night.
“What about Keira?” she asks, folding her arms.
“I never took her here.”
“Why?”
“I used to go to her place when I—”
“—wanted to screw her?”
“Basically.”
“So, nobody else has been here?”
“Nope.”
“I figured, it’s very masculine and dark.” She snorts.
“What the fuck do you want powder pink walls?”
“Don’t give me ideas, Croccifixio.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I say, rolling my eyes. I don’t correct her when she
says Croccifixio anymore, as it’s just her way of teasing me.
“You gotta let me have some input,” She pouts.
“You can have all the input you want in the bedroom, maybe a mirror on
the ceiling?” I say slapping her ass as we walk up the stairs.
“Gross!” she says, flapping my hand away.
“The next room is a walk-in closet. I know you have clothes and lots of
shoes,” I say as she sits down on the bed.
“I could get used to this, it’s so comfortable.”
 “Don’t get used to sleeping in it,” I say smirking at her.
“I don’t plan to,” she says, pulling my jacket and bringing me forward.
“Are you carrying a gun?”
“Yes.”
“At home? Were you planning on killing the gardener?”
“No, but I always like to be prepared. Have you shot a gun before?”
“No,” she says looking uncomfortable.
“Maybe you should learn.”
“It’s not something I want to know,” she says, letting go of my jacket.
“If I came at you with a gun, what would you do?”
“Are you going to come at me with a gun?” she asks getting off the bed.
“No, but it’s good to protect yourself. Walk towards me,” I instruct her.
“Good, now redirect yourself away from the gun and as you’re out of shot,
then elbow here, and that should disorientate your attacker.”
“What if they’re stronger than me?”
“It doesn’t matter, an elbow to the side of the head is going to concuss
the biggest motherfucker.”
“Well, thanks,” she says looking momentarily stunned. “I guess I should
start dinner.”
“Dinner? I have a cook on staff,” I snort.
“We’ll see about that,” she says wrinkling her nose and walking out of
the room.

For starters, she dismissed the cook and insisted on cooking every meal
herself, telling me staunchly, “I’m not wasting years of home training.”

Later on, I found out that when Sophia was growing up, her mama would
make her spend hours in the kitchen and wouldn’t let her leave until every
meal was correctly prepared. And if one inch was so much as burned, she
would have to start again. She is an exceptional cook. I wasn’t used to having
meals at the table with cutlery or real plates. Maria used to leave my meals
prepared for me and then when I would have time, I would enjoy them at my
desk or in front of the TV.

Most of the time, I would eat out or be at the club, so this was something
entirely different for me. One thing she did draw the line at was laundry. I
had to contain my laughter when she pressed a large hole into one of my
shirts and turned the rest of the laundry pink from when she put red
underwear in with a white load. I was surprised at how quickly I found
myself in a routine with her. Even when I was working late or on a job, I
looked forward to coming home to her. Even in the dead of night she would
wake up automatically when I entered the bed, and she would be receptive to
my touch; our frenzied fucking going on till the early hours of the morning.

Despite my every anxiety about living with someone, I had gotten used to
her being there when I woke up every morning. Sometimes she would wake
up early and we would hit the gym or go swimming together in the pool.
When I wasn’t working or at the club, we stayed up late watching movies
from the eighties and nineties. She preferred horror, while I liked thrillers and
comedies. Some nights we even rode out on the bike, although I was doing
this a little less frequently as the bike offered less protection than a car.

Damon and Dominic were spending more time at the club so I could have
nights in with Sophia. As soon as we got home, I contacted Dr. Mancini to
put her on the pill. I could sense her hesitation at first and knew she thought I
was still fucking around, but the truth was I had no reason to.

I was comfortable with Sophia; she had fast become a fixture of my life.
It wasn’t forced or mechanical, it just felt natural. She also started to hang
around more with Lucia. I held my breath awaiting the crash, but it never
came. Instead of Lucia being the poor influence I thought she would be, it
was the complete opposite. Lucia seemed to change slowly, and I often saw
her and Franco exchanging conversations which was surprising as Franco
barely spoke to any women longer than an hour, tops, since his divorce.
“You know that when I hate you, it is because I love you to a point of passion
that unhinges my soul.”
—Julie de Lespinasse

I WAS A MAN WHO ENJOYED MY OWN ROUTINE AND LIKED

THINGS DONE MY WAY.

However, with Sophia I didn’t object to her changing things. In fact, I

didn’t object to a lot of things she did.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Slowly our two
separate lives seemed to stitch into one. My old routine disappeared in front
of my eyes, but strangely enough, I wasn’t disappointed to see it go.
“I’m surprised, but she is just the kind of wife you needed.” Franco muses as
we work in the office.
“Huh?” I say looking at Franco.
“She’s bringing everyone together with all these weekly dinners and
getting to know the other wives. You can’t see it, but she’s stamping out any
insurgence of dissent. Creating a family atmosphere beneficial for everyone.
She’s definitely been taking cue cards from her mama and papa.”
“People are happier? Weren’t they happy before?”
“You’re a good Don, but a great Don has a wife to bring everyone on
board. She’s doing her job well.”
“I don’t think she even sees it as a job, it’s just Sophia being Sophia.
She’s even got my deadbeat sister’s ass back in college.”
“Maybe it’s more Lucia than Sophia on that front,” he says
diplomatically.
“The only college-related thing my sister was interested in before was frat
parties. It’s Soph for sure.”
“Soph? You got a nickname for her. Cute?” Franco says, smirking.
“Soph, Sophia, same thing,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Just admit it Rocco, she’s got you right where she wants you.”

I say nothing because I fear that he might be right.

“It’s looking good, but it will take a couple more sessions to get it completely
gone. As you can see, it’s starting to look a little fainter,” the laser technician
says removing his goggles.

My wrist still feels a little tender as he applies SPF and the aloe gel, but
the ‘A’ is definitely fading away. If only removing your memory could be
just as easy as lasering off a tattoo. I have been regularly visiting the city to
get the tattoo lasered off. Rocco hasn’t asked about it for a while and I had
taken to wearing jewelry to disguise it. I was looking forward to finally
showing him the results.
 I pause when I get to the parking lot. Two of my tires have been slashed-
—not even punctured, just wholly slashed. I debate with myself on whether I
should call Rocco or if this is just a strange coincidence. Why would anyone
slash them? It seems so random. I chew my lip and decide against calling
him. It will only worry him more, and I can tell he is already stressed out
about Chicago. Lately, most nights, he’s in the office strategizing or working
with his captains.

Luckily, the auto company comes out within an hour and changes all the
tires. I get into the car, ready to start my journey home from the city.
Nightfall fast approaches, and I want to be back in time to start dinner. Just
that sentence is enough to make me smile. I am becoming more of a Mafia
wife every day. We are now coming up on winter and there is already an icy
chill in the air. Christmas is only four weeks away, and I am excited to
prepare for my first holiday with Rocco.

Although he pretends not to like Christmas, I can’t forget the look on his face
when he walked in and saw that I had purchased a Christmas tree and fully
decorated it. He never speaks much about holidays or when he was younger,
apart from saying ‘pop didn’t do holidays’.

The next time I saw Lucia for our regular morning Pilates class, I asked
her about it, and she told me that Rocco’s ma had left him when he was
barely six and never came back. Every Christmas, Rocco would wait for
Santa to bring his mama home. This was something that went on for years
until he realized she wasn’t going to walk through the door. He never spoke
about her again and when anyone else asked him about his mama, he told
them she was dead. When he was older, Christmas at the De Luca household
consisted of Rocco’s father passed out underneath the Christmas tree and
Rocco making himself a microwave T.V dinner. For that reason, it was
important to me that our first Christmas together was special, I wanted to
give Rocco the perfect day. Although, I still hadn’t thought of a gift for him.
 What do you get the man who has everything?

The sun has disappeared, and there is a sudden chill as the evening starts to
cloud in across New York. The highway leaving the city is almost deserted
since most of the traffic is going into the city, not leaving it. My eyes narrow,
watching a dark jeep in the rear view mirror. When I switch lanes, it follows
and when I speed up, it does the same. My phone is dead and thrown in the
backseat, so I can’t call Rocco without pulling over to charge it. Nightfall
looms, and I can’t wait to get closer to home as a feeling of growing anxiety
starts to cling to me. I take the correct exit for Long Beach and feel a sense of
relief when I am not followed. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but I can’t
help feeling like I was being tailed.

I always thought I was a city girl at heart but being in New York made
me realize it was a stifling reminder of an old life that I didn’t belong to
anymore.

I grin a little walking into the house, remembering how Rocco had
allowed me to put my own touches on the décor, which meant redoing
everything from scratch. Softer and brighter tones had now replaced the dark
navies, maroons and browns. I didn’t touch his office or man cave, I let him
keep it as it was.

Strangely enough, Rocco hardly fought me on most things. In fact, more

often than not, he let me have my own way with pretty much everything. I
thought he would lose his shit when he came home to me repainting the
walls, but he just shrugged it off. Even when I got rid of the cook, he barely
reacted. The only time he seemed genuinely surprised was when he came
home to a set table and dinner.

For me, it was a normal thing that Mama would do every night. However,
Rocco told me he couldn’t recall a single meal he had at a table when he was
younger and that his papa was usually passed out by six if he was lucky.
When I asked him about his ma, he told me to drop it. By the look on his
face, the topic was clearly painful for him. I never wanted to mention that I
already knew the story because Rocco would only take it as a betrayal.

I merely ask Lucia about Rocco’s past when he isn’t being forthcoming;
it kind of hurt me that he still didn’t trust me. Then, I realize that I am being a
hypocrite holding the biggest secret back from him. Every day that goes past,
it claws at me a little more.

If I told him, I would lose him, I rationalize to myself. Maybe if I told him
in the beginning, it would be easier, not easier to understand but easier to lose
him. There would be fewer feelings involved; less to lose.

I could imagine the look on his face when if he found, he wouldn’t say
anything, though his cold glare would speak volumes. How do you tell
somebody whose only veto was that you don’t lie to them, that you have been
lying to them the whole time; that you betrayed your own family on a whim?
That you got a man killed and started a war, the same war that had ignited a
grudge between two cities that was beginning to rev up again? His pride
would never allow him to forgive me, and once everybody else started to find
out, I would be tainted all over again.

I would be a divorcee, which in Mafia circles is the equivalent of being

branded with a Scarlet Letter. My chest constricts realizing that Rocco would
remarry and have children with someone else while I languished away. My
head and my heart battle daily over this terrible secret. I was getting so used
to this sense of happiness and ease that I was ignoring the atom bomb
hovering over my head. Every time I tried to open up and tell him, he would
look at me and my resolve would melt. Rocco De Luca had done the one
thing that I didn’t want to happen, he made me fall for him in every
inexplicable way.
I nod at the guards as I walk into the gated entrance. Security has amplified
since the war between Chicago and New York started to heighten. Heading
up the stairs to take a shower before starting dinner, I hear the door slam as I
finish in the bathroom.
“Rocco?” I yell, surprised that he would be home early, but there is no
response. “Rosa?” I call out the maid’s name, but I know she finishes early
on Thursdays.

I towel dry and throw on a pair of old jeans and a sweatshirt. When I
emerge from the bedroom, men are swarming the house.
“What’s wrong, Damon?” I say frowning.
“Rocco has been shot, Sophia.” He says in a low tone.

I feel like all the air has been sucked out of my lungs. Pain seems to
radiate through my chest as if I am the one who has been shot and I have to
look down at myself to check if I am still intact because I feel like a bullet
has burned right through my heart and is shattering me into a million pieces.

He has to be okay.

I want to ask so many questions, but the words only seem to jumble all
around my brain.

“What?” I ask, feeling my knees go weak. “Is he—” I want to say the
word dead, but I can’t seem to get the words out.
“No, he isn’t.” He says understanding what I meant.
“Take me to him,” I say firmly.
“Not yet, he’s still being checked over at the hospital.”
“I don’t want to stay here,” I protest, but he cuts me off.
“Right now, this place is the safest to be. Bringing you to Rocco might
make things worse. We don’t know who is watching.”
“How did this happen?”
“They must have been following his routine to know where he was, and
when he is normally alone.” He sighs. I can feel the panic radiating from him
even though he doesn’t convey it in his tone or expression.
“Something happened today,” I start slowly, realization hitting me.
“What?” He asks glowering.
 “Somebody slashed my tires in the city today, and I think I was followed
back here,” I say biting my lip.
“Did you tell Rocco?” He asks indignantly.
“No.” I sigh. “I thought I was being paranoid, but now—” I say, trailing
off.
“Even if you were being paranoid, it wasn’t your call to make,” he snarls,
banging his fist on the wall. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling my eyes well up with tears.
“I’ll have to let Rocco know,” he says as more men come into the house,
and he starts directing them.
“Okay, please let me know when I can see him,” I say wiping my face
with the back of my arm.
“Sure,” he says distractedly as he pulls his phone out.

My tears freeze on my face as everything seems to hit me all at once,

Rocco has been shot and it’s possibly my fault. Definitely my fault, by the
way that Damon is eyeing me. He’s right, I was being naïve. How many
coincidences occur in the lives that we lead? I go back into the bedroom and
sit cross-legged on my bed, like I used to when I was a kid fearing a telling-
off from Ma. Except this is so much worse. Minutes feel like hours as they
crawl by slowly. Men enter the house in throngs, and in the quiet moments all
I can hear are lowered voices and radio interference. This doesn’t feel like
home anymore.

It was the tires screeching that made me duck in the first place. Surely, if you
were a fucking assassin the whole point is that you’re meant to have the gift
of sneaking up on people.
Why am I complaining? That’s the fucking question. Men have tried to kill
me since I could tie my own shoelaces, but this is the first time in a long time
that they had almost succeeded. The doctor tells me several times that if it
was only an inch to my right, it would have gone straight through my heart.
They say your whole life flashes before your eyes before you die but I didn’t
see any of that.

“What do you mean somebody slashed her tires?” I say, my anger rising
within me as Damon speaks to me on the phone.
“Sophia said that when she went to leave the city her tires were slashed,
and she swears someone followed her home too.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“She said she thought she was being paranoid.”
“And?” I say as anxiety drums up within me.
“She’s a little shaken up, but she’s more worried about you. She’s
crying,” he says uncomfortably.
“Did they hurt her?” I say incensed.
“No, I mean she’s crying about you. She’s probably upset. I mean, she is
your wife. What did you expect her to be doing a conga line?” Damon says
exasperatedly.
“Where is she?”
“In the house, she’s well protected.”
“Good,” I say hanging up.

“We have the men that attacked you,” Dominic says looking strained,
sitting beside me.
“They’re still alive?”
“One of them is in better condition than the other. He said to Rafael he
has information you might like to hear.”
“I doubt it.” I say brushing him off, but his expression is stony.
“I think you should hear it,” Franco says walking into the room and
clearing his throat.
“Where were you?” I say frowning, the last time I spoke to Franco he was
at the office.
“Dominic wanted me to check out what this assassin was saying to
Rafael, while he stayed here with you, it’s about Sophia.”
“What about her?”
“I don’t know where to even start.” Franco says quietly.
“Tell me,” I say sharply.
“This life of ours, this is a wonderful life. If you can get through life like this
and get away with it, hey, that’s great. But it’s very, very unpredictable.
There’s so many ways you can screw it up.”
—Paul Castellano

I WATCH FRANCO CLOSELY AS HE CLEARS HIS THROAT, HIS

EXPRESSION IS UNREADABLE.

I have seen him shoot men at point-blank range without breaking a sweat.
What exactly is so bad he can barely speak?

“Spit it out,” I say impatiently.

“The man who tried to assassinate you is called Ivan Romanov, the
brother-in-law of Artem Romanov. Most of what he is saying was bullshit but
when we pressed him harder, he said that the reason why Paolo Falcone went
to war with the Bratva is, because…” He trails off and I look at him to carry
on, but he pauses.
“Get on with it, Franco. What the fuck is wrong with you?” I ask, a sickly
feeling churning away at me.
 “Because his daughter ran away with the son of Artem Romanov, Anton.
Paolo caught them about to get married and killed Anton as well as the
witnesses who were there,” he says looking at me square in the eye. I can tell
how much he doesn’t want to be the one to deliver this news.
“Have you checked this out for sure?” I say, the knot in my stomach
growing because I know he has.
“Yes.” He says uncomfortably. “Paolo wiped out anybody who was
involved but when I dug a little deeper, I found an application for an Illinois
wedding license. It never went ahead but it was close, so it makes sense why
Paolo never wanted to offer Sophia’s hand. He didn’t want the truth getting
out,” he says in a small voice. “Rocco,” he starts to say something, but I
motion for him to continue, “this kind of thing would destroy Paolo Falcone’s
reputation forever if the other families ever found out. His own daughter
running off with the son of the Bratva…” Franco says trailing off again.
“She has a tattoo with the letter ‘A’ on her wrist.” I say thinking aloud.
“Anton Romanov, Artem’s heir,” he says, shaking his head as if in
disbelief of what he’s saying.
“He’s dead?” I ask tentatively, because if he were alive, I would kill him
and make him fucking suffer.
“Shot to death by Paolo alongside his brother Andriy and numerous other
members of the Romanov family.” Franco says as if reading my thoughts.
“Paolo didn’t want to leave anything to chance.”
“Do you think Sophia is double-crossing me?” I say clenching my teeth.
“It’s inconclusive right now.” he says impassively.
“Franco.”
“It’s plausible, but we can’t prove anything yet.” he says lighting up a
cigarette.
“Do you think she set me up to be killed?” I say quietly.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Franco says firmly and exhales a cloud
of smoke.
“She’s been working with the Russians to get revenge for her dead fiancé,
her true love,” I say blankly.
The reality of what I’m saying hits me hard and betrayal pierces through me
like a knife, carving itself through every part of my flesh.
“Rocco,” Franco says softly.
“Do you believe it, Franco? Yes, or no?” I say banging my fist on the
table.
“It’s a possibility,” he says finally.
“Call Damon, keep her at the house. I don’t want her speaking to or
contacting anybody. Cut her off from everything. Take me to speak to the
informant.”
“Not yet.”
“Now,” I say, trying to get up.
“You need to calm down, Rocco. You’re not in any shape to be doing an
interrogation. Beating seven shades of shit out of someone is not going to
make you feel better,” he scolds me.

He walks out of the hospital room, and I sink into the pillow. Pain and fury
starting to boil inside of me like a volcano. I find it difficult to differentiate
what emotion I am feeling more. Anger or betrayal. I attempt to close my
eyes to level out my thoughts, but all that does is let the darkest ones roam
my mind, letting the fury sink in like poison in my bloodstream.

Something is going on, but I don’t know what. It has been hours since I came
back home but I haven’t heard a word about anything. Everywhere I walk in
the house, eyes follows me. Every time I ask a question I am met with a
steely answer. When I request to speak to Rocco, I am told that he is busy.
“Rocco wants you to stay here while he gets patched up, he’ll call for you
once he’s up and running,” Damon says finally after I ask him about Rocco
more than four times.
 “Is it safe to be here?” I say looking around.
“I would say you’ve been watching way too many cliche nineties’
movies, a guy in a scream mask is not waiting behind the door,” he says,
rolling his eyes. “Follow me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Rocco wants you to wait in the office,” he says not quite meeting my
eyes.
“What? I’m not allowed out of the office?” I say frowning.
“It’s for your own good, he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable with
so many men in the house.” He finally finds my gaze and I notice that he has
tightened his grip on the gun he’s holding.

He’s lying.
Why does Rocco want me out of the way?

“Where will you be?” I narrow my eyes at him.

“Outside the door.”
“What is going on? Damon, this is me, Sophia…I cook for you at least
four times a week and you’re treating me like I’m the one who shot Rocco,” I
say looking up at him imploringly.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he says giving me a stony look. Damon leads me

into the office and my heart sinks as the door locks twice behind me.

When I peer out the windows, the yard is swarming with men and guard
dogs. Torches flash across the yard illuminating the darkness. I walk up and
down several times trying to collect my thoughts. Then, I try to pick up the
phone but there is no dial tone, so I turn on the laptop and there is no
connection. Coincidence? I think not. They’re treating me like a suspect. Do
they honestly think I would be behind this? One man died because of me, I
wouldn’t let another follow the same fate. Anger builds up inside me, Rocco
isn’t even allowing me a chance to explain myself. Has he just decided that I
am guilty?
 “Damon,” I say pounding on the door.
“What?” comes the muffled reply.
“Let me out! I said let me out!” I yell while banging hard on the door, but
he ignores me as I continue to pound for the next hour until my energy runs
out and I slide down the door in defeat.

I pace up and down several times until my legs feel numb and sit on the
couch. The noise has faded now but every now and then I can discern low
voices outside the door. I must have dozed off because when I wake up, it’s
very late and the house has gone deadly silent apart from radio frequency.
Damon unlocks the door and comes in with a couple of hot plates and a can
of coke.
“I’m not hungry,” I mumble.
“Eat,” he says putting it down on the desk.
“Where is Rocco?”
“Busy.”
“Can I see him?”
“Not yet, I’ll take you in the morning.”
“You will?” I say hopefully
“Yes.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“You’re not going to drive me into the woods and kill me?”
“No, if I wanted to kill you I could do it right here without having to step
outside,” he chuckles.
“You’ve thought about it then,” I say, almost horrified.
“Eat,” he says ignoring me.

Despite my protestations I’m starving, so much for the dinner I was going to
cook Rocco. The chicken tastes like rubber and the vegetables are
overcooked, but I swallow it all down followed by the soda. I lay down for a
while on the pull-out sofa, tossing from side to side until I finally get up
again. I feel angry and betrayed. Kicking the desk hard out of frustration, I
almost break my foot, but the pain doesn’t seem to stop the one that is raging
in my chest.

I curse myself realizing I broke Rocco’s drawer and a mountain of papers

have cascaded out. I place the papers back in the drawers, trying to put them
back into the correct order. A few of them are business invoices but there are
a few photos in there of him and Lucia and one of our wedding photos.

I remember this photo being taken. It was after Keira had warned me off.
I could almost transport myself back to that moment and how angry I was.
However, in this picture, you can’t see any of that. My cheeks were flushed
with apparent joy and I was wearing a mega-watt smile. Rocco as usual was
sleekly handsome, looking every inch of masculine perfection. My heart
constricts thinking of how we have come full circle in such a short amount of
time. We started out rocky, building up some steam before ultimately sinking
deep into the abyss.

I frown when I see children’s birthday cards. My first thought is that Rocco
has a secret child that I don’t know about but when I look closely these are
old. Some of them have yellowed and are thumbed at the edges. There are a
stack of them, going up from the age of seven to twenty-one. Most of them
are still unopened but there are letters too, all of them signed, Love, Mama.
Why would he keep these? The letters have a used feeling to them showing
me they have been read often. Did he ever contact her? The one time I had
mentioned his Ma, Rocco changed the subject.

Clearly, Rocco has a pattern. If he can cut off his own mama, what
chance do I have? I try to put everything back as I thought it looked like, but
I know he’s going to realize that I have seen it all.
Franco frowns at me as I get in the passenger seat of the car at the hospital
parking lot. I voluntarily discharged myself, I couldn’t bear to stay trapped in
the hospital for a second longer.
“Are you sure you are okay to do this?” He says, giving me a concerned
look.
“If you ask me one more time, Franco, you’ll be the one getting shot.
Now, fucking drive.”
“Fine, Damon has called a couple of times. Sophia has been asking about
you. Are there any instructions I should give him?”
“Not yet.” My jaw clenching.

An hour later, we are at one of my warehouses in Brooklyn. It used to be an

old meat packing warehouse and has the luxury of being both abandoned and
soundproof. The only drawback is that it is fucking freezing.

“Tell me what you know Ivan,” I say pulling on a knuckle duster. The
denser the bone, the more painful it was for the recipient. Today, I was in no
shape to have a fight with anyone but at least I could look the part. Franco
hits him hard across the jaw, Ivan’s face sagging comically to the side.
“If I tell you I’m dead, if I don’t tell you I’m dead. What have I got to
lose?” he says spitting out blood.
“There’s a difference between dying bloody or dying quickly,” I say
leaning over him.
“I don’t know shit,” he says in a low grunt.
“That, I don’t doubt, but how are the Russians infiltrating our
shipments?”
“Maybe we’re a lot cleverer than you Italian fuckwits.” He laughs, his
spit forming little blood bubbles.
“Really?” I indicate to Franco, and he picks up a metal bat, hitting him
hard across his kneecaps, his screams reverberating around the warehouse.
“What do you want to know?” He says groaning in pain.
“Tell me what you told my consigliere about Anton Romanov.”
“Go fuck yourself.”

Wham!

This time, I punch him hard across the face nearly taking his head off.
“Tell me, and don’t make me fucking ask nicely.” That small action causes a
ripple of pain across my body, and I retreat to the chair opposite to get my
breath back.
“I’ve already fucking told your guy, Paolo’s daughter met Anton in
college, and they ran off together to Chicago. When Paolo found out they
were going to be married he stormed the church. Paolo killed Anton and
wiped out as many of the witnesses as he could but some of us still live to tell
the tale.”
“For now,” I growl.
“Artem mourned the loss of his two sons that day, Anton and Andriy,
swearing one day The Bratva would rise up against the Italians and take
revenge.”
“Where do you come in?”
“I was instructed to kill on sight.”
“Didn’t do a great job, did you?”
“Just one more bullet and your wife would have been burying another
love. Quite the black widow, isn’t she?” He says smirking.
“Rocco!” Franco stops me as I pick up the meat cleaver on the table.
 “That was the beginning of the end of our thing.”
—Anthony Casso

I FEET LIKE MY BLOOD HAD BEEN REPLACED BY FUMES OF HOT

LAVA PULSATING INSIDE OF ME.

Every time I try to contemplate her betrayal, a feeling of anguish burns in

my throat.

“Why did you want to come here?” Franco says taking me to the other
side of the room. “I knew you should have stayed away.”

“I need answers.”

“You’re not going to find them on that cleaver. Rocco, you need to listen
to me, your body is still in a state of trauma from the shooting. Not to
mention all this Sophia business. Go home, I will finish this off.”

“I don’t have a home anymore, besides I can finish him off myself.”
 “No, you fucking will not, Rocco,” he says as his voice raises in anger.
“Has he said who sent him?”
“It has to be Artem, who else is left? Artem is in his eighties, it’s either
now or never if he wants revenge.”
“What do you want to do next?”
“I want to see Sophia.”
“What?”
“It’s the only way I’m going to get any answers,” I say, walking back to
Ivan.
“Are you going to kill me or not?” he says in a bored tone.
“You have somewhere else to be?”
“Very good, young blood, I guess your father taught you something.”
“I taught myself everything.”
“What do you want?” He says clenching his jaw.
“Tell Artem I want to meet his successor.”
“There is no new leader.” He frowns. “Romanov has always led the
Bratva.”
“Artem is not making these moves, he’s almost in the drooling stage.
Somebody is using him as a puppet.”
“Artem runs the Bratva nobody else, he is staying alive to spite you
Italian bastards. Good old Russian resilience, we don’t stop until we get
revenge. Let me go you piece of shit!” He says angrily.
“That is very impolite.” I say rolling my eyes.

I have no intention of leaving Ivan alive after this little meeting. It was
more of a fact-finding mission. I needed to make sure that Anton was really
dead and that Artem is the only one pulling the strings.

“I hope you fucking choke, cocksucker. You think you’re so fucking

clever, don’t you?”
“You tried to kill me, and you fucked up. So, to answer, yes, I do take a
little bit of pride in this scenario.”
“He who laughs now will laugh last.”
“We’ll see about that,” I say staring down at him before pulling the gun
out my waistband and shooting him in the head. “Send his head to Artem, a
direct message from New York.” I say to Franco.
“What about the other assailant?”
 “Kill him. This is war and it’s about to get a whole lot bloodier, no
mercy.”

Artem would get my ‘message’ and understand it clearly. This was no

longer business, it was personal.

Damon unlocks the door and gives me fifteen minutes to get dressed and
showered. The car ride is silent, and Damon doesn’t so much as glance at me.
When I ask where we are going, he doesn’t reply. Then as I see the derelict
building my chest plummets and I freeze in horror.
“I’m not going to kill you. Rocco really is in there. Look, that’s Franco’s
car,” Damon says, pointing.
“Take me to him,” I say a little more confidently than I feel.

My heart thumps loudly through my ribcage as I walk into what feels like a
dark chamber; the stench of meat and blood seeming to overtake my senses,
almost making me nauseous. Damon is walking too slowly so I outrun him
once I hear the echo of Rocco’s voice coming from up ahead. He shouts at
me to stop but I keep running. I push open one of the doors and see Rocco
standing over a bloodied man, pointing a gun at him. I’m not used to seeing
Rocco this way, I know what he does for a living but there is a profound
difference when seeing it up close.

He shoots the man in the head, the body falling helplessly on the floor as
pools of blood stream from it. Rocco spins toward me and gives me an
unsettling look that turns my insides to ice but doesn’t utter a word. Who was
he? So many questions are twirling around in my head it’s making me dizzy.
 “Rocco?” I say clinging to the door
“Where is Damon?” He says icily.
“Boss,” Damon says pushing me to the side. “She got out of my sight,”
he says apologetically.
“I didn’t know anyone was here, I just wanted to see you,” I say timidly.
“You can leave,” he says glaring at Damon before turning to Franco and
giving him the same look.

Franco doesn’t look up at me, he avoids my gaze and walks out as the
door bangs shut. Damon and Franco leaving me there with Rocco and a dead
guy is hardly a good sign.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, wiping his gun and putting it back in his jacket.
“No, just unsettled.”
“I see.”
“What is wrong with you? I’ve been at home worried sick about you,
some lunatic slashed my tires and probably followed me home and you see?”
“What did you want me to say? Why didn’t you report it when it was
happening, or did you just forget to mention it?” He says smiling at me
coldly.
“You honestly think I was behind all of this?” I say, my voice almost
cracking.
“That is the second time someone has tried to attack you, Sophia. You
remember Capri, don’t you?” He asks walking towards me, his face
impassive though I can see the familiar tic of anger in his jaw.
“Yes, of course I do,” I say while walking closer to bridge the gap
between us, but he takes one step back out of my reach.
“It makes me wonder why they would target you,” he says in a stony
voice.
“What are you talking about?” I ask sharply.
“Do you know who the man lying on the floor is?”
“Of course not,” I say looking at Rocco confused. “Rocco, can you tell
me what is going on here?”
 “You don’t know him, but he seems to know you, Sophia.” I can tell he is
trying to control his voice, but I can feel the jagged anger underneath in it.
“Should he?” I say biting my lip to control my own emotions. I have
never seen Rocco like this. His eyes are oddly wide, and his smile is more of
a sneer. I know now why so many men fear him, as an involuntary icy shiver
runs through me.
“He tried to kill me, so I thought you might know each other?” He says
softly.
“Why would I?”
“He’s Russian. Are you familiar with the Russians?” He says taking off
the knuckle duster and throwing it hard across the room, so it skids across the
concrete floor.
“What is it you want to ask me Rocco? Did I try to have you killed?”
“Interesting,” he says, walking towards me and looking down at my face.
“That you would think that is what I am referring to.”
“I’m the one who was violated twice, yet you’re blaming me? I don’t get
you at all, Rocco. I thought we were getting somewhere. I thought—” I
wanted to say I thought you loved me, but I’m not ready for that answer.
“You thought, what?” He says holding me tightly by the arms.
“Nothing,” I mumble. I swallow hard because I can sense a burning in my
throat that will only cause a myriad of salty tears.
“I know everything,” he says looking at me frostily and letting me go. I
know he can tell I am on the verge of tears and that is what disgusts him the
most, weakness.
“What do you mean?” I say trying to reach out for him, but he bats my
hand away.
“Your tattoo, the ‘A’ stands for Anton Romanov, doesn’t it? Your fiancé,
the heir of the Bratva before your papa gunned him down.”
“Yes,” I say in a whisper, looking down and feeling my world collapse
around me.
“Is that all you have to say?” He says coolly.
“It was a long time ago and I was sworn to secrecy by papa. I couldn’t tell
you, but I wanted to,” I say, as tears begin to fall stream down my face.
“When I told you not to lie to me, did you think that didn’t count?”
“I didn’t want it to count. A man died because of me, a war started
because I fell in love with somebody I shouldn’t have. It’s not the kind of
thing that just rolls off the tongue.” With every word I speak, hot tears fall
down my face.
“Did you think I would never find out?” he shouts, abandoning the icy
demeanor, and I can feel the rage radiating off him like a hot furnace.
“I wanted to tell you for a long time, but I knew how you would react.
Kind of how you are now. If you can’t forgive your own mama, how would
you ever forgive me? I found her letters and cards.” I say shouting back.
“So, you’re a spy as well as a traitor. Interesting,” he sneers.
“I’m neither, you talk about secrets, but you never once told me about
her.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore, are you working for the Russians? Well, are
you?” He bellows.

I reel back in shock. Does he really think I am so callous and conniving? I

stare at Rocco, searching for some semblance of the man I thought I knew but
he isn’t there anymore. He has been replaced by Don Croccifixio De Luca,
the icy, unforgiving killer.

“Do you really think I’m that stupid to lay in your bed every night and
scheme to betray you?” I scream incredulously.
“That is not stupid, it’s smart because I never saw it coming. I knew you
were holding something back from me, but you neglected to tell that you had
a dead fiancé who happened to be a Romanov. Did it just slip your mind?”
He smacks his fists against the wall. “Did you try to have me assassinated?”
He says, his face a mask of fury.
“No! I don’t know who is behind this, but it isn’t me. I wouldn’t, Rocco. I
love you,” I say my words barely audible.
“Nice subterfuge.” He snorts. “You really had me fucking convinced,
Sophia, even now with the tears and the hysterics you’re still keeping the act
going.”
“Rocco,” I say trying to get through to him, but he ignores me.
“This man on the floor is Ivan Romanov. He was at your wedding, he
survived your papa’s Russian massacre. You’re on quite a roll, Sophia. One
fiancé dead and your current husband almost joining him.” He looks at me to
assess the damage. I can tell every word is a knife for him and he wants to
make me bleed as much as he can, for in his eyes he wants to hurt me as
much as I hurt him.
“Look at me, Rocco, please,” I say imploringly.
“What is it?” He snaps.
“Rocco, I would not do this to you and deep down you know this,” I say
walking towards him and reaching up to his face.
“Because you love me?” He says while holding his own hands over mine.
“Yes!” I say exhaling out in relief that he finally understands.
“More than you love Anton?” He says grabbing my wrists and yanking
them off his face.
“What kind of question is that? He’s dead!” I say looking at him in
repulsion.
“He died in your arms before you even got to marry him, tough break.”
He says callously.
“If you’re so sure I’m behind this, kill me,” I say reaching for the gun in
his pocket, but he swiftly moves out of my reach.
“You know I won’t do that,” he says slowly, as if considering his options.
“What is the alternative?” I say, feeling a shudder overtake my body.
“You go your way and I’ll go mine,” he says finally.
“You want a divorce?” I say feeling my heart constrict in my chest.
“You know that wouldn’t be good for either of us but in all other aspects,
it’s over. We’re done,” he says emotionlessly.

My head and heart are trying to calibrate this information, it can’t be over.
How can he walk away from me so easily? I feel a sting from every word
coming out of his mouth, and for a wild second, I think I would rather him
shoot me than do this.

“What do you mean?” I say clutching my chest.

“It means in public we’re together but behind the scenes, we’re not. I
can’t risk a separation in the middle of a war. After the war is over, we’ll
divorce, and you can go back home to your family. It’s not like you ever
wanted to get married to me anyway, not when you were cruelly ripped away
from your true love,” he says chillingly.
“If you would just let me, explain—” I say trying to speak but he cuts me
off.
“No, I’ve heard everything I need to. We’re done. Franco, Damon!” He
yells as they both enter.
“Rocco, please!” I say springing towards him, but Franco and Damon pull
me off him.

I try to rush forward but the two men pull me back, they don’t even look
at my face. They stand beside me holding my arms on either side. The shame
of Rocco’s dismissal rips through me like a blunt knife. If he would only
listen then I can explain, the trouble is he doesn’t want to listen to me, and I
can feel every inch of me wanting to collapse into a million pieces.

“It will be like you never existed,” he says emotionlessly.

“No, I won’t allow you to do this,” I say, trying to spring forward before I
am dragged back.
“Get her out!” He says disgustedly as Damon and Franco drag me away.
“No!” I yell trying to push them away but they’re stronger than me.
Rocco turns his back on me facing the wall as I am dismissed.
“I stood still, vision blurring, and in that moment, I heard my heart break. It
was a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower’s stem.”
—Diana Gabaldon

THEY DRAG ME OUT OF THE ROOM KICKING AND SCREAMING

FOR ROCCO.

I am escorted to the outside of the warehouse by Damon and Franco, my

arms are pinned to my sides so I can’t escape their iron grips.

When we walk out of the building, it’s snowing hard. The bitter cold
weather hardly penetrates the numb iciness inside of me. I blink when I see
Lucia waiting outside, she looks oddly out of place here dressed in Manolo
Blahnik heels and a bejeweled fur-lined leather jacket outside a derelict
warehouse in Brooklyn. Damon silently drops my arm before walking back
into the building, but Franco remains.

“You are not to contact Rocco anymore. If he wants to speak to you, it

will be through me. You understand?” He says coldly.
 “No,” I say wailing before hitting the floor.
“I will take care of this, you can go,” Lucia says, and Franco gives her a
curt nod before getting in his car and driving off. “I called Rocco looking for
you and he told me everything. He told me never to speak to you again, but I
didn’t believe it,” she says glaring down at me. “I wanted to hear it myself
from your mouth.” She hisses.
“Lucia,” I say faintly.
“Did you try to get my brother killed, yes or no?” She says, narrowing her
eyes at me.
“No.”
“Are you associated with the Russian Bratva?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well start fucking talking,” she says fiercely.
“Right now?” I ask peering up at her from the frozen ground.
“Now,” she says angrily, and the resemblance between her and Rocco is
uncanny right now.
“When I was in college, I met someone, I didn’t know who he was and
when I found out it was too late. I was already beyond smitten with him. He
wasn’t like anybody else I’d ever met, he made me feel—well you get the
idea. I knew Papa would flip his shit if he ever found out, so I ran away with
him to Chicago. We knew the only way we could stay together is if we got
married. We planned the ceremony but just as the rite started, my papa and
his men stormed the church and killed everyone. Well, at least I thought it
was everyone until today. Somebody lived to tell the tale,” I say bitterly. “I
didn’t mean to hurt Rocco, but I couldn’t tell him or anyone.” I sigh.
“So, you were officially married?” She clips.
“No, we never got to that part.”
“Are you double-crossing my brother?”
“No! I wouldn’t. I know how this looks but I swear I’m not,” I say
desperately.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“How would I even start the conversation? Hey, guess who I was engaged
to? Honestly, I just wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. I only agreed to marry
Pietro because I was forced to, because I knew I could never love him so it
wouldn’t make any difference. I never wanted to fall for anyone again then I
met Rocco, and everything changed. Every day I contemplated telling him,
then I changed my mind again because I knew how it would end. Pretty much
like exactly this.”
“Do you know who attacked Rocco?”
“No! “Do you believe me?” I ask, pleadingly.
“Keep talking and we’ll see,” she says, offering me her hand and pulling
me off the ground.
“Why didn’t you tell me Rocco’s ma tried to contact him?” I say
swallowing slowly as I dust myself off from the ground.
“What?”
“I found tons of birthday cards and letters at the back of his drawer.”
“I didn’t know, either. I guess he knows how to hold a grudge,” she says
appearing defeated as a crack of thunder bellows across the chilly New York
skyline.

Several hours later I am back in my office, evaluating and assessing

everything that has happened. Damon enters the room and sits opposite me,
his expression impassive.

“Is she gone?” I ask pouring whiskey out of the tumbler and drinking it
like a shot.
“Yeah, she’s with Lucia. How come you never… You know?” He makes
a knife-slashing across the throat gesture.
“Too messy and I have a reputation to upkeep, I don’t want to be known
as a fucking woman killer,” I say mutinously.
“You really think Sophia is behind all of this?”
“No idea,” I say answering numbly.
“I don’t know what I’m more surprised about. That she was engaged to
some Russian meathead or that Paolo tried to cover whole thing up.”
“Our little Sophia is probably more dangerous than half our men,” I say
bitterly.
“She must be a hell of an actress because she seemed really cut up when I
told her you were shot. She was inconsolable.” He says slowly before seeing
the murderous expression on my face and dropping his gaze.
 “I guess she had to keep the act up,” I say grudgingly.
“Is it a good idea leaving her with Lucia? What if she hurts her?”
“She won’t besides I have men watching them.”
“Damn,” Damon says surprised.
“I have to be prepared for war whether it’s here in New York or in
Chicago. Artem will hit us twice as hard when he finds his brother-in-law’s
head sent to him. We need a meeting with the other families, so send envoys
out to meet at a neutral location away from prying eyes. We don’t want to be
caught in a trap.”
“What are you going to do with Sophia? Shall we make arrangements to
send her back home?”
“No, I don’t want Sophia’s meddling parents knowing about this. It’s
crucial to keep up appearances for now with the Russians breathing down our
necks. Put her in the penthouse, the one Angela Rossi was meant to live in. I
want there to be armed men watching her 24/7 and track every call she makes
or receives. Most importantly, I want all her shit out of my house.”
“Yes, boss.”
“I’m going to stay here until all of that is done.”
“Okay, boss, I will get onto that right away.” He says leaving the room.

I take off my wedding ring and toss it inside the fireplace, watching the
silver sparkle in the flames. Every time I think about Sophia, hot shame
overcomes me. How could I have been so naïve about her? I let her into my
life and trusted her more than I ever trusted anyone else, yet she betrayed me
in the worst way.

As days turned into weeks, I slowly recovered from the shooting. My

strength gradually came back to me. and I was almost brand new. I trained
and fought until I was physically stronger than my old self. Hours in the gym
retaught me discipline and focus. I functioned mechanically as if I were on
autopilot. There were deals to be made, men to be killed and a war to be
fought. Of course, Artem received my gift of his brother-in-law’s head and
retaliated by hijacking several of my heroin shipments, causing Paolo a huge
financial loss that I didn’t care too much about. Fuck Paolo, that deceiving,
conniving bastard.

Out of sight, out of mind was the easiest way I knew how not to think
about Sophia. It was like learning to live without my favorite vice, every time
I saw somebody that resembled her slightly it caused a rippling sensation
deep inside of me. Despite most of Sophia’s belongings being removed from
the house, when I did find something it all came flooding back to me. The
absence of Sophia was my own personal plague, and it ate away at me like a
disease burning through every healthy cell in my body. I ached for her; I
missed her smile the way her head tilted to the side when she wanted
something, the way she smelt. The softness of her head on my chest at night,
the plethora of memories that haunted me each time my eyes closed.

In essence, it was like mourning a death but worse because I knew that
she was still alive. Once or twice, I found myself riding into the city on my
bike when I knew she was visiting her parents’ house. On one occasion, she
caught me watching her, but she never said anything. She simply turned and
walked into the house without looking back once. I didn’t know what I
expected. Would it have been worse if she tried to talk to me or was it better,
she finally accepted that it was over?

We were now on the cusp of Christmas, and I was staying in for the night.
The holidays were my least favorite part of the year, and I would rather work
on my bike and continue ignoring the fact they were seeping closer. I hear
familiar footsteps and internally groan, tonight has just gotten considerably
worse.

“Marco? Marco? You’re meant to say Polo,” an annoying voice interjects

into my thoughts.
“How did you find me, Lucia?” I say annoyed.
“Franco told me you were in the city, but I already knew you would be
here. How many times you going to take the bike apart and put it together?”
She asks looking at me sympathetically.

Lucia has the annoying habit of playing with her hands when she is
building up the courage to say something. I can see her out of the corner of
my eye doing it and I can feel the irritation rip through me. My patience and
tolerance have dipped considerably since that day in Brooklyn and Lucia’s
sporadic appearances haven’t helped it.

“Until I’m satisfied,” I say ignoring her.

“Hiding isn’t going to make this better,” she says softly. “I think you
should speak to Sophia.”

“I’m not hiding,” I say stubbornly. “And I will not fucking speak to her.”
“It might make you feel better, bottling up all of this is not good for you,”
she says trying to put her arm reassuringly on my shoulder, but I shake it off.
“I feel fine,” I say throwing the wrench down hard.
“You feel nothing because you’re suppressing everything,” she says
kneeling down next to me.
“You’re going to take her side?” I snap turning around to her. “She tried
to have me killed.”
“I know Sophia, she wouldn’t do that, she loves you.” She sighs. “She
made a mistake, Rocco, can’t you just–” She trails off.
“No, I can’t. I suppose you think that sweet Sophia wouldn’t have been
engaged, either?”
“Everybody has a past.”
“She’s working with the Russians, she almost had me killed and you’re
still believing the bullshit she’s feeding you? You’re dumber than you look
Lucia, which I didn’t think possible.” I say spitefully.
“If she was working with the Russians, why would her own father not kill
her considering he risked everything to make sure nobody found out? If you
really believed that she was conspiring against you, why didn’t you kill her?
Why didn’t you tell everyone what she did? This is about your pride, Rocco.
She lied to you, and it hurts. Why don’t you just admit it and move on?” She
says standing up and eyeing me annoyed.
“That is the problem with you, Lucia, you’re always so quick to forgive.
Some things can’t be forgiven. Ever,” I say standing up to full height and
looking down at her.
 “Have you thought that the Russians set her up to take the fall?”
“What?” I scoff.
“Maybe they wanted to make it look like she was working for them to
split you up,” she says thoughtfully. “Anything is possible, Rocco, we know
that.”
“I really don’t think the Bratva care about my love life, this isn’t a
fucking Telenovela.”
“Well seeing as Sophia cost Artem Romanov his sons, he probably does
care just a little that she is now married to you.”
“If he wanted me dead, he would have killed me a long time ago. Stop
trying to make up all these excuses. Two and two don’t equal six because you
want it to,” I say angrily.
“If she wanted you dead, she could have literally killed you in your sleep
and you know that,” she says imploringly.
“Maybe she was waiting for the right opportunity.”
“Right, so she hires two Russian men to do it for her when she has had
access to guns her whole life.”
“You’re my damn sister, act like it,” I hiss at her.
“I’m only your sister when it suits you. You won’t forgive Sophia
because she lied to you, and you won’t forgive your ma because she
abandoned you. You probably won’t talk to me anymore because I’m telling
you the truth,” she says putting her hand over her mouth with fresh tears in
her eyes.

She looks up at me, her face covered in shock. Clearly, she has been
waiting to say it for a while because it all spilled out like it was on the tip of
her tongue. There is a deathly silence between us, an anger threatening to
brim to the surface like hot water simmering in a pan.

“Get out, Lucia,” I say glaring at her.

“With pleasure,” she says, slamming the door.
 “Nothing personal, it’s just business.”
—Otto Berman

THE FEELING OF ABANDONMENT HURT THE MOST, LIKE I HAD

A LOST OF PIECE OF MYSELF.

Moving into the penthouse that was meant for Angela Rossi to occupy
was agonizing, Rocco wanted me as far away as possible.

Every reminder of him was like a thousand knives being thrown into my
heart. It was the pitiful looks Rocco’s men shot me when they thought I
wasn’t listening or the fact that conversations always stopped when I walked
into rooms, yet after a while, I learned to tune them all out.

The weeks had all rolled into endless days of misery, but we were now in
the holiday season. It was my favorite, or former favorite, time of the year.
My chest ached each time I saw Christmas decorations or anything festive. I
hadn’t even attempted to put up a tree in the penthouse. My boxes were still
unpacked, and I hadn’t cooked once. Most nights, Lucia and I just ate takeout
and watched bad T.V.

It took a while, but Lucia had finally been convinced that I was telling the
truth. Every now and then, she would chide me for not telling her the truth
earlier but aside from that, she was all I had. I spent more time with my
parents now since I had no marital commitments. I never told them that
Rocco and I were separated, I just feigned that he was busier than usual
because of the war with Chicago, a plausible explanation that was partially
truthful. Nobody knew what happened that day in Brooklyn. Although I held
on in my heart that we would get back together, I knew deep down that
would never forgive me. Every time Rocco had seen me since that time,
which was few and far between, he regarded me as a perfect stranger. He
wasn’t mean or angry. He was perfectly polite, which was even worse. I
would have preferred if he took his anger out on me and we worked through
it, but he didn’t.

Unbeknownst to me, Mama had personally invited Rocco to the house for
Christmas. I had previously told her he was busy, but she ignored me and
directly invited him herself. Rocco obliged her request to keep up
appearances, but privately I wished I was here alone. It was exhausting trying
to pretend that I was happy. I had to restrain myself from crumbling inside
each time he put his arm around me or his hand on my leg. All memories of
affections that were long gone.

At times, I feel myself giving him tiny side glances just to try and work out
what he was thinking, but his eyes never met mine. They remain focused
ahead, his jaw clenching in rapt concentration. We’ve never spoken about
when he came to the house on his motorbike, His helmet obscuring his face,
but I still knew it was him. I could sense it; I almost felt his presence as if an
arrow was hanging over him, pointing down. I wanted to run towards him,
but I didn’t. I had already hurt both of us more than I could have ever
imagined, and I wouldn’t run that risk again. I walked away, and I never
looked back. I often thought about that day and about the subsequent days
afterward, I listened out for the familiar roar of the motorbike, but it never
came.

When everything first happened, I tried to call him, but he just hung up
when he heard my voice and the times I tried to see him, he just stared right
through me until I stopped talking and walked away. Lucia tried to reason
with him, but he just ignored her to the point where I told her to stop trying
because I didn’t want to ruin their relationship. Thick snow is beginning to
heavily fall, obscuring the expensive cars parked outside with white flurries.
“There is a storm warning for tonight, I guess you two will have to stay
here,” Mama says. “I’ll get Anna to make up a room for you.”
“It doesn’t look too heavy,” Rocco states, but it’s clear that the weather
has turned for the worse as heavy winds have started brewing.
“Don’t be silly, it won’t clear for hours,” Ma says tutting.

Several weeks later, I am in the Falcone home, watching Sophia’s eldest

brother Gennaro carve the Christmas turkey. Although I had refused the
invitation twice, Gabriella Falcone was a hard woman to shake off and a
harder one to dissuade. Reluctantly, I had accepted the invitation to
Christmas, although it was taking every inch of willpower within me to pull
off the happy couple act. With every touch, smile and look it becomes
impossibly hard to not blur the lines.

Sophia sits next to me, looking dazzling in a red criss-cross dress. Her
hair is tied up in a sleek bun, showing off her high cheek bones and graceful
neck. My hand lingers over her knee, and I feel her body receptive to my
touch as she trembles slowly before giving me a wishful look. Once I realize
what I am doing, I remove my hand and I see her smile falter.

The rest of the evening is spent smiling and nodding at all the right cues
and playing our parts in this little act. I know Sophia’s family go all out for
Christmas from what she told me before, and I wasn’t disappointed with what
is on show. My eyes are temporarily blinded by the luxe, gold glitter
Swarovski crystals that cover every inch of the home and a giant tree
decorated in green, gold, and red baubles. Elegant large ice sculptures adorn
the gardens that have also been lit up. As much as I am impressed by the vast
amount of money that has been spent on this, it doesn’t feel homely. More so,
this feels like a museum, cold and uninviting.

Later in the evening, I am invited by Paolo to have cigars in his office; an old
Falcone tradition. I am surprised by the request, I know Paolo dislikes me and
the feeling is very mutual. We sit there in silence for a few minutes as I watch
his eyes sizing me up, the tension between us can be cut by a knife. I can
almost feel the antipathy radiating from him.

Unlike the rest of the mansion’s bright and shiny veneer, his study is dark
and modestly decorated. There are very few family photos on the wall, one
with Paolo and his sons and the other of Sophia. Her blinding smile and
delicate eyes causing me discomfort and I shift my focus back to Paolo.

“Take a cigar Croccifixio,” Paolo says cordially, but the smile on his face
doesn’t get past the indifference in his eyes.
“What do you know of Ivan Romanov?” I say, cutting to the point.
“A relation of Chicago, I presume?” he says, apathetic.
“One of your intended Russian in-laws, actually,” I say, staring back at
him and giving him a shrewd look.
“Is this the part where I’m meant to look surprised?” He says mockingly,
while lighting a cigar.
“You omitted the part about Sophia being engaged to Anton Romanov
when I signed the contract to marry your daughter,” I say my voice starting to
rise.
“You wanted her, not the other way around. Besides, it’s not like your
family is exactly squeaky clean, Croccifixio.”

Normally, if anybody else had taken such a cheap shot at my father, I

may have just put a bullet in their skull. He knows I can’t, and that’s why he
says it with such ease. Motherfucker.

“This is different,” I say, standing up and feeling incensed with rage.

“Sit down, Croccifixio,” he barks.
“Please,” he says, lowering his tone and indicating with his hand for me
to sit. “What happened with Sophia…” He speaks in a weary voice, “it was a
teenage blip and she learned her lesson. The hard way.”
“Someone has been leaking information to the Russians, someone almost
got me shot,” I say reluctantly sitting down.
“If you think it was my daughter, show me proof except I’m guessing you
have none. What does she have to say about it?” He says, blowing a ring of
smoke out.
“She denies it,” I say flatly.
“What does Franco say? He is your consigliere, after all,” he asks
knowingly.
“He says it’s inconclusive,” I say irritated.
“So, you reason that since Sophia was previously associated with
Chicago, she is therefore the mastermind in all of this. Anton Romanov is
dead, and she hasn’t had any contact with Chicago since. I used to have men
following her every move,” he says smugly.
“She should have come clean from the start, as you should have.”
“Should, would, could. What do you want, Croccifixio? Are you going to
tell New York this information in the middle of a war, will you take a chance
and hope it doesn’t backfire on you? They might think you’re the real traitor
since you’ve experienced the least loss out of all of us,” he says connivingly.
“I nearly died,” I yell, banging my fist on the desk.
“But you didn’t.” He knows he has me right where he wants me.
“I haven’t told any of the other families, and I don’t intend to.”
“What about Sophia? Are you just going to hold it over my daughter’s
head that she made a mistake for the rest of her life?” For the first time, I hear
the unmistakable note of parental ire in his voice.

“That wasn’t a mistake, it was a betrayal,” I say as I stand up once again.

“She doesn’t deserve your punishment, Croccifixio. This is my daughter
you are talking about.” He narrows his eyes at me.
“I don’t think you have the authority on what I should do with my wife,”
I say, returning the icy glare he’s giving me before leaving the room.

I walk out of Paolo’s office feeling incensed but wipe my face of

expression when I bump into Gabriella Falcone. I try to give her a warm and
endearing smile, but I fear it looks more like a grimace.

“Anna has set up the guest room for you.” Gabriella nods.
“Thank you very much,” I say politely.
“You don’t come around here much, Don De Luca. I think Sophia is
getting used to her husband’s absence,” she says, giving me a stern look.
“Work has kept me away. Sophia understands that.”
“Does she?”
“Yes, we are in the middle of a war, and I have to sacrifice my time.
When it’s over, I will be able to give her my full attention,” I say with finality
in my tone.
“Understandable,” she says, giving me a sideways glance, obviously not
believing me.

When I walk into the bedroom, Sophia is at the dressing table applying face
cream. I almost balk when I see her. It’s been a long time since we were in
such confined quarters together.
“What?” she says, mistaking my discomfort for anger.
“Nothing,” I say frowning.
“I’ll sleep in my old bedroom,” she says heading for the door, but I catch
her arm.
“How will that look to your parents?”
“Like you care, Ma was already asking why you don’t come around so
often anymore. We’re leading separate lives, they’ll find out eventually.”
“It seems like you’re already used to the idea,” I say annoyed.
“You are the one who wanted this, don’t pretend you are all cut up when
you’re sleeping with every socialite in New York.” She seethes.
“Says who?” I say irritably
“You’re not even denying it, so I know it’s true.” she says, folding her
arms in anger.
“So what if I am? Do you really think I am going to be living like a monk
because my wife is a compulsive liar?” I say, taking savage pleasure in her
jealousy. “You never took those vows seriously, so why should I?”
“Yeah, like when you accused me of trying to have you killed?”
“I still don’t know you didn’t,” I mutter.
“If you think that, then you’re stupider than you look. I lied about my
past, but I never lied about how I felt about you. I wanted a clean slate.” she
says, holding up her wrist.
“When did you do that?” I say, looking at her ink-free wrist.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she says, disappearing into the en-suite
bathroom and slamming the door.
“Sophia.” I knock on the bathroom door.
“Get out,” she shouts back to me, her voice thick with emotion.
“You got it removed?” I say talking to the door. “Sophia?” I knock again
but this time she yanks open the door and the force almost knocks me over.
“What do you want, Rocco?”
“Why did you get it removed?” I say apprehensively.
“It was going to be my Christmas present for you, Happy Christmas,” she
says sarcastically, as she sits herself on the bed and crosses her legs like a
small child. “What else was I going to get for the man who already has
everything?” She sighs. “I wanted to show you that I was committed to you,
that the past was in the past. You’re right. I was never going to tell you about
Anton because I knew it would change everything, and you would look at me
pretty much the way you have been looking at me since that day in Brooklyn.
Like I’m tainted, contaminated, or whatever you want to call it. This doesn’t
change anything, does it?” she asks, looking at me wishfully.

“It’s hard to see you as mine when I know you belonged to someone else
before,” I say slowly.
“I could say the same for you and the thousands of women you’ve been
with.”
“But none of them had my heart,” I say as I leave the room.
I sit outside in the gardens for hours, despite it being beyond freezing I don’t
feel a thing. The ice sculptures stare down at me ceremoniously as I start to
unpack every thought in my mind. The tattoo is gone but the betrayal remains
and every time I see her it is like picking a painful scab that never seems to
heal. Do I really believe that Sophia is involved with the Russians, or is it just
paranoia and rage banding together to find ways to not forgive her? The war
with the Russians has been the only thing I can focus on in Sophia’s absence,
Artem’s destruction will be my only absolution.

I haven’t thought about another woman for months, and my sex drive has
been blown out like a candle. Of course, women offer themselves to me on
the plate, but I just don’t have the same voracious appetite I used to. Hours
later, I walk up the stairs and stop outside the room. Do I even have the self-
control to stay away from the one thing I hate to admit I want most? The
room is dark, and Sophia is huddled to one side of the bed. I can just get
undressed and go to sleep, can being the operative word.

“Sophia,” I say kissing her shoulder blade.

“What are you doing?” She says, her body shivering at my touch.
“I don’t know,” I say, pausing. “I knew I couldn’t share a bed with you
and not touch you.”
“We shouldn’t do this, Rocco,” she says as she pulls back slightly though
I can feel her heart racing.
“I just need you one last time, Sophia,” I murmur.
“Why?” she asks, but I can’t find the words to explain myself.

My hand slowly moves up her silky body as I pull her chemise off, my
body reaching around to touch her soft breasts. My lips find her neck as I
deeply inhale her sweet scent, her nipples becoming erect in my fingers as
my thumbs circle them. I move down, sliding my fingers through her legs
until I feel her clench tightly as I enter her.
“Jesus,” she whispers hoarsely.
“Not quite,” I say almost smirking.
It’s an old joke between us; the memory feeling like a knife to my chest,
though I would never admit it. It’s easier this way in the dark without having
to look at her face, because, unfortunately, I think right now, she could see
through every wall I fortified against her.
“You missed me?” I ask, feeling her wetness saturate my fingers.
“No,” she says breathily, but I know she’s lying from the moans leaving
her lips.
“Liar,” I say, sucking her neck deeply as her thighs tighten around my
fingers.
“Turn around, on your knees,” I say, moving behind her and unzipping
my pants.
“Rocco,” she says slowly as I finger her gently, testing if she’s wet
enough for me to thrust inside.
“Fuck,” I groan as I push inside of her. “So fucking tight, I missed this
pussy.”
I grab her hips firmly and start to fuck her harder until I feel myself
climax and collapse on top of her. She tries to turn around, but I push her
back down and straddle her. I start to kiss down her neck, tasting the saltiness
of her skin on my tongue. She squirms when I reach the hilt of her back and
my tongue moves down lower as I lick her clean, listening to the small moans
she makes. My thumb circles her asshole slowly as her body clenches in
anticipation underneath me.

I turn her around slowly but hold her by her wrists as she tries to cover
herself up. I push open her legs roughly as my mouth finds her neck. I suck
and bite all the way down to her breasts and groan as I take them into my
mouth one at a time until I move down lower. My tongue pushes deep into
her as I feel her knees trying to close, but I gently push them open.
“Don’t come yet,” I say, thinking of my next move.

I move my body up so my face just hovers above hers and I start to enter
her slowly, not as rough as last time. My hands resting on either side of her
head as I thrust deeper into her. She is ready for me this time as her walls
expand to accommodate me. We’re almost nose to nose, but I don’t get any
closer to her, our bodies moving to a synchronized rhythm until I feel that
familiar pull in my abdomen, and we climax together. For a second, our eyes
lock, and I feel the urge to kiss her, but I don’t. I can’t make this more than a
one-nighter.
“Goodnight, Sophia.” I say pulling out of her and heading into the shower
before I start to say all the things buried deep within me for the past few
weeks.
 “And I shall seek you endlessly, for
I am a moth, and you’re my flame. Knowing that I’ll burn at your touch
I return, for you’re a fire; untamed.”
—Zubair Ahsan

TWO MONTHS LATER

I HADN’T SPOKEN TO ROCCO SINCE CHRISTMAS NIGHT AT MY

PARENT’S HOUSE.

He returned from the shower, going to bed without saying a word. When I
awoke in the morning, he was long gone.

All hope I had about a reconciliation had been extinguished at that

moment. I had spent my time focusing on everything else apart from my
crumbling marriage. The gym was my therapy with every bench press, squat,
or kettlebell. It made me forget everything that was going on.

Lucia occasionally joined me, although she only had about five minutes
of working out within her before she needed a break. Lucia is busy with
college and her new ‘mystery man’. Who she refuses to tell me about, but
happiness seemed to radiate from her.

“What is going on with you then?” she says, looking at me while trying to
take a selfie on the treadmill.
“Only you would use a treadmill for a selfie prop,” I snort.
“I’m being versatile,” she says while increasing the incline. “And you’re
being evasive.”
“Evasive?”
“I asked you a question.”
“This is what is going on, a whole load of nothing. I want to hear more
about you so I can live vicariously through you.”
“What I do know is monogamy equals mind-blowing sex. I’ve never had
one boyfriend at a time,” she says thoughtfully. “But it feels more…”
“Intimate?” I finish for her.
“That is the word. Sorry I forgot you’re not exactly in the romantic frame
of mind.”
“Well…” I hesitate on whether to tell her or not.
“What? Have you got a boyfriend?” she says looking half-impressed,
half-annoyed.
“No, are you crazy?” I sigh.

She doesn’t disappoint me in her reaction. In fact, she almost falls off the
treadmill, which makes us both hysterical.

“Holy shit,” she says slowly.

“What does it mean?” I look at her as she sips on her water bottle
thoughtfully.
“Dude, how did you wait two months to tell me this? What the fuck? It’s
not like you have anything else going on.”
“You were busy with assignments. I think they took a little more priority,
besides you’re all loved up. I didn’t want to drag you down.”
“Don’t be such a dumbass. I always have time for you,” she says pinching
me playfully.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“For withholding important information,” she says rolling her eyes.
 “I was embarrassed. I thought maybe he would call me or stop by, but he
never did, so I just figured it was over,” I say mournfully.
“He still loves you.” She shrugs.
“What about the other women?” I say sighing.
“I’ve never seen him with anyone, they’re probably just rumors.”
“Rocco isn’t going to not have sex, he needs it every night,” I say
scoffing.
“Gross! He’s so busy with Chicago he probably doesn’t have time for
social activities,” she says thoughtfully. “He loves you and you love him.
Maybe it will all work out.”
“He’s never said he has. I’ve only said it to him twice which he ignored.”
“He’s never said it to me and I’m his sister, but this is different. Very
interesting.”
“He left me after I slept with him on Christmas night. He might as well
have called any random girl,” I say annoyed at myself for being so easy to
discard.
“I guess he didn’t want to stir up old feelings, he wanted it to be just
about sex.”
“So, I guess it was just a one-off.”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“You make it sound like it’s so easy.”
“The club is throwing a huge Valentine’s Day party tomorrow, why don’t
you ask him yourself then. Perfect timing.”
“He won’t allow me into the club.”
“I’ve been sneaking into clubs since I was thirteen, I’ve got this.”

She gives me a knowing smile before she starts speed texting on her
phone. Whatever she has planned, I hope it works.

Capri feels like a fucking long time ago, Sophia and I are approaching almost
a year of marriage but it’s hardly traditional in any sense of the word. I
slipped that night at her papa’s house, it was the first time we had been alone
without anybody else there. I was surprised at how much I still wanted her; it
was like every feeling had resurfaced back to the forefront of my mind.

I hadn’t kissed a single broad since Sophia, and it took all my willpower
not to break it that night. It was the main reason I wanted to take her from
behind, an excuse not to look into her face or fall into her eyes. I could tell
she was surprised because I never much favored that position when I was
with her, because it required zero eye contact. I let myself slip, because I was
hungry for her, hungry to touch all her most forbidden places but I knew I
could never forgive so easily.

It looked like we were finally making progress with the war against
Chicago. We had managed to outmaneuver and outman them. The loss of
Ivan Romanov, Artem’s brother-in-law, was a massive blow to the Bratva
since he was one of their highest-ranking captains. I keep waiting for further
retaliation after the hijacked drug shipments, but it never came. Tonight is
Valentine’s Day, a big night for the nightclub business, and I already have
over a thousand revelers coming in and those are just the singles, not
counting the VIP’s who will be spending thousands on champagne, cocaine,
and the call girls we have strategically placed around the club.

“Somebody is here to see you,” Dominic’s voice says interjecting my

thoughts.
“Who?” I say wishfully.
“It’s not Sophia, it’s Keira.”
“What the hell does she want?”
“Maybe she wants to wish you a happy Valentine’s Day?”
“Not after the last time I saw her.” I chuckle.
“She said she has some information from her father that you’d be
interested in.”
“Declan is still in the business?” I say frowning.
“It might be a good tip. Keira’s nosy ass knows everything.”
“Did she say anything else?”
 “No, it was pretty vague. Maybe she just wants your night to go out with
a bang,” he says smirking.
“That is more like the Keira I know,” I say rolling my eyes.

“Boss?” Dominic says again looking embarrassed.

“Yeah?”
“Shall I tell her that you’ll see her?”
“Yeah, not in here, though. I’ll pay her a visit later tonight.”
“Okay,” he says giving me an appraising look before walking out.

Valentine’s Day has finally arrived, and every emotion seems to fly through
me knowing I will see Rocco soon. I buzz Lucia in as I wait anxiously inside
my bedroom, every outfit I own is sprawled out in front of me, but they all
just seem so drab. I hear Lucia’s familiar light footsteps, her heels clicking on
the hardwood floor.

“Where are you?” she calls from the hallway.

“Bedroom,” I shout back.
“Lucia!” I say in shock as she walks in.

She is wearing an electric blue dress with a thigh-high slit, but her outfit
isn’t the only thing that is new. Her candyfloss pink hair is now a vibrant
neon red, cut into a chic bob.
“Notice anything different?” she says smugly.
“You look amazing.”
“It’s your turn. Show me what you got. Pretend I’m Simon Cowell and
you’re trying to be the American Idol,” she says sitting on the bed smiling.
“Simon Cowell doesn’t wear thigh-high dresses.”
“He does now, bitch.” She smirks.
The next hour is spent trying on every outfit that Lucia apparently hates. “It’s
a no from me,” she says doing a mock sigh.
“You’re taking the judge thing a little too seriously,” I say throwing my
hands in the air. “At this rate I’ll be wearing nothing, Lucia,” I sigh, falling
down on the bed and sprawling out over the clothes.
“That might be an idea. Maybe, you could do something like Samantha
from Sex and the City and cover yourself in sushi,” she says cracking up.
“Gross and sticky. Besides, Rocco doesn’t like sushi.”
“Okay, cover yourself in pizza,” she snorts.
“Shut up, Lucia,” I say poking her.
“Try this on,” she says pulling out a gold bandeau dress.
“This isn’t mine,” I say suspiciously.
“I know, I got it for you, dumb ass.”
“Why did you let me try on all the other dresses then?” I say sighing.
“Because it was fun, duh.” She laughs.
 “When you loved someone and had to let them go, there will always be that
small part of yourself that whispers, ”What was it that you wanted and why
didn’t you fight for it?”
—Shannon L. Alder

I GINGERLY PULL ON THE DRESS, THE DELICATE MATERIAL

FEELS LIKE FINE SILK AGAINST MY SKIN.

It’s a little revealing, showing a generous amount of cleavage and legs.

I guess that is the point to get Rocco’s attention.

“What do you think?” I say to her as I walk out of the closet.

“If Rocco rejects you wearing that, he’s stupider than I thought.”
“How are we going to get out of here tonight? Franco is not going to let
me out of his sight.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Rocco will instruct all of his men not to let us in tonight, even if we do
get past Franco.”
“Relax, I’ve got this,” she says winking at me.
 “You and Franco seem to be on good terms,” I say subtly.
“What does that mean?” She shrugs innocently.
“It means, is there something going on between you?”
“No, he is just much nicer to me than Rocco is. Men, in general, aren’t
very nice to me after I sleep with them. It’s all about, can you get out of here
before my wife comes back?”
“Jesus, Lucia,” I say sighing.
“Franco is divorced and we’re just friends.”
“What does Rocco think about that friendship?”
“His head is so up his own ass, he wouldn’t notice if I was sleeping with
Artem Romanov himself. Bad example, I guess,” she says awkwardly.
“Yep, just another reminder,” I exhale.
“I still don’t understand how you never slept with Anton, but almost
married him?”
“I guess we were both traditional. If I knew he was going to die ten
minutes before we got married, I probably would have.”
“Do you still love him?”
“I didn’t love him, not like the way I love Rocco.” I say wishfully, “it was
infatuation if I would have married Anton, I would have been just swapping
one glass cage for another. I feel guilty more than anything else that I cost
him his life.”
“Does Rocco know all of this?”
“He never gave me a chance to explain it.”
“Tell him everything. He needs to know that you’re picking him for the
right reasons, not because you were forced to. He needs to know that because
if he doesn’t, he’ll feel like he’s second best and one thing Rocco isn’t, is
second best in anything.”

Several hours later, we are situated inside the club. Lucia nods at me
haughtily while I shrug in surprise.
“I told you we would get in,” Lucia says, smiling smugly. “I know every
goddamn security person at every club door in this city. I can’t believe you
ever doubted me.”
 “I’m more surprised that Franco agreed to give us a few hours alone for a
girl’s night. Have you ever had a girl’s night?”
“Have you?” she asks pointedly.
“You’re the only girl I know, the other girls I grew up with are prim and
proper robots.”
“And I’m just your wild ass sister-in-law.”
“For now,” I say sighing.
“Forever, whatever happens,” she says, squeezing my hand.
“That sounds ominous,” I say giving her a look.
“You should just tell Rocco how you feel, make him listen to you and if
he’s still being a jerk ask him for the divorce. It’s better to do it now rather
than drag it out. Do you still want to be with him?”
“I still love Rocco, I just need him to understand why I never told him
about Anton. I want him to know that if I had a choice I would always pick
him.”
“Then do it, he’ll be in the office upstairs. Rocco rarely hangs out in the
club, he’s too antisocial for that.”
“Where will you be?”
“At the bar, obviously. Have we just fucking met?” she says, rolling her
eyes.

I walk around the club looking for any sign of Rocco. Instinctively, if he
were here, I know I would be able to pick him out from the darkest smokiest
corner. I walk towards the elevator to his office on the top floor but two
security guys who I am not familiar with stop me.
“Miss, you can’t go through there, that area is restricted.”
“Hold on,” a familiar voice interjects.
“I’ll take it from here,” Dominic says from behind me and waves them
off. “Sophia, what are you doing here?” He says frowning.
“I want to see Rocco,” I say firmly.
“He’s not in the office,” he says, shaking his head.
“Don’t lie to me, Dominic. I just need to talk to him, please.”
“I’m not lying, Sophia. He’s not here, you can check the office if you
want.”
“Where is he?”
“He stepped out for a business meeting.”
“On Valentine’s Day?” I say, feeling my heart drop.
“The Mafia doesn’t stop for holidays, Sophia.”
“Okay, thanks,” I say turning back.
“Do you want me to tell him you stopped by?” he says impassively.
“No, and don’t look at me like that, Dominic. Like I’m some one night
stand you have to get rid of in the morning,” I say bitterly.
“Where is Franco?” He asks, annoyed.
“He is running late, Lucia is with me for now.”
“Figures,” he says sarcastically.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” he says shaking his head. “Shall I arrange for someone to take
you both home?”
“No, thank you,” I say politely, walking out into the loud club.

I go to the bar and wait anxiously for Lucia, but she isn’t there. To avoid
looking like I have been stood up I order a drink, but one sip is enough to
make me nauseous.
“You’ve been nursing that drink for a hell of a long time,” a voice says
from behind me.
I whip around feeling hopeful, but it isn’t Rocco; the accent doesn’t
match.

I squint in the darkness and make out the tall masculine figure of Henri.
His blonde hair has been combed back slickly giving him a classic affluent
European look complimentary of his lineage. His blue eyes twinkle at me and
there is something about him that I find ominously familiar, but I just cannot
put my finger on why.

He is dressed in a navy suit and white crisp shirt, every sense of the
debonair gentleman. I haven’t seen him since Capri, which in itself feels like
a lifetime ago. I look around nervously for Rocco’s brooding eyes, but they
are nowhere in sight. I try to think objectively about Rocco’s reaction to me
not only being here when I am not supposed to but also being here with
Henri, who he does not like whatsoever. Would his possessiveness drive him
back into my arms, or would it force us apart even more?

“I hope I didn’t scare you,” he says, smiling.

“Henri,” I say, putting my hand out to greet him.
“Enchanté,” he says, kissing my hand. “How are you, Mon Chéri?”
“I’m good,” I say, shouting over the music.
“Are you sure about that? You’re sitting on your own on Valentine’s
Day?” He chuckles.
“I’m waiting for Lucia. I don’t know where she got to, and I could say the
same for you.”
“I fear I was stood up,” he says, checking his phone before typing slowly,
then putting it away.
“What? Really?” I say, frowning at the unlikeliness.
“I guess it happens.”
“On Valentine’s Day? That is kind of mean.” I say taken back.
“I’ve always liked the mean ones,” He laughs.
“There are plenty of women here. You might get lucky tonight,” I say
reassuringly. “I’m going to try and call Lucia,” I say while reaching for my
phone.

I try to call her, but the line doesn’t go through. A message pops up on
my screen, but it isn’t from Lucia, it’s from Rocco. My insides turn to slush
as I read the screen telling me to come and meet him at an address. I put the
phone away and frown slightly. Dominic must have told him that I was here.
He must want to see me, I think as my insides light with hope. I try Lucia
again, but the call goes straight to voicemail.
“Is everything okay?” Henri asks.
“Yeah, I just can’t reach Lucia, which is strange.”
“I saw her when I came in talking to some guy. Perhaps she went off with
him? Is that likely?”
“Yeah, it is. I don’t know if I should wait or leave, Rocco is waiting for
me.”
“Is she your ride?”
 “Yeah, but I guess I’ll have to catch a cab.”
“On Friday night?” He snorts. “Good luck.”
“I guess I could ask Dominic to take me,” I say, biting my lip.
“I’m headed uptown. I could take you wherever you’re going on my way
home, what do you think?”
“I don’t think Rocco would be happy with that,” I say, awkwardly.
“Well, he isn’t here. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.” He shrugs.
“No, I’ll wait for Lucia. Thank you,” I say, giving him a small smile.
“Sure,” he says leaving.

I continue to wait at the bar for another ten minutes. Lucia’s phone keeps
going to voicemail, and I’m just about ready to tell Dominic about Lucia
being missing when suddenly sirens ring through the club as the fire alarm
blares. The club becomes pandemonium as everybody rushes to the entrance
and the sprinklers turn on soaking everyone.

I finally make it through the entrance of the club, and it is complete

bedlam. Snow has started to fall, thick and fast and I feel myself shiver. I
curse myself for leaving my jacket at the bar as an icy wind starts to brew.
None of the security men are around and I can’t spot Dominic or Damon in
the crowd, which is starting to get raucous, as fights start to break out. I
finally flag down a cab and give him the address on the phone. Twenty
minutes later, we pull up to a large luxury high-rise apartment complex.

I can’t figure out why Rocco has asked me to come here. I know he has
property in New York, but Hudson Yards is not to his taste. It is a little too
gaudy for him. Rocco preferred the more authentic brownstone-styled homes
of Chelsea or Brooklyn Heights.

I continue trying to get a hold of Lucia but it goes to voicemail again,

snow continues to fall down hard as I feel the temperature plummet down.
“We’re here, lady,” the driver says in a thick New York accent.
“Okay,” I say, looking around curiously.
 “Are you sure this is the right address? You look confused, girly.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I say, paying him.

I exit the cab as the snow starts to fall thicker on the ground. When I
notice Rocco’s car is parked neatly outside, I feel reassured. I walk up to the
luxury high-rise, but there is a code to get in, which I don’t know. I’m about
to call the apartment number on the buzzer, but luckily somebody is leaving
as I try to enter. My heels clink across the marble floor foyer as I approach
the elevator and press the eighth floor. As the elevator rises, there seems to be
little noise in the building.

I figure everybody must be out since it’s Friday night. When I get out of
the elevator, there is a mirror on the opposite wall. I reapply my lipstick and
check my hair, feeling oddly silly. It isn’t like this is the first date, Rocco is
my husband.

I knock on the door, but there isn’t a reply, so I push down the door
handle and surprisingly it opens. Nobody is in the living room or kitchen, yet
I can hear a low murmur coming through one of the bedrooms. The door is
closed, but I push it open and immediate shock filters through my system.

Rocco is standing by the bed with a woman, kneeling in front of him. Not
just any woman, but Keira Kavanagh.

I blink several times, trying to make sure this isn’t just a horrible nightmare.
Keira is kneeling there in her underwear, her hands reaching for Rocco’s
pants as she talks animatedly to him. Loose tendrils of her platinum blonde
hair fall over a green shamrock tattoo on her lower back as her body arches
needily towards him. For a second, it feels like I have left my own body and
am viewing it from above, beyond reaction. Finally, Rocco senses another
presence and looks up from his conversation, his face draining of blood when
he sees me.
 “So nice of you to join us,” Keira says, turning around and giving me a
smirk. She looks like a frog that has just captured the juiciest of flies.

“Sophia,” Rocco says, pushing Keira away and trying to walk towards
me, but I hold my arms up as if to defend myself from him and for a second,
he appears anguished.

I stagger out of the room feeling like the air is being suffocated out of me.
I hear Rocco calling my name, but I slam the apartment door and run to the
elevator and jump in it before it closes. My phone is ringing, but I smash it to
the ground and stamp on it with my heel in the foyer in anger. The cold air
hits me like icy daggers when I walk outside. I try to breathe, but the searing
pain of betrayal hits me in rolling waves.

I bite my lip to stop the tears from coming but it doesn’t work, they fall
down like icy streams on my face. I hear a rustling noise behind me, and
when I turn around, I feel something hit me across my face as a cloth is
forced over my mouth, after that I fall into darkness.
“You weren’t supposed to walk away no more. You fucked me, and that was
the worst thing you ever did.”
—Tommy Agro

I HAD CONSIDERED NOT SEEING KEIRA, BUT I WAS CURIOUS

ABOUT THE INFORMATION DECLAN HAD.

I informed Damon and Dominic I would visit Keira alone; besides I could
handle her smart mouth.

“You wanted to speak to me, so speak,” I say, leaning back on the couch.
“You know I was never much of a talker.” She says smiling at me.
“What is it you want?” I say, rolling my eyes.
“You,” she says leaning in to kiss me, but I push her back. “Don’t you
remember the conversation we had in Capri?” I say irritably.
“I do, yet here you are. If you’re so happy with Miss Priss, why are you
sitting in my apartment?”
“Good question. You told me your father had information but clearly, I
was misinformed,” I say, standing up to leave, but she stops me.
 “Stay the night.”
“No,” I say, pushing her aside, but she doesn’t budge.
“Fuck me then, like you used to. There was a time you couldn’t get
enough of me. I won’t tell if you don’t. What else do you have to lose?”

For a brief second, I contemplate fucking her, but within the moment of
me doing that, I realize it isn’t what I want at all. A short minute of self-
gratification would take the edge off everything, but in the long run, it would
be a disaster and I would be filled with regret. Although my marriage was all
but over, I didn’t want Keira either. I don’t want any woman and the one I do
want is firmly out of bounds despite whatever existing feelings may still have
for her.
“I’ll pass. What information do you have?” I ask bluntly.
“Sit down. Let me take your jacket,” she says, giving me a wide smile.
“For what?”
“So, I can hang it up. Goddamn, Rocco, did you grow up in a barn?”
“Since when did you become Miss Congeniality?” I say, giving her the
jacket. “I know exactly how much money is in my wallet, so don’t get any
fucking ideas. I know you too well.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she replies daintily walking off.
“What kind of information is this? I thought your father was…
indisposed.”
“He is. I’ve been helping him,” she says slowly.
“I didn’t know that was your forte.”
“You’d be surprised at what talents I have.” She says, smiling even wider.
“I’ll bet,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“You know what day it is, right?” She says, walking over to me.
“It’s Friday,” I say, irritated.
“It’s Valentine’s Day.” She says seductively.
“Keira,” I snap, “what is the information?”
“It’s in here. My father told me to hide it,” she says, leading me to the
bedroom.
“Where is it then?” I say peering around.
“Right here,” she says, shrugging off her dress and kneeling down in
front of me.
Before I can protest, she unbuckles my belt and unzips my pants, I try to
shake her off, but her hands stay firm. I look up in frustration and see Sophia
standing at the entrance of the door. I can see the pain in her eyes, piercing
through me like a lightning bolt as tears start to flow down her face.
“So nice of you to join us,” Keira says, turning around with a wicked
smile.

I walk towards her, pushing Keira to the side, but Sophia puts her hands
up like I am going to attack her. For a second, I am taken aback by her
reaction to me that I just stand there dumbly. The apartment door slams shut
as Sophia leaves.
“Are we going to start this night or what?” Keira says from behind me.
“How did Sophia know where I was?” I say, grabbing her by the throat
and picking her up.
“She’s your wife. Why wouldn’t she know? Unless you’re somewhere
you’re not supposed to be.” She laughs derisively.
“Start talking,” I say, pushing her up against the wall and tightening my
grip on her neck until she is choking for breath.
“You told her to come here,” I say, letting go.
“No, you told her to come here,” she says, trying to shrug out of my grip.
“I warned you in Capri, and now you’re going to realize I’m not a man to
be messed with,” I say, slapping her hard across the face.
“You’re going to regret that,” she says, touching her lip that is now
bleeding.
“I was going to say the same thing to you,” I say as my hand grips tighter.
This time I wouldn’t let go.
“I doubt that,” she croaks out as the door slams shut, and I look at her but
she continues smiling at me.
I drop my arm in shock as three burly men walk in Keira’s bedroom, I then
realize that there is fourth man behind them, his small, stunted frame is
hidden by the statuesque men in front of him. They move aside for him, so he
takes front and center of the other men.

Artem Romanov stands opposite me, although he is small and aged in

appearance. His powerful presence transcends his age, and when he looks
into my eyes, I can see the bloodthirst radiating from them. I glance from
Artem to Keira’s smiling face, and I know that I have truly been caught in an
epic trap that will likely cost me my life. Keira knew me, and that was my
downfall. She knew I wouldn’t bring anyone along, that I wouldn’t feel
threatened enough to take back up. The whole night had been planned from
Keira’s attempted seduction under the ruse of information from Declan, to
her stealing my jacket and messaging Sophia. I always thought I held the
cards, but Artem had pulled an ace out from his sleeve, and now it is down to
me to salvage my life.

“I take it you know who I am,” he says in a wheezy yet commanding

voice.
“Artem Romanov,” I say, sucking in my breath.
“I believe this is what you call a honeytrap.” He smirks while the other
men around him laugh.

I open my eyes, but all I see is darkness. My head pounds mercilessly as the
feeling of nausea rockets within me. I realize I have something covering my
eyes, but when I go to remove it, I sense that my hands and feet are bound. I
open my mouth, except I can hardly speak; my mouth is dry and I can taste
my own blood.

Footsteps walk towards me, and I feel a bottle being pushed in my mouth.
The cool water pouring down the Sahara of my throat is all I hear until the
plastic crunch of the bottle indicates it’s finished.
 “Where am I?” I say as the bottle is removed from my mouth.
“Where it all started,” a familiar voice replies.
“Who are you?” I say shakily.
“Who do you think it is?” The voice replies, almost mocking me.
“Stop playing games,” I snarl. “Where am I?” Feeling scared at the
reverberations under my feet.
“Relax, Sophia. We’re going on a little trip. Everything will be explained
soon,” the voice says as it presses the chloroform-soaked rag over my mouth
until I fade into blackness again.

I jump up as the blindfold is pulled off roughly, and I blink several times
before my eyes acclimatize to the daylight. I feel disoriented and agitated,
like every muscle in my body is aching and on fire. I glance up to see a
smiling figure standing over me as confusion and bewilderment run through
my mind and I try to piece everything together.

“Henri?” I ask, bewildered.

“Dah.” He says smiling at me.
“I don’t understand, and wait, what happened to your accent?” I say,
shivering.
“Good girl.” He nods eagerly. “You’re getting closer now.”
“Who are you?”
“Not so much Henri as Andriy,” he says, grinning as dread starts to sink
in. “Would it be terribly cliché if I said surprise?” He chuckles.
“Andriy died with Anton that day, I saw it with my own eyes. It’s
impossible,” I say, my teeth chattering now.
“Almost died. As you can see, I’m very much alive, albeit missing my
spleen which I want to thank your father for personally.”
“You don’t even look like you,” I say, horrified. “You’re not Andriy, you
can’t be!”
“Well, daddy dearest did put four bullets in my face and several more in
my body, so I was nearly dead. It took a helluva a lot of facial reconstruction,
physiotherapy, and even speech therapy to be functional. Do you know how
fucking hard it is to learn everything from scratch again? How painfully slow
it was to even get me up and running? Still, in that time, everything came into
focus despite our original plan being fucked up beyond comprehension.”
“Plan?”
“Of course, there was a plan, Sophia.” he says impatiently, shaking his
head. “Did you think it was a coincidence that you and Anton met? Did you
think that out of every single fucking man in New York, you would be
acquainted with the son of your father’s rival? It was planned. Anton reeled
you in like a fish on a hook. He said all the right things, and you fell for it
like we knew you would. If everything went to plan, you wouldn’t have made
it to the honeymoon, sweetheart, but your father had to ruin it all,” he says
bitterly.
“You’re wrong,” I say, shaking my head.
“No, you’re just stupid.”
“You were meant to die that night in Chicago. It was all a set-up. Anton
told your father where you were, it was meant to be an ambush, but we were
outgunned. My idiot brother underestimated the cunning fox Paolo Falcone
and the rest is unfortunately history. But I’m here to re-write it, wrongs will
be righted Sophia, starting with you.” He says venomously.
“It was you who attacked me in Capri and slashed my tires in New York,”
I say, my voice shaking. “You even asked my father for my hand in marriage,
you’re sick!” I say starting to shake.
“I had no intention of hurting you just yet, but the marriage part would
have been an easier way to kill you. Honestly, I just wanted to fuck with you.
I wanted to see how invested you were in your husband.” He says spitefully.
“It was you who told Rocco about Anton, wasn’t it?” I say to Andriy.
“No, I made sure my useless uncle failed in killing him so he would get
caught and relay the message back to your dear husband. I just gave him the
information and planted a seed of doubt in his head. If darling Sophia lied to
you about this, what else is she lying to you about? His ego would not allow
himself to be made a fool of. I watched him closely these last months and he
thought he had been winning the war when I was in control the whole time.”
“What do you want from me?” I say hollowly.
“I want you to die, of course,” Andriy says, chuckling.
 “I have killed no men, that, in the first place, didn’t deserve killing.”
—Mickey Cohen

ADRENALINE KICKS IN, AS I CONTEMPLATE A WAY TO GET

MYSELF OUT OF THIS MESS.

Exit strategies seem to formulate in my head but I know none of them

will work work.

Artem smiles at me in victory, as if reading my mind. His men crack their

knuckles menacingly as Keira smiles gleefully at me.

“This is where you fill me in on everything,” I say, trying to keep my

composure but well aware of the threat hanging over me.

“Get dressed and meet me in the living room. I’m not discussing business
in women’s quarters,” Artem says disgustedly, looking at Keira’s discarded
clothes on the floor.
 “Where are you going?” he says to Keira, who is about to follow him.
“I’m joining the conversation,” she says, looking at him blankly.
“I only speak to men. Are you a man?” He says in a thick Russian accent
before walking out. She tries to follow him, but his men stop her before they
leave the room.
“Whatever you did, you’re going to fucking regret it,” I say to her,
buckling my pants.
“I can say the same thing to you,” she hisses. “You made a fool out of
me, and you’re going to die tonight.”
“And you think you won’t be joining me if I do? The Romanov’s don’t
do loose ends, no matter who your father once was.”
“I’ve taken control of my father’s firm, idiot. It was me who led the
Russians to New York. Me who told them how to infiltrate your shipments. I
relayed every speck of information I ever picked up on you over the years.
I’m the one in control, and now you’re at my mercy not the other way
around. The Kavanagh’s and the O’Shea’s will be a force to be reckoned with
once more.”
“Why did you message Sophia to come here?”
“That is the B-side of the plan.” She says jubilantly.
“Meaning?” I say, feeling anger building up inside of me.
“You’re going to find that out real soon,” she says, smirking before
disappearing into the bathroom.

I open the closet door quietly and move my hand to the top back shelf, just as
I thought the gun, I had stashed here a long time ago is still loaded. Thank
God, I have the good sense to always keep a weapon in a place I frequented,
and I also I praised the fact that Keira was stupid enough not to realize it had
been here this whole time. I place it quietly under the waistband of my pants
before heading outside. Romanov’s men are having a cigarette on the
balcony, apparently not worried about me being a threat.

“You wanted to see me,” I say, standing in front of Artem.

“Sit down.” He motions, offering me the seat opposite him which is
against the wall.
“So, we finally meet. I wasn’t a part of the first war, so I guess this is a
monumental moment for me,” I say sarcastically. “What do you want from
me?”
“I thought you would be the one asking me that,” the old man says,
smiling. Then it dawns on me, he has something of mine.
“Where is Sophia?” I say bluntly.
“She should be on her way to Chicago for a welcome home party with my
son.”
“Your sons are dead.”
“You’d be surprised what you can survive if you really want to,” he says,
baring his yellowing teeth at me.
“I will offer you my life in exchange for hers.”
“You’re saying it like it’s an option,” he snickers. “Your life is already
gone, boy. You were just a monopoly piece in the bigger picture. Besides, do
you really care about her that much, considering you were in another
woman’s bedroom? I saw Sophia when she left here. She was heartbroken,
crying her little eyes out.” He chuckles. “She didn’t put up much of a fight
for Andriy,” he says, clicking his tongue.
“Andriy is dead,” I say, feeling annoyed.
“You might know him as Henri, these days.”
“Henri is your son?” I say flabbergasted.
“Henri was the persona he took on to cover his true identity of Andriy. He
escaped with his life that night in Chicago, but nobody could know until we
were ready. Henri was a way for him to observe from the side-lines what our
Italian friends were doing.”
“Now I know why I never liked him,” I say, my jaw clenching.
“The feeling is mutual though it won’t matter anymore. Once you’re
dead, we will storm the city and claim what should have been ours.”
“Kill me then,” I say, smiling at him. “Oh right, you need your men to do
it since you can’t even sit your ass down without them carrying you in.” I
snicker.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” he says slowly, pulling out a gun, his hand
shaking with effort.
“Me too,” I reply, drawing the gun from my waistband.
His eyes widen, but my reflexes are a lot quicker than his. I shoot him once in
the head as the sound ricochets around the apartment. His men amble in from
the balcony, but I manage to hit two of them square in the chest, watching as
they collapse on the spot. Their compatriot isn’t so easy to get. I groan as he
catches me on the fleshy part of my arm before ducking for several minutes
until he runs out of ammunition.

When he stops to reload, I hit him three times in the head just to make
sure he is dead. Keira comes running out of her bathroom, still dripping from
the shower. Her mouth turns into an ‘o’ shape as she spots Artem and his
men dead around me.
“Walk towards me,” I instruct her.
“Rocco,” she says softly, “I was forced into this. I didn’t want to—”
“Where is Sophia?” I say firmly.
“I don’t know,” she replies airily. I respond in kind by shooting her in the
foot. “Tell me now. Otherwise, I’ll just start working my way up,” I say as
she screams hysterically.
“She’s in a warehouse in Illinois. Lamapro Brothers’ automobiles,” she
says, dissolving into tears. I look at her one last time before shooting her
twice in the head, watching her eyes blank out before silence ensues.

I rush over to the living room closet, pulling on my jacket. I call Franco and
tell him as briefly as I can about the situation in case the line is being tapped,
he deciphers what I mean, and I can hear him barking orders to the men in the
background.

“Meet me at my location and get a clean-up crew here.” I say slowly, “I

also need to find my sister, just in case our friends want to find her first.”
“Lucia was at the club tonight with Sophia. I got held up arriving, which I
think was part of the plan,” he says, clicking his tongue angrily.
“Why was Sophia at my club? She shouldn’t have been there.”
“Lucia talked me into it,” he says uncomfortably. “It may have been an
error in judgment.”
“You think?” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “Where is Lucia?” I
say, feeling oddly protective over my younger sister.
“Lucia is at the club. Somebody spiked her drink but she’s been checked
over and she’s fine. They tried to run interference in here tonight. The fire
alarms were set off, causing hundreds of thousands worth of damage as well
as a ton of fights. None of this is a coincidence, someone was trying to isolate
Sophia.”
“I know who. I’ll tell you when you get here. Get the jet ready because
we’re flying to Chicago.”

“Help me,” I mutter as my eyes flicker open.

We’re no longer on moving anymore, we’re in a kind of abandoned

warehouse. It feels icy cold as my body shivers uncomfortably, I try to
huddle my knees closer together for warmth. I’m still wearing the gold mini
dress from the other night, but there is an old blanket wrapped around me for
further insulation. I guess Andriy doesn’t want me to die of hypothermia
before he kills me himself.

“You’re awake,” a cheery voice says from behind me.

“Asshole,” I mutter.
“You don’t have much luck with men, do you?” He smirks. “Rocco isn’t
exactly the Prince Charming you wanted, either.”
“At least he was honest about not loving me.”
“Oh, but on the contrary, I think he does love you. Why do you think it
hurt him so much that you held on to Anton? You don’t know him at all.” He
snorts. “Admit it, you were afraid to get close to him because you feared he
would get hurt. The sad thing is that he’s dead, and you’ll be joining him
soon.”
“He’s not dead,” I say, shaking violently.
“Oh, but he is. If Keira’s ruse went to plan, then he most definitely is.
New York will be mourning its king and queen tonight. How terribly sad.”
“Keira Kavanagh?”
“Oh yes, she’s been key player to our little plan.”
“Figures, trash attracts trash,” I say, shaking my head.
“Are you a little jealous?” He asks, stroking my hand.
“You repulse me,” I say, trying to inch away.
“You loved every second of me flirting with you, don’t deny it,” he says,
leaning in towards me.
“Fuck you,” I say, spitting in his face.
“Maybe later,” he says chuckling as he wipes the spit away.
“I need to go to the bathroom. It’s been hours,” I say, trying to click my
mind into an escape plan.
“Fine. Vasily, take her.”
“Why the fuck do I have to take her?” a man in the shadows says in a
whiny voice.
“Because I said so,” He growls.
“Get up,” Vasily barks, roughly untying the cords on my arms and legs
before pulling me up like a doll. “Move.”
“I’m not going in front of you,” I say incredulously as he stands in front
of the small bathroom with me.
“You either go in front of me or don’t go at all,” he snarls.
“I’m on my period. Do you really want to see that?” I say, rolling my
eyes.
“I’ll be outside, don’t get any ideas. That window I saw you eyeing is
boarded up on the outside, sweetheart,” he sneers as he closes the door.

I lock it behind him and rush to the toilet. I really do need to go. I can’t
recall how long it has been since I went to the bathroom. Of course, there is
no toilet paper, so I have to sit patiently until the dripping subsides. However,
when I pull up my underwear, I see that I am bleeding but I’m not on my
period. In fact, I can’t remember when was the last time I had it but I also
have little time to think about it.

“Hurry up!” Vasily’s broad fist bangs on the door.

 “There is no toilet paper,” I say, shouting back.
“Use your hand then.” He chuckles.
“Motherfucker,” I mutter as I wash my hands under the basin and keep it
running until I figure out what to do next.
There is a grimy mirror above me that has been partially shattered.
Inspiration comes to me as I scan the floor and notice a shiny piece of the
broken mirror. There is a ripped rag on the floor, which I use to pick it up.
The pointy tip shines in the light as I hear him fiddle with the lock. He walks
in, and I hide behind the door.
“Where the fuck are you?” He says almost flattening me when he walks
in.
“Over here,” I say from behind him, plunging the shard into his neck and
watching the blood spurt out. He opens his mouth to scream, but nothing
comes out as he falls to the floor, his eyes rolling back.
“Dos vidaniya,” I say, kicking his body and picking up the gun in his
pocket.

Pain in my abdomen rips through me but with every lightning bolt of

discomfort, my survival skills start to kick in. I wouldn’t die here.

Franco comes through with the jet as well as a thousand apologies about
Lucia and Sophia. I lean back and close my eyes as we ascend into the night
sky, impatience ripping through me and blocking out the fear.

“How long until we get there?” I say, looking out into the night’s sky.
“Around forty-five minutes, there is a lot of cloud tonight,” Franco says
from the opposite seat.
“Did we get any hits on Henri’s phone?” I ask for the hundredth time.
“You mean Andriy? No, it was left in his car outside Keira’s place.
Sophia’s phone is also a no-go.”
“It was smashed in the foyer. I saw it when I left.” I sigh, “Fuck, how
could I have not seen this?”
 “You’ve known Keira for a long time. Nobody could have even imagined
that she would pull a stunt like that. Do you think Andriy smashed Sophia’s
phone?” he says, frowning.
“No, I think Sophia did after she saw me with Keira,” I say, running my
hands through my hair.
“Silver lining, Keira and Artem are dead and you got yourself out of an
impossible situation,” Franco says, trying to placate me.
“Not so much of a silver lining, if I drove my wife into the arms of the
Russian Bratva by falling into a trap. I don’t think I will forgive myself if
something were to happen. What does he even want with her?”
“I guess we’re going to find out. Before we go into this, I have something
to tell you.”
“What?” I ask suspiciously.
“About Lucia tonight, you’re probably wondering why I let her take
Sophia out.”
“Spit it out, Franco,” I say, looking him dead in the eye.
“I’ve been seeing Lucia.”
“Is this the right time to tell me?” I respond, rolling my eyes.
“Well, if things go left, I don’t want to leave anything unsaid. You don’t
seem surprised, you already know, don’t you?” He cocks his eyebrow at me.
“Of course, I know. You were both acting like love-struck teenagers
whenever you came within a foot of each other,” I say irritably. “I thought it
was one of Lucia’s phases, clearly not.”
“Is that approval, Don?” He asks hesitantly.
“My consigliere and my sister together is not exactly something I want,
but if you’re happy, I won’t stand in the way. However, if you do anything to
Lucia…” I say warningly.
“I won’t,” he says somberly.
“I know you won’t, Franco, because you’re a better man than I am,” I
say, feeling uncomfortable.
“You’re not a bad guy, Rocco. A little reckless and impulsive but your
heart is in the right place.”
“How far is it from the airport to the warehouse?”
“Fifteen minutes if we gun it. Did you speak to Paolo?”
“Yep, aside from threatening to rip my throat out if his daughter dies, he
has managed to strike a peace treaty with the Russians. Alisher Romanov,
Artem’s nephew, is the new leader. He’s agreed to give us Andriy without
any further bloodshed.”
“I thought the Romanov’s were a tight-knit family?” he says, staring at
me in surprise.
“Heroin and cocaine are clearly better substitutes for Alisher than his
cousin Andriy. I just need to get to her. I’ve fucked up, Franco. If she dies,
it’s on my hands.”
“Sophia is a fighter. Hopefully, she can hang on long enough for us to get
there.”
 “My heart only ever had one thought, one want. One need. Despite all, in
spite of all…All my heart has ever wanted is you.”
—Stephanie Laurens

I WALK OUT OF THE BATHROOM SILENTLY, THE GUN IN MY

HAND CLASPED WITHIN MY SWEATY PALM.

My breath hitches as I look back at Vasily’s dead body, my own body

shuddering in revulsion and shock.

A cold draft comes from one of the warehouse vents causing an

involuntary shiver to run down my spine, my legs trembling with every step I
take.

“You’re cleverer than I thought.” Andriy’s voice says from behind me.
“Drop the gun,” I say, pointing my weapon at him.
“Ladies first.”
“Let me go, and I’ll drop the gun.”
“Where is Vasily?” he says, his eyes wide with anger.
 “Why don’t you go and check for yourself,” I say, smiling at him.
“Murdering bitch, you will pay for this,” he says, inching toward me, but
I shoot just next to where his head is making him jump.
“What do you want from me, Andriy? Why did you do all of this? I don’t
understand.”
“I need to prove to my father that I am worthy to take over from him and
to do that I will kill you just like your father killed my brother. I guess that is
where Bratva traditions differentiate from your own piss poor Mafia. We
need to earn the right to lead, we take pride in our kills. I won’t let you get
away this time. You shamed me once, you won’t do it again.”
“What do you really want?” I say, trying to buy time.
“I want everything I was denied, I want to be the Bratva king.” He says
maniacally.
“You’re no king,” I say, spitting at him.
“Maybe I just enjoy torturing you a whole lot more. Next stop after this,
I’ll be paying a visit to your father and removing his spleen. An eye for an
eye,” he says bitterly.
“You’re sick.”
“Ironically, it was Anton who was the real bastard out of us. Maybe you
just didn’t realize what a cruel man he was, but I’m glad you finally realize
everything about the man you have been mourning was a lie. You were
meant to die in Chicago at his hands, and now you’re going to meet that
destiny at mine.”

His phone rings, and he answers frustratedly before letting out an angry howl.
“My father is dead.” His eyes widening in anguish.
“Where is Rocco?” I say, my heart racing in my chest.
“Probably on his way over here.”
“Then you should make it easier for yourself and let me go.”
“You and I both know that isn’t going to happen. Give me the gun and
I’ll make it painless.”
“No.”
“You’re not a killer, Sophia. You won’t kill me.”
 “Try me,” I say, my fingers tightening around the trigger.

Before I can react, he throws himself on me and I am shoved back onto

the hard concrete floor. He wraps his hands around my neck until I am
gasping for air. My hand is still holding the gun, but he bangs my arm on the
floor until the gun drops from my grip.
“Any last words,” he says, pointing his gun at my chest.
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” a voice echoes from behind him,
and my heart leaps when I realize it’s Rocco.
“You make one move towards me, and she gets it,” he says standing up
slowly with me in front of him. The cold metal of the gun against my
shoulder.
“You’re not going to get out of this alive,” Rocco says as Franco appears
behind him. “Chicago and New York have already reached an accord. Your
cousin Alisher is the new leader of the Bratva.”
“Impossible,” Andriy snarls.
“He’s already signed your death warrant. Even if you kill Sophia, you’re
a dead man. There is no coming back.”
“Nothing to gain, nothing to lose,” Andriy says, laughing maniacally.
“Let her go, and I will talk to Alisher. I will reason with him.”
“You killed my father. I think we are beyond reasoning.” He spits.
“You hated him, don’t pretend otherwise.”
“I guess we have something in common then. Well, two things,” Andriy
says, stroking my hair.
“Me and you couldn’t be more different. Drop the fucking gun,” Rocco
says, raising his voice.
“Sure,” Andriy says mockingly. “You want me to fucking curtsy too,” he
sneers.
“Make him drop the gun, Soph,” Rocco says slowly, giving me a quick
nod and I realize what he is referring to. The night we returned home from
our honeymoon, he showed me how to disarm an attacker.
“What did you say to her?” Andriy says, looking at me startled.
“Now!” Rocco shouts as a flurry of gunshots goes off, ricocheting around
the warehouse.
“Sophia?” I say, looking down at the blood-soaked floor. “Sophia!” I say, my
voice panicking.

“I’m over here,” a weak voice says.

Both Franco and I have managed to put four bullets into Andriy’s chest.
He’s dead. Sophia lays beside him, blood pouring out of her as I try to find
where she’s been shot.

“Did you get hit?” I say, looking around at Franco, who appears equally
bewildered.
“No, but I’m bleeding,” she says, showing me the blood dripping down
her legs.
“Sophia?” I ask, but her eyelids close. “Sophia?” I say, trying to shake
her awake. “Get us to a hospital now,” I pick her up off the ground and run
towards the door with her in my arms.

Franco hangs back for a second before putting two more bullets into
Andriy’s head. “This time, he’s definitely not coming back,” he says, putting
the gun away.

An hour later, we are at Chicago Memorial Hospital. Sophia is still

unconscious, but they won’t let me stay with her. She is rushed straight into
ICU, and I haven’t been able to get any information yet. It is only when one
of the nurses asks me if I want my arm to be treated, that I realize that I had
been shot earlier. I can’t even feel the pain, everything just feels numb.

“You should have had this looked at before,” the nurse says kindly whilst
bandaging my arm.
 “I was a little distracted,” I say shrugging.
“Just take an aspirin if the pain persists and make sure you remove the
stiches in a week, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Any news?” I ask Franco as he sits in the waiting room with the other
men.
“Not since you asked three minutes ago,” he says, continuing to read the
newspaper.
“Mr. De Luca?” a voice says from behind me. “Let’s talk in my office.”
The doctor says, indicating for me to come to his office.

I follow him, and he offers me the seat opposite him while scanning through
his notes.
“Cut to the chase. Is it good news or bad news?” I ask, agitated.
“She’s still unconscious. As you mentioned, she took quite a blow to the
head in her er accident.” He says, glimpsing at me through the glasses on the
end of his nose, clearly not believing the story I spun him earlier.
“So, no long-term damage?” I say impatiently. He can disapprove of me
all he goddamn wants, I just need to know what is going on.
“That remains to be seen, Mr. De Luca. I am sure you are aware Sophia is
in the very early stages of pregnancy.”
“What?” I say, taken aback. “How early?”
“Eight weeks.”
“Shit,” I say faintly.
“You didn’t know?”
“No, I didn’t.” Thinking back to when we slept together at Christmas. “Is
everything okay with the baby?”
“She experienced some bleeding from some of the stress and trauma as
well as the chloroform inhalation.”
“The baby is okay, though?”
“We have to do a few tests, but I warn you it could be possible that this
pregnancy might not make it to full-term considering how much damage has
been done so early. Physical strain on the mother affects the fetus in many
ways so there can be complications, but we’re still in the testing stage.”
“Is there anything I can do? Money is no object,” I say, staring at him.
“We’re keeping her here for a little while to ensure she is hydrated and
for further observation. When she is released, she will need to be on strict bed
rest for a little while even if there are no complications.”
“That won’t be a problem. Does Sophia know about the pregnancy?”
“Yes, we required her consent for the blood test to confirm the
pregnancy.”
“Can I see her?”
“Sure, but only for a little while. She needs her rest.”

As I walk out of his office, a thousand emotions filter through my head.

There are so many things I want to say to Sophia, but I don’t know how to
even begin. I pause outside the room, not knowing how to start the
conversation. I am relieved she is alive, and a streak of pride runs through me
at knowing that I will be a father soon, that we would be parents. A rare
moment of genuine euphoria that I haven’t felt in a long time. I walk into the
room, and Sophia stares back at me but doesn’t say a word. She’s pale with
dark shadows under her eyes. I pull out a chair and sit by her bed, looking
down for a couple of seconds.

“I thought I lost you for a second there,” I say slowly, almost tripping
over the words.
“You almost did,” she says.
“How are you feeling now?” I say eyeing her, but she won’t meet my
gaze.
“Better than I was before,” she mumbles.
“You did a good job disarming him,” I say, reaching out to touch her, but
she pulls away.

She finally peers up to meet my eyes and looks at me coldly, uncanny to

her father’s equally chilly glare. I suck in my breath, trying to recalibrate my
thoughts and feelings. I wasn’t used to her shutting me out and was surprised
by how much it pained me.

“What do you want, Rocco?” She asks, folding her arms.

“Where do you want me to start?” I say, putting my hand on hers.
Although, she doesn’t pull away this time.
“The beginning,” she says through clenched teeth.
“Did you know that you were pregnant?” I say, intertwining my fingers
with hers.
“No, it was when I started bleeding… I realized what was happening and
that I might have been miscarrying,” she says, her voice thick with emotion.
“It’s yours.” She wipes her eyes on the blanket.
“I know it’s mine,” I say, bewildered. “The doctor said there might be a
few complications, but I know we’ll be fine. No matter what.”
“I don’t know about that, Rocco. It hasn’t exactly been smooth sailing,
has it?” she says, biting her lip.
“I need for you to forgive me, Sophia. But to do that, I need to apologize.
Something that I probably have never done and if I had, it likely didn’t mean
anything. I’m not a man who likes to admit he’s wrong, but I’m sorry for all
of this. I just couldn’t accept that you lied to me about Anton. I thought you
were betraying me the whole time. By the time, I realized you weren’t, it was
too late. My own fears and insecurities blinded me, and I nearly lost you
because of it,” I say uncomfortably. “I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve,
ever, but I need you to know that if I could go back, I would.”
“I didn’t expect that,” she says, looking stunned.
“Neither did I, but it was deserved. I put you through hell, and if you lost
your life, I wouldn’t want to live my own anymore,” I say, swallowing my
emotion. “How can I make this right, Sophia?”
“I don’t know.” She sighs. “I beat myself up for so long about Anton,
about you, and now I just don’t have the energy. I don’t want you to be with
me simply because of the baby. That wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

I look up at her to see the apprehension in her eyes. She doubts me, but I have
never felt so sure about anything in my life.
 “I love you, Sophia. I knew it from the first time I met you. We’ve been
through so much together, but I want this to be a new beginning for us, a
fresh start.”
“You really mean that?” she asks, wide-eyed.
“Yes, I do love you. Even when you make me watch crappy nineties
movies and redecorate my bathroom in pink. I love you, no matter what. This
baby is a fighter, just like his mama, and I know he’s going to pull through.”
“He?” She says surprised.
“I just have a feeling,” I say, stroking her stomach through the sheet.
“I love you too, Rocco. Just in case you were wondering,” she says,
putting her hand over mine. “It’s going to take time for me to trust you again,
but I’m going to try.”

She looks so beautifully fragile that I find it hard not to reach across her
and pull her in my arms. Her hesitation towards me is deserved, but I know I
will do everything in my power to make it work.

“Lucia told me never to lie to you, but I knew if I told you the truth, I
would lose you. Every day I spent with you, every night I spent in your arms,
made it harder for me to even think about losing you. I can’t believe you
thought I would try to have you killed,” she says as another tear escapes
down her cheek
“I know, and I don’t know what else to say,” I say, wiping it away with
my finger.
“Does everybody know the truth about Anton?” She asks fearfully.
“Nobody knows. Only your pop knows what happened in Chicago.”
“And?” She asks apprehensively
“And nothing? You’re safe, that is all that matters.”
“When do I get out of here? It’s like sleeping under a microscope.”
“As soon as the tests come back, we’ll get you back home.”
“To the penthouse or my parents’ house?”
“No, our home.”
I stroke her face slowly, and she closes her eyes taking in my touch. I want to
melt her fears and worries away, but I know it will be easier said than done.

“I don’t know if I want to go back to Long Beach. I don’t think I’m ready
to snap back like nothing ever happened,” she mumbles.
“I don’t expect you to. I just want you to be comfortable and safe where I
can protect you the most. We don’t even have to share a bedroom, but I want
you to consider us getting back on track at some point.”
“Do you really want that? After everything you know, the fact that I was
engaged to another before you, a Russian, you still accept me?”
“Yes, I want you and only you, I want to spend the rest of my life making
it up to you and the baby.”
“I’ll consider it,” she starts.
“But?” I say, sensing hesitation.
“I want you to make up with your Ma.”
“What?” I say, surprised.

My mother? I haven’t thought about her in forever. I know Sophia found

the stash of birthday cards and letters in my office, but I didn’t even think she
would remember it. My own hesitation brews inside me. I don’t know how I
will react trying to reconcile with my first betrayal; my own mother walking
out on me.

“If you can forgive your mama, I can think about forgiving you.”
“Sophia, you’re asking a lot. We’re talking about major wounds.”
“So are we, Rocco. You can’t expect me to forgive you if you can’t
extend the same to her. At least hear her side of the story.”
“Fine,” I say sighing.
“Good,” she says, laying down.
“Are you not even going to kiss me?” I say, bemused.
“You’re going to have to earn that all over again.” She smirks.
 “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
—Emily Brontë

THREE MONTHS LATER

EVERY SHRED OF DOUBT I HAD ABOUT ROCCO SEEMED TO

FADE OVER TIME.

When I left the hospital, I moved back into Rocco’s place, or should I say
our place.

He let me dictate everything at my own pace and we stayed in separate

rooms for a while until I could work through my own feelings. My main
concern was the baby, trying to make sure there were no complications with
the pregnancy. Rocco hired the best doctors and midwives that money could
buy. He came to every appointment, scan, and class.

After a while, we started to rekindle our relationship. We went on dates in

the city, sometimes fancy restaurants and expensive trips. Other times, we did
low-key outings like theaters and museums. I moved back into the master
bedroom and although we were sleeping in the same bed, we weren’t
sleeping together just yet. I wanted to wait a little more and to also get the
green light from the midwife. Even though I knew who my husband was and
what he did for a living, I could finally differentiate Don Croccifixio De Luca
from Rocco De Luca, my husband.

Today, we are at our check-up appointment, where we find out the gender of
the baby as well as if there are any more complications. I recoil slightly as the
nurse applies gel to my stomach. I can also notice my small bump becoming
a little more pronounced every day, bringing a flutter of joy to my heart.
Rocco sits on my left, his hand clutching mine tightly. I can read the
happiness in his eyes as well as the slight anxiety.

“Everything appears to be on track,” she says as she continues putting the

scanner against my stomach.
“Are you sure?” He asks sharply. “Doubly sure?”
“Yes, Mr. De Luca, all the scans are showing the baby’s progression is as
it should be. Mother and baby have bounced back exceptionally well from
where we first started.”
“Good, good,” he says looking at me, relieved.
“Do you want to know the sex?” she asks.
“Sure, Rocco?”
“Yeah,” He smiles back at me.
“It’s… a boy,” she says zooming onto the screen. “As you can see, that’s
the male sex organ.” She points to the monitor.
“He’s definitely my son,” Rocco says as I prod him in the ribs.
“I’ll just go and print you some 3D pictures,” she says, getting up.
“What’s wrong?” I say to Rocco whose face has crumpled slightly.
“I just want to make sure that I’m a good father. I wasn’t exactly blessed
with great parents,” he says, smiling and I can see a rare moment of humility.
“I don’t want to fuck this up.”
“You won’t, we’re a team,” I say pulling his head closer to mine and
kissing him slowly on the lips. He returns my kiss for a deeper one but then
stops. We haven’t slept with each other since the conception, not just because
I was on bed rest for a while, but I didn’t feel ready quite yet. He hasn’t
complained once, but for both of our sakes, I want to try and see if we can
reconnect sexually again.
“Here you go,” the nurse says, handing us copies.
“Rocco, can you wait outside for a second.”
“Why?” he starts but leaves when he sees my facial expression.
“I just wanted to ask, since the scans seem fine, whether I can… Whether
we can, you know, have sex,” I say, turning towards the midwife.
“I don’t see any reason why not. Most OBGYNs encourage sex
throughout the pregnancy. As long as you’re not doing anything laboriously
hard, I think you’ll be just fine,” she says with a small smile.
“Good,” I say, wiping off the gel and pulling my clothes on.
“What was that about?” He frowns at me.
“You really want to know?” I say, raising my eyebrow at him
mischievously.
“Yeah,” he says, looking confused.
“I was just checking whether it was safe if we could start having sex
again.”
“And?” he says, staring at me in anticipation.
“Greenlight, as long as you don’t throw me against any walls or
anything.”
“I’ll try not to, although it’s been a long fucking time,” he snorts. “Are
you sure that you want to? I don’t mind waiting, Soph. I just want to make
sure that you’re ready.”
“I’m ready and I want to. Really want to,” I say, reaching up on my
tiptoes to kiss him.
“When is your Ma dropping by? She wanted to see the ultrasound
pictures.”
“Next week,” he says a little stiffly.

I won’t pretend that Rocco has become a saint overnight or changed every
flaw about him, but he has definitely come a long way from that night in the
hospital room. He is trying, and that is what counts. He even gave his, albeit
reluctant, blessing for Lucia and Franco to get engaged after a bit of
persuasion from me. Rocco has even made good on his promise to meet with
his mama. She explained to him that she was sorry for leaving him. She had
been barely eighteen and in a marriage that confused and terrified her.

She never wanted to leave Rocco but she thought her staying would harm
him more. When she was in a better place to come back, his Nonna refused to
let her back into Rocco’s life, so she thought she would start writing to him
instead but was heartbroken that he never responded.

I was there the first time she met with him, and I could see he was moved
by her tears and the fact that she wouldn’t let go of his hand. After that day,
she regularly visits at least once a week. Rocco hasn’t told me verbally that
he forgives her, but their newfound closeness implies it.

“Maybe you don’t start with forgiveness, you just start with acceptance,”
I said to him on the first night they met.
“I guess so.”
“Did it open some past wounds?” I asked gently.
“A little,” he said uncomfortably.
“I just wish Nonna told me that she-—Ma tried to come back for me. I
would have felt different. I spent all these years thinking she never wanted
me, that she had another son, another family that she wanted better than
me.”
“I guess she thought she was stopping you from being hurt all over again,
but it’s done now, Rocco, and she’s so happy she can be a part of your life
and her grandson’s life.”
“Yeah,” he said noncommittally.
“Rocco,” I smile, rolling my eyes, “don’t be so closed-minded.”
“I’ll try,” he said, winking at me.
I sit in my study, nodding along to Tysen’s raspy voice through the receiver.
Although he is a complete jackass at the best of times, he is still one of my
best friends and he has pulled off a massive surprise that I can’t wait to unveil
to Sophia.

Sophia walks into the room, and I can tell she is automatically suspicious
of the grin on my face as she pauses to study me. She moves her hand to her
bump, a familiar reflex, whenever the baby kicks. When I first felt him kick,
it was a feeling of joy that nothing else could match. A lot had happened
since I brought her home from the hospital, but I always knew we would
make it through. I won’t let anything tear us apart. Even reconciling with Ma
was a step I took for her. Though I was glad I finally understood why she left,
it still confused me about my feelings on the situation and I was still
processing it all.

“Asshole, are you still listening to me, or are you in the land of fucking
fairies? I still can’t believe you want to do this all again,” Tysen says,
breaking through my thoughts in his usual blunt tone.
“I’ll see you on Friday,” I say, smirking. “Trust me, nobody is more
surprised than I am.”
“Who was that?” Sophia asks, leaning on my desk.
“Why, don’t you trust me?” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, yeah,” she hesitates.
“Sore subject, I guess,” I say, sighing.
“It’s not perfect, but it’s a work in progress,” she says, tiptoeing to kiss
me.
“You said something earlier about sex being back on the table?” I say,
pulling her closer to me.
“Yes, just don’t go handcuffing me to the bed or anything.”
“Damn, there goes my night,” I say, breathing in her musky scent.
“Follow me,” she says, leading me upstairs slowly. “I don’t think I can
quite pull off the sexy strip tease I did in Capri but just pretend I have my old
body.”
“You look perfect baby,” I say pulling her on top of me as we fall on the
bed.
“None of my clothes fit anymore,” she mourns.
“Then don’t wear any, even better.”
“I’ll take that under consideration,” she says, pulling off her tank top.
“Fuck, if this is what being pregnant does to your body, I think I want to
start thinking about the next one.”
“I look like a marshmallow,” she says, giggling.
“A very sexy one,” I say, pushing her down on the bed as I kiss and lick
her nipples before kissing her bump.
“You said it was a boy before we even knew.”
“I just had a feeling,” I say, stroking her stomach before my fingers pull
down the waistband of her underwear.
“Kiss me,” she says, pulling up my head, and I oblige and kiss her hard,
but she stops me. “Not like that, slower.”
“It’s not something I’m used to,” I murmur.
“I don’t want it to be like it was before,” she says, pulling back from me.
“I don’t want to be just a contractual obligation. I want it all or nothing.”
“So, if I told you we’re renewing our vows on Friday and I was on the
phone to Tysen putting the finishing touches on everything, what would you
say?” I say softly.
“I think I would be too surprised to say anything,” she says, beaming
“Would that be something you would be interested in, or am I being
presumptuous?”
“It depends exactly what you are asking?” she says pointedly.
“Marry me again. But, this time, for the right reasons,” I say, pulling out a
ring from my back pocket. “An eternity ring because there isn’t anyone else I
see myself with for this lifetime.”
“Rocco!” she says bursting into tears.
“What?” I say confused, “You don’t like it?”
“I love it, it’s so beautiful.”
“Then why the fuck are you crying like that?” I say, rolling my eyes.
“My hormones and the fact that you are being Mr. Romance, I’m not used
to it.”
“Get used to it,” I say, slipping the ring on. “Marry me, Soph?”
“Yes,” she says, leaning up towards me.
 “I need to work out how I’m going to do this,” I say peering down.
“You’ve forgotten?” she says, snorting.
“No, I just don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m not made of glass, but just take it slow.”

I pull off my remaining clothes and push her legs apart slowly, her hands
wrapping around my neck as she brings my head closer to hers. From this
angle, I can appreciate her beauty. The softness of her eyes and the pink of
her lips as I devour every part of her mouth. She moans softly in my ear as
my fingers slowly tease her before I start to push inside of her gently. She
wraps her legs around me, wanting me to fill her completely and I eagerly
comply. My eyes stay locked to hers the entire time as we move against each
other with a synchronized rhythm.
“I love you, Sophia,” I say, looking deep into her green eyes.
“I love you too, Rocco,” she says, wrapping her arms around me.
 “Every woman wants a man who’ll fall in love with her soul as well as her
body.”
—Rainbow Rowell

WHEN I TELL MAMA WE ARE GETTING OUR VOWS RENEWED IN

LAS VEGAS, SHE DOESN’T SAY ANYTHING.

Perhaps she knew more than she was letting on, or perhaps she knew that
I wouldn’t be swayed to change my mind.

I’m sitting at the kitchen table in my parent’s house, waiting for her to
give me a hundred reasons why Las Vegas is the last place she would get
married and how tacky it would be, but she doesn’t say anything for a couple
of seconds. I almost consider shaking her, worried that my news has sent her
over the edge.

“Ma?” I ask tentatively.

“We always just wanted the best for you,” she sniffles.
“Ma? What’s wrong?” I say frowning.
 “Nothing, nothing. Go speak to your papa. He wants to see you,” she
says, dabbing her eyes dramatically. “Are you staying for dinner?” she asks,
changing the conversation.
“No, not tonight,” I say, giving her a small hug before I leave.

I knock on Papa’s door in anticipation. The last time I was in here didn’t
exactly bring back great memories.
“Sophia,” he says, nodding at me from behind the desk. Papa is dressed in
his standard uniform of a gray suit and a crisp white shirt. He doesn’t have
casual days; his dress code is strictly formidable wear only, and he once told
me that any male over the age of ten who wore jeans should be shot.
“Papa, you wanted to see me?” I ask quietly.
“How is the pregnancy?” he asks, looking at my bump.
“Good,” I say smiling.
“Croccifixio tells me it’s a boy.”
“Rocco,” I say, correcting him, “Yes.”
“Good, good,” he says, clearing his throat.
“I know what you’re going to say.”

I look up at him, awaiting the lecture that has been coming since Chicago.
Every time I have seen Papa, I have been with Rocco, so he wouldn’t have
said anything.

“You were right about Anton,” I say, blurting it out. “It was a trap.”
“You thought I brought you here to chastise you?” He says, raising an
eyebrow at me. Had I got this so horribly wrong?
“I was furious, Sophia. I wanted the best for you, and it could have gone
so wrong.”
“But it didn’t.”
“You were so young and naïve.” He sighs.
“Maybe that’s where I went wrong. I guess I just believed the good in
everyone. Maybe, now I’m a little more clued up.”
“Is Croccifixio treating you well?” He says, raising his eyebrow a
fraction.
“Rocco, yes, he is.”
“Because your mama and I thought—”
“Thought what?” I say sharply.
“We—”
“I don’t care what anyone thinks, he’s my husband and I love him, and if
you love me and your grandson, then you will have to get on with Rocco,” I
say, walking out of the room without awaiting an answer.

I kiss my brother’s goodbye before leaving the house, a restful feeling

escaping me. This house has always symbolized my oppression, misery, and
grief. Suddenly I feel like the slate has been wiped clean.

I expected to feel raw after finding out the truth about Anton, but the truth
was, I felt relieved. For years, I had held on to a pipe dream about a man that
didn’t even exist. I couldn’t give myself to Rocco because of the guilt
associated with Anton. I felt that I had got Anton him killed when he was to
blame the whole time. I finally felt free and no longer had to hold a part of
myself back with Rocco, I could love him with no limitations now there were
no secrets between us.

I hadn’t had time to register whether we were ready for a baby. I was so
overwhelmed with happiness when the doctor told me in Chicago. I knew
that with or without Rocco, I wanted the baby. At first, I was scared that he
only wanted to stay with me because of the baby but day by day, we started
building a foundation of trust and the baby brought us closer together. From
seeing the first scan, to feeling the first kick, I could see the joy on Rocco’s
face, which made me fall in love with him a little more each day.

Days later, we are in the stifling heat of Las Vegas at the Grand Pharoah
Hotel, Tysen’s hotel. We had spent a couple of days just relaxing but today
was the vow renewal, and I don’t feel nervous. I just feel a sense of elation
that seems to consume every inch of me. I don’t have butterflies like the first
time we married, I feel nothing but peace because we had reached that state
of the relationship where we knew each other so well. Rocco isn’t just my
husband, he is my best friend. Nobody in the world knew me more than he
did, and vice-versa.

Despite Tysen referring to me as the newly revised ‘knocked-up ball and

chain’, he gifted us the Sultan suite, the most expensive suite in the whole of
the city. Lucia is my maid of honor, and we even spent a little longer getting
ready as with my bump, everything is a process.

“Are you ready?” Lucia’s voice comes out from the dressing room.
“Yep,” I say, walking out in my dress. “I mean, it’s not white for obvious
reasons.” I smile at my reflection.

I had picked a pale pink mermaid-style dress for the wedding. I hadn’t
gone all out like the first time Rocco and I had gotten married in the church.
It was easier and less formal this time around to be surrounded by our friends,
those who we loved the most.

Lucia is dressed in a pale lavender, long flowing dress with a crisscross

back, her hair back to her sandy blonde roots and styled into a chic bun. The
large diamond solitaire on her finger gleams each time she makes a hand
gesture, which she does often just to show it off. I look at both of us in the
reflection, noting how far we have both come.

“You look good, nice and rosy,” Lucia says, smiling at me.
“Is that code for chubby?” I say, snorting.
“No, you’re just glowing, I take it you’re doing sex again?” she asks in
her thick New Jersey accent.
“Please never say that again,” I say, sighing.
“Well, you are!” She shrugs.
“Yep, and it’s better than ever.”
“What if you poke the baby?” She frowns.
“Then he’ll have dimples,” I say, snorting.
“I mean, is that a real thing?” She seems horrified.
“Lucia, stop! I have a weak bladder,” I laugh, holding my stomach.
 She gives me one last hug before I leave the room, I take a deep breath
excited to see Rocco waiting for me.

When I leave the suite, Tysen is leaning on the wall smoking a cigar which
he puts out quickly when I exit. He looks ruggedly handsome, dressed in a
cream tux with his hair combed back into a pompadour style. Despite him
being icily cold on the exterior, I was starting to suspect he had another side
to him.

“If I hear one more thing about secondary smoke, I’m going to lose my
shit,” he says waspishly.
“You’re walking me down the aisle?” I ask chuckling.
“Seeing as Rocco made Franco his best man, I have been asked to fulfil
other duties,” he says, annoyed.
“Look at it as good practice for your own wedding, Tysen,” I say smiling.
“Never in a million years will I get married,” Tysen says, outraged.
“Never say never,” I say, winking at him as we walk down the aisle. He
shakes his head at me like I am insane.

My heart flutters as I see Rocco waiting at the end of the aisle next to Franco.
He is wearing a white tux, a change from his usual dark color palette of attire.
He knows I am thinking this and gives me a small smirk. His gray eyes rest
on mine as he takes my hand and kisses it lightly when I reach him. A
profound feeling of love bursts through me as I take my place next to him,
the only place I want to be for the rest of my life.

“In the name of God, I, Sophia, take you, Rocco, to be my husband. To

have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or
poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do us
part,” I say, meaning every word.

Rocco repeats his vows and soon, the rings are exchanged. The thick
band of diamonds in the eternity ring complimenting my red engagement
ring. When it’s time for the kiss, I don’t hesitate like I did the first time we
got married. I look into his familiar gray eyes and kiss him with every inch of
my being as he dips me romantically, just like in the movies. But this isn’t a
fairytale, we aren’t perfect, we are both flawed and have our own pasts that
have left us with scars, yet with every breath I take, I know that I am his and
he is mine.
Sarah Amelle specializes in writing stories that captivate your heart and
seduce your soul. Her books mainly comprise of men—the complicated kind
with dangerous minds and even darker hearts, with just a dash of redemption,
coupled with an even feistier female protagonist.

When she isn’t thinking up her next story, you’ll catch her traveling the
world and sipping her favourite cocktail by the beach.

You can follow her on:

Instagram: @sarahamelleauthor
Patreon: www.patreon.com/Sarahamellestories