Copyright © 2024 by Aurelia Knight

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. No AI was used in the production of this book and likewise it may not be used in the training of AI.

This book is dedicated to enduring love and all the deaths your heart can die when it beats for someone else.

CONTENTS

Content Warning

Prologue

1.  Gianna

2.  Gianna

3.  Niko

4.  Niko

5.  Gianna

6.  Niko

7.  Gianna

8.  Niko

9.  Niko

10.  Gianna

11.  Niko

12.  Niko

13.  Gianna

14.  Niko

15.  Gianna

16.  Gianna

17.  Gianna

18.  Niko

19.  Niko

20.  Gianna

21.  Niko

22.  Niko

23.  Gianna

24.  Gianna

25.  Niko

26.  Gianna

27.  Niko

28.  Niko

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Aurelia Knight

CONTENT WARNING

Dynasty to Destroy is a very dark romance with triggering themes and content throughout. This is second chance romance featuring two deeply flawed people with a lot of issues to work out.

This book contains graphic, violent and sexual content that may be upsetting to some readers. The following lists some, not all, of the potentially sensitive subjects included. If you have a specific concern please reach out on www.AureliaKnight.com or in Aurelia’s Facebook group Aurelia’s Illicit Library.

Dub/non-con, murder, suicidal ideation, body betrayal, breath play, stalking, forced collaring, leash play, physical threats, mental health topics, and pigs with a taste for human flesh.

PROLOGUE

GIANNA

15 YEARS ago

“Thanks be to God,” the congregation speaks in unison, and the sermon finally concludes, ending yet another impossibly long High Mass. I check my watch, not daring to touch my phone in case I have a text from Niko. It was only an hour and fifteen minutes this time. Our priest has been known to go for a full hour and a half, so I suppose I should count my blessings.

The cliffside monastery and abbey holds one of the oldest cathedrals in the continental US, and our priests take that responsibility seriously. Father Ramos says each ritual is to be revered, each prayer and hymn to be savored. I’ve read enough about my religion to know it's simply an exercise in the divinity of suffering. If pain brings you closer to God, we could all kiss the man’s feet with pew-numbed asses.

A brief rustle passes through the room as people head toward the door, murmuring conversations as they exit their pews and discuss their plans for after Mass. Our family sits back down, maintaining our positions until the room clears. Most of the passersby incline their heads toward my father in silent acknowledgment.

I glance to my right to check my bodyguard Carlo’s expression. He doesn’t notice my inspection since his focus is trained on the ones who don’t incline their heads. His distraction is a good sign. If I rouse suspicion, I’ll never get out of here.

To my left sits my brother, Dante. He’s three years older than me and way too cool to admit he’s my best friend, but I don’t know what I would do without him. Next sits my mother, perfect and elegant as always, then my papa, strong, handsome, ten years her senior. We’re not the only family who retake our seats and wait for the church to clear. The two other crime bosses who operate in this region also wait for everyone to go.

“How long will it take this week, Stefan?” Mom has plans after church to introduce Dante to a girl she hopes he’ll marry, and she doesn’t want my father’s business holding her up. She’s friends with her mother, and this marital scheming is an integral part of being a mob wife.

“As long as it takes, Leonora.”

“Maybe we should offer to take the other bosses out for lunch, then,” Dante supplies, having made his opinion of our mother’s matchmaking efforts clear. I giggle.

“Hush, Dante,” my mother scolds him and slaps my hand without even looking in my direction.

This area has been run by organized crime for a long time now, and our family is one of three that came out on top, divided the area, and added order, but we still fought bitterly for who would take complete control of the territory. About forty years ago, the heads of our three families decided we were better off tolerating each other. This Mass is a part of that, a sign of acceptance and peace before God, because if anyone can keep violent men honest, it’s Him.

My mother glances at me out of the corner of her eye, her threat implicit. I’ve taken off after church the past three weeks, never admitting where I went. The grounding is worth it, and I don’t care. I’ll do it as many times as I need to before I turn eighteen and go off to college in a year. My mom and I have never gotten along anyway, even when I was little. I’m not sure what I ever did to piss her off, but I’m used to it. I have Dante and my papa—when he’s not being mean.

The church doors close, and the priest says a word to each of the bosses before stepping away and leaving us alone. The moments before we meet every Sunday are the most tense I ever see my father. I’ve often wondered if he’s hiding something big from us.

All three of the leaders stand.

“Wish me luck, little sister.” Dante playfully elbows me as he rises and tries to go with our father.

“Sit down, Dante,” Papa says before leaving us to meet with the other heads.

The tips of his ears practically glow.

“Tough luck, big brother.”

Gregorio Medeiros, Alexandre Bouchard, and my father look at one another for a long moment, sizing up the competition. With a silent switch, fake smiles break out across their faces. They approach each other on neutral territory to shake hands, exchange words unsuitable for the women and children, and hopefully assure peace for another week.

I watch my father’s broad shoulders, waiting for my chance, not paying much attention to the younger children who have gathered to play. That changes when Pax, the ten-year-old Bouchard psychopath, laughs before intentionally tipping over one of the candles, lighting the Medeiros girl’s skirt on fire. She screams as the flames climb. There’s masculine shouting and some stomping. The little girl cries in Portuguese. I know enough to recognize the word she repeats—hurts.

Heated accusations fly.

“He did that on purpose. You put him up to it.”

At this point, no one is paying any attention to me or Niko—Alexandre Bouchard’s oldest son—except Dante, who only thinks I like to go on walks unsupervised after church. He’d never support my troublemaking if he knew what I was really up to.

I slightly incline my head toward Niko.

“Wish me luck, big brother.” I smile at him before edging backward to the side door to escape. Maybe I should care more about what’s happening around me and less about myself and my needs, but that’s not really my style these days. I tried to be a good daughter, but how far did that get me? I still don’t have any real friends or freedom, so I might as well steal some for myself.

I slip out of the church without being noticed, but the flash of sunlight is so bright I worry I’ll grab their attention. The heavy door closes softly behind me, and I’m operating on supremely limited time. I’m not essential for any part of these meetings, especially not now. If anyone asks, Dante will play dumb long enough to buy me some time. He won’t lie for me, which I find stupid. Niko, however, will be missed. He’s next in line to take his dad’s position, and his brother lit the fire they’re currently fighting about.

Thirty seconds later, the door opens, and for a split second, I worry it may be Niko’s or my father. It opens fully, and Niko steps through the door into the warm summer air. I admire his soft brown curls, gray eyes like flint, full lips, and a dimpled smile. He’s so damn pretty, but strong too, tall and masculine enough to keep the taunting about his almost feminine beauty to a minimum.

My heart leaps into my throat every time I see him and has since I was about ten. It’s gotten more intense since I lost my virginity to him at our lake house a few weeks ago. He knows how to use all that beauty too. Sex with him was unbelievable. It’s all I can think about.

He looks around us once, not wasting any time before his hands are in my hair and his lips are on mine.

“Gi,” he groans against my skin. “That skirt is not appropriate for church.”

“Niko,” I answer as he slides his tongue into my mouth. “I was hoping I could show you what’s under it.”

“We’ve got two minutes tops,” he warns me with a throaty groan. He’s always the responsible one, but he’s tempted.

“I can work with that.” I shove my body tight against his, hoping the press of my tits might convince him to make an even worse decision than we’re currently making. Kissing within range of our parents is no better than suicide, but that only makes it more exciting. I want him inside me with them on the other side of the wall. I want to feel just how wrong we are for being together.

“Fuck, we’re not doing this right now.” But he grinds his hips into mine, pinning me to the wall of the church, and it’s so close to what I want. I have his full attention. He just needs a push.

“It feels like we might be.” I give him a suggestive wiggle, slightly hating how sex-obsessed I’ve become. I thought finally doing it would make me think about sex less, but it’s had the opposite effect.

“No, Gi. After the stunt Pax just pulled, we’re not. I don’t have the time right now. Trust me, I want you so bad.”

“When, then?” I demand with a pout, his rejection stinging. I understand why things have to be this way, but people always tell me I’m spoiled and used to getting what I want.

“Thursday, I can get away. I have classes and other shit all week I can’t miss.”

“Thursday, Niko,” I complain, staring up at him through my lashes. “That’s four days.” I can tell it’s working. His face softens, which tells me he’s just as into this as I am.

“Should have fallen for someone more appropriate for you, princess,” he says just before he pops a kiss on my lips.

I grind my teeth. He knows exactly how to piss me off. He likes me ready for a fight, and I hate being called princess. He presses more heated kisses against my lips, and I fight him for control, but he’s so strong I don’t stand a chance. I lose the battle of wills and melt against his chest.

“Nikolai!” Alexandre Bouchard’s voice carries a heavy French accent, reaching us from somewhere in front of the church. An incomprehensible stream of French follows.

He kisses me once more. “See ya Thursday, princess.” And with a wink, he runs off.

BUT I DON’T SEE him Thursday, and he doesn’t answer any of the texts I send nor the two calls I manage to get out while slipping Carlo’s intense scrutiny. When Sunday rolls around, I’m sure I’ll see Niko at Mass, and even if I only get two minutes of his time, he can at least explain to me what’s going on. Why the hell is he suddenly ignoring me?

When we arrive, I find the Bouchards in their normal place even though Niko doesn’t offer me a single of our normal stolen glances.

“Where are the Medeiros?” I ask my brother, but he doesn’t answer me. He just holds up a hand for me to be quiet.

We all sit, and people fill in the rest of the empty spaces. Tense chatter swells all around us.

“Did you hear what happened to Estella Medeiros?”

I certainly hadn’t, not unless they meant Pax lighting her skirt on fire last week.

“She’s dead.”

Someone else joins the conversation, and my heart drops. She was just a little girl.

“Good heavens, no!”

“Not just her but one of her older cousins too. There was some kind of accident.”

“God help them!”

“What happened?”

“They were murdered.”

The conversations all blur into one as I consider who could do something so sick and cruel. The wet smell of the old stone church overwhelms me, and I’m going to throw up. I turn to my father, hoping he’ll offer me some answers, but he turns his chin in the opposite direction.

“Dante, what does this mean?” I whisper in my brother’s ear.

“The truce is over, Gianna. I’m not sure we should be here anymore.” He says it loud enough for the surrounding people to hear him, which is very unlike my intensely careful brother. I realize he wants them to hear, but why?

At exactly that moment, I look toward the spot where Niko’s seated and find his eyes on mine, already watching my face. The dreadful churning in my stomach mashes with my hope, and I know he sees it because he frowns in response to my expression. Instead of offering me a lifeline, he gives me one stern shake of his head, like a surgeon letting you know your loved one didn’t make it. Then he turns away from me for the last time.

My heart splits in two as I watch for another second, waiting for him to turn around and change his mind. He has to give me more than that. We love each other. My lips form around his name, but I don’t dare utter a sound. A little girl is dead. The truce is over. Niko is done with me.

A new priest steps up to the altar, and at first, I don’t recognize him because of my own distress and the intervening years since I last saw him. We only visited him occasionally during our summers in Italy, but my father always sought his counsel when he did. The familiarity clicks like the hammer of the gun that would always sit on his shining leather belt.

“Why is—?”

Dante pinches me before I can finish my sentence. The annoyance in his expression tells me he knows.

“Welcome, congregation. My name is Father DiMarco, and I’m new to this parish. I’ll be leading Mass from here on forward. But first I have to ask that Stefan Gemelli and his family leave. They are no longer welcome.”

There’s a murmur and rustle as everyone turns toward us. I sit stock-still for one full minute before my father stands, and we do as my great-uncle Marco asks. He smiles at Alexandre Bouchard like they’re old friends, and they shake hands as his family moves to the frontmost pew.

My father notices me staring and yanks my hand hard, forcing me to turn away before I can draw more attention to what’s happening. My shoulder burns, but the question plays on repeat in my head. Why is my uncle up there?

“You will not ruin this for me. You will never speak of this again,” he grits as he pushes me into the back seat of Carlo’s sedan. The door slams with my dress still hanging out, and I ride home without my family.

I don’t dare ask anyone for any further clarification later that night or the next day. I don’t even mention it when we suddenly begin attending a new church as if it were the one we’ve gone to all along.

My already boring life shrinks smaller and smaller. With Niko gone, there’s nothing to focus on but school and all the ways I’ve been disappointed. People tease me for having everything, for being a pampered princess, but I hate it. I pray as hard as I can that when I’m a lawyer, my father will finally take me seriously, and I won’t have to sit in the dark like this.

But over the next few months, every last member of the Medeiros family is murdered, leaving only two crime families warring in our area.

CHAPTER 1

GIANNA

PRESENT DAY

IT’S BEEN six months since I left my apartment. Days and nights bleed together with the same shows playing as background noise to give my mind something harmless to focus on. I repeat the lines as they’re spoken like old friends. Like I’m not so lonely I’m going insane. The law degree I earned is nothing but a picture on the wall. I might as well have saved the time and gotten myself mass-produced hotel art or a nice saying written in script.

Dad: Meet us at the lakehouse for dinner tonight. Drive the M3 and come without Carlo.

My hands shake as I read the message again. I nearly dropped the phone when it first came in because I was so shocked at being spoken to directly by my father. Our previous correspondence has come in the form of Carlo passing messages and him ignoring my attempts to reach out.

Me: Papa, can we please talk about this?

Me: This is extreme.

Me: Papa, I need to get out of this apartment.

Me: I miss you, can we please talk?

Me: Let me use this damn degree you paid for.

With each day, those rejections hurt a little less. Each year he grows colder toward me hardens my heart, but this direct contact has exposed me. The lake house is a three-hour drive. I want to be offended that it still wasn’t a request after all this time. I miss you too, please come to dinner. Is that too much to ask for?

Why bother when he knows I’ll come? My time is his to control. He’s my warden, even if I haven’t heard more than a couple of words from him or my mother since my birthday six months ago.

I drift around my bare room. My clothes lay stretched out over plastic pop-up tables from the department store. My bed is a mattress and box spring on the floor, a far cry from my old hand-carved four-poster bed. This place was supposed to be short term, but I guess my father and I have different opinions on the meaning.

I stuff some things in an overnight bag, not sure what his plan is, and then sit on the edge of the bed. A few chairs occupy the living space, but I don’t have a couch or anything, so I usually sit here. I stare at the single painting on the wall wishing for the millionth time I had a fucking window. When I asked, Carlo told me it was a security measure, but I’m pretty sure it’s just a fire risk.

Reading my father’s text for the hundredth time, I still can’t make sense of it. If I had any idea what I was walking into, I could make a plan, but it’s been a long time since I was in a position to be clever since no one has told me anything. I may not have been able to shake Carlo while away at college and law school, but those were the best days of my life. It was the closest to freedom and respect I ever tasted.

Carlo has been my bodyguard since I was five, and my father has never made a request like this. Leave his protection for a dinner. Carlo goes days sometimes without checking in on me since I’m locked inside, but he at least answers his phone when I call. He’s never once been instructed to leave me without protection.

I get dressed in something I think my father will like. I’m kissing up to him in the hopes that whatever this sudden need to see me stems from also comes with the end of my prison sentence. He used to tell me I looked like his mother when she was young and how happy my smile made him. I can’t imagine that’s still true, as it’s been months since he even answered my texts and years since he showed me a scrap of that old affection.

Not since... I choke back tears as I think the single word Dante. Five years have passed since my brother was killed under unknown circumstances, and the loss and mystery don’t seem to be growing any easier to bear. I’m far past the point of trying to wear something my mother likes. Her issue is me, not my clothes, and the fact I didn’t die instead. But maybe my father has something left in him that my presence and old memories can shake loose.

The M3, the car I’ll be driving for the first time tonight, was a birthday gift from him six months ago. A more ostentatious one than he’s ever given me, but he knows I love to drive. In my opinion, it’s a sure sign of his guilt, a feeling that he could just pay a little extra to make up for all the love he simply no longer has for me—that’s a stab to what I falsely considered a patched-over wound.

While I was away for my birthday weekend, my father sent the car to the body shop to be wrapped, insisting I not drive it until it was perfect. Around the same time, his second was murdered and beheaded. The box was delivered to my apartment with a birthday card from the Bouchards, and I still wonder about Niko’s hand in it.

The car was returned to the garage in a new building, but I was never given the keys. I returned from my trip to find my apartment emptied, cleaned, rerented, and all of my belongings shoved into boxes. My father’s men moved me to this windowless, fluorescent-lit shithole for my own protection. I still haven’t had the heart to tell Carlo just how many of my things went missing.

I stare at the keys for one full minute before grabbing them off the hook, wondering if I shouldn’t just stay here. Because whatever my father has to tell me might be even worse.

“I’ll see you later, Carlo,” I say, pretending my life really is that easy. Truth be told, while I’ve left my apartment a couple of times to visit other parts of the building, I don’t have a clue where the garage is or which spot is mine.

“I’ll take you down,” he answers with his most no-nonsense expression firmly in place, but it’s a relief that he plays along.

THREE HOURS LATER, I’m nearly at my parents’ lakehouse. Carlo drives immediately behind me and speaks to me through my car’s stereo. Simply being outside is incredible.

“I don’t like this, Gianna.”

“The sky is also blue if we’re pointing out obvious things.” And it is blue, so fucking blue. The sun shines so bright, and the breeze carries the fresh scent of mountain water. The anxiety of why my father would want this meeting so suddenly dulls beneath my euphoria.

“You can take me inside with you if you want. I can disobey him if it’s to keep you safe.” A question twists his voice, like he’s not convinced of what he’s saying, and I smile with real fondness for him.

“It’s okay, Carlo. You can turn around. I’m going to be fine. It can’t be worse than spending more time inside that apartment.” I shiver as I say the word apartment. We’ve been arguing about this for the past three hours, and I don’t know what I need to say to make him feel better about obeying these orders.

“Hey, I tried really hard to make that place homey for you.”

He has given it his best effort, which is on par with a college kid or a new bachelor whose ex-wife has picked everything for twenty-something years. He thinks intense minimalism is a style and unpacked boxes are furniture. He doesn’t spend much time there, though, and I don’t think he realizes just how bare it is when you live with a television as a window replacement.

“If it’s so homey, go back to it and let me drive in peace.”

“I didn’t hear you, Gianna. It sounded like you wanted me to put a target on your back.”

For once in my life, I would actually be able to drive away from it. So I press the gas. I stare out over the stunning landscape, winding deeper into the mountains. The road tightens with a wall of crumbling stone and trees to my left and a steep drop-off to my right that I stare at just a little too long.

“The target is already on my back, Carlo. It’s been there for as long as I can remember. Isn’t that why you work for my father?” The reality of my mortality is something I’ve had to deal with my whole life.

He grumbles something I don’t catch.

“I’m sure that’s true, but we’re nearly there, and he was very specific that I come alone.” Carlo can’t refuse my father any more than I can.

He knows I’m placating him, but he doesn’t argue. He’s not as young as he once was, and I don’t like to stress him unnecessarily. This entire request has been nothing but that. I’m not sure what I would do without Carlo. How small can my world possibly get before nothing is left and I disappear?

The drop-off dives even steeper as the mountain climbs higher, and I once again think about death. My obsession with it has only grown more intense in the past six months, but what am I supposed to do when I’m locked inside all the time? When news of what’s happening comes fewer and further between. When people die every day like it’s nothing, and heads are sent in boxes with my name on them.

I never got to see the note. Did Niko finally have something to say to me? Is it sick that I was more concerned with the possibility of hearing from him than Ignazio’s severed head? I already know the answer, and it’s only more disgusting because I know Niko didn’t have a hand in it. Severed heads were never his style. I wasn’t worth saying goodbye to back then, so I sure as shit am not now.

“I will follow your father’s orders, Gianna. I don’t have to like them. I think you understand that more than anyone.” And there’s defeat in his tone as he admits this.

I have always been my father’s faithful daughter. I have always obeyed and honored him, and all that’s gotten me is a small, painful life closing up and shrinking tighter by the day. The ticking of the clock is a death knell.

Why did my father call me here? Who’s dead this time?

My palms slicken as I consider this possibility. Things have changed drastically since the first two bodies fell in the war between the three families when I was seventeen. For half my life, we’ve been at war, and in that time, I’ve watched nearly everyone I love die or betray us. It didn’t used to sit so heavy on my chest, but being alone changes a person. All the pillars of my strength were built on community, and I’m nothing without them.

I suppose I understand why my father has locked me away, at least in part. It took almost ten years to eliminate the Medeiros. It was an ugly fight we did our best to stay out of, but my brother’s death five years ago was the definitive end of any civility between us and the Bouchards. The intervening years have proven to be a bloodbath beyond my imagination. I don’t think my father wants to lose me too, not that the way he treats me now betrays any fondness.

“Yeah, I understand following orders, Carlo.”

“Are you going to be okay, kid?”

“Does it matter if I’m not?”

“You know I wish I could say yes, but I’m not the boss.”

I shake my head and take a deep breath.

“You’re driving behind me. That’s hardly following orders.” But I’m a beat too late, and I sound all wrong.

“He said to let you come to dinner alone, not to leave you unprotected for a hundred miles of open territory.”

“Could we try the final five miles of our own territory?”

“No.” He answers exactly how I expected him to, and I finally yield, hanging up the phone.

The remaining drive to the lake house is scenic enough to pretend I don’t see him a few car lengths back, and the passing scenery stimulates my desperate brain. I take the familiar turns, and my sense of time only grows blurrier. The years slip away. Instead of the aging man following me, I swear I see the young one I first met.

All along the river, sweet flowers fill the trees. My brother and I used to pick them so our housekeeper, Violetta, could make the jam my mother loves so much. My brother's laughter and teasing are close enough to touch. It aches in a way I can’t make sense of. Dante should still be here.

The trees break, revealing the path to the house. The car jumps slightly as I drive over the alarm cable. My parents will know I’m on my way up. This is the first time I’ve been to our family’s lake house since my brother was killed five years ago, and every inch of this place is steeped in happy memories of him. I’m worried I might completely disassociate in front of my parents and unintentionally reveal how fucked up I am from all this isolation and loss. Carlo is already worried about me, but he’s promised not to say anything.

Toward the back of the property, weeping willows line the banks of the river. I pull into a parking spot, and the edges of the gray water flirt with my gaze. The monumental vacation home interrupts the view of the multi-acre lake, preventing me from seeing it entirely.

If I thought it couldn’t get worse, I was wrong. I’m crushed, trapped into reliving my summers here with Dante like a mega screen plastered in front of my face. We ran beside that river until the lake broke wide, diving into the calmer waters to get cool, trying to drown each other, and playing games in the dying sun. A million little fights and arguments that seemed so big then but were nothing more than a flicker of disagreement between two souls who only had a short time to be young and innocent together.

I try to breathe, but I don’t quite manage it. I’m told that one day thinking of him won’t weigh like a stone on my heart, but it’s not today. If I climbed into that water right now, I’d surely sink.

Wiping a stray tear off my cheek, I step out of my car and find that Carlo didn’t follow me up the drive. I half expected he’d tuck off behind one of the willows, a graying Italian specter. There’s a warm, stormy pressure in the air but a lack of anyone. For once, no men line the property. Instead of relief, I’m flooded with suspicion.

My heart pounds as I walk to the back door. My eyes relentlessly scan my surroundings, finding the open world too big. Have I ever stood entirely alone outside? Has the world always been so large or have I shrunk alongside my environment? There’s still no one to be seen, and right as I’ve convinced myself something is dreadfully wrong, the door swings open.

Violetta, our sweet housekeeper, stands with her hand on her hip and her brow tipped in a practiced expression of begrudged affection. Pins hold her finger curls in place, and wrinkles crease her cheeks even deeper than the last I saw her. It’s been so long it takes all my effort not to cry.

“I’m not late,” I tell her before she can say anything, forcing the clog out of my throat.

“You’re not early enough to get to the table on time, picciridda. That’s the same as late.”

She pulls me into a big hug, and the warmth and love in her embrace squeezes a tear from my eye as I soak it up. She pushes me back and holds me at arm’s length to look at me.

“Is Carlo feeding you? You have bags under your eyes. Where were you? I expected you twenty minutes ago.”

I sigh and beseech her with a pout. She narrows her gaze but steps aside and lets me into the house.

“Is my mother already worked up about me being here?” The food in the kitchen smells amazing, and while I dread the reason for this whole evening, I’m excited to eat whatever she’s making.

She doesn’t answer, brown eyes shifting to the side, revealing she knows something. Instead of answering, she tries to take my purse. But I hang on tight. We have a brief tug-of-war before she says, “Not worked up.”

“I think I’ve changed my mind,” I tell her, releasing my strap and deciding none of the stuff inside the purse is worth it. Who needs a phone or wallet? The door is still open, and she’s not that fast anymore. I seriously consider attempting a last-minute escape.

“Don’t you even think about it,” she warns, seeing my intentions long before I can act. She smacks the back of my hand. Damn, not even five minutes before I earned the smack I’d hoped to avoid.

“Ow, shit, Violetta.”

“Don’t curse, awful girl.” She smacks me once more as she yanks me deeper into the kitchen. “Get inside before you wind up in trouble again.”

I’m already inside, but what Violetta really means is go where you belong. I let her close the door, putting a tragic distance between myself and the exit. I roll my eyes only when I’m sure my back is fully toward her, but I could cry for the normalcy and companionship. I don’t hurry like she said. I’m sure I’m already in trouble and don’t need to give my mother thirty extra seconds to harp on me.

When I reach the dining room, my mother’s glare catches me perfectly, already aimed at the space she expected me from. Green eyes glitter in the candlelight from the ten-inch tapers as I step into her view like a mouse presenting itself to a snake.

“Hi, Mom.”

I go to her side and kiss her cheek, getting the faintest, “Gianna,” from her in return.

My mother has never liked me or had particular use for me. She had her son. Her prince. Her Dante. I’ve always been an extra and perhaps a source of competition for her. Now, I’m just the wrong one to live. I swear to God, I pray I never have a son just so I don’t activate this psychotic, male-obsessed curse that seems to lurk in the doting hearts and minds of Italian mothers.

I regret my thoughts as soon as I have them. Dante was worth it.

My father still hasn’t looked at me. The change in our relationship since Dante’s death is much harder to deal with in person.

“Papa, how was your trip up?” I ask as I go to his side and kiss his cheek next. The weight of my mother’s disapproval is one I’ve grown used to bearing, but the distance between my father and me still rubs painfully at my wounds. It’s like I lost him and Dante both on the same day, but that wasn’t my brother’s decision.

My mother continues staring at me like I’m something dragged in on her shoe rather than her only remaining child. Her discomfort at my father showing me more attention than her was something I thought to be a thing of the past with me securely out of their lives, but her shoulders notch up at least two inches from me greeting him.

“Sit down, Gianna. We need to discuss something,” my father says.

I assumed as much from the fact that he wanted me to come alone, but I’m not used to him being so to the point. Whatever this is, it’s more than serious.

“I thought we were having dinner.”

“Once matters are settled.”

I don’t argue with him. His brown eyes are duller than they once were, and barely a speck of black remains in his hair. Seeing him like this after all this time is anticlimactic. A silly part of me expected my old father, but I should have fully accepted a long time ago that he’s not there anymore.

“Sure, Papa. What do we need to discuss?” I sit down, looking at both of them with true fear. “Is someone dead?”

“No, thank God,” my mother answers, but my father’s face says he doesn’t consider it a comfort. I’ve always been able to read my father. A perk of wanting the man's approval more than I need oxygen, but my skills are rusty.

What’s worse than another one of us dead?

“Gianna, I have never asked much of you,” my father begins, and my already sick stomach dives another few inches into the mud. “These past months have been hard on you. I know you think I don’t know that, but Carlo tells me. They have been hard on all of us too, but I have done my best to give you everything and keep you safe.”

I have to swallow twice before I can hold the shake out of my voice long enough to answer. “I know that, Papa. You have always been generous and kind with me.” The words stick to my tongue, the lie barely willing to come out.

My father’s eyes rest on me fully for the first time in years. He’s barely offered me glances since Dante’s passing. And his full attention settles into my bones like the weight of the world and an eternity of expectation. It’s all caught up in a strangely cold brown gaze, and I mourn the father I knew before Dante died. Now, he may as well be a stranger. With that same timeless agony that followed me on my drive in, he becomes both.

“It’s time to pay your debt to this family.” He doesn’t seem aware of what’s happening inside me, and that’s likely for the best.

“Debt? What debt?” I shake my head, clearing my throat.

He straightens his tie. I’ve only ever seen him without it a handful of times.

“Call it duty if you prefer.”

But that doesn’t answer my question.

He scratches his gray beard with a lined hand. Most days, I forget he’s over sixty. He’s handsome and strong but tired if you know the places to look.

“What’s my duty?” The answer seems obvious, like I’m stupid for asking, but that still doesn’t explain his meaning. Shouldn't I know if I have a duty other than hiding in my apartment?

“Gianna, I’m getting too old to keep fighting this war.”

“I know that, Papa. I see how tired you are.”

He smiles, but the sad bend of his lips doesn’t touch his eyes or press his dimples into his softening cheeks.

“I am so glad to hear you say that. Sometimes, Gianna, I’m not so sure you notice anyone but yourself.” He laughs, tired and broken as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a picture. His insult lands like a gut jab, but my curiosity burns about that photo.

“We are almost out of loyal men, and most of the men we do have are hired guns. Hired guns can always be bought with more money.”

He takes a long look at what he’s holding before laying it on that table, but I don’t reach out to take it. It’s like a check in a restaurant—first to touch it claims it, and I certainly don’t want whatever has my father acting like this.

“What is that?”

“The only people you can truly count on in life are family, and sometimes not even them.” I understand that far better than he thinks.

“What are you talking about?” I barely force the question out.

“The oldest and most effective way to strengthen your family is to form an alliance, combine families. Ideally, it would have been a more even deal, but we weren’t in a position to be demanding.”

“What is that?”

“A picture, Gianna. Pick it up.”

My hand shakes as I do, and I’m incredibly confused to find a tall, fifty-something-year-old man with dark hair and possibly Russian features. He stares at me with cold black eyes, and a shiver runs down my spine. He's not bad looking, but his eyes scream cruelty.

I pick it up and turn it over. In unfamiliar handwriting is a name in English and Cyrillic. Fyodor Domalachego. That’s familiar, but I don’t know much about him besides that he’s a high-ranking Bratva.

I stare at it for a minute or two, avoiding the stupid questions my father has no patience for. I should be able to figure out what he means, but I’m having difficulty remembering my name. I’m on the verge of that disassociation I feared.

My finger trails the edge of the picture as I rack my brain for how this man could relate to my debt, duty, or family. Dread settles so thick in my gut I’m grateful we didn’t eat first.

“Why are you showing me this picture, Papa?” But this time, I know.

“He’s your fiancé. I thought you’d like to see him before he gets here.”

I swallow my initial reaction, then my second and third, and finally settle on the much more reasonable. “I don’t have or want a fiancé, Papa. You can’t be bringing this man here.”

“Gianna,” my mother admonishes me. But I’m thirty-two years old, and I do not have a fucking fiancé. Has my father lost his mind? A Bratva alliance!

My father continues unfazed.“He will be here in an hour. That should be enough time to get yourself into the right mindset.”

“The right mindset? What is that exactly? Housewife? Broodmare?”

“We are losing this war, Gianna!” my father shouts, uncharacteristically losing his cool. “You know how bad things are. You asked me yourself if I was calling you here today to tell you of another death in our family. But there aren’t many of us left to die. Your baby cousins, your own mama, and me. Who do you expect to put an end to it?”

I grind my teeth. I wanted it to be him, and if he couldn’t, then Dante, but nothing has gone as planned.

“I’ve long since given up the hope that someone would.” There’s no disrespect in my tone, but I meet my father’s eyes and he hears exactly what I’m thinking but wouldn’t dare say.

“Your brother isn’t here. You are a woman. And I made the only choice I could to keep us all alive. To let us live our lives similarly to how we’ve grown accustomed.”

Piles of death wrapped up in a luxurious bow? I want to ask, but I dig my nails into my palms instead.

“And how did you do that? Exactly,” I demand.

“I made a deal with Fyodor. He took his father’s position. He is without a worthy wife. He doesn’t want a young girl not ready to be a wife or mother, and he thinks you are stunning. Exactly the type of beauty he’d like to carry his sons and daughters.”

It takes one full minute for the significance of those words to dig through my skull.

“Was there a specific number of children mentioned?”

He doesn’t look at me, staring off toward the edge of the room. I realize the table is set for four.

“No less than three, no more than eight.” I’m thirty-two right now. If he expects me to pop out eight children, I’ll be pregnant from now until the day I turn forty.

“Eight,” I repeat. “You agreed to a maximum of eight children with a man I’ve never met. Is he even a good man, Papa?”

He winces but doesn’t immediately answer.

“You’ve been allowed to live a very sheltered life. One I made for you with money and force, but this fairy tale isn’t reality, Gianna, and all things come at a cost. It’s time for you to pay, my sweet girl. Your brother already has.”

How dare he throw Dante in my face after everything?

“Enough fucking games, Dad! Have you lost your mind? Fyodor Domalachego will bury us himself!”

His eyes snap to mine, and there’s an icy second where I know I’ve gone too far. I’ve crossed a line with a man whose only true currency is respect.

“You’re right. He made that very clear to me when he made his demands. He will kill us all if you don’t marry him, and he’s going for the Bouchards next. We join him, or we die.”

“You’re a coward.” I don’t say it like an insult. It’s a gasp from my broken heart. “You let a man come to you and force your hand for your only child. You’re weak.” I’m really not trying to be awful to him, but my world is collapsing like a house of cards. I’ve been hiding for six months, not because we’re fighting a war, but because we’ve given up.

Standing, he steps around the table. I’m sure he’s going to slap me much harder than Violetta did, and maybe I deserve it because I have no intentions of paying my debts or honoring my duties. Just like he’s not done with his. I don’t give a fuck what he thinks I owe.

He’s three feet from me when he raises his hand, and even though I know he’s wrong, I sit there waiting for the blow. I expect the sting and smacking sound as his hand collides with my face, but it never comes.

Instead, a deep crack breaks the tension. Something shatters and falls like heavy rain. My head fills with static buzzing, a cranked-up car stereo with no station. My papa stares into my eyes for a moment before a drop of blood slides down his nose, his face goes slack, and his body drops, slamming against the floor.

CHAPTER 2

GIANNA

“PAPA!” I scream at the top of my lungs, but my voice breaks as my vocal cords fail. Smoke fills my lungs, and for a moment, I misinterpret the stream of gunfire and the burst of broken glass as an explosion. I stare at the hole between my father’s eyes, and rather than dropping to the floor for cover, I stay seated and vomit all over myself.

His body lies between the dining chairs in an odd heap. His hand lays above his head. That slap never landed, and I wish it had. I wish we were still fighting over the Russian I’ll never marry.

A shrill, wailing siren rips through the room. My head splits open, and the pain in my mother’s cry digs so deep inside me that I think I’ve finally lost that battle I’ve been fighting with my mind for months. The frayed thread my sanity has been hanging from snaps.

Mama, please! I’m about to cry, to beg her to stop making that sound.

But I never get the chance. Another shot rips through the room, and she’s quiet too. Why am I still here?

Laser-focused eyes rip from my father’s corpse to the spot where my mother lies dead and slumped on the table. Golden brown hair spills out of her chignon. A thin river of blood pools beneath her, staining the lace tablecloth Violetta made her for Christmas.

Violetta—I pray to God she heard the commotion and hid.

I drag in heavy breaths, the scent of bile mixing with the heat of the gunpowder. Fyodor’s picture lays on the table, staring at me, perfectly unmussed except for two dots of bright red blood. I stare at the man's dark eyes and wonder if this is his doing. I look away from him, away from our killer. Neither deserves my last thoughts.

I watched this movie when I was a kid, where they projected the last image you saw before you died up on a screen. It horrified and fascinated me, leaving me to wonder what mine would be. I stare at the crucifix above the fireplace. The one carved by the nuns at the monastery where we attended church my entire life before it became Bouchard territory. That’s a good enough choice.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.

“Don’t tell me you still believe that shit, Gianna. Hasn’t life been cruel enough to teach you anything?” The voice drips with disdain, reminding me of a boy who never believed in God, let alone feared him. A boy who never considered me worthy of a goodbye.

The deep familiarity of that voice stirs a disturbing, fluttering hope inside me. The sensation fades, ripping acute dread from my gut. The intensity stuns me in the face of the end-of-life adrenaline wracking my system.

I ignore the chastisement, past the point of embarrassment as my lips tangle around my prayer. I refuse to think of anything but those words and the shape of the crucifix on the wall. I pretend he’s a stranger. But I know him. I know him so damn well.

A delusional quality shadows my thoughts, slowing them. I can’t think through whatever is happening to me, can’t even wallow in my grief through the nothing. I think there’s a common word for this, but I can’t think of that either. My vulnerability becomes my entire being, shaking the foundations of myself I once considered solid but have been eroding beneath so much isolation and death. Bricks, like my tenacity and passion, slide on shifting sands.

“Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” My lips trace and kiss the words like lovers, like hunger, thirst, and pain could and would all be quenched by them.

Hold them, Dante. These words I keep inside myself, but I know my brother hears. He wouldn’t leave them alone in death. He would never leave us if he had the choice.

Boots crunch across glass. The sharp twist and impatience of the steps conveys the determination of our killer.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.”

The footsteps come to a sudden stop. Heat radiates off the figure beside me. Cold metal presses into my skin before tipping my chin up. My eyes pinch closed.

“Open your eyes, Gianna. We don’t have a lot of time before the Russian gets here, and he won’t give a fuck if your parents are dead or alive. A deal is a deal, princess.” The words don’t mean much to me. My thoughts remain too fuzzy for anything but my prayer.

“Amen.” With a wordless heart cry, I plead with God to end my suffering quickly.

“Gianna.” Warm, patient, kind. I shake my head, forcing myself to forget the positive associations I have. The swell of love still aches in my chest. Something is terribly wrong with me.

“No,” I argue, shaking my head miserably as the hot tears drop across my skin. “It’s not you. You wouldn’t do this to me.”

I fucking love you. Why the hell do I still love you?

That grunt of male frustration stirs too much familiarity. It prickles my skin like heartsick need and agony. I’ll get past this and hate him more than anything. My stupid fucking heart just hasn’t caught up with reality. Hell, I can’t open my eyes and look at him. How can I face what he did and start to hate him?

Just kill me. It would be kinder to let me die than let my heart die this way.

“Kill me,” I beg him with everything I have left.

There’s a long, death-free silence.

“Gianna, fucking open your eyes.”

I don’t.

“Open your fucking eyes.”

He’s angry, and for some reason, I don’t want him to be. I need to go with my parents and be done with all this madness, but that last burst of self-preservation won’t let go.

I shake my head, and tears spill down my cheeks. They burn as they slide, and my mouth opens in a breathless wail. That stupidity protecting me partially breaks, revealing the truth of the matter. Nikolai Bouchard just killed my parents, and I’m the one who showed him this place. I lost my virginity to him here. No one other than our closest men knew its location before I exposed it to our enemy.

“I wouldn’t. I didn’t. Not here. Please not here.” I’m not making sense, but alongside the fear and pain, the guilt stands a good chance of eating me alive. “Kill me already. I’m dead.”

I fucked him on nearly every surface of this house so he could learn the layout. So he could choose the place where he killed my parents.

“You’re not dead. I will never let that happen. Your life is mine. Now, open your eyes. Look at me. I need to see you.” His voice wavers, and the raw need in his tone shakes something inside me.

Maybe I should look.

“Gi, open your eyes.” A hand knots in my hair, forcing my face up to him. My scalp burns, and the gentle kiss of metal runs down my cheek like a lover's caress. The tip of the gun presses into my chin like its owner wants to inspect my mouth, possibly deciding whether it’s the best point to blow my brains out from—it is.

The gun leaves my skin, scraping against the holster as he returns it to his waist. When I still don’t open my eyes, a slap lands against my cheek like the one my father intended for me, but it lacks the burn.

“Gianna, you are in shock. Open your fucking eyes.”

Nikolai Bouchard stands in front of me, dressed in all-black tactical gear, wearing the gun he used to kill my parents and holding me by my hair like an errant kid he’s tossing out of his yard.

“Did you just slap me?”

He has the audacity to smile at me from beneath his mask.

“Knew you were still in there, princess.”

“Why?” I manage to ask through the pain that’s somehow not quite as intense as the betrayal. All the betrayal around me. He used me. After all these years, I was sure he loved me, but this deranged fuck played a longer game than I thought anyone capable of.

“Because I had to.” His words hang between us like an already broken oath. “Don’t you fucking get that?”

“Kill me, Niko.”

His features contort, his lip raising. He yanks me by my hair until we’re face-to-face, and his mask skims my nose. “I’d shoot myself before I shot you, Gi. Now, don’t fucking ask me to kill you again.”

And with that threat thick in his tone, I disintegrate into soul-shaking sobs because there isn’t a chance in hell he and his father don’t have something wretched planned for me after what they just did to my parents.

CHAPTER 3

NIKO

FYODOR DOMALACHEGO, Fyodor Domalachego.

The name of the Bratva Pahkan rolls around my head like a molten ball of metal, decimating everything it touches.

I should have killed Stefan Gemelli slower, gutted him and left him to juggle his own intestines before dying in agony. How could he give her to the Russians after what happened to his son? I grit my teeth and check how in control I am. Not very.

Smoke clings to my skin and hair, and the acrid scent of chemicals trails behind it. Gianna cries from the back seat, though she’s not even bound, a luxury I would only afford my princess. She doesn’t stink like the fire because I locked her in the car before committing arson.

It’s been an hour since we left the house, and my ears still ring from the nearly explosive force of the illegal accelerant I used to burn the place down. She begged me not to, and I really wanted to give my princess what she wanted, but I couldn’t risk anyone noticing her body's absence from that table.

If my father ever found out she was alive, he would immediately correct the issue. I’m going to have to kill the man eventually, but I’m not ready to take on the weight of running our entire territory, which will double after my father takes credit for this tonight. So I’m stuck beneath his thumb for a few more years, and Gianna is stuck with me.

As far as he or anyone will ever know, the last of the Gemellis died over their dinner tonight. Her cousins are already dead, not that she needs to know that. I sent the baby to a church, not having the heart to kill something so small. I couldn’t offer the same to the older children and teens who would remember and want revenge at some point. And while what I’ve done seems cruel, I saved her from a much worse fate. And she is the only one I care about.

Domalachego won’t disappear without a convincing set of corpses nor will her father’s remaining men fall in line.

“Dante, Dante…” she cries for her brother again, and I don’t have any clue why she’s talking about him when her parents just died.

Something about her is intensely off, and it seems like more than this trauma. I’ve been looking for her for months with no success. Prior to this, there hasn’t been a time since we met when I didn’t know where she was or what she was doing. These past six months has been hell.

My father sent her the birthday card with the severed head to fuck with me—something he took great pleasure in lording over me, knowing I couldn’t stop him. But the real effect was Stefan stuffing Gianna so far away I couldn’t find her for anything. I don’t think my father knows about my habits where she’s concerned since he hasn’t mocked me over it, but it’s unwise to underestimate him.

Pitch black surrounds us. Not one star interrupts it. The night understands our need for secrecy. The highway moves beneath us, putting distance between her and a life she can never have back, a life I wouldn’t return her to for anything now that I finally know where she is again.

The coroner works outside our normal jurisdiction, but he’s already been paid off. I’ve dug up some pretty nasty shit on him if I need to extort him for his silence down the road. The dead woman I brought to replace Gi is a pretty close physical match, and there won’t be a DNA test. Shooting her already rotting corpse through the skull was frankly repulsive but worth it.

Sniffle-sobs occasionally echo from behind me, but I won’t regret my actions when they are the reason she’s here. The thrill from her presence chases out the worst of my anger and guilt—something I consider strictly different from regret. Being her protector almost makes me feel worthy of being called a man.

Until reality rearranges the picture. I’m her parents' killer and her stalker. She will never love me.

Gianna would have been the third Mrs. Domalachego. The first two died when he got bored of beating them. His two sons are nearly men now and, by all accounts, just as vicious as their father. Perhaps he planned to pass Gianna off to them when he was done. He certainly doesn’t need more children.

My gaze flicks to the rearview, where the dull light from the dash illuminates a nearly naked Gianna. She sits beside the bag of clothes I pulled out of her car before killing her parents and abducting her. Stripping her naked and tossing her in the back seat was a poor choice, even if I did get a flash of her cunt. I’ve decided as much as another shiver shakes her tits.

“Put on your clothes, Gi. They’re right next to you.”

She just nods.

“You’re cold.”

Another nod.

“It’s time to be reasonable and get dressed, Gianna.” This is the type of rationale I use on myself multiple times a day as I’m forced to do my father’s bidding.

Nothing.

I sigh, my frustration mounting. I don’t want to hurt her, but that’s what I’ve had to do again and again. I’ve never been able to be with her the way I want. The least I should be able to do is keep her warm. Her teeth chatter—a sound designed explicitly to bother me. Her discomfort creeps up my back, and I’m about to fucking explode.

“When did your tits get so big? They’re all I can think about. My cock is so hard right now thinking about fucking you like I used to. Maybe I should pull over.” It's a manipulation tactic, but it’s also true.

She shudders in disgust but finally unzips the bag. The oversized T-shirt she puts on is a relief for so many reasons. She doesn’t grab a pair of panties or pull the shirt over her ass, and that’s somehow more distracting than her complete nudity. I’ll take my wins where I can get them because she’s already shivering less.

“Niko,” she finally speaks to me directly now that her teeth aren’t chattering. It’s the first time in hours since she begged me to kill her. My heart skips a beat at the address.

“Gianna?”

“What are you going to do with me?”

Her question knocks the wind out of my lungs. I can’t pretend I know what my plan is. Save her was ’bout as far as it went when my father ordered me to kill them all. Do anything you can to save her. Locking her in a cage like a pretty bird seems like a viable option. Maybe I’ll sit around from outside the bars and hope she one day forgives the monster who murdered her parents and kept her prisoner. There was a movie about that when we were kids, wasn't there?

I laugh for the first time in months, but it’s hollow. I didn’t realize I was still innocent in any way. The only parts of this plan I’m sure of are switching a similar body for hers and the room I’ve been working on for her for years. The actuality of the days that make a life are another story. What will be left of the woman I love when it all ends?

“It's not a stupid question.”

Is that why she thinks I’m laughing?

It’s been so long since I’ve been honest with anyone about anything, and my tension pops like a bubble as I say, “Of course it’s not a stupid question. I just have no goddamn clue, Gi.” I laugh again from the relief of admitting how clueless I am. I’m my father’s heir, yet I’m nothing more than a high-ranking errand boy who kills.

The corner of my eye trains on the rearview mirror. She stiffens, and her mouth drops open as she appears to contemplate my answer. This kindredness with her swells inside me. She’s a soft and pretty version of my rage, something I can control, unlike myself.

She grits her teeth, and the fact that I annoy her makes me smile because that’s so much better than her wordless grief. “Then why the fuck would you take me, Niko?”

“My father told me to kill you, but I couldn’t do it. So here we are.” There isn’t much more to say about it.

She doesn’t speak for a few more minutes, but she keeps on staring, her gaze threatening my life.

“How long are you planning to keep me?”

“Indefinitely. My father will think you’re dead. You’ll be safe.”

“Safe?”

The single word passes between us, but I know she doesn’t believe me because she starts shaking again.

“You don’t want to know why I killed your parents?” I ask a few minutes later. Why do I want to make her hate me less so badly? I knew what I was doing when I pulled that trigger. We are an hour late and two bullets short of repairing our relationship.

She’s silent before she says, “I already know why you did it, Niko. It’s the obvious conclusion to this war. I just don’t get why you haven’t killed me too, and don’t tell me it’s because you couldn’t. We both know that’s not true.”

The overconfident little bitch is actually wrong. I’d kill her if I could. It would be easier, and I’ve learned the path of least resistance is the one I always take. She doesn’t believe I care because I obeyed my father one too many times. Like she just said, killing her parents was the natural conclusion to this war, but I shouldn’t have been the one to end it.

“There’s a lot of territory that could be held on to with a Gemelli heir. Keeping you is a pragmatic decision.” She’s terrified, traumatized, and she needs a reason to believe she’s not going to die. If she won’t believe my decision is an emotional one, I can provide her another excuse, and I do want to fill her with cum.

Her eyebrows lift in response to my answer.

“Your father wouldn’t want a Gemelli heir.” She’s right about that. The idea would repulse him, but the chance to hurt me might prove too tempting for him to resist. Making me call a child brother who should have been my own son turns me murderous once more, and it’s only a dreadful hypothetical.

“He wouldn’t be the father.” Thick venom fills my voice as I speak, like she might want that when I know full well she’d happily kill the man herself.

She clears her throat.

“Why not?” I wish she hadn’t asked.

I have never stopped loving you. But I don’t say that out loud because she doesn’t want to hear it.

“I wouldn’t allow it.”

“Just like you wouldn’t make me an orphan? You’re just my big, strong protector, right, Niko?”

I nearly growl at the accusation when she’s talking about a father who planned to sell her off without a care in the world for her well-being and a mother who wrote her off by the time she was twelve. Neither deserves her love, not one tear from her eyes.

“Unlike your precious papa, I wasn’t going to let you be sold to that fucking butcher no matter what I had to do. I’d go to shocking lengths for you.” I don’t bring up her mother since we already know how she felt about Gianna.

Her mouth drops open.

“Don’t you dare say that, Nikolai Bouchard. You killed everyone I love. What's shocking is your cruelty.”

Black diamonds catch me in the rearview. I’d crash this car just to look at her another second. I’m an excellent driver. I have a scar on my chest from when I was shot and had to get myself to the mob doc before I bled out. I didn’t veer out of the lines, but with her nearby, I’m all over the fucking road.

“Your family was mostly dead before today. I only finished the job.” If I’m so cruel, let her be shocked.

“You’re a heartless piece of shit.”

I may be a piece of shit, but I’m not heartless. The miserable, weak organ wants to beat out of my chest to get closer to her.

She breaks our eye contact, and I look back at the road in time to avoid the shoulder, but our recovery is slightly rocky. I consider moving her to the trunk for the final leg of our journey. That would be smart and safer for both of us. I know what I need to do, but it’s been so long since I’ve been close to her. I just keep driving, stealing glances at her in the rearview mirror. She’s right. I am a piece of shit, but maybe I don’t care anymore because I finally have her.

“They’re all gone,” she cries to herself, and the frayed bits of my understanding strain.

“You would have been gone. It was them or you,” I snap, not having any right to be frustrated with her right now. Of course she’s not thinking about the fact her family never truly cared about her when I just plugged them both in front of her. But I am. “They were selling you.”

“That’s not true. It didn’t have to be that way. He would have changed his mind.”

“Has he ever changed his mind before, Gianna?”

She cries even harder.

“Look at the evidence.”

“What evidence?”

“Your father sold his only child to a man who has killed two of his wives.” Pain flashes in her eyes as I speak. “A man who…” But I don’t bring up Dante. I can’t do that to her right now.

“I am not an only child!” She doesn’t catch my unfinished sentence, and I’m grateful. The stubborn girl is like a dog with a bone, and despite how much I hated him, I don’t think right now is the moment to eviscerate Stefan’s memory.

“You are now. You have been for five years. Dante is a skeleton, Gianna.” Another gift from your precious papa.

“Fuck you!” she shouts.

“And what did he betray you for, Gianna? To hold on to the port for another six months? Domalachego would have let him live just long enough to get you pregnant and take his men, rightfully.” The Russians aren’t looking to play nice with anyone. They’ll tear this region up and bring the profits back to their real territory.

“Fuck you, Niko!”

“Did you want to get raped, bred, and broken? ’Cause I can happily do the first two, but at least I’m not willing to break you.”

“Shut the fuck up! I hate you!”

“I’m not going to kill you, but your papa certainly planned to send you to your death. If he was such a great man, Gi, why does he sound like such a miserable coward?” May Stefan burn in hell.

She’s quiet for a long moment before she says, “You should know all about being a coward.”

I find it within myself to just shut up because that’s one thing her papa and I truly did have in common. The difference is, I actually love her.

CHAPTER 4

NIKO

A LITTLE TIME passes before she’s asleep. A raw, emotional edge grips my thoughts, and I work to chase it out. Narrowing my field of vision into an almost thoughtless perspective. I imagine myself reptilian, cold, calculated, separated from my feelings and emotions until I’m numb. This is the only way I survive not truly having my own choices, and being in that mindset, the final miles disappear quickly.

I come back to myself, flipping on the signal as I take I-10 east. I’m only a few miles out from the vineyard, and I need to see my father as soon as possible. I waited a full ten minutes after committing arson and fleeing the scene before telling him the job was done. That lie should buy me enough time to get her settled.

My phone rings, and when I glance down, my little brother Pax pops up instead of my father as I expected. His name brings a separate type of concern. My brother is… different. His mother was my father’s mistress and eventual second wife. Her profound wealth came over on the Mayflower, and I think my father saw her as a way to build our enterprise. All that money didn’t help her, though, when she died suddenly in inpatient psychiatric care with Pax’s cousin Shane serving as her doctor.

My brother inherited her fortune as well as many of her issues. His murderous tendencies began at thirteen when he killed his nanny and have been consistently swept under the rug since. I really don’t want to know how many women he’s killed at this point. Do I feel guilty for my brother's actions? Perhaps I would if I were a better man, but I can only take responsibility for so many things.

I press the button, silencing Pax’s call. Keeping Gi safe is the most imperative part of this plan, so whatever he needs can wait. If Gi suddenly wakes, it could screw up everything. The phone goes to voicemail, and he leaves a message. That’s strange.

Another minute passes, and it rings again. Rather than take it as a sign of urgency, I turn off my phone. I’ll be at my father’s estate shortly anyway. They were supposed to be having dinner. How bad could it go?

I turn down the driveway tucked into the tree line. The terrain moves upward as we climb closer to the vineyard. It’s a Wednesday night, the one night our on-site restaurant is closed, so very few people linger.

My father and I have been planning this attack for three days—as soon as word came in that Gemelli formed an alliance that might just save his ass. I mocked Stefan, but the ports are a huge responsibility and source of power. There was good reason to try to cling to them. I just didn’t think Gianna was a bargaining chip for him.

This isn’t a great time for me to have a new captive and the increased responsibilities that will come with officially taking the port. Several weddings will be performed here later this weekend, and I’ve grown quite attached to the success of my venue.

The vineyard is part of my cover, the way I wash my dirty cash, but it’s also become a real passion. I want these events to go well, and I like to make an appearance despite my event coordinator insisting I’m only needed for my looks.

The restaurant sits on the far side of the property with outdoor lights on, and the windows reflect the scenery in sleek black. Rows of grapes line the hills, and beyond them, the pigs wallow in their pen. The whole property is well lit and lovely despite the black night.

We follow the path up to the main house when she asks, “Are you taking me to your father?”

Jealousy courses through me at the mention of him anywhere near her. My father has never come here, but I don’t find it within myself to say that out loud.

“Not tonight.”

She’s quiet after that, the way she was when we first left the house, and after our conversation, it’s a relief rather than a concern. I pull all the way up to the large wooden house. Warm brown wood with giant windows, the place is open enough that I hope she’ll enjoy her prison some days. I pull into the garage and close the door behind me. I should hate myself for what I’m doing to her, but I’m overwhelmed by a swell of satisfaction—I finally have Gianna exactly where I want her.

“Should I carry you inside, or will you walk?”

I expect a spark of her fire, an insistence that I won’t touch her, but she says nothing as she stares into the distance. It’s then I wonder for the first time if she really doesn’t know what an awful man her father was or that he betrayed Dante too. If that’s the case, I’m fucked.

I slip my arms under Gianna, finally pulling her shirt down and over her round ass. She’s so soft, so pretty, and smells like home. I have no other words for the resinous scent floating off her skin. The tang of her fear-filled sweat doesn’t deter her appeal, and an utter sense of rightness accompanies holding her.

Taking Gianna to her room or prison, whichever you prefer, I tuck her into bed. I wrap her in silk and fluffy down because she’s a princess, and that’s what princesses deserve. She doesn’t say anything, and neither do I, but I’m left with a profound sense of unease as I leave her crying into her pillow.

She won’t be going anywhere tonight. The house is locked up, and while no one knows who Gianna is, I’ve given explicit instructions if she gets out. I doubt she’ll try with how I left her. The sight of her sobbing beneath the covers sticks with me, and for some reason, the silk and down don’t strike me as enough.

I drive to my father’s estate, ruminating on my actions and how they might have differed had I known the truth. I assumed Gianna knew what kind of man her father was and who he chose for her. I thought she was a conspirator in the deal with Domalachego. I was angry that she was okay with this union prior to this meeting, but apparently, I was wrong. Why was this sprang on her that way? What am I missing? How can I do damage control with someone so miserably left in the dark?

I flip on the turn signal and school my features. No traces of her scent linger, and I vaguely go over what I’ll tell my father about this evening’s events. A practiced lie sounds practiced, but he’s too smart not to have my story entirely straight. He can never know about Gianna’s survival. I shudder, thinking about the ways he would enjoy breaking her just to prove a point to me.

And the last time he wanted to prove a point about the Gemelli princess, he made me kill a little girl and start this war. Estella Medeiros’s murder remains one of my greatest regrets.

I’m waved in automatically as I pull up to my father’s gate. His previous plan to officially end the Gemellis and take their territory was slated for next year. It fit his vision better to let Stefan scramble as he tried to maintain power and eventually crumble beneath his own weakness. Once my father heard about Stefan’s intention to bring Bratva into the area, our waiting period was over. I couldn’t even disagree with my father’s plan, knowing what a nightmare that would be for all of us.

I park my car next to Pax’s and get out as fast as I can. Anxiety pools in my stomach and I’m suddenly sure my father won’t be convinced that Gianna’s dead. Does he still believe I care about anything? I’ve worked so hard to make sure he doesn’t, but what if I’ve failed? I pull out my phone and turn it back on in case there’s a problem with Gianna. More voicemails pop up as soon as the screen powers on.

Pax: Get here now.

I type a quick text back.

Me: Here.

Men line the path to the house, but none pay me particular attention. Whatever Pax is worried about must not be that big a deal if none of them have run to help. My father keeps the property overflowing with paid guns, but the house itself stays empty for his privacy. They all know me, and there isn’t any reason to be concerned about my presence.

I open the door, not bothering to knock.

“Pax? Dad?” I call, listening for sounds of a struggle, screaming, shit breaking, the usual dinner date between Pax and Dad. No one answers me. “Elisabetta?” I call the housekeeper.

The dining room sits on the other side of the house, and I decide she must be in bed. She tries to hide when Pax is here, which is totally understandable given his track record for killing the pretty young staff members.

An eerie quiet fills the entire house as I take the long halls. I would assume Pax went home, but his car is still outside. When I reach the dining room, I find their abandoned plates.

The silence thickens the room. I’ve never seen a mess left uncleaned in my father's home. Minor signs of a struggle and a few drops of blood decorate the area, but nothing close to fatal. A spray coats my own hands, disappearing as it reaches my black tactical gear. I forgot about Stefan’s blood in all the excitement. I’ll need to wash it off as soon as possible since the shit makes me ill.

The gun I just used on the Gemellis rests in my hand as I head back into the hall. My boots echo on the wood floor, and my intuition insists that I’m walking into an ambush. My father’s office comes next. Pushing the door open, I nearly unload my clip when the river of blood on the floor spills out. I jump back a step, and the door flings wide, revealing the blood spray covering the wall.

A man with curly black hair sits in the puddle, coated in blood. Emerald eyes stare at me, but they don’t seem to see. At the last possible second, I remove my finger from the trigger and avoid shooting my little brother. Burst blood vessels decorate his sclera, and deep red handprints form a necklace, intense enough to bruise. His breath comes unsteady. Only a little time has passed since our father choked him.

Our father lays on the floor in front of him, still mostly dressed, but missing a good chunk of his face from the bullet. About six buttons on his blue shirt are undone, and his guts hang through the opening exactly like I said I should have done to Stefan. The similarity to my brother doesn’t sit well with me.

“Pax, what the fuck did you do?” I’m relieved I won’t have to kill the man myself, but the timing couldn’t be worse. I just killed Gianna’s parents. I just kidnapped her and destroyed her life on this corpse’s say-so. I’m now required to take over my father’s territory and make a bid for the Gemelli territory all while hiding Gianna and keeping my crazy brother alive, or we’re all going to die.

I’m spiraling. The panic invades my body and steals my cognitive abilities. Seeing my brother choked out and breathless destroys me as his older brother, his protector. Potent rage fills me, but the object is already dead, so I guess it’s about as impotent as it can get.

“Niko.” Pax drawls my name like he’s drunk, and maybe he is. I wish I was drunk enough not to realize what this means. Not only did I finish the war and take Gemelli's territory but I also have to lead and defend it. I am the boss, ready or not.

“What the fuck did you do, Pax?” It’s so obvious what he’s done, but I need him to explain this to me. How the fuck did it go from dinner to this?

“He started it.” He points at his neck.

“So knock him out! You don’t kill him and rip his guts out!”

I’m next in line. This is all mine now, and I don’t want anything but Gianna. I am so profoundly fucked.

“He’s knocked out, Nik, permanently.”

“And his guts?” I ask, gesturing to the ropes of intestines spilling out in yards.

“It was fun.”

I always thought our father could control Pax. The obvious evidence to the contrary has me watching him a little more closely. We don’t have the same relationship that he and Dad did, though. His regard for me lacks the bloodlust. He’s lost and frightened, reminding me an awful lot of the little boy who used to follow me around. Dad wanted to kill Pax. He told me so. I just never believed our father was heartless enough to act. The second time tonight that my naivety surprises me.

“Pax, talk to me. What happened?” I’ve softened my voice like he is that child, and he leans toward me.

“You’re the boss now, big brother. You don’t have to kill your girlfriend's family. I did you a favor.” He smiles, and I think he’s serious. “One of the reasons he choked me was I told him he’s a mean bastard for even thinking of making you do it.”

I stare at my brother, the serial killer who somehow still has a good heart. Then my father’s corpse, a man who didn’t kill for fun but was cruel for sport. I cannot deny how good finally seeing him leveled feels, but I’m not ready for what his absence means. I’m not ready to be in control of the entire area and be my brother’s keeper, hide Gianna from the world, and somehow hold it all together.

“You’re not saying you did this for me.” He didn’t know the plans, so he certainly doesn’t know they’re already done.

“No, I did it because I fucking hated him, and he really was trying to kill me this time. It felt so good to kill him. I wish I could do it again, slower.” He runs his hands over his face, smearing blood more thoroughly into his skin. I had the same thoughts about Stefan not long ago, and I’m worried I’m much too similar to my brother. I can’t tell him the Gemellis are already dead. I can’t trust this blood-covered mess to keep this secret. Gianna’s life is too precious.

“My life is fucked because you got your jollies killing Dad.” The summary lacks a few nuances but close enough.

“Your life was already fucked,” he counters. “I just took out one major obstacle for you. You’re welcome.”

“You want me to be grateful?” The worst part is I think I am. I never have to hear his voice again. Nikolai, you’re fucking pathetic, weak like your mother.

“Also, it wouldn’t kill you to show some concern for me. I’m hurt.” He lifts his neck, drawing my attention to the rather impressive line of bruises.

“You’ve been choked before, Pax.” But my pity softens me.

“Last time’s the charm,” he comments as he shoves our father’s corpse.

This would be a great thing if Pax had only done it last week. It would be amazing if Dad tried to kill him at last week’s dinner, but I’m starting to suspect getting me out of the house tonight was a two-part plan. I wondered why Alexandre Bouchard didn’t want to kill Gemelli himself. He did so love to brag, but if he planned to kill Pax instead… What the hell did he plan on telling me when my brother disappeared?

“I can’t believe you did this tonight.”

“You’re pissed at me? Should I have let him kill me? I did you a favor!”

“You really think that, don’t you?” I don’t mean to say that part out loud. No one but Gianna knows what I’ve done yet. Gianna, our dead father, and the coroner. Fuck.

“Obviously. Niko, we hated this fucker! He’s gone. You’re free! We should drink his scotch.”

I push my hands through my hair, trying not to tear it out by the root in my stress.

“I’ll never be free, Pax! Don’t you fucking get that?! You’re the one who gets to be free, and I’m the one who bears the burden. I won’t even get to the scotch with you around.”

“Well, the burden is yours, brother. You can’t uncrack an egg, and this one is scrambled.” He pushes our father’s body away from him as he stands.

“You’re going to help me.” I interrupt his plans.

“I’m going to get the scotch.” He tries to walk around me to the bar.

“You’re going to help me,” I insist, digging my fingers into his arm.

“Since when do you trust me?” He looks ever so slightly down at me, and I’m not sure why I still see a little boy even when we’re both covered in blood.

“Since never, and least of all now, but you made this mess, so you’re going to help me clean it up.” I shake him.

“Brother bonding?” he asks with much more excitement than he should.

“No, this is you bearing your own responsibilities for once. I need time before people figure out what you’ve done. Our father is alive. Do you understand me, Pax?”

“Of course he is!” He leans down and grabs Dad’s hand, yanking his body up and using him as a grotesque puppet. “Pax, you’re a disgusting waste of space, and Niko, you’re too soft. You’ll never be the man I want you to be. I hate you both, and I’m mad I didn’t shoot better loads. Boo-hoo.”

“Pax, I’m so serious. Cut the shit.”

“Don’t be a downer, Niko!” He drops him and lets his corpse slap the floor. “This sounds like family time. You know I always want family time.”

The saddest part is, he does. My murderous brother has always wanted a normal family who loved him, and I’m the closest thing he’s got. At least I do love him.

I sigh deeply as I attempt to shove my father’s guts back in. It’s going to be a long night.

CHAPTER 5

GIANNA

AN UNDETERMINED AMOUNT of time passes as I lie unmoving in the bed where Niko placed me. I’m not sure where my mind is, but it’s not inside my body. Memories form around me, so clear it’s like I can touch them. This is a skill I developed through the long months of being locked in my apartment. Separating from my body to get my only chance at freedom.

My life has been so steeped in grief you’d think I’d be used to it by now, but it’s just as raw and soul-shaking as ever. The memories that surprise me most are those of my mother. She and I have been at odds for so long that I forgot there was a time she didn’t show her preference for Dante quite so sharply. Those memories end fairly quickly, but the ones of my father take longer to run out. He cared for me quite a bit longer before turning his back on me.

I wrestle with my anger toward my father and my grief at his loss, but I’m only fighting with myself. He betrayed me. Niko was correct about that, but he had already turned his back on me. He was handing me over to a mean and dangerous man, and I don’t think he assumed I would die, but he certainly didn’t have my best interests in mind. He was trying to hang onto a dying dynasty. One I was never enough to have a place in.

Maybe he thought I’d give birth to a son and fix everything because that’s what men have convinced themselves a cock will do, right? My father locked me away and planned to give me away, but he was still my papa.

I despise Niko for what he did, but part of me isn’t surprised. Our tragic love story never got its epic conclusion, and this always waited in the wings for us. All that’s left is for one or both of us to die. I’m not sure I want that. The idea of his death leaves me with another grief specter, but maybe fighting fate has been the issue all along.

I suppose I am more seasoned at this than I used to be because ten or twelve hours later, I find the strength to peel myself out of bed and get in the shower. I can’t tell if there’s any blood on me, but I smell awful. Even if I’m trapped here, I don’t want to stay covered in this night for another minute.

Before I stand, I stuff my grief down until I don’t have any emotions. I’m totally unfeeling. Being alone for a long time does fucked-up things to you. I pinch myself just to see if it hurts. It does. But I don’t feel it. Not really.

Darkness blankets the bedroom, and I don’t bother finding a light. If Niko plans to keep me indefinitely, I have plenty of time to learn the details of my prison. Hopefully, he’s left books or movies or something. It would be a shame not to even be able to dissociate into some fiction, but I don’t have it in me right now to bear another disappointment. So I don’t look.

I flip on the light in the bathroom out of necessity but carefully avoid looking in the mirror. That girl will crumble the illusion I have no emotions.

I lock the door behind myself, assuming Niko has a key, and it’s a moot gesture. I’m already mostly naked, but I peel off my nightshirt. My dignity and everything else have already been stripped, so it’s not dehumanizing to let the fabric drop against the tile, just necessary to get clean.

The shower is beautiful with one of those wide rain bars, and the hot water dancing over my skin relieves me, even if only a small amount. Something tells me I will need to grow even more accustomed to small pleasures than I have in these last six months. I don’t think Niko will visit me like Carlo did.

Where else would I focus my energy but the water? Everything here has so many chances to hurt me.

This bathroom puts the one in my apartment to shame, except for the lack of a bathtub. I wonder briefly if Niko thought I might drown myself. Maybe I would just to avoid all the time I’ll have on my hands. The war ending was supposed to mean my death or my freedom. I never considered this third option.

The water runs over my skin for less than five minutes when a knock on the door disturbs me. Of course. I don’t answer, pretending they don’t exist. Maybe it’s Niko or one of his staff. Whoever it is won’t help me, and even if they would, where would I go? I’m not enough of a fool to embarrass myself and ask.

A minute later, the door opens, and I’m grudgingly impressed he waited that long. The key’s hiding spot is likely hard to reach, a less charitable side suggests.

The wood closes, and despite his presence filling the room, I keep my eyes tightly sealed. There’s a heavy moment of silence when his eyes run up my naked back, but I still refuse to look.

“Gianna, I fucked everything up, and I have no idea how I’m going to fix it.” Raw edges distort his voice. Something wild and aggressive possesses him.

His intensity surprises me as much as his admission, but I still don’t move. I don’t want the sight of him still covered in my parents’ blood in my head. Would it be worse for him to be clean and fresh like it never happened? I can’t decide, but I know I don’t want to be the person he runs to. After everything he’s done, how can I comfort him?

“Look at me, please,” he begs, and I ignore him. My pettiness satisfies me in the slightest way. I want him desperate for something for once. Turning away or squeezing my eyes tighter would be reactions he doesn’t deserve. Niko’s not here; he’s nothing. I don’t even hate him. There’s no reason to. I’m certainly not relieved he’s back.

“Look at me or else, Gi.” His foot taps against the tile floor, and I almost feel powerful for the first time in months. A man like him doesn’t threaten unless he truly wants something.

Or else what? What will you do if I don’t look at you? I try to stay calm, but the desire to fight him overwhelms me—the primal need to tear him to pieces. I’m not scared of him, but maybe he should be afraid of me. I’m not stupid enough to believe he won’t hurt me, but my pain still won’t give him what he wants. Denying him will be my last piece of power in this world.

“Gianna.”

I ignore his threat once more.

Buttons, a zipper, then fabric falling heavily against the floor. These sounds don’t excite me. The idea of his naked skin doesn’t raise goose bumps along my back. The glass door opens and closes beside me, and that tingle runs up and down my spine as he occupies that space. The hairs rise on my arm closest to him.

He just stands there, breathing, possibly watching me. I expect him to touch me so acutely that when he doesn’t, the unmet anticipation nearly hurts enough to open my eyes.

Niko steps into the water, interrupting the flow. I open my eyes on instinct, relieved to find his back to me and not his watching gaze. Broad shoulders, glistening brown curls. His beauty overwhelms me even though every angle of his body cuts me to my soul.

It takes me a second to realize what he’s doing—why he’s washing himself instead of touching me—but when I do, I jump as far away from him as possible. Fuck not giving him a reaction. Fuck finding him beautiful. He’s washing my parents' blood off himself, and the red river runs past my feet as it swirls down the drain.

My attempt to breathe comes out as a gasp. I’m going to vomit again. He turns, regarding me first with confusion, then mild embarrassment.

“This isn’t theirs, Gianna. It’s not theirs.” He tries to meet my eyes, but I drop them to the tile again. He doesn’t deserve to enjoy what he’s done.

“Whose?”

“My father’s.” It takes me a solid minute to process what he said.

Alexandre Bouchard is dead? He killed my parents and then went and took out his own father? Why?

“You killed him too?!” I shout, surprised by my own vehemence and fury. I didn’t know I had anything left. Part of me believed that Niko didn’t have a choice in killing my family. He never had a say before, always doing whatever his father told him, just like I did for mine. But if he killed him, Niko would have gotten exactly what he wanted. He’s the one in power. This was his plan.

I can’t look at him, won’t. It will kill me. I’m so stupid for allowing any weak flutters to trip up my heart when he told me all that pretty bullshit last night.

“I didn’t kill him. Look at me.”

Collapsing in a heap on the floor and letting the water wash over me until I’m nothing appeals to me more. I certainly don’t look at him.

He grabs my chin, tipping my face up to him. I snap my eyes shut but stumble, and he catches me around my waist. His touch burns me in its intensity.

“Pax killed him. Pax killed him while they were supposed to be having dinner.” His fingers dig into my flesh, and he shakes me. “I know how fucked up this is, probably more so than you do. But I would not have killed them without my father’s say-so. I simply would have kidnapped you to protect you from the Russian wife butcher.”

“What the fuck was the point of all this, then?” I can’t even describe my rage. I told myself our tragedy was yet to unfold, but I couldn’t imagine it was a cosmic joke as well. “Both my parents and your father are dead for no reason. And you still would have kidnapped me had you not killed them? I’m in exactly the same position, only my parents are dead as well!”

“Yes.”

I guess I’m used to being lied to and handled because the simple answer throws me for such a loop.

“Yes?”

“Yes, it was all for nothing.”

He stares at me, his eyes heavier on my skin than hands as he lets the truth of that statement hang between us, but I keep my eyes around his chest. Five years without my brother, a mother who hated me, a father who saw me as an object, the man I loved who took them away from me. They become one as he stands in front of me.

“I hate you. I hate you so fucking much. I hope it eats you alive that I’ll never be able to look at you with anything but disgust. That I’ll always hate you.”

I have such strong words for Niko, but guilt flashes alongside the rage. Questioning why God turned his back on our family is the last thing I should do right now. I doubt I’ll like the answer.

“You’d prefer I lie to you?”

I don’t say it, but my father would have and Dante would have. Isn’t that what love looks like from a man? Lies that protect you.

“Fucking look at me. I swear to God I’ll slap the shit out of you if you’re so weak you’d prefer I lie to you.” There’s real malice in his voice, and I seriously debate taking the hit. Maybe that will show him how weak I am. “Do you even remember who you are anymore, Gi?”

My eyes finally snap to his because I don’t fucking want to. It’s easier not to. I hate him even more for trying to remind me of what I was avoiding in that mirror.

He stands in front of me with his brown curls drenched, his gray eyes like storms and harbingers of death. My hatred for him wells up so harshly it fights to burn me to ash. An intensity possibly more powerful than my own lights his gaze, and a horrified part of me realizes hatred isn’t fueling him. What have I ever done to make him obsessed with me? The better question is, what could I do to break his fixation? Because I need him to stop looking at me like that.

“What do you want from me, Niko? What the fuck do you want? It has to be something.”

That look only deepens, and I hate him even more because he says so much with that gaze that I can’t understand.

“I want you to love me back. Okay? I want you to love me.”

Despite the fact that he appears genuine, I wait for the punchline and laugh, sharp and hateful, when it doesn’t come.

“Never. I’ll never love you.”

The idea of loving him is so foreign and disgusting to me now that I want to hurt him for even suggesting it. My laughter lands the way I hoped, but it doesn’t give me the satisfaction I want. Instead, I’m anxious for his reaction, nervous I overplayed my hand.

“Fine, Gianna, you don’t have to be my secret love affair like when we were kids. You can just be my whore.”

I open my mouth to tell him it will never happen, but he slaps his hand over my lips, forcing me into silence before I can utter a word. It’s been so long since anyone has touched me that I gasp at the contact.

“Enough of your bullshit. Keep your mouth shut.”

He pushes me back against the shower. The thump as I collide with the tile jars me. His teeth dig into the fine skin of my throat as he aims to punish me. It’s hardly an erotic spot for most people, but I’m not normal, and I squirm beneath the pressure of his teeth. He bites harder when I wiggle instead of cry, and the thought of my parents is the only thing that keeps my moan inside me. Don’t fucking moan for him.

My body shakes beneath him. Slick tile slides against my back, cold and hot, pain so intense it’s pleasure instead of all the aching nothing. I’m dying beneath him, but he assumes it’s simply physical as he continues his assault along my neck.

“If it hurts, just cry, baby. It hurts when you reject me.” He moves his hand away from my mouth. If I were to cry right now, it would be for so many things, but I’ve never gotten over the way he left me. How dare he want me now that returning his feelings would betray myself so deeply?

“You rejected me.”

“Never again.” He steals a quick kiss, which hurts so much worse than his teeth.

“I hate you,” I gasp, but the throaty quality of my voice betrays that I don’t hate him enough.

He picks me up under my knees, my back slides against the cool tile, and stops as he shoves his hips between my legs and catches me on his strong thighs.

“It didn’t have to be like this, Gi.” But the anger on his face and his hard cock tell me he doesn’t really mind how it is. I want to hurt him before it inevitably ends up inside me.

“Whose fault is that?” I demand. “Who caused all of this?”

“Maybe the asshole god you were praying to when I killed your parents. He didn’t stop me, did he?”

“God didn’t make you pull the trigger and neither did your father.”

“God isn’t real.”

For the first time in my life, I wonder if he’s right. Niko takes advantage of my moment of uncertainty, staring into my soul like I promised I never would. I’m nothing but a liar around him, and I’m almost out of dignity with so few scraps of myself left to hold on to.

“I’m going to fuck you, but I want to kiss you first. Need it.” His lips brush my neck, drawing goose bumps on my skin that aren’t as dread-filled as they should be. His kisses always amazed me.

“You already kissed me.”

“Kiss me back.”

“Never.”

“Fine, princess. Your pussy lips can kiss my cock, then.”

He reaches between us and presses his hard dick to my pussy. A needy thrill zips through me, and the guilt that follows nearly makes me vomit again. I want to fuck the man who killed my parents, and I once again decide the merciful thing would have been for him to kill me too.

“If you’re never going to love me, you might as well hate me as much as possible.” His cock rubs along my slit, spreading the wetness that may as well be made of my shame and failure rather than my pussy juice.

If he doesn’t fuck me, I might die.

“I can’t tell you how badly I’ve wanted this,” he echoes my thoughts, only making it worse. How many times have I dreamed of him, wondering if he was thinking of me too?

Is he trying to disgust me? Turn me on? I’m both as he slides inside me, much more snugly than I remember. Fuck, he’s big.

Rather than shifting his own hips, he manipulates my body, twisting my limbs and the angle of my pussy to the exact position he wants. I moan long and low as he scrapes against my insides and rests the head of his cock nearly painfully against my cervix. It’s a cry of defeat as much as pleasure. The last brick of our family's dynasty reduced to dust.

“Fuck, Gi, that noise. Make it again.”

I don’t answer him, and he tries a slightly different angle, drawing another agonized moan of defeat.

“It sounds like you like this, and you’re so fucking wet. Maybe hating me makes it better for you. I think you’re secretly relieved I took you.”

I slap him straight across the face as hard as I can, like he threatened to do to me. His mouth hangs open, his eyes wide, breaths coming even faster. It feels so good that I do it again. The wet slap rings far louder than normal in the tight, steam-filled space. I land my hand across the sharp arch of his cheek twice more before he grabs my hands and pins them to my sides, using his grip and full body weight to support and get deeper inside me, pinning me to the wall.

I struggle, but the pleasure increases as I do. His weight practically keeps me still, and all my effort creates friction between us. He picks up his tempo and fucks me at a bruising pace, my body repeatedly falling on him as it slides against the tile. He grabs my hips again when he’s sure I’m done hitting him, and the bruising force makes me feel alive for the first time in so long.

“Oh God. God, forgive me.”

“I think he should be worried about you forgiving him.”

The mere suggestion rips a gasp out of me and while I’ve questioned God more than once in all this loss and pain, I’ve never considered my anger as something worthy of His or anyone else’s notice.

Niko fucks me harder than anyone ever has in my life, not that there have been many, and no single part of my brain can explain why it’s so good when I hate him, when he’s forcing me. I can’t help but imagine Fyodor in Niko’s position right now. Had this gone my father’s way, it would have been. Somehow I doubt I’d be on the verge of coming.

I cry for so many things as Niko’s cock changes its angle, and my pussy responds to him, getting even wetter and more malleable, gripping him desperately for a release I haven’t gotten in far too long. He slips another inch deeper as my traitorous pussy relaxes around him, hungry to come on him.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” I chant, but even I have to admit how much it sounds like fuck me.

“You’re so pretty, Gi. Your cunt is so tight. I’m going to fuck it whenever I want. I’m going to fuck you whenever I want, but I’ll always make you cum.”

I pulse around him like a traitorous whore. I’m getting close, and it doesn’t help that I’m excited to be with him again somewhere deep down. Part of me doesn’t hate him. Part of me always dreamed he’d steal me away. This is my fault as much as anyone else’s.

“I’ll hate you forever.” It would make my life so much simpler if I had the courage of my own convictions. Maybe I could muster the proper hate if I hadn’t been alone for so long. If I wasn’t desperate for anyone to love and notice me. If he didn’t make me feel so good.

“If you hate me so much, you won’t come, right?” That mischievous voice is so familiar that for a moment, I could be seventeen again.

“I’ll hate myself too much to enjoy it.” I don’t deny the impending orgasm because denying the inevitable will only give him more power, and I’m going to come hard and soon.

“You should forgive yourself now, because there’s nothing you can do to change it.”

He reaches down and plays with my clit as his cock slides in and out of me, my lips kiss him just like he promised, and those words somehow intensify the simple friction, like it’s something romantic rather than harsh and cruel. My building orgasm isn’t just a betrayal to myself. I’m a traitor to my entire bloodline and everyone who came before me as my pussy starts to quake around him.

With that last wave of guilt and self-hatred, I come so hard I nearly black out, my vision fraying around the edges. My pussy pulses around him, and the wet rush that accompanies my orgasm surprises us both.

“Fuck, you didn’t do that last time,” he grits through his teeth. “I’m pissed as hell that you could possibly be even more attractive to me.”

“It was a fluke.” I didn’t even think I could squirt.

“You’re going to do that on my face.”

He keeps fucking, and a few moments later, he follows, his eyes faintly rolling back and his perfect mouth going slack as he loses his load inside me.

“If that’s what it’s like when you hate me, I can live with it,” he pants, wet curls sticking to his forehead as he puts my legs down and lets his cock slip out.

“I wasn’t concerned with pleasing you.” But that’s a moot point as his cock leaks a dribble of cum down his thigh that the water quickly steals away.

“One of my favorite things about you, Gi. You’re one of the only real people I’ve ever known. I don’t doubt you. It’s all the other stuff I’m worried about.”

That statement rocks me. What the hell could he be sure of other than the sex being stellar?

I don’t ask, but I do wonder about the “other stuff.” It’s an old habit that won’t die. I used to believe with enough proficiency my father would include me in our business, but he never even let me sit for the BAR exam after law school. I should put things like that out of my head. I’m sure Niko’s opinions of my abilities aren’t much different.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex, and my pussy throbs. I stand in the water, trying to wash him off me without being too obvious. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he got to me.

I grab a bottle of body wash off the shelf, not able to hide my distaste any longer. “If I’m a whore now, when should I next expect you?”

“Don’t pout. It’s unbecoming.”

“I told you I don’t give a shit about pleasing you.”

His fingers trail the curve of my back. “If you won’t love me, you have only one use for me, and you will serve it.” He gropes my ass in a dehumanizing and frankly hot way, and I believe him with all my heart until he kisses my shoulder just once before he leaves.

My sense of self shatters even further, and by the time I leave the water, the name Gianna sounds strange, mushy, and foreign, and I think I’d prefer to go by princess. Gianna hates him so fucking much, and I’m not sure I can guard myself against anything that feels so good. I’d prefer to be anyone else.

CHAPTER 6

NIKO

I SCOUR through another box of my father’s paperwork. My cock leaks needily as an unbidden image of Gianna’s tear-streaked face mid orgasm fills my mind. God, I need to fuck her again like that, and soon. Her wanting me and begging for it might be preferable, but I don’t mind taking it when we both come that hard.

I crumple some useless papers and toss them in the trash. Did my father have to save everything? Does everything have to keep me from her? I look around my father’s office, wondering what kind of things he has hidden here and how they might spring up to fuck me.

I don’t want to think about him or the mountain of shit he left behind. Least of all do I want to deal with Pax, who, for once, waits obediently for his next instruction. I’ve never seen him so lost, and I wonder about the strength of my father’s hand in his life. I want to be inside Gianna, not wondering about family dynamics I thought I understood but likely never will.

How can I be the boss when I can’t make a good decision to save my ass? When the facade is controlled, but my consistently simmering anger is so close to the surface that I worry I might snap. How can I keep Gianna or my crazy brother safe when everyone finds out what happened? But that’s exactly what I have to do.

Pax makes an easy target since he lives alongside reality. Catching someone unaware when they’re busy talking to a hallucination or staring into space for hours isn’t complicated. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s scary when it does.

We cleaned up the mess here last night, but the rug is no longer there, and the floor looks bare and worn without it. We sent my father’s body with the coroner I already paid for the Gemellis. This isn’t his jurisdiction, so it will buy us more time.

“So he was Dad to both of you?” he asks as he slaps the body bag-wrapped corpse. No tears shed here.

“Yes,” I answer, wondering where he might be going with this.

“Which one of you gutted him?” he asks with professional curiosity, but neither of us answers. It’s surprising that Pax is capable of behaving when he wants to.

“The same one that will gut you if you talk, my friend. Let’s keep you fat and rich, shall we?”

He agrees wholeheartedly.

I’ve been racking my brain for how I can spin this story to our advantage since I realized what Pax did. Alexandre’s death at our hands needs to look intentional. That’s the only way the men will fall in line. We need to make it look like we took Stefan Gemelli out at the same time, also intentionally. Goddammit, I wish I hadn’t burned the bodies.

I need them to be recognizable. Maybe I will need those DNA tests after all when I make my announcement in a few days. For now, no one will notice our father’s absence. He keeps no personal guards or close friends, and when he goes away, I’m in charge.

Being his mouthpiece while I spend a few days working things out won’t raise suspicion, but people will notice sooner rather than later. My biggest issue will be what happens when news of the Gemelli deaths gets out and properly claiming my actions. The bodies are my ace in the hole, which would have been so much simpler had I not burned a fake Gianna and her parents. Many will clamor to claim they are the responsible party given the reclusive location of the Gemelli deaths and staunch lack of witnesses, but I can’t let that happen.

I check my father’s phone again. I used his thumb to change the password as a sort of last farewell and have been going through it on and off since last night. Having access to his communications will be essential in handling this transition so Pax and I don’t both end up dead. With the Russians in play, it's a more dangerous time than ever.

I still haven’t found what I’m looking for twenty minutes later when the coroner texts me.

The house is torched like you said, but where are the bodies?

Where are the bodies? Where are the bodies? The bodies are the lynchpin of my entire plan! The only piece of this I still had under control was the Gemelli DNA.

Blinding-hot rage blanks out my vision, stopping my breath, thought, and senses. By the time I realize what I’ve done, the desk sits on its side. The meaningless papers lay scattered across the room, and glass ornaments are shattered on the ground.

I shake as I decide on my next move. Head in my hands, I breathe through the overwhelming rage as I stare at the floor. I pick the desk back up and leave it in place. I stare at the mess for another moment, then walk out, locking the office door behind me. I keep the key in my pocket alongside the one’s to Gianna’s room and bathroom because I can’t afford any more fucking surprises.

Where the fuck are the bodies? I ask myself while storming down the hall.

This is bad. This is seriously bad. My entire claim to the Gemelli territory is gone unless I reveal Gianna, and Domalachego is still circling. I rush past Pax drinking scotch in the study.

“Where are you going, Niko? Can I come?”

“No,” I snap at him. “Stay here and kill anyone who tries to get in, make a statement.”

“You want me to kill people all of a sudden?”

“You’re the younger brother of the boss, Pax. Your passion for killing is now your work, but that also means you need to obey.”

“Am I your dog now?”

His quippy comment answers at least one of my many concerns. He’s brilliant when he’s not trying.

“Yes, brother, that’s exactly what you are, and that’s why I asked you to kill Dad. Now stay on your leash, or I’ll smack your snout with a newspaper.”

“You asked me to kill Dad?” He cocks a black brow at me.

“And you obeyed like any good dog would.”

“Woof, woof. So nice to finally be a team.”

“Don’t make me regret it, brother.” But I already know I will.

The remote purrs as I reach the door and hop in my car, slamming it shut, and peeling out as he watches from the door. He barks at me and winks before closing it. I am so going to regret this decision.

Three hours later, I’m still driving to the lake house. The gorgeous scenery offers nothing but a marker of the passing time and how little I can afford it, but at least I’m almost there.

Upon my arrival, I park behind the tree line on the other side of the mountain. Thankfully it’s early enough in the season not to be sweltering, but my hike through the woods and over the steep incline proves even tougher without Gianna as my destination. Even without the proper motivation, I pick the path through the woods to the house just like Gi showed me.

All of the emergency responders have left. The only cars that remain are Gianna’s and Stefan’s, but it’s thoroughly taped off as a crime scene.

The air stinks like smoke and my failure as I approach the side door I left propped open the night before. I inspect the area, not trusting my luck at finding the place empty. Have the Gemelli men not heard about the tragedy yet? This place was a secret even from his inner circle. Maybe they really haven’t.

I approach what remains of the door with a small knife in my hand and cut the tape. It flutters in the breeze as it drops away from the house like a morbid victory line. You’re king of your empire now. You got the prize you never wanted.

The door falls off the hinges as I push it open. The place is entirely burned out, support beams exposed and beginning to char. The accelerant I used was no joke. Piles of warped and burned-out furniture decorate the remaining spots on the floor. The place I left the housekeeper catches my eye. The missing wood reveals the basement below. The gas line behind the stove blew.

Fuck, I made a very dangerous choice coming in here. What’s left of the floor creaks miserably. The remaining walls and supports sway with my movement. I consider just leaving as it could fall apart at any moment, but that would be a waste of my time. I came this far, and maybe something here will help me solidify my claim without exposing Gianna’s back. Like I told her. I’d go to shocking lengths for her and braving a condemned house doesn’t even come close to that definition.

I head to the dining room where I killed them and left their bodies. I’m not sure what I expect to find exactly; it may be the vaguest hint of what happened and where they might have gone. It’s not Fyodor Domalachego waiting for me with an expectant expression that shifts to mild surprise with the raise of his brow.

He dwarfs most men just in his shoulders. A massive mound of muscle with coal black eyes sits on a mildly burned chair from another part of the house, exactly where the Gemelli dining table used to be. His pictures don’t do him justice. Scars cover what’s visible of his skin, gruesome patches that couldn't have been stitched. He leans back with his shoulders relaxed as if he’s comfortable. I’m impressed by the act, rather sure he’s been here most of the night.

“Mr. Bouchard,” he speaks in a thick Russian accent. “I must admit, it wasn’t you I expected to find poking around this afternoon.”

I smile, but it's more like baring my teeth.

“Who did you expect?” Because it’s clear he expected someone.

“Perhaps the great coward Gemelli, who ran before our meeting last night and set his own home ablaze. Perhaps your father sniffing over the ashes. But I didn’t expect you, his eldest son. Why are you here, Nikolai?”

I school my expression to hide my surprise at him speaking my first name and the understanding he’s formed over the events of last night. If he thinks Gemelli is alive, he hasn’t moved the bodies. Unless he doesn’t want me to know Gemelli is dead.

“Your mother is Italian, isn’t she?” The question is a taunt rather than a true request for confirmation. “Why did she choose the Russian spelling of your name?”

There’s no need to tell him she read it in a book and liked the written appearance better. He’s made his threat clear. He knows how to spell my name, that my mother is Italian, and likely where she lives too. Hurting her is well within his abilities, just like learning anything he likes about me. Nothing I care for is safe.

“My mother isn’t any concern of yours. I’m here to see if the Gemellis are missing.” They surely fucking are, given their corpses were meant to be with the coroner, but if he doesn’t think they’re dead, I’d rather not lead him to that.

“Your father is concerned about his enemies so quickly?” A thick thread of suspicion winds through his tone.

“He and Stefan are always concerned with one another.”

“But he’s not investigating, you are. If I were in his position I’d come see if my enemies had fallen myself.” The fact he’s sitting in that chair is plenty proof of that fact.

“I am my father’s humble servant.” Yeah, humbly stapled his skin together to hold his guts in for the ride with the coroner.

We stare at one another as he waits for me to break and I wait for him to get the idea I won’t.

“Alexandre believes the Gemellis are missing, does he?” A single eyebrow pops like he doesn’t find that likely.

“He does.”

“Or perhaps they ran to avoid satisfying their contract with me.” He looks me up and down, and the anger behind the suggestion lends truth to the idea he’s really not the one who took their bodies.

“I haven’t heard you had a contract, but missing or running amount to the same thing.” I nearly growl as I speak. The mere thought of someone else believing they are entitled to my princess makes me as bloodthirsty as Pax.

“I’m sure your father has heard about the contract.” He smiles knowingly. “If he’s already heard about their disappearance, then your father has deep informants in the Gemelli organization.” That’s true, but I don’t bother addressing it. “Further, and perhaps more importantly, I’d be shocked if you were unaware of anything to do with my wife. Your obsession is well-known in certain circles.”

It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks they know; all that matters is that I keep her safe now.

“I wasn’t aware you married her.” My jaw clenches so hard I worry about my teeth.

“I know you’ve kept close tabs on Miss Gemelli over the years. Given your arrival here this afternoon, I don’t strictly believe you, Mr. Bouchard. In fact, I think you know all about our deal. You’ve been stalking my wife for a very long time not to know everything about her.”

That’s a kick in the teeth. How does he know about my extracurricular activities with Gianna? No one but Carlo does.

“She’s not your fucking wife.”

White-hot rage suffocates me, and he nods like I've acknowledged his accusations.

“Signing the contract with her father meant more than marrying the girl. You know that, Mr. Bouchard. You might like to play it, but you’re not stupid.”

“Perhaps I am.” I meet his eyes, laying a thoughtless challenge. I could keep Gianna safer without arousing his suspicions.

“Trust me, I will find my wife. She and her family will pay for making a fool of me.” He lazily taunts, like he’s got all the time in the world to make that a reality.

“You give them too much credit.”

He laughs just once.

“Will you be making a fool of me, then?”

“Of course not. I’m simply here to see if we need to adjust the lines of our territory. From what I can see, it looks like we do.”

He pulls a small map out of his pocket and opens it in front of him. Red lines and marks show through the back. He’s been planning this for a long time, perhaps before Stefan agreed to hand over Gianna. He pretends he’s consulting the paper.

“I wouldn’t move too quickly on that, Mr. Bouchard. I don’t think I’m going anywhere anytime soon.” He leans back in the chair like he’s comfortable in his own office, in the ultimate position of power.

“And what entitles you to stay?”

“It would have been Stefan’s head had he not offered me his daughter. None of that ugliness is necessary now. Gianna Gemelli is mine, and this is my territory.”

“And where do you stand in regard to my territory?”

He stands, showing his superior height.

“You mean your father’s?” Another flash of suspicion in his dark eyes. “We’re neighbors, but maybe the kind that stay in our own yards. Tell him for me.”

“Very well, if you stay out of ours, we’ll stay out of yours.”

“It’s excellent that we understand each other, Mr. Bouchard. Now, if you see Stefan, tell him I’m going to make his daughter pay for his cowardice.”

I’ll cut him open and hand him to the pigs still screaming if he even tries it.

“What are you planning to tell your men about the Gemelli absence?” The demand for violence climbs up my throat nearly strangling me. He’s right in front of me, close enough to make a move on, but I’m trying to play this smart. His threats to Gianna are bait. He’ll never get to her.

“Nothing. I’m here on behalf of the Gemellis while they’re dealing with problems out of town.” He winks. “Stefan is well, and we’re in contact. But you may see a lot more Bratva over the coming months. In preparation for the wedding of course.”

That wedding will happen over my dead body. While he made the point that he’s going to be a problem for me, I’m not afraid of him. The big bad in my life is already dead.

“I got what I needed. I'm sure I’ll see you again sometime, Mr. Domalachego.”

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Bouchard.” He offers me a sliver of respect rather than using my given name again. “If you see Gianna, do tell her I’m expecting her.”

He offers his hand to shake mine, and it’s only my need to keep her safe that forces me to return the gesture, perhaps with a little too much force.

“I can’t imagine I’ll see her.”

“But if you do,” he insists with a wicked glimmer in his eyes, revealing that his suspicions are aimed squarely at me.

CHAPTER 7

GIANNA

I WENT BACK to bed without checking the room after Niko fucked me in the shower, and somehow I fell asleep. My dreams were fitful, torn between the horrors I witnessed and the best sex I’ve ever had. What a fucked-up situation I’m in.

I get out of bed and grope along the wall until I find a light switch. It flicks on, illuminating the room, and my jaw drops. Of course Niko has to surprise me once again. I was prepared for small, sedate, boring, something hateable, but I should have known. Maybe he’s trying to make me fall in love with him as a final insult to my father.

The tremendous space is beautifully decorated in my preferred warm colors. The bursting pattern of the wallpaper reminds me of the dawn, feeling rich and beautiful rather than tacky. Three full bookcases, a TV, and armoires, with who knows what inside.

Pretty pieces of comfortable furniture and two more doors surround the room. One leads to a closet I have no energy to explore. It’s larger than the one in my apartment, and that wasn’t small. Even if I normally go for this type of materialism, I’m too tired. It’s been so long since anyone cared what I was wearing, since I cared. I’m more overwhelmed than anything else.

Instead of getting dressed, I sit on the floor of the closet butt naked and wrapped in my towel. That seems like a safe option to someone who wants nothing more than to disappear. While on the floor, I find that even the carpet is soft, the kind you’d want to lay on and get cozy. I shouldn’t feel so comfortable here, and I worry that’s another layer to this trap. It’s hard not to loosen up when that’s the entire point—false security.

The room is designed with my preferences in mind, similar to the apartment I loved that my father forced me to leave. A thousand times better than the sparse, if not giant, one he moved me to. I remind myself that time to sit and wallow naked is a luxury I can’t afford when the door could open at any moment. That thought gives me a tiny spark of arousal.

I hate myself for enjoying what Niko did to me last night, for hoping he might come back and fuck me again today. I may hate Niko for everything he’s done, but I loved and wanted him for years before he made me despise him for good. Loneliness and desperation have been my companions for months before he came in like a wrecking ball and destroyed everything. But I don’t know who else has a key to my prison, so he might not be the only one to enter.

The thought of someone else touching me spurs me into motion, and I’m on my feet, clinging tightly to the towel in a single burst. Are there cameras? Are perverted goons watching me from the security room—is Niko? I search carefully but don’t see anything suspicious, not even a cheesy teddy bear with a lens for an eyeball.

Temporarily comforted, I search for clothes. Three dressers and a chest of drawers sit in a row in the closet. I pick the least ornate of the four and open the top compartment that hinges like a trunk. I assume that will hold the utilitarian clothes I’m looking for, but it’s nothing but super lacy thongs.

I check the other three, and the underwear only gets more scandalous. I think I used to be the type of girl who liked this sort of thing, but it’s been a long time since I really felt like that old Gianna. I want to cover my ass, not stage it for him with lace.

I'm not sure if I hate him or the clench of my own traitorous pussy more as I dig through all the sexual suggestions until I find something made of cotton. I’m sensitive as hell down there, and I’ll have a yeast infection in no time if he doesn’t also provide sensible underwear options for a breather.

Has he even thought about things like my period? I haven’t checked the bathroom to be sure, but the underwear selection says no. The bras are just as bad, beautiful of course, but a far cry from comfortable and coverage like I need right now.

As I flip through the options, I realize we’ve ventured more into his preferences than my own. Cool colors, silver, I briefly wonder who Niko’s been fucking in these intervening years and if they wore these colors for him. I’m hit with an intense pang of jealousy.

I hate him. I don’t care who he fucks.

In a drawer full of pajamas, I find a bra intended for sleeping that will do for now. I dress in a pair of jeans and a soft shirt I find toward the bottom of the largest dresser. Everything fits me just a little too well, and I’m disconcerted by the level of care that’s gone into finding a single pair of well-fitting jeans, let alone ten. I don’t even look at the hanging clothes because I suspect I’ll find gowns that fit as well.

Rushing to the bathroom and pulling open the drawers, I find a full complement of not only period products but my preferred brand. I slam the drawer shut. I’m not supposed to be touched that he seems to care so much about giving me a soft place to land. He killed my parents. I’m so overwhelmed by the kindness, I don’t consider how very specific it is.

My own father didn’t care that much when he bought me that cage of an apartment under a shell corporation. He didn’t even get me a bed. That was Carlo. Why does Niko who I haven’t seen in fifteen years know me better than my father or body guard?

I don’t have an answer for that, but Niko’s words sit heavy on my chest, especially because they were truer than he realized. I still don’t want to look in the mirror. Not only do I not care about my appearance anymore, but facing myself after everything is impossible. I was already having a tough time with the mirror in my own apartment, and since then, my feelings have only grown more tangled. I’m too conflicted without that added complication.

I take a deep breath and check the last door, fully expecting it to be locked. My father had Carlo under strict instructions to keep me locked into my apartment unless he said otherwise, so it wouldn’t be much of a change, at least in square footage. The knob turns easily beneath my hand, and the small bit of freedom fills me with as much adrenaline as the drop on a big roller coaster. I’m not trapped in my room.

Did Niko give me more freedom than my father? That certainly sobers me up quickly.

I assumed up until yesterday that Niko lived with his father or very near him. I never considered he moved on in any way. I didn’t, and our lives always seemed so similarly stunted by our duties.

As I walk down the hall, it quickly becomes obvious to me that this is Niko’s home as opposed to the place where he lives. It has personal touches that my own apartment lacked, such as big open windows and exposed wood. I’m so charmed by it that I forget how much I’m supposed to hate him and this entire situation. This place is my prison, but it’s so lovely I’m sidelong to happy as I explore.

Since he left, I’ve worried about someone entering my room, the staff bustling around, waiting to intrude upon me. That was reality at my father’s house, but my fears prove foolish. There’s no one around.

I inspect the house quickly. My stomach growls so hard it hurts as I step into the kitchen. I guess there’s some mercy to be found among the Bouchards after all because I open the fridge to a gorgeous assortment of prepared foods I like.

A fresh ball of burrata, stuffed grape leaves, and hard cheeses. Crusty French bread sits on the counter next to a room-temperature bottle of my favorite red wine “Pigs Fly Bordeaux,” which is strange, given I developed the preference for the cute winged pig on the bottle and the amazing flavor long after we knew one another.

How can he be so cruel and so sweet?

I marvel at the multitude of ingredients and fresh herbs too. It’s been so long since I cooked, and I would love to have someone there to eat it. A little flicker of my old self sparks to life, but immediately sputters out when I realize I have no one to cook for but my parents' killer. I certainly can’t make him my nona’s braciole.

When I’m finished eating, I’m sick to my stomach, because I didn’t deserve to enjoy a meal when my family never can. I don’t deserve to enjoy any of this, but I just did. I pray to God they can’t see me disrespecting them.

I don’t clean up because fuck Niko. I hope the mess upsets him. Though if he peeled me out of my vomit-soaked clothes, I sincerely doubt my mess will have the intended effect.

I dig through the house, opening every door and finding none locked except the exits. I note that men are in the yard, and a lot of them, but none particularly watch the house. I duck back behind the curtain before one of them sees me.

Eventually, I find a window on an upper floor and gather the courage to pull back the curtains fully. As I hoped, no one on the ground can see me from this angle, and I relax ever so slightly.

The view takes my breath away, and if it weren’t for the fact that this place is my literal nightmare, a slice of a horror story, I just might call it perfection. Bright blue sky in every direction, rolling hills full of grapes. This is a vineyard. I gasp for a horrified moment and wonder if he didn’t know it was my favorite wine, but rather he made it. Have I been crying into glasses of his wine?

I stare at the people moving within the giant wall surrounding the house. Calling it a gate isn’t quite fair to the structure. It prevents the happy people beyond from noticing the firepower waiting on the other side. There’s an event being set up for the weekend, maybe a wedding judging by the arches. I pray once more it’s not my own.

I wouldn’t know. No one in my life sees fit to give me a choice in anything. But who's actually left in my life now?

I could start screaming at any time, and it would be meaningless. None of Niko’s men would do anything, and those people beyond would never hear me. The men aren’t aimed at the house necessarily, they’re just milling in the yard. I could get past them if I was determined enough, but am I determined? Is there anything in the world left to run to?

Is Niko counting on the fact that I have nothing, no one, and nowhere to go to hold me here? Does he think I’m unwilling to even try? Because I am absolutely stubborn enough to have nothing. But even as I say it, I’m shaking that someone may see me, and I want to go back to the room that was planned specifically for me.

I can’t take watching people in the sunshine when it’s so profoundly quiet in here. Everything is dark wood and muted colors. It screams hunting club and while it’s beautiful it’s desperate for a pop of color. I find the TV in the living room and turn it on. I flip through the news channels, looking for anything related to my parents.

My heart stops on channel four. Aerial images of our vacation home burned to a shell cover the screen. If I thought my childhood memories felt too close, Niko has permanently solved that problem for me.

But what’s more concerning is the news anchor saying that no one was hurt in the fire except for a housekeeper who was there preparing the vacation home for guests. I cry for Violetta as he goes on to say the home is owned by a shell corporation, and as of now, no charges will be filed.

“Who will bury Violetta?” She didn’t have family here. “Where the fuck are my parents?” I ask the TV, and to no one’s surprise, the anchor doesn’t answer.

Niko immediately comes to mind, as he’s the originator of all of my problems, but something tells me Niko isn’t responsible for this. He was with me the whole time. I sit down and watch for a while longer, thinking about how fucked up everything is and how little I can really do about it.

Where the fuck are my parents?

Images of their murders fill my mind. The house disappears until I’m surrounded by death and the smell of gunpowder. I wonder if Dante died as fast as they did or if he was made to suffer.

I pray they’re all together now and have found some peace far from me. If they can see me, they’re turning in their graves. I choke back tears when I realize what I thought. None of my family made it to their burial. The coffin we buried for my brother was empty. There’s a knock on the front door, and I almost forget to say amen.

I don’t consider answering it because Niko would never allow me that much freedom, and frankly, I don’t want it. If the place burns down like our vacation home did just last night, I’ll actually burn here, unlike my parents. It seems comforting in a morbid way to know what’s coming. That no one can fuck with your body after death if you’re ash.

The door jiggles, like someone is jimmying it. My heart leaps into my throat, but I don’t wait to die like I did last night. I slip into the kitchen to grab a knife, just before the lock gives and the door swings open.

Relief sweeps through my system that Niko didn't remove or lock up the knives. There’s no good reason to pick the lock on someone's front door unless you’re trying to help their kidnap victim, but something tells me that’s not it. I choose a small blade, slipping it out of the block. It’s narrow enough to hide behind my back but wickedly sharp with a Damascus pattern.

I listen intently, waiting for a sign that the intruder is getting close. I'm still in panic mode from last night, and while my instincts failed me then, they won't now.

“Nikolai, are you home, boy?” An older man, if his voice is any indication.

Nikolai is most certainly not home, but that told me about where he is in the house. I keep myself tightly pressed to the wall, waiting. The kitchen is the next logical place to check. I try not to hyperventilate as a sharp men's shoe cuts through the doorway. A tall, graying man stands in front of me a moment later.

“You’re not Nikolai.” Pockmarks divot his face, and a salt-and-pepper beard covers his chin.

Dark eyes survey me. I try to smile, being pretty often disarms men.

“No, I’m not, but he did tell me he wasn’t expecting any visitors before he left. He’ll be back any moment if you’d like to wait outside.” I gesture weakly with my empty hand, letting it shake. I’d rather keep him off his guard.

He smiles back amicably.

"Did Niko tell you much else about where he was going? Maybe I can meet him."

He’s trying to determine how much I know and whether he can get something out of me by playing on my naivety. It’s a common game with mob wives. Some are strategic assets with their secrets locked up tighter than Fort Knox, and others are clueless as to whom they married. My father hoped I’d sit in the latter category.

“You wouldn’t offer me some refreshments while we wait? You look like such a lovely hostess.”

"It really wouldn't be okay with Niko. He doesn't like me to be alone with other men." If my mother taught me one thing, it's how to play the part of the dutiful wife.

"Niko left something for me in his office. I can grab it now.” He goes to walk past me, and for some reason, I step in front of him, like him going through Niko's belongings would somehow affect me. I shouldn't care about anything that might lead to his swift downfall, but I’m not letting this guy into the house.

“Oh, he can be so particular about his things. I think it’s best if you wait for him. Outside.”

He takes a step toward me, and the smile slips clean off his face as he says, “No, Gianna, I think I’ll wait right here.”

He knows who I am. Oh fuck. His fingers dig into my arm, squeezing hard as he yanks me to his chest. While still meeting his eyes, I pull the knife from behind my back and stab directly into his forearm. The incredibly sharp blade cuts through his flesh like nothing, and I very nearly injure myself with the lack of resistance.

I jump back as he tries to land a punch with his good arm. My movement rips the knife out with a thick wet glug, and I avoid the strike.

I’ve never actually stabbed anyone, but the blood pouring from his arm makes me look like a seasoned pro. A flap of flesh hangs loose, and I nearly puke. What kind of knives does Niko keep on himself if that's what he has in the kitchen? He's certainly not worried about me killing myself, and I wonder grumpily why I don’t have a tub if he got me everything else.

“Fuck, fuck, you little bitch.” He swings his good arm again, but he's too far back. The sight of his exposed flesh turns him green. Blood pours out of his arm, thickly splashing against the floor. He glances between the wound and me, trying to decide which is more important to deal with. I’ve proven to him I’m willing to use the knife I’m still holding, so he wisely chooses me.

He stumbles forward, but where he was green a moment ago, he's sickly white, his olive skin nearly translucent. I have every plan to stab him again if I need to, but it proves unnecessary. Two quick steps back and I avoid him as he slumps to the ground.

With his last bit of strength, he struggles to remove his gun from the holster, but he never gets it free. He slumps over, clinging to his weapon rather than his life. After another minute of struggling, he’s dead. I sit down on the floor beside him, my exhaustion overwhelming me, but I keep the knife pointed at his throat.

A while later, I’m sure he’s dead, dead. I lean down to inspect the wreckage of his arm. Nikolai called Domalachego a butcher, but it seems I’ve earned a title of my own. Maybe this would be considered a flaying? He might have been able to survive the wound if he put pressure on it and got quick medical attention, but maybe not.

I drop the knife and reach into the man’s pockets. I'm numb, but it's not shock anymore, just this coldness becoming part of who I am.

Pulling out his wallet, I rifle through his cards and a few IDs. Antonine Durand, Alexandre Bouchard’s second, appropriate I guess for them to die so close to one another. “Rot in hell,” I wish them both.

I've never killed anyone, and I could wallow in becoming a murderer. I could pray, beg for forgiveness, pretend to care about a life lost, but I don’t. Why lie to God when he knows the truth of my heart?

I head deeper into the house to find the office Antonine was looking for. If he came here willing to break in, there must be something awfully important to find, and I need leverage. I’m going to see what Niko Bouchard is hiding if I have to chip the door down with my murder weapon. But I don’t try to leave the house because where the fuck would I go?

CHAPTER 8

NIKO

THE TAIL CAUGHT my eye about three miles out, so I drove the long way back to my father’s just to waste their time. I consider pulling over and shooting them to send a message to Domalachego, but an irrational show of anger will reveal my hand just as surely as racing back to Gianna would. But I resent the added time I need to be away from her.

My drive back to my father's house is just long and boring enough for me to get a sliver of petty enjoyment, though my anger hasn’t cooled completely. I’m not sure if Domalachego considers me an insecure fool who would bring him straight to her, or if he’s pressing me to see where I’ll draw the line. Based on what I know about his and Gemelli’s history, I tend to think it's the latter. He’ll learn soon I’m not nearly so forgiving as Stefan was. Gianna is my line.

I park next to Pax’s car, which hasn’t moved since before he murdered our father over dinner. Getting out of my car, I watch the black sedan pull away in the distance, giving a brief wave. If their surveillance is worth anything, they saw.

If they happen to come back here looking for Gianna, Pax has been given his instructions. I've never looked forward to seeing just how ruthlessly he can kill someone before, but the prospect of someone trying to take Gianna makes me more bloodthirsty than normal. Unlike my brother, I don’t really enjoy killing, most of the time.

Speaking of my nutjob brother and the ever-growing similarities I'm noticing between the two of us, I need to talk to him about everything that’s happening. Maybe he can be more useful than I’ve previously thought. The idea of having a brother I can count on is so appealing I’m not being entirely rational about my daydreams as I head into the house.

I’m surprised and relieved to see there's no blood splatter. I don't have any desire to clean up another murder, and this seems like proof things can work.

“Pax?” I call, but don’t get an answer. I walk through the house, until I catch him staring off into space in the dining room, where the altercation began.

“I wanted to talk to you.” That foolish overconfidence is thick in my voice, but he doesn’t look up when I speak.

He's not wearing his usual tightly cut wool suit. This may be the first time I’ve ever seen him in jeans and a T-shirt. His hair is frizz rather than his normal sleek curls. I realize he’s staring at himself in the mirror at the end of the room. I’m not sure what he’s seeing, but he looks nothing like the man he killed.

The scene hasn't changed since the night before, except that it's crustier and is starting to smell. The housekeeper really should have cleaned up by now. Oh fuck.

“Pax? What happened to Elisabetta?”

He still doesn't answer me. Even as I walk across the room, he doesn’t look up. This is exactly why I’m worried about someone killing him; getting the jump on him is easy. I lay a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, shake him slightly, my plans to talk to him loosening rapidly.

"Pax, Dad's housekeeper, where is she?"

He finally looks at me.

“Oh, in her room, I think. Why do you ask?”

“If she’s fine and in her room, why hasn’t she cleaned all this up?” Please don’t let her be dead too. A fresh murder is one thing, but I don’t do day-olds—except when they look like Gianna and I have to fake her death.

“She saw me kill Dad, so I locked her in her bedroom.”

“Is she alive in her room, Pax?”

“I don't think I killed her, guess she’s still there. She has a bathroom, right? She shouldn’t be too messed up with access to water. It’s not like I’ve checked on her.”

His green eyes nearly glow with the thin red lines carving through his sclera, and I doubt he’s slept at all since he killed Dad. The dream of having a brother I can depend on never really existed at all but the loss of it still hurts. It’s going to take a lot of effort to get him back into shape. No one will believe he’s my dangerous and controlled dog right now. He doesn’t even look like a groomed one.

“Fucking Christ, Pax,” I chastise him as I leave to free the twenty-year-old illegal immigrant my father has been fucking and using like a slave since she was seventeen. Her life has been hard enough without my brother's additional help, but I'm selfishly glad he did it. It was just the kick in the ass I needed to remind me how terrible an idea confiding in Pax on any level would be. The less he knows, the better, and there’s no way I can tell him about Gianna.

The lamp narrowly misses my head and smashes against the wall behind me when I finally unlock the door. Luckily, her aim isn’t great and I have the presence of self to step out of the way. Elisabetta shakes as she clutches her weapon, waiting to strike again. Blue eyes lock with mine, and she stops swinging. Her blond hair sits in a messy bun, her nose runs, and her eyes shine bright red.

“Mister, Mr. Bouchard?” She sniffles.

“Yeah, you’re safe. Everything is okay,” I reassure her with my hands raised.

A second later, she starts crying in Bulgarian, and I step around the mess and into the room to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself on the broken shards. She’s shaking, and much like I did with Pax, I pat her on her shoulder to try to calm her. She jumps into my arms, and I catch her on instinct but seriously consider dropping her. I really don’t want to touch another woman for any reason with Gianna at home. But I know she wouldn’t want me to hurt a scared girl for fear of making her jealous. She’s a better person than I am.

I put her down gently and take a step back. “I can’t understand you.”

Elisabetta switches to English and tells me how scared she was, first of my father and then of Pax. I don't bother to tell her she didn't need to be afraid of either, as it's just not true, and we both know it.

“I’ll give you a great severance package, or I can give you work at my vineyard,” I tell her when she’s recounted her whole story.

“I’ll take the work, please.” I’m surprised by the choice, but I’m fine with it.

“Are you sure that’s what you want? It would also come with a good recommendation.” I really can’t imagine why she wouldn’t want to put that distance between herself and my family, but then she looks down at her stomach, which does show the slightest swelling. Oh fuck.

“So long as I don't have to see your brother, ever.” She pats her stomach, confirming my suspicion.

“Is it his?” I ask, and she knows I don’t mean Pax.

She nods. “They’re your little brother or sister.”

“Deal,” I agree because I have no fucking clue how to handle becoming a brother again, especially now that Dad is dead, but I’m sure I’m responsible somehow. At least this particular issue won’t present for several more months.

I make Elisabetta promise she won’t tell anyone my father is dead for now or that she’s pregnant as it will only put her in danger. I explain that it will only be five days and then I’ll be able to get my brother out of trouble and her into a situation befitting a pregnant woman. I don’t give her any more details than that, but she seems to understand our situation better than I thought she would. She asks about Pax’s neck, and I realize he might not have needed to lock her up at all if she saw what led up to the killing.

She proves my instincts correct a few minutes later when she says, “He was always choking. He didn’t like something, he choked. I didn’t tell him about the baby…” And she shows me the bruises on her neck. “I don’t know if he would have stopped if I had. I hated him so much. I'm glad he's dead.”

“Me too," I confide in her. “I’m sorry I didn’t do something about him sooner.” Maybe she wouldn’t be a twenty-year-old single-mother-to-be if I had.

She waves off my concerns with a sad smile. “Everything happens for a reason. You were a good son, and that's important. It’s not your fault you had an awful father. Your brother isn’t a good son. But it’s also his fault he no longer has an awful father. I’m hoping my own child will fare better for him being dead.”

“They will,” I promise.

We part ways, but I think about her words long after I’m gone.

After another circuitous drive to make sure I’m not being followed, I roll back up to the vineyard. From what I can see, everything has gone well. Gianna isn't out in the yard making a scene. The employees are setting up nicely for the weddings. I haven't gotten any calls to say that Gianna made an escape attempt. For once in my life, everything appears to be in order. When I step out of my car, Jean Paul steps up to greet me.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bouchard. A lot has been happening around the property. If you're ready, I'll give you an update." He's one of my father's men, and he’s not really here for me, rather to report on me to my father. In fairness, he's been useful since his appointment as my in-house fixer.

"Later," I cut him off, and his brow furrows in surprise.

We don’t have the typical boss-employee energy between us, given he doesn’t see me as his boss but rather an errant kid to report on. I have more important things to deal with at the moment, and he’ll learn soon enough that leadership has changed. My concern for Gianna nags me intensely, and now that I'm this close to her, it’s even stronger.

"Some of it's important." He runs a hand through his golden-blond hair just once.

"An hour," I insist as I turn away from him and walk up the steps. I’m not sure how to deal with him once word of my father’s death gets out. Where do the lines of loyalty and money rest, and how much will it take to buy off his?

The side door that leads to the kitchen is locked up tight just like every other exit. There's no way Gianna got out, but I’m still nervous as hell as I wait for him to leave.

Jean Paul doesn't argue any further and heads off, presumably to deal with whatever important issues we needed to discuss. I pull the key out of my pocket and open the door, freezing at the scene in front of me. This couldn’t be what Jean Paul was talking about. He wouldn’t have walked away.

I think I’ve stepped through a portal into another dimension. The distinct shift in reality nearly knocks me over as I enter a gruesome crime scene.

Blood covers the floor in a thick puddle, running out of the kitchen. Splashes of it stain the white paint around the entry. The horror scene I presumed I’d find at my father’s house is simply here instead.

Fuck, where’s Gianna?

My heart pounds out of my chest. Is that her blood? Whoever it came from is dead or will be very soon.

Upon immediate inspection, I find enough blood to be sure whoever it came from didn't survive. Am I having a panic attack? My vision blurs, and it's hard to breathe.

I head to the kitchen, stepping around the blood as it thickens. Did I really waste my entire life for my piece-of-shit father and only get one teenage month and a single day with the woman I love because of it? I'm seriously considering blowing my brains out when I find the source of all that blood, and it's not my princess.

The relief is a bomb in my head, but that doesn’t mean she’s okay, just that it’s not her blood.

My father's second, Antonine, lays on the floor with his gun clutched in his blood-soaked arms. Did he point it at her? The idea turns my panic to rage. I should have killed him myself. It doesn't appear he fired the weapon. There's no blood spray on the walls or across the floor. All these bleeds are arterial.

“Gianna, I’m back! Where the fuck are you?”

Antonine's eviscerated arm leaves no question where the stains came from. A long, jagged slice reveals the muscle and fascia of his arm as well as flashes of the bone. What the fuck was he doing here, and how did this happen? I use the toe of my shoe to see if he has any other injuries, but he doesn't. He bled out.

“Gianna!”

As I'm inspecting the scene, I notice a small, bloody set of footprints leading away, and I abandon the dead fuck I’m going to feed to the pigs later.

As I follow them through the house, they grow lighter rather than heavier, and I see no signs she’s injured. I'm tracking my princess like a wild animal, but I take my gun out of my pocket just to be sure no one gets the jump on me. Someone else may be here holding her hostage. I have a hard time believing she did all that.

I climb the stairs to the second floor. The footprints are light enough now that I struggle to follow them. I’m planning to check her room when I notice bloody fingerprints on the wall. She ran her hand down the entire hallway. Oh fuck, what was she doing?

My fears are confirmed as I approach my office—a hidden room with an equally hidden door that I've dreamed about since I was a kid. How the hell could she know? I wasn't stupid enough to tell her how I planned to hide the door, was I?

Just like she was stupid enough to bring me to her parents’ vacation home and show me how to get in undetected. My stomach drops at the impression of her bloody little handprint on the pressure panel that reveals my office, with the door hanging wide open.

CHAPTER 9

NIKO

I STEP INSIDE, immediately feeling the chill in the room. My pretty princess is seated behind my desk in my oversized wingback chair. The ornate leather accents her blood-coated skin. Antonine is splashed all over her perfect face, and thick rage sears my veins at the sight of any part of him touching her.

Her deep brown eyes are almost black as she stares at me with pure hate. Sweeps of brown curls tumble around her head, messy, blood coated, but startlingly beautiful. A little line digs in her forehead.

I'm so taken with her image I forget why it's such an unfortunate thing for Gianna to be in my office. Why the look of hatred in her eyes is so much more intense than the last time I saw her.

Spread on the desk in front of her are a series of pictures, ones I know all too well. I've not spent a lot of time checking on her over the years, but it's hard to deny how invasive I was when the pictures are all laid out in front of us.

Gianna in class, in her bed, in her panties, riding the cock of some piece of shit I killed after I watched them, riding the cock of another I didn't. I only spent two or three days a year following her, but when I did, I went all out.

"Are you going to fucking say something, Niko?" Are her lips red from her biting them, or is it his blood? I can’t stand for any part of him to be inside her.

I say nothing, trying to organize my thoughts as the crushing sense of rage swarms me. She’s sitting here looking through my shit, actively endangering herself. If she doesn’t get that fucking blood off her.

“I swear to God, Nikolai. Say anything at all.” She slaps the table, and the impact is just one more item pushing me toward losing my fucking mind. I really can’t think of anything that would make this better, but I can make it a lot worse. I plan to do just that.

"Have you heard of bloodborne pathogens, Gianna?"

Her mouth pops open, her outrage so delicious I want to kiss it off her face, make her moan for me like she did for those pieces of shit in the pictures, spank her ass black and blue for making a mess and going through my shit. I want to hurt her.

"How about you explain whatever the fuck this is?" She gestures to the images she's spread Antonine's blood all over, and each fingerprint is a spank I plan to lay across her ass. Those. Were. Mine.

“They’re pictures of you, Gi. Since when are you clueless?”

I gather them up and inspect the damage. Antonine fucked more whores than anyone I’ve ever known, and it looks like she traced the details of each image. I scoff in disgust as I toss them in the trash.

Most of them can be reprinted, but there are a few from college taken on film that can't. My fists clench, and I work as hard as I can not to show just how angry I am right now. I would never hurt her. I’m going to hurt her. Fuck.

“What is your problem?” she demands as she gestures to the trash like she’s the one who should be pissed. Well, she didn’t have years of effort wasted. She isn’t watching the love of her life covered in another man’s blood. She isn’t wondering what the fuck happened and feeling like a failure. I couldn’t keep her safe for one day.

"Frankly, I don't appreciate you breaking into my office after committing a murder in my kitchen and then touching all my stuff with your bloody fingers." I don’t appreciate being so weak I can’t keep you safe in my own home. How can I take my father’s position when I can’t protect what’s mine?

I walk around the room looking at all the things she's touched. There's blood everywhere.

"Nikolai, are you actually pissed at me right now?" Her tone says she’s looking for a fight, and that’s fine. I want one too.

“Did you have to touch everything? Couldn’t leave one damn mystery?” I’m getting hot. That tightness in my chest is back. “How did you even see Antonine to kill him? What the fuck happened?”

“He broke in and tried to attack me, but glad to know you’d rather I let him attack me than defend myself.” Her sarcastic tone is scathing.

“I would not prefer that. If I were here, I would have done a hell of a lot worse to him.”

“But you weren’t here.” I know that. “I can’t believe you have the audacity to be angry after everything you’ve done. I can’t believe you’re pissed with this sitting right here!” She gestures toward the trash can where my pictures lie.

“I'm not pissed at you.”

I am, but I’m more mad at myself.

"And I get that you have a right to be upset."

But really this upset? Your dad was a fucking dick who was going to sell you to the Russians and you hated your mom. So what if I followed you? At least someone loves you, miserably, completely.

"You're an awful liar." I’m an amazing liar, but she’s always seen right through me.

“I can't believe you didn't even shower before going through my shit. This is disgusting. His blood is on your lips!”

She grimaces, but persists with her incessant questioning.

“Explain this, Niko. Explain it right now, or I'm going to think the worst.”

She stands up to make her point and the pretty shirt and jeans she’s wearing are entirely ruined beneath the blood.

"Is there actually a worse option than I've been stalking you for fifteen years?" I gesture toward her and the absurdity of the situation. She stops in her tracks and cocks her head to the side.

"You've done what?" She blinks rapidly, and her surprise pops my building rage.

"I’ve stalked you for roughly three days a year for the past fifteen years.”

Her eyes fall closed, and she breathes slowly. A tear builds in her lashes, but she wipes it away before opening her eyes again.

“These weren’t taken by a PI? You’re not having me tailed?”

She stares deeply into my eyes, and she’s searching for something, even if I don’t have a clue what. Her face is open and soft, like I’ve done something right.

“It’s like a pervert vacation where I stare at what I want most in the world. I watch other men fuck her, and I rub my cock, wishing I wasn’t too much of a coward to go and get her for myself.”

I take an aggressive step toward her, and she steps back. I gesture toward the trash can where my trophies lie in ruin.

“Reminders of my own weakness. The only moments I got to spend with the only woman I’d ever love.”

“You kept souvenirs of me fucking other people? You’re so screwed in the head.” She's aiming for harsh, but the tremble in her voice weakens it. She’s not wrong, though. I am sick, but the pink flush spreading across her cheeks is a good sign she is too.

"I watched you do more than that, princess. I watched you sleep, wishing I could lay next to you, watched you pray, wishing you’d tell me all your hopes and dreams. I watched you cry, wishing I could crush anything that might hurt you. Then I had to leave you.”

I stroke her cheeks, trying to press my longing into her skin, but I don’t tell her how much I hated leaving. Every year when I followed her, I seriously considered abandoning my duties to run away with her. I should have done it when I had the chance, and she doesn’t need me to tell her I should have done better by her. We both know it.

That softness has spread across her features, and there’s something so tender in her expression I’m stupid enough to hope she might love me back. We stare at each other for a moment, and there’s definitely something between us before she says, "Yeah, there are worse options than what it looked like." But doesn't elaborate.

She tries to look away from me, but I tip her chin up. I’m too big and strong for her to escape. I won’t let her go.

"I am so sorry, Gi. For every bit of pain I’ve ever caused you. I hope you know that.”

“How could I know that?”

“Can’t you feel it when I look at you?”

Her lips tremble, and for a moment, I think I’m winning her over, but then her expression hardens.

"Says the man who killed everyone I love."

I’m losing her when I was so close to getting her. I need her. It was one thing when I had three days a year and I had to live with it, but I could touch her and smell her, and I couldn’t live without her anymore.

“I didn’t kill your brother!” I shout the words in her face like the clueless asshole she makes me.

“You know who did?” she demands with a gasp.

I shouldn’t have said it. I regret it the minute it slips out, but I’m getting tired of the accusations fast. I know I’m wrong; I know I did everything wrong, but goddammit, I’m not responsible for all of her problems. Her father and mine are the reason we’re all in this mess.

“Of course not. I just know I didn’t.”

She stares at me, ripping through my soul and turning over all my secrets. She could find things buried much more deeply than something most in our world already know. She’s the odd man out. Stefan is the liar.

“I told you, you can’t lie for shit, Niko.”

I’m still holding her face between my hands, and she’s so soft that I just want to stroke her skin and tell her how lovely she is. How amazing it feels to be back with her, and I’d rather die than never touch her again. That I risked my whole life to protect hers. That Antonine’s blood isn’t even making my skin crawl with her near me.

“Let’s not talk about this now,” I beg. How can I apologize for hurting her and then crush her moments later? We’re both frantic, but for completely different reasons.

“Niko, please, do you know?” She cocks her head to the side, laying her cheek against my palm. “Just tell me if you know the truth.”

“Yeah, of course I do.”

CHAPTER 10

GIANNA

HIS FINGERS BURN MY CHEEKS, and it doesn’t matter that I’m supposed to hate him. I never want him to stop touching me. I should be angry with him for stalking me, disgusted with these pictures and the way he invaded my life, but all I feel is flattered, cherished, and turned on, knowing that when I was having shitty sex with assholes, someone else was suffering beside me.

And he knows what happened to Dante.

He didn’t do it, and part of me always feared he had, and I can’t explain why my brother's killer meeting justice means so much more to me than my parents’. I can’t explain why I loved Dante so much more than either of them.

Maybe I’m crazy, maybe I’m traumatized, but these things warm my heart like poems and love letters might for a girl less fucked in the head than me.

We were never meant to be together. We should have hated one another from the start, but Niko has always thought of me. More than those who were allowed to love me, supposed to. The only other person who ever stood up to my father for my benefit was Dante.

“Please, Niko. Tell me.”

There’s such conflict in his gray gaze, and it doesn’t seem like a power play when he shakes his head.

“Why the hell not? I deserve to know.” Hot tears spill over my lashes, and my lip quivers. I feel like a damn idiot, but I’m not above begging. I’ll do anything for the information he doesn’t want to give me. He pulls my face closer to his.

“Princess.” The soft way he says the nickname pulls a deeper set of sobs out of me. “I do not want to hurt you. You don’t deserve to know. Dante is gone and wouldn’t want you to suffer.” He runs a finger up and down my cheek, and there’s true sorrow in his gaze.

“He’d want me to know the truth,” I insist, but from the look in Niko’s eyes, I'm not sure he would. Dante always wanted to protect me.

“No, I knew your brother well enough to know he wouldn’t. He loved you.”

There’s a sinking in my chest, a sense that whatever he knows will turn what’s left of my world to dust. Am I even strong enough to take that?

“Dante is dead. It doesn’t matter what he wants. I’ll do anything if you just tell me.”

I drop to my knees in front of him, fingers tangled in supplication. I stare up at him. He’s so tall I have to crane my neck to see him, and instead of using my words, I return some of his silent communication and beg with my eyes, plead for him to do something to alleviate my suffering.

He looks over me with cool detachment, but I’d have to be blind not to notice his cock getting hard when it’s right in front of my face. He places his hand beneath my chin, tips my face side to side.

“I wouldn’t beg like a pet if you don’t want to be put on a leash, Gianna. You’re giving my self-control far too much credit.” A finger trails my neck, and his hand fits around my throat like a collar. He squeezes until my head goes fuzzy from blood loss, but I can breathe the whole time.

“Put me on a leash. Do whatever you want to me. I don’t give a fuck, so long as you tell me what happened to my brother.”

Any remaining pity leaves his gaze. He squeezes my throat, his nostrils flare. I’ve fucking got him. He wants me enough to bargain for it. Or maybe he just wants to humiliate me. Either way, I couldn’t care less.

“You don’t mean that. You’ve never been one to behave.”

“I do. I’ll do whatever you want if you tell me.”

“Take some time to think about what you’re asking me.”

“I don’t want time to think. I want answers.”

“I have work to do. I want you to go wash all the blood off yourself, and then I want you to come back here, kneel in front of me, and beg me to treat you like my pretty pet.”

My cheeks burn, but I surprise us both by not arguing.

“I’ll tell you if you do whatever I want while you’re on that leash.”

The offer takes a minute to sink in, and I wish I could say I wasn’t interested for more than one reason, but I am. I want the truth, but I also want whatever this intensity is Niko is offering me. I turn and leave the room before I lose my nerve.

I was in shock after killing Antonine, and finding those pictures certainly didn’t help my mental clarity. If I had the presence of self, I already would have washed this shit off me. Niko’s intense reaction really has me skeeved out. I don’t want diseases that will make my life even more unpleasant.

I get in the shower, washing myself as thoroughly as possible. I need to get clean, and I’m not sure I want to run back to Niko. The stalking has me oddly flattered; the care he’s put into everything he’s gotten for me, even him not blaming me for defending myself, all soften me toward him.

But what the fuck am I doing? Washing myself to willingly give him my body. What’s wrong with me that I could look at him with anything but contempt? Why am I wet instead of distraught?

I’m doing this for Dante. I tell myself with an emphatic resolve that relieves the worst of my guilt. My parents would forgive me at least a little bit for sleeping with the enemy if it would give us the truth about Dante. Wouldn't they?

I get out of the shower, grab a terry robe, and don’t bother getting dressed any further since I know exactly what Niko wants from me, and clothes aren’t needed. I can’t explain to God or myself why I’m hot and needy as I prepare to be used by him but every step I take back toward his office strokes my swollen clit.

Thoughts of him killing my parents slip further from my mind with the promise of answers about Dante so close. The promise of sex makes me feel connected to the present instead of miserably lost in the past. The fuzziness floating through my belly from him choking me and those pictures clouds my judgment.

I head back to his office and turn bright red when I find him scrubbing the blood off the surfaces with some industrial-grade disinfectant wipes.

“I’m just finishing up,” he tells me with unmistakable exasperation. “But I need a shower too now. So if you’re serious, I’d like you to kneel there and wait without the robe.”

He slides me a glare that tells me he clearly has something to say about his precious stalker pictures. I want to roll my eyes, but that’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to prove I can be a good pet and find out who killed my brother.

I remove the fabric and drop to the floor, where he said.

“I’m sorry it took so long for you to clean up. I really wasn’t trying to make things harder on you.” His eyes snap to mine. He opens his mouth to speak but says nothing. “You look tired. Can I help you?”

“Tired?” He blinks. “Help me? What are you talking about?”

“Pets worry about their owners, don’t they? Or would you rather I just bark?”

There’s an unmistakable flash of disappointment on his face before he controls and covers it.

“Do you regret what you did to my things?” he asks as he steps toward the door.

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth.”

“You won’t like the truth. How about I just lie pretty?” I cock my head to the side and flirt with him. It’s so easy, too easy. All the blood splashes in my head are spreading, hiding the bodies beneath them. I’m lucky if I remember myself.

“I’d rather you be honest so I can teach you to do better. Wait here and don’t move. I have cameras, so I’ll be able to tell.”

He’s taunting me, and I know it. He doesn’t think I can do this, or maybe he wants me to fight. He thinks he won’t need to keep his promise, that I can’t uphold my end.

His hand is on the door when I say, “I’m not sorry about what I did, but I assume I’ll have to make it up to you when you get back.”

The door closes, and I wait, and wait, and wait. I fall asleep on my knees waiting for him.

“Gianna, look at me.”

I snap awake, my chin resting on my chest, and a snore catches in the back of my throat.

I do as he said. He’s so fucking beautiful with his hair damp, wearing a fresh button-down and slacks. He’s my first love. He’s my parents' killer. He’s years of love and hate and pain rolled into one person, and looking at him is like my life ending. Like death and a rebirth.

“You’re the one who looks tired,” he accuses, but I don’t answer because everything about him is too tender right now. “You waited.”

I nod. He’s so much taller than me from this position, and it’s like looking up at a god. I don’t ever remember being this infatuated with him. I loved him at seventeen, and I loved what we could have been for years after, but this obsession that’s developed since he took me is a separate entity, insane and consuming. It's a fist around my heart urging me to do anything to please him.

“Are you going to be good for me?”

And it’s not a lie when I say, “Yes.”

He steps away and pulls something out of a drawer in his desk. It takes me a second to realize the leather straps are a collar and leash.

“I’m not wearing some shit you used on other people, Niko.”

He returns to stand in front of me and pinches my lower lip hard.

“I thought you were going to be a good pet, Gi? The pigs out back are better behaved.”

I turn an extra shade brighter red, and I consider punching him in the balls. I might kill him and feed him to said pigs if I get the chance, but one look at him and I know I can’t. I need him.

“Are you trying to humiliate me?” I ask with a gasp. I’m soaking wet, my body begging for him to degrade and fuck me. I can’t make sense of his mood swings. I never could.

“What, like it’s hard?” He dangles the leather, letting it swing in front of my face.

“I don’t want to wear your used kink gear, please,” I try to adjust my tone, but I already know my request is too opinionated to fit the deal we made.

He grabs my face again and holds me tight. “Are you jealous at the thought of me fucking other women?”

“And if I am?”

He smiles the first real smile I’ve seen since he took me.

“I’ll enjoy giving you a taste of your own medicine. Now hold still.”

He straddles me with his forearms, pinning my upper arms as he puts the collar around my throat and tightens it. I’m sick at the idea of wearing something he used with other women, and I continue to struggle as he clips a lock in place and attaches the leash.

Once it’s secure, he climbs off, both our breaths coming heavy. At least I made it hard for him. My satisfaction turns to regret as soon as he yanks me, tugging me off my knees and onto my hip. The collision aches in my joint, but before I can recover from the pain, he smacks my exposed ass with vicious force.

“It’s not used kink gear. Have a little faith in me. No person or dog has worn this but you, pretty little bitch.”

He yanks the leash again, forcing me onto my hands and knees. Another hard tug and I have no choice but to crawl or be dragged along. So I scurry behind him. My ass sways as I move, and even though he can’t see it, the provocative position demeans me and makes me even more desperate, that I want him to look and he won’t. I’m not even a whore, just his pet.

He takes his place in his chair, curling the leash around his hand until it’s tight to the collar and my throat, and I don’t have an inch to move. He pulls his cock out of his pants and strokes it a few times, drawing it from mostly hard to dripping before he touches it to my lips.

“If I didn’t want you so bad, I’d tell you to fuck off right now.”

“Is this about your pictures? You seem more pissed than you did before.”

“Pets don’t ask questions. Now suck.”

I sweep my tongue across the head and try to ignore how good he feels on my tongue. Why does his cum taste good?

“I said suck, not lick.” He bends over quick as lightning and slaps me on my bare ass. I squeal but don’t complain, sure that pets don’t say “fuck off.”

I wrap my lips around him, applying the pressure he asked for, and he groans as he grabs the back of my head and shoves me onto his cock as hard as possible. I gag, tears springing to my eyes before the saliva pools in my mouth.

My throat struggles to dislodge him, but he holds me down until I can’t breathe. My fingers tingle. Lights burst into my vision. Eventually, he relents, pulling me off his cock, the pressure of the leash around my throat an extra element to the intensity of the sensation. I gag on nothing as I try to catch my breath.

He smiles as he holds the leash above my head, forcing me to dangle. I grab his knees to take the worst of the pressure, and he swats them away.

“What the fuck did I do that you’re this upset?”

“I already told you pets don’t ask questions.” He slaps my tit with his free hand and watches as it shakes.

Another smack and all I can think about is him playing with my nipple. I’m so sensitive, so desperate.

“Pets also don’t ask how you are. Some fucking idiot might confuse that for affection.” He says it like a filthy word.

Did I, did I hurt his feelings?

“That person would have to be an idiot after everything he’s done.”

His cock is in my mouth before I finish pronouncing the final syllable. I dig my nails into his cloth-covered knees as he shoves himself so deep in my throat my nose rests in his pubes. I’d pay good money for him to smell bad, but he’s clean and manly, and his grunts are everything as he uses me.

“You’re right. I am a fucking idiot.”

He savagely pumps in and out of my throat. His hips twitch sporadically, and those unconscious movements, more than anything else, make me crazy. I suck harder, even though he’s fucking my throat because I want more. His groans are everything, and I need more of them. I start sucking him hard, taking over for him.

Instead of letting me, he yanks the leash, pulling me back and off his cock. The suction as he leaves my mouth makes a wet pop. I stare into his eyes but don’t struggle for his cock like I want.

“Pretty little pet?”

He waits for my response, just another excuse to debase and embarrass me.

“Yes, Master.”

“Are you ready to be perfectly still while I fuck your throat? Relax while I come as deeply inside you as I can?”

I want his dick so bad I just nod. He pulls me back to his cock by the leash and tangles his free hand in my hair. I relax while he fucks into my throat, and even when I feel like I could puke, I don’t fight it. There’s intense serenity in surrendering wholly to his pleasure.

His eyes lock with mine, and I’m his completely as he groans long and low, coming as far down my throat as he possibly can. I don’t even taste his release until he pulls his cock out of my mouth, and I take a deep breath.

He touches my face. “There’s a good girl in there somewhere.” He pulls me off the ground, puts me on the desk in front of him, and removes the leash. His fingers slide up and down my pussy, and I wait for him to undo the collar.

“I’d like to eat this for you.”

“Are you asking?”

“This time.”

I consider saying no, but I want it, and the repercussions of disobeying last time weren’t worth it. I’m weighing my options when I reach up trying to get the collar off myself and instead find a locked padlock. My eyes widen in shock and fear.

“Niko, what the fuck?”

“The collar stays on for now.” He sounds almost bored.

“We had a deal!” I shout at him, fury coursing through my veins. “You said you’d tell me what happened to my brother!”

“I will tell you, Gi. When I take the collar off. So long as you behave while you’re wearing it. I just never said how long that might be.”

It’s like he’s slapped me across the face, and I’d prefer it if he had.

“I hate you.” And I do hate him so fucking much for making me think this was something it’s not. That we were something we’re not. I tear at the collar until my skin is torn beneath it, and he just watches.

“Too bad you drank my cum, then.”

CHAPTER 11

NIKO

I GO to Gianna’s room the next morning, but the door is locked. I knock, and when she doesn’t let me in, I choose to respect her need for space instead of using the key. The leash is in one hand, my phone in the other as I walk the other way down the hallway. The irony isn’t lost on me that I bought this collar and leash as a joke for my brother, and now it’s a rather serious issue between Gianna and me.

THE NIGHT before may have been the hottest blowjob I’ve ever gotten, but I’m not sure the disappointment was worth it. For a brief second I thought she cared and then she took it back like the cruelest taste of what I’ll never get. I thought I was fine with simply taking what I wanted from her, her hating me, but it’s clear to me just how badly I want that.

MY PHONE DINGS.

Coroner: Still no bodies, but pops will need to go sooner than we talked about. People are asking questions.

Goddammit. This is exactly what I don’t need right now.

Me: I paid you to answer those questions and buy me time.

Coroner: Got you as much as I could, times up. Make the funeral announcement, and I can hold him as long as you want.

Me: Two days instead of four.

Coroner: Deal.

Over the next two days, things start to come together, at least on my side of the line. Pax and I work on our story until it sticks straight, pay off a slew of hired guns with no allegiances to any family, former private ops, if the rumor is to be believed. Then we arrange to meet with the higher-ups in our organization.

I’ve picked my father’s corpse up and brought him to the undertaker. The coroner signed off that my father died this morning, and while it’s a blatant lie, no one will question it once he’s in the ground.

My father’s men are all gathered around his dining room table. Some of them have worked for him for most of their lives. Very few of them think anything positive of me. Suspicions fly already. No one has heard from Alexandre since he died. I stopped sending the texts and emails that made it seem like he was still alive at exactly the time the coroner wrote in.

I take the seat at the head of the table once they’re all settled.

“Gentleman, I’ve gathered you here today to announce my father’s death and the inevitable shift in power that comes with it. I am the boss now, and I expect you all to fall in line.”

There’s about three seconds of silence before questions fly and disrespect abounds.

“How did he die?”

“Who says you get his position?”

“Your father never formally named you as his successor.”

“Where’s his body?”

“We both say so.” Pax interrupts. “My older brother made the order, and I obliged as his humble servant. I promise you I’d be all too happy to oblige again, now.”

Everyone here is informed enough to have heard about Pax’s issues, and while there’s an uncomfortable tension in the air, it’s not enough to quell them, just like we assumed. More arguments break out, and rather than allowing things to escalate, I whistle. The door opens, and a line of my new men march in, wielding high-powered rifles.

Everyone watches in silence as they take their designated positions around the room.

“Anyone who disagrees dies right now.”

“You don’t have the balls, boy.” The man speaking is one of my father’s best friends. He’s known me since I was a sensitive boy Alexandre said would never be enough for him. Maybe he believes that, but it won’t matter what he thinks much longer.

I don’t ask my soldiers to kill him. I smile as I pull out my gun and put a bullet through his skull myself. The spray grazes the shoulders of the men directly next to him, but they wouldn’t dare look weak by flinching. They remain steady, even as his head smacks the table.

“My apologies, gentlemen. Anyone else who takes issue with my balls is free to voice their concern now.”

No one argues, and I wave for my men to put their guns at ease. No need to have a sight trained on you while trying to make plans. Hardly a dignified way to do business. Since I’m sitting at my father’s table, the least I can do is make this a dignified affair. Alexandre would insist on it.

Everyone sits and listens while I talk about how I plan for things to operate, but things get considerably more heated when I talk about the redivision of territory. They learn how much they stand to lose, how little I trust any of them or my father, and how little our interests align.

“You want me to hand over my prime earning blocks? I won’t do it,” Vincent Sainte argues from his seat.

“Obey or die.”

Total brute force is never the safest play. There are always grudges left behind. I’ve learned well enough from trying to kill out two family lines how hard it is to fully stomp out an enemy and how easily grudges are traded. But Alexandre Bouchard was an animal, and they all chose to follow him.

There’s no way any of them will fall in line with me without a show of force equaling the man they followed before. My father was ruthless, and they won’t bend for less. This is what I’ve been trained my entire life to fake.

Henry James, who came here with my father from France, pulls his gun, and before he can even aim, he’s triple tapped. Two bullets in his chest, one in his head. The soldier to my immediate left holds a smoking gun. Henry’s body falls hard and heavy into the chair, shaking the floor we’re all sitting on.

And then the cooperation really begins.

“Anyone else? Seriously, speak now. We don’t have all day to fuck around with you morons,” Pax comments, making my life so much easier. Ego-driven men love to be insulted when you demand their fealty.

After it’s all done, there’s only one more casualty. The rest have gone back to their newly divided territory as Pax and I help the special ops guys load the bodies into the back of our dad’s work truck. The same one his men used to bring bodies for my pigs to dispose of. Ironic that several of them are now pig food themselves.

Pax and I toss the bodies into the pen—this area isn’t open to guests of the vineyard. The animals immediately converge on them, tearing out chunks of flesh like they’re starving with teeth that are just a little too human. They happen to be well fed, spoiled, and a little evil, just like their owner. I have my favorites that I would never slaughter for anything—they’re good mamas—and then the rest serve as fresh pork for the vineyards restaurant and in-house body disposal.

“So if someone wanted to use your disposal pigs?”

“Business pigs only.”

“Oh, Niko, come on!”

“Business pigs only. You’re not feeding them murdered girls,” I insist as I wipe my hands off on a rag and pat my favorite pig Lucy on the top of the head. She gives me a look I interpret as a smile while a piece of flesh dangles from her mouth. “Pretty girl.”

Pax laughs outright.

“What’s your problem? She’s a good girl.”

“And you have a problem with who I kill.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It takes a lot to creep me out, Brother, but you cooing to your pigs while they eat flesh is something.”

I give her one more scratch before I leave without saying another word to him.

“So how serious are you about business pigs? Why can’t they be pleasure pigs? Fuck, that sounds wrong. Okay, party pigs? Come on, Niko, please. You’re so stuck up!”

I flip him off as I head back to the house.

I want nothing more than to tell Gianna what happened, confide in the only person I trust, but again, she doesn’t open the door, and I don’t use the key. I sit outside the door for a few minutes, wondering if I’m making the right choice, but since I don’t have an answer, I just walk away.

IT’S the morning of my father’s funeral, and I’m supposed to be there already, but my hands shake, and I can’t figure out how to tie my tie. The man in the mirror looks too much like his mother—soft, too reactive, able to be affected. A sheen of sweat coats my skin, and I look every bit as hungover as I feel.

I drank the scotch Pax tried to open after he killed our father and smashed my own things like an overgrown toddler. Who the fuck did I hurt but myself? And still, I don’t feel any closer to ready to live in a world without my father, and it just doesn’t matter how much I hated him.

It’s been three days since I’ve seen Gianna. I know she’s eating since she doesn’t clean up after herself, and I don’t really mind. It’s nice to have some evidence she’s here. I could force myself on her again, but the truth is that’s not what I want anymore. I can’t stand how much she hates me now that I know what it would feel like if she didn’t. That one moment ruined everything.

I wonder if she heard me last night and what she thought as things repeatedly crashed into the wall. Was she afraid? Do I feel guilty if she was or satisfied that when I was suffering, she felt it too? I’m so fucked up. I don’t know how I got this way. Maybe it was all the killing, or perhaps it's something deep in my DNA, but either way, I’m wrong.

The sermon is starting. The old priest DiMarco will go on forever before I’m required to carry the casket, but people will notice my absence. I sit on the floor and put my head between my knees. I can’t breathe. All of this is so much more than I’m capable of. How can I keep the people I love safe?

I can’t breathe. I can’t go to this funeral. How am I supposed to convince everyone that this is a show of power and I’m enjoying it when I’m sick to my stomach?

Without me, Pax doesn’t stand a chance, and he’s alone right now, proud of what he’s done, not realizing how massive the target on his back is painted. He thinks I look down on him and think I’m better than him. Maybe I do, but it’s because he’s so fucking clueless, so dangerous to himself.

“Niko?” a soft, inquisitive voice asks from the hall.

I look up, not realizing I left both doors open, not remembering that I had to worry about other people in the house. She wears a tiny pair of shorts and a long-sleeved sweater. I find the combination so odd it’s endearing. The collar is still secured around her neck, confirmation she’s not going anywhere if I can stop it. Just the sight of her and I can breathe the tiniest bit easier. Just fucking love me.

I don’t have it in me to answer her. My tie hangs around my neck, my shirt not even fully buttoned.

“Are you drunk?”

I shake my head.

She’s next to me a moment later, on her knees, touching my face.

“You sure stink like booze for someone who’s not drunk.”

“Hungover,” I correct her, “but that’s not my problem right now.” My words come out choked, and several emotions play across her face as she realizes it’s not the alcohol.

“What’s wrong, Niko?”

How could she understand or care after everything I’ve done? Everything I’ve taken from her is unforgivable, and I don’t deserve her understanding. I can’t breathe.

She shakes me, warm little hands pressing into my skin. “Tell me what’s wrong right now, or I’m going to slap the shit out of you,” she mocks the threat I issued against her when she was catatonic in the shower.

“Panic attack,” I spit.

“You’re joking.” She stops shaking me. “You’re having a panic attack?”

The shame burns me. I don’t answer because I don’t have the energy to fight. I’m low enough to admit to her that I’m a hyperventilating mess on the floor rather than a man for the first time in years since I was a teen. What kind of joke would that be?

She reaches out and touches my face. The gentle contact snaps my eyes to hers, and I’m hardly able to believe she would offer me anything.

“Why are you having a panic attack?” She puts her hand on my chest, slipping it beneath the shirt. Her hand immediately steadies my heart, taking the worst of the pain. “Talk to me.” And she’s so gentle I don’t have a chance of resisting.

“I’m late for my father’s funeral. They still haven’t found your parents’ bodies. We haven’t spoken in days, and I’m not sure if I can do this job. We might all wind up dead no matter what I do.”

She leans back on her heels, her consideration serious. Deep brown eyes run over me, and I’m desperate for her,

“Who’s going to kill us?” This isn’t new for her. She may be on the other side now, but people, my family included, have been trying to take her out her entire life. There are a lot of possibilities on who might try to kill us, and she’s not asking the question to dismiss my concerns. She wants to know my number one suspects.

“Domalachego was waiting at the house when I went to check out the damage and find out what could have happened to the bodies.”

Her mouth drops open, and anger sparks in her eyes, but I’m not sure if it’s aimed at me.

“You spoke to him.”

“Yes.”

“What did you tell him?” She’s waiting for something, and I can’t imagine what it is.

“Not a single thing. I told him I was looking to readjust the lines of my father’s territory, but he was definitely suspicious. He had me tailed when I left, but I led them back to my father’s where Pax can deal with them rather than here.

“What did he want?” Slow and measured, the even tempo of her voice calms me even further.

“You,” I tell her. Her brow furrows in distress, and anger plays with her features.

“He can’t have me,” she insists, and it warms my heart despite the fact she’s not choosing me over him, simply stating she won’t be with him. “He’s not going to kill us.”

“How can you be so sure?”

I shake my head, not believing her placating for a minute, but her nearness makes the distance of the last three days better. She grabs my hand, the warmth intense, the connection electrifying. It’s enough that I feel almost okay again.

“Because, Niko, you need me, and I’ve finally met someone who will let me help them. My father wouldn’t, and my brother wouldn’t, but they’re gone now.” The wild light in her eyes makes me more nervous than the funeral.

“What are you talking about?” She’s right that I need her, but how can she see that so acutely? I do believe in her and her ability to do anything. She could level me with a glance. Nothing much would prove a challenge to her when she’s at full capacity.

“You look at me this time, Nikolai.” And I do. Her eyes are so pretty I could stare forever. “Get up so I can tie your tie.”

I stand, and her fingers work around my throat, the intimacy of the act slaying me to my core and building my inner strength.

“Take a deep breath.”

I do.

“Now, remember who the fuck you are.”

She lays her hands against my chest, smoothing my suit.

“Who am I, Gianna? Remind me.”

My lips skate hers for just a moment.

“Nikolai Bouchard and you are not alone.”

This is too good to be true. What is going on?

“How am I not alone, Gi? Who do I have?”

“If you listen to me. If you let me help you. If you give me my freedom to come and go as I please once it’s safe. You have me.”

I stop dead, my heart threatening to leave my chest this time.

“What are you offering me exactly?”

“Domalachego can’t marry me if I’m already your wife, and if I’m your wife, what’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine.”

The offer sits between us, and I find I’ve never wanted anything more. What would she want in exchange for willingly binding herself to me?

“Are you serious? Why would you want that?”

“Deadly serious, Niko. You can have my reasons once I have your secrets.”

CHAPTER 12

NIKO

SHE KISSES ME. Plants one right on my lips and even opens her mouth when I slip her some tongue.

“What are you up to?” I ask, not sure I want the answer. Leaving her alone all that time may have been a bad choice. I’m pretty sure I’m smarter than Domalachego, but I’m certain she’s smarter than me. I’m never taking off that collar.

“Making lemonade out of all these lemons you keep giving me. Now, get out of here before it’s too late and you can’t make any excuses. Do not weaken our hand.” I listen to her just like I said I would, thrilled by her calling it our hand, but I worry about the sudden frenzied light in her eyes. My fiancée looks a little bloodthirsty.

She walks me to the door, and before I leave, she tells me, “You will find out what happened to my parents, and you will give them a proper burial. Promise me, right now, Niko.”

“I promise.” But I leave before she can make me agree to anything else I’m not sure I can follow through on.

I head to my father’s funeral, finding the spring day unseasonably warm. It’s hot, actually, like hell has opened up to finally welcome him home. They’re already outside when I walk up. He’s up on a stage as was directed in his final requests, and there’s a line of priests paying their last respects to one of the greatest sinners. The nuns stand in a row behind them. How precious.

I climb the steps and stand between the priests I’ve known for years, my brother, and my father’s open casket. This was part of the plan, but I wish it wasn’t quite so fucking disgusting.

The mortician begged us not to make him piece our father’s shattered skull back together and fill it in with putty until he looked almost human again. Sew up his guts until they stayed inside and wouldn’t stain the white shirt we planned to bury him in. That part of the plan never took, so we dressed him in a black suit that wouldn’t show the stain so easily.

His blond hair is the only part of him that looks like it did in life. I scrunch my brow when I see the corpse has a red pocket silk instead of a white one. A glance to my left reveals the culprit. My brother matches our father’s corpse. The same suit. The same red square.

I use all of my energy to control my reaction. I want to laugh, shout at him, and hyperventilate some more. I’m not sure, but he’s not paying any attention to me. He and one of the nuns are caught in a stare off. They exchange some words, and she scurries away, but they’re still watching one another.

The sight of my father like this unsettles me. I hated the man, but I’m not like Pax. I can’t choose my version of reality and kill until everything fits. But it’s doing the job. The line of higher-ups who have been chomping at the bit to challenge me stand in the front row, but their hunger is cowed by disgust. You have to be a sick fuck to do this to your own father. I smile slow and deliberate so they’ll believe I’m just that.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“May God guide him to the kingdom of heaven.”

Each condolence sounds more hollow than the last. The women fear me, and the men are snakes waiting to strike, but they too are under control for now. There isn’t a single person here other than my brother who wouldn’t want to see me dead. This monastery has been our territory for a long time now. It was one of Dad’s favorite places to come play. A few of those nuns aren’t so virtuous, but that doesn’t earn me any loyalty.

Everything moves too slowly and there’s nearly nothing left of me by the time we lower him into the ground.

“It looks like we’ve made a pretty good show of this,” he comments, puffed up like a bird in all his glory.

“Yeah, we did.”

“Do you think it will be enough?” he asks, revealing that maybe he’s not so sure. Perhaps he does care about something other than himself.

“I hope so. If not, this next part should do it.”

We’re quiet for a moment before I say, “You know, Pax. I’m really glad it was him and not you.”

We smile at each other as we say goodbye to the man who ruined our lives and drop handfuls of dirt atop his coffin.

He gives me a sly wink before the next part of our plan commences. Rather than Pax allowing the gravedigger to complete his work, he begins burying our father himself. A collective gasp goes through the crowd when he grabs the shovel.

The heavens open, raining hard, and it does seem like what he touches is cursed. The murmurs spread through the crowd. That same nun leaves her shelter just to stare at him. Father DiMarco, who runs the place, watches her interest but talks in my ear the whole time about his plans for the property and the clergy. The ways he intends to bring Catholicism more strongly to the area. He’s a zealot and a fool, but I know he and my father got along well. Maybe that was the shit Alexandre liked to hear.

The funeral finally draws to a close. I don’t stay and mourn like people often do, but I stay long enough not to weaken our hand, just like Gianna said. I have conversations with men who were much more rebellious toward my leadership last week but are now willing to get along. It’s a shame I can’t trust my brother. He really can be very useful.

I leave the monastery observing my surroundings carefully as always. At first there are so many people going their respective way it’s impossible to tell if I’m being followed. I refuse to make things worse once again, so keeping my eye on the rearview, I take the long way back to my father’s for the second time this week.

I’m going over a hill when I catch the tail about a mile back. I debate who I’m going to find behind me, assuming it’s one of my father’s most vocal supporters. Possibly thinking he can catch me unaware or find something to use against me. If Domalachego came to my father’s funeral, didn’t pay his respects, and then followed me, I’d be forced to make a statement.

I’m not worried about revealing Gianna. So rather than wasting any more of my time, I pull over on the side of the road and wait. My gun rests on my knee, my tinted window raised and much more visible for me than someone looking in.

The car rolls to a stop beside me, and I’m once again caught unaware as Carlo drops the window only an inch, waiting for me to return the gesture. Eventually, I do.

“I need to talk to you but not here. Exit 54 off the I10, Ruthie’s.”

He speeds off without any further explanation, and I follow tight on his ass. He drives faster as we go, trying to make a point about leaving distance between us, but I find I'd rather he play my game than the other way around. If he’s leading me into a trap, then I’m not sure who would be setting it, but I still consider it a strong possibility, so I want him on edge.

It turns out it’s not a trap, at least not one with a spring waiting to take you out, but perhaps a more insidious kind. The kind intended to gain intel. Carlo sits at a table waiting for me, seeming grief-stricken and suspicious about Gianna’s location. It’s the first time since she was five he’s gone more than a few days without seeing her.

“Why aren’t you more worried about her?” he asks like he has any right to question me. “You know something.”

The server comes back to our table and tops off his coffee. I haven’t touched the sludgy shit. When she steps away, I finally answer him.

“Watch yourself, Carlo. Unlike Gemelli, I have no use for you.”

He sits back, considering that I may not be the twenty-year-old he told to stop fucking around with Gianna. He looks back and forth, making sure no one is paying any attention.

Dark brown eyes do their best to intimidate me. “You met with him.” But I don't give a shit about this old man.

"I haven't spoken to Stefan directly since his son's passing."

"I don't mean Stefan."

That. Is. Something.

"I didn’t know he had made himself a public entity."

“He hasn’t, but he doesn’t need to. You think Stefan wouldn’t tell me where they went if that were the case? At least that they were going at all?”

“Maybe he doubted your loyalty.” Like I do right now.

He smiles briefly. "I'm plenty loyal, but someone needs to be alive to be able to pay your wages, and I’m starting to have my doubts."

"You think Stefan is dead? He didn’t when I spoke to him."

"He has no reason to trust us, but I know Stefan was decided on giving Gianna to him. He had no plans to run. Something is terribly wrong."

"Do you have a point to all this, Carlo? A reason you’re wasting my fucking time?" I grit my teeth, anxious as hell to get back to Gianna and see if she still intends on marrying me.

“What do you think happened to the Gemellis, Mr. Bouchard?” He looks me up and down, and I'm disconcerted by the weight of knowledge in his eyes.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“No, I don’t think it is.” And he’s so certain, I’m actually nervous that he has concrete proof I don’t know about.

“Why do you say that? Are you slipping in your old age?” But he doesn’t take the bait.

“Simple. Gianna is missing, and you’re not upset. The only way that would be true is if you knew where she was.”

“Oh, I’m devastated that my ex-girlfriend from fifteen years ago is missing.” I roll my eyes, but my sarcasm is a lie.

“You know something, and I want to know what it is.”

"For your new boss?"

His coffee shakes, the first true sign this interaction is affecting him.

"I need to find Gianna.” Maybe Carlo does care, or perhaps he’s entirely full of shit.

“If she’s dead, I’ll send flowers, alright? How about you let me know when you find out.”

“I’ve been in charge of keeping that girl safe since she was five years old, Mr. Bouchard. I'd have to be an idiot not to have noticed your attention over the years. If she were gone, missing, or hurt, you would notice, and you would care.”

“That’s assuming an awful lot of a man like me.”

"You’re assuming what kind of a man you are, and you've never known."

I'm not sure if he's calling me weak or stupid. Maybe both.

“What did the great Stefan suppose would happen to his daughter once he sold her to the butcher?”

The lines in his face seem even deeper as he says, "I don't think he cared so long as he kept what was his."

I leave him shortly after that and head back toward the vineyard, but instead of going there first, I stop at the store and grab some flowers for Gi.

CHAPTER 13

GIANNA

IN THE THREE days I spent without Niko, I learned a few important things about myself and the room he created for me. For one, he is the most thoughtful murdering piece of shit on earth. He designed every part of this place to suit my tastes, which makes it profoundly hard for me to hate him.

Two, I’m tired of being alone. I hate it much more than what I claim to feel for Niko. After years of separation from my family and months of being trapped and isolated, if I could never be lonely again, that would be too soon. I have no family left, none at all, and that’s what I want more than anything else.

A house full of children and grandchildren, someone always making noise. When the realization of that dream settled in, it ached so badly that I lay in my bed for hours like I’d taken another knife to my never healing heart. But marrying Niko might provide me an out, even given how tenuous my life has become, and a chance to have those things. Even though he’s agreed to marry me, I’m pretty sure that the loneliness I detest is mine, whether I want it or not.

I spent as much time thinking about the family I’ve lost as the one I plan to gain, to use, and to manipulate for my freedom. My father, my brother, my mother. I cried for my parents and felt better after, but Dante’s loss still hurts as bad as the day it happened. Maybe I’m not ready to know what happened to him, and I convinced myself Niko actually has a good reason for not telling me.

I was raised to believe in the strength and righteousness of my own father, and I did, like the man was God. He was so far from it. He’s killed more people than Niko, he locked me away, ignored me the whole time, and then traded me when it proved a convenient strategy. Niko is offended by the man he chose. The problem is he regarded me as something to trade at all. Stupidly, and with all evidence to the contrary, I thought I meant more to my father than that.

I’m not sure how I should mourn a man I don’t believe ever took me seriously. My father’s love for me was like his Tiffany vase or his 1960s Cadillac, a rare and pretty thing to cherish so long as it behaved. What good was a broken vase to him or a car he couldn’t fix? I was a perfect daughter, or I was nothing, and once Dante was gone, I was just nothing.

While I hadn’t admitted it to myself before, I gave up on the hope that my parents would ever see me, let alone truly love me. They didn’t even put furniture in my apartment when they forced me into it, and Niko has taken everything I ever told him, everything he learned watching me, and crafted something I would love. I’d be in a fucking cage either way, but at least he cares about making me happy. Someone cares without a paycheck attached.

Niko has let me down in so many ways, and I know I can’t ever forgive him for what he’s done. I’m not that gracious. But all the men I’ve loved have failed me. Why should I hold him to impossible standards when I was born into chaos, and that’s what I clearly attract?

In addition to my anger toward Niko, the thought of what he did sends chills running up and down my spine. That black-clad figure killing my parents stars in my nightmares, but the dream is warped, and it’s never him inside. Then my father’s face shifts to Dante’s, and I wake screaming.

I’m not crazy, so I know Niko being the only thing to make me feel safe means I’m cracking in two. Since I locked that door and demanded my space, he’s made himself scarce. The relief lasted all of thirty seconds, and after that, I tiptoed around, wondering when I’d see him, hoping he would open the door instead of turning the knob and walking away.

Why do I want him to force his affection on me?

After what happened with Antonine, I’m praying I don’t need to kill anyone else. There’s been so much death around me, and I’m growing concerned about how little I care about what I did. Shouldn’t his murder star in my nightmares too? It doesn’t. Am I growing stronger or just becoming numb?

I was already feeling strange, lonely, and desperate when I found Niko on the floor, the physical manifestation of everything I keep locked inside myself. He was so beautiful, his pretty lips trembling, his soft curls making him look so much more innocent than he was. I just couldn’t ignore him.

I should have turned away from him, held on to the embers of the dying hate still burning in my heart, but instead, I reached out. The fact that something so real exists inside him at all has me looking at him in different ways. It made me realize what an exploitable weakness he has. I wouldn’t be Stefan Gemelli’s daughter if I didn’t see an easy mark.

Nikolai loves me, and he wants me to love him back. There’s not much you can’t get out of a man when that’s true. I offered to marry him, and I don’t exactly regret it. It’s a wide-open opportunity to have a real life, and I take it. He can give me all the things I realized I want and more. I feel guilty for agreeing to marry him, wondering if my parents are watching and hating me. That’s likely an inescapable part of my life now. But why watch me when they didn’t bother with me in life?

Niko left a few minutes later, calm, looking like the impenetrable person he’s always seemed. But I know the truth now—he’s soft. As stupid as it sounds, I wanted to go with him to that funeral and hold his hand. I stand to gain a lot by marrying him, and I didn’t offer out of love, but I’m not sure who’s playing who in this arrangement. I’ll still love the children we have, even if their parents’ relationship is complicated.

Will either of us even live long enough to worry about those children I want or the fact that I’m Catholic and refuse to divorce him? If I get married, I’m married. It will be him and me forever.

Those moments of connection with Niko went so fast, and now I’m alone again, staring out at his vineyard and thinking it’s really not fair for it to be so beautiful here. Mostly I’m worried about Domalachego bringing the Russians into the area and what that would look like for this slice of paradise Niko built. There’s been enough blood shed without the Russians too. We’re hardly innocent, but we don’t need another warring faction.

They’re already here, though. My father brought them, and there’s no way in hell I’m marrying Fyodor Domalachego even if he wasn’t this supposedly awful man. He may not respect Niko’s claim, but it will ruin my appeal for a man like him, and call any potential children into question. No man wants people to say his enemy fathered his children.

I throw up more than once as I wait for Niko to come back and wrestle with the decision I made. My grief versus how happy I am for this potential life, how excited the teenage girl inside me is to marry Nikolai Bouchard. The time ticks on, and I hear nothing. How would I? I don’t have a phone, and no one is ever inside the house. I wouldn’t dare go out. It’s just like being in that apartment again with nothing to do but wait. There’s this sensation of my world narrowing. What would I even do if he didn’t come back?

It’s dusk when the gate opens, and his car pulls through. I’m a strange combination of relieved and furious. Did he actually make me worry about him? I’m in the living room, waiting to see if he comes through the main or side door. He seems to switch back and forth on which he prefers.

When he enters through the side, I turn on him, ready to throw hours of stress and anger at him, but I freeze at the bags under his eyes and the lines of stress carved into his forehead. Niko left a younger man, and I have the strangest urge to hold him.

“Are you down here waiting for me because you changed your mind?” It’s clear he’s been worrying about this all day, fretting about my choices when he was laying his father to rest. Again, he’s thinking of me when no one else is. I blush and hope he doesn’t see.

“No, I’m down here because you should have been back hours ago, and…” The anger seems silly now, and I’m not sure how to explain it when I’m a literal kidnap victim. When I’m supposed to hate him and I’m not sure how much I do.

“You were worried?” Disbelief and awe, then this trepidatious little smile breaks out, melting what’s left of the ice on my heart. “You’re still planning to marry me, and you were worried about me because I’m home late?”

The heat burns my cheeks, and I wish I never came down the stairs.

“I’m assuming your men have orders to keep me inside, Niko. What the fuck would I do if you didn’t come back? I’m guessing you didn’t tell them who your hostage is.”

He’s quiet, like this is his first time considering it. I’m not surprised that me having a life without him never crossed his mind.

“So you didn’t miss me?” And while his expression doesn’t shift, his energy does. Why don’t I want to hurt him anymore?

I don’t say anything because the lie would be just as loud as the truth.

“What took so long? Drinks with your brother or something?”

“No, he’s acting weird. Disappeared into the tree line after the funeral like a creep. I think he’s got a thing for one of the nuns, which won’t end well for her.” He looks at something off in the distance, speaking as if the eventual death of this woman of God is nothing of import.

I gasp because the idea that Pax is all grown up, killing nuns, and Niko isn’t going to stop him is hard to swallow.

“What are you going to do?”

He meets my eyes, pulling him back from wherever he went.

“I made the monastery his territory. My brother won’t kill them if they’re his responsibility.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not really.” He shrugs. Once again his honesty blows me away. I’m not sure if I should resent it or kiss his feet for it.

“So it doesn’t matter what he’s doing?”

“That’s a question for your priest, not me.”

“Does it matter to you?” I decide to push the issue. His brother kills people and not like my father or brother did, but he murders for his own pleasure.

“Yeah, it does, but loyalty matters more.”

Did he mean for that to land so heavy?

He’s still standing across the room, and I decide it’s time to make a move. A little wave and he follows me to the kitchen island. His dubious expression drags out the most reluctant smile. Does he think I’m leading him into a trap? Am I?

He sits, watching me like I might stab him this time instead of Antonine. I strongly consider it and think I might enjoy it, but I decide against it. I’m just making my fiancé a drink.

“Thank you,” he says, staring at the glass like it might bite him, but he finally takes a sip.

“So what took so long?”

“Is this how we’re playing it?” His gray eyes storm over his glass.

“Playing it?” I cock my head to the side, the picture of false innocence as I rest my ass on the island.

“You, Gianna Gemelli, are my fiancée,” he says it like a hypothetical.

“Your fiancée, Nikolai Bouchard.”

He nods, laughing to himself in a way that would be insulting if I didn’t know he’d had a very hard day.

“You’re just going to meet me at the door, pour me drinks, and ask me about my day?”

“I rather felt like I was questioning you about your day, but leave it to you to give it a more positive spin.”

“We’re going to ignore everything else?” Niko’s voice rises, betraying he’s edging on manic rather than amused.

He’s always had this unpredictable side to him that’s waiting to explode at any time. I’m immediately nervous and turned on by the intensity of that energy. Everything in my life has been cold for so long, and Niko is this strange combination of what I know and what I need, hot and cold, chaos.

“I’m not ignoring anything. I just thought that after your father’s funeral and agreeing to marry you, I could lay my weapons down and be civil for one evening.”

He doesn’t trust a word I say, which is smart. I’m full of shit. At least I’m partially full of shit. So much of this is real, unfortunately.

“So you’re doing this for my benefit?”

“Yes.”

“Then what I really want is to fuck you. The real you, not this fake nice bullshit persona who makes me drinks.”

“This fake nice bullshit is exactly what I would do for you all the time if you weren’t an asshole because it’s not fake. You had a hard day. I made you a drink. I'd cook for you too if you weren’t being a prick.”

“Bend over the counter and pull your panties down.”

I’ve really touched on a nerve, again, but I’m not doing it.

“If we’re really engaged, then I’m not fucking you until we’re married.”

His fists clench where they rest on his knees.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said. I’m Catholic, Niko. You may not believe in God—“

“I don’t.”

“But I do. You can fuck me after the wedding.”

“I’ve already fucked you, Gi, and you’re a shitty Catholic.” He gets off the chair, sliding toward me. “You think God is going to care if we keep doing it?”

It’s not so much about God’s opinion as it is mine.

“After the wedding or no wedding.”

“What if I told you we’re getting married tomorrow? It’s all planned.”

“Then you can fuck me tomorrow afternoon.”

“It’s one goddamn night, Gianna!”

“You’re right, Niko. It’s just one night.”

“I don’t like hearing no.”

“I can’t imagine you do. I’m not too fond of it either.” I tug the collar at my throat to point out I’m still wearing this degrading thing. He still hasn’t told me what happened to my brother either, but I don’t plan to fight with him about that tonight.

He leans into me and places a kiss below the collar. A light trail of goose bumps runs up my skin, and I melt when he inhales, enjoying my scent. I’m wrapped up in this surprisingly gentle moment when a little click pulls me out of the moment. Much to my surprise, he’s got the leash clipped on.

“You just had that on you all day?”

“I needed something to look forward to, and the thought of you at my mercy did the job,” he tells me as he tugs the leash, leading me off the stool and onto my feet. I struggle lightly, but he’s so strong, and I really don’t want to pull my damn neck.

“All day?”

“Waiting for the moment I could get my hands on you.” He tells me as he tugs me down the hall. “I’ll admit I assumed you were going to break off our ‘engagement,’ and we’d have a repeat of the shower incident.”

I shouldn’t be so excited at the mere mention of him holding me against the wall and forcing an orgasm out of me, but fuck if I don’t question my own resolve to wait until after the wedding. It seems silly even to me, but I’ve done so many things the wrong way, so even if it’s just one night, I want to wait. I want to feel in control of something.

“Niko, are we really getting married tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Then please don’t fuck me tonight.” I’m wet as hell, so it seems counterintuitive to argue against what I want, but I have to have some scraps of self-control.

“Don’t worry, princess. I won’t fuck you.”

But the way he says it has me very worried.

CHAPTER 14

NIKO

MY FINGERS TINGLE as I lead Gianna through the house, but it’s pure excitement and adrenaline. I already set up our wedding for tomorrow with DiMarco, who doesn’t know who I’m marrying, just that only he will know the identity of my bride, and if anyone else catches wind, he’ll promptly die.

The old priest was a close confidant of my father’s, and I trust him to be smart enough not to earn himself a bullet, but that’s the only way I trust him. He’s trying to work his way into my inner circle, and I can understand that from a pragmatic point of view, but I still don’t trust it.

With Gianna as my wife, the secret will be out eventually, but it just has not yet been revealed. When I present her as my queen, it will be the trump card I need to officially claim the Gemelli territory. Things with Domalachego will likely still get bloody, but people will fall in line.

I want her to be my wife so desperately I scarcely dare to hope she won’t change her mind. I could force her anyway, and I just might, but her marrying me willingly is too enticing to give up on easily.

We’re nearly to my bedroom when I speak. “So you’re quite serious you won’t marry me tomorrow if I fuck you tonight?”

“Quite,” she agrees, raising her brow in challenge.

“That’s fine. I have other plans for you.”

I open the door to my bedroom and lead her inside for the first time. The walls are a deep green, the furniture all rich black wood. Everything is in perfect, immaculate order, just the way I like it. Her pretty eyes survey my domain, and I’m not sure what she thinks.

“Will I sleep in here with you after tomorrow night, or are we keeping separate bedrooms like Victorian aristocracy?”

“You can sleep wherever you like after tomorrow night, but I’d like you to stay with me.”

“Would you? Even if I make a mess?” she challenges with a hand on her hip and a slender black eyebrow raised. I imagine her making a very wet mess with her sweet little cunt.

“Yes, though I’d prefer you didn’t do so intentionally.” I know she’s been playing up the messes she leaves in the kitchen.

“Hire a housekeeper.”

“I prefer not having anyone in my space.” That’s incredibly true. It’s a major inconvenience to organize the household myself when I’m this busy, but having people near my things makes my skin crawl.

“But you’d like me in here?”

“You’re not just anyone.” She’s fucking everything.

I head to my dresser and grab all the things I got for her while we weren’t speaking. I admit I was in a mood when I bought the selection of leather cuffs and leashes. It was after I put that collar on her neck and realized she wasn’t going to love me the way I wanted. She accused me of trying to humiliate her. I wanted to live up to the role of the awful villain she’d cast me in. Since I couldn’t make things better, I was sure going to make them worse.

I don’t even turn around before I demand, “Take off your clothes.” I’m ravenous for her, and if I can’t fuck her at the very least, I’m not waiting any longer to look at her.

“Not even going to kiss me first?”

“Not where I’m thinking of kissing you. Now, take off your clothes.”

Her tan cheeks turn lightly pink as she shimmies out of the lounge pants and T-shirt, standing in front of me in nothing but her bra and panties.

“Everything, princess.”

She rolls her eyes at me, but that’s okay. I’m going to make her pay for that and everything else she’s done to torture me. Even the unintentional ones. She slips her bra off, and her full tits sway deliciously. Next go her panties. Her cunt is so fucking pretty, I’ll never get enough of it.

I’m incensed by the thought of being married to her. All I want to do is fuck her, put a load or three in her, tip her ass up, and hope she gets pregnant. But she made her wishes clear, and tomorrow is my princess’s wedding day. How can I not oblige her?

I put my supplies down on the side of the bed.

“Sit down, Gi.”

I point toward the end where she can’t see what I have for her without awkwardly turning around. She does, her gaze still tracing the room.

“Why have a canopy bed with no curtain? You don’t have a duvet.” There’s a slight raise to her lip like she finds this very distasteful, and I want to laugh at how pampered she is beneath the months of neglect and years of emotional abandonment.

“I’m not a princess. I don’t need those things.” But I’m so glad she is. I love her like this, prissy and demanding, going to eat orgasms out of her until she begs me to stop.

“But you’re a wealthy adult with a winery, and your house looks like a sparsely decorated hunting lodge.”

“There are no animal heads,” I object to her minimizing statement. I tried very hard to make this place nice.

“So you’re a shit hunter. Is that any better?”

“I like it. Don’t you?” I suspect she does. Whenever I watch her on the cameras, she seems reluctantly happy and interested in the place, and she doesn’t seem to have noticed them either.

She sighs. “I do like it, but maybe some decorations are necessary.”

I smile despite myself. That’s the kind of thing you say about a place you plan to stay. “We can talk if you actually marry me tomorrow.” I believe she will follow through with this about as much as I believed in Santa Claus when I was twelve.

“I’m going to,” she insists, but Gianna is moody, temperamental, and thinks she knows what she’s doing always. But does she realize I’m getting everything I want? She thinks she played me because she found me having that panic attack. I have a panic attack most days, and they don’t make me stupid. I can think through them and remember. At the end of the day, I let her see me, and if she follows through, I’ll have won this round.

“Don’t speak so soon.” I laugh as I grab her wrist and strap on a leather cuff with a very collar-like appearance. I loop one of the leather leashes in on itself so it’s solidly attached to the upper beam of the canopy bed. Then clip it to the one cuff.

Her one arm is secure, but she yanks it before she realizes what I’ve done. She meets the resistance with a hilarious look of shock, and her shriek of outrage makes my balls tingle.

“Niko. This pet shit is getting old. You need to take off this collar, not add more.” She’s picking at the restraint, but it won’t come off that easily.

“Probably eventually, not tonight.”

I snatch her hand away from her wrist where she’s trying to remove the cuff and slap another leather strap around the one she had free.

“Oh, fuck no!”

She fights me as hard as she can to avoid the inevitable, kneeing and thrashing, but she ultimately ends up getting me more worked up than getting herself into a better position. I pin her to the bed with my body weight, and she’s so much smaller than me. I worry I might crush her as I restrain her other wrist. Finally, I take a breath and step back. She’s attached by both wrists, and she’s kicking like hell to prevent me from finishing.

I need a breather, so I just watch her fight a losing battle like she’s not teasing my cock better than it’s been in years.

“Why are you being so difficult, princess? You’re acting like you’re not going to come.” The murderous glare she shoots me is picture worthy.

“I’m acting like you’re once again trying to humiliate me.” Well, I can’t deny that, and photos would be a great way to memorialize the experience.

“You could have just fucked me,” I tell her in a sweet voice, knowing it’s too late for her now.

I set the third leash up before making an attempt for her ankle, attaching it to the lower portion of the bed frame in the same manner I did the first two. She fights me so hard I’m actually distracted from my problems and having fun. Despite her protests, she keeps cracking smiles too. My cock is so hard, and I’m desperate to fuck her, but I wrestle her down, finally securing both of her ankles.

“I’m not your fucking pet, Niko! Let’s be clear about that. You’re taking this fucking collar off me tonight, or I won’t marry you tomorrow.”

“That’s one point I won’t yield on, princess.”

I secure the final leash to the crossbar, drape it over her shoulder, and let her enjoy the scrape of the leather as I clip her neck into place, totally immobilizing her. A shiver runs along her body, and the ripple through her tits is enough to drive me insane.

“If you like, we can change it out for gold and diamonds, but I want something on your throat that says you’re mine.” I’d like to yank her around the house by her throat long term, but she would likely kill me with my own gun.

“Isn’t that what a wedding ring is for?”

“You’ll have that too, princess. You’ll have everything.”

I run my fingers down the column of her throat, then trace her side to her ribs. She shivers lightly, but then I move to the underside of her breast, giving her a slight reprieve. My palm grazes her nipple, and she lightly pushes herself into it.

“So if you’re not going to fuck me, what’s the point of all this, Niko?”

“To keep you still,” I tell her as my fingers skate down her belly through the neatly trimmed hair. Her cunt is fully exposed from the position I’ve tied her in, legs spread, pretty tan thighs surrounding pink lips I’m dying to suck on. We’re both going to wait for that.

Once I’ve spent some time touching every inch of her body, I feel a little more in control of myself. I’ve needed her like this for so long it’s almost pathological. My cock leaks into my briefs, and I’m so turned on, but my soul is satisfied by having her at my mercy.

She’s dripping wet, her juices shine in the dim light, and I’m desperate to lick her clean.

She’s doing her best to stay quiet, trying to gain the upper hand by acting unaffected, but she ultimately shows her hand when she says, “I see you staring, Niko. You might as well taste it. I know you love eating my pussy.”

She’s right, I do. I had her on my tongue three times a day when I could. She tastes incredible, and nothing is softer than her cunt.

“Taste it.” The desperate edge to her demand makes her all the more delicious.

I lean down, breathe against her skin, spread her wider, and act like I have every intention of licking her. When the little catch in her throat gives her away, I pull back.

“Changed my mind.”

It’s quiet, but her light growl of frustration is everything.

I pull my cock out of my pants. It’s so hard that it’s painful to look at and touch her like this. I give it a few good strokes, enjoying the way it takes the edge off, feeling a drop of cum leaking out of my tip and running down my cock. She stares and licks her lips as surely as I was staring at her cunt.

“You don’t want this, do you, Gi? You said no sex until the wedding, but you look pretty wet for a good Catholic girl, slick and ready to get fucked.”

“You’re a pig.” She aims for haughty, but it doesn’t work so well as her eyes don’t leave my dick, and her pussy leaks on my blanket. Plus, I’m quite fond of those creatures.

“Eyes are up here, princess.”

Her eyes flick to mine but only briefly as I keep pulling on my cock for her. I have no problem coming a few times, and I’m so worked up it won’t take me that long to jerk myself off. I touch the tip of my cock to her tits and keep pumping, starting to really get into it.

“What are you doing?” She’s panting, and I take mercy on her, reaching down to rub her pretty clit. She moans, raising her lip in a little snarl I remember well. Fuck, she’s so sexy.

“I’m going to come all over you.”

She moans outright, and the sound echoes in my balls, reducing the time I need to finish at least by half.

“You want that, slutty princess? You want me to coat you in my cum?”

“No…” But the sound is more a whine than a denial.

That’s all I need. I come, coating her in the sticky substance. It’s not that intense. The first one never is for me, but it’s wet, covering her tits and the tips of her nipples. A thick splash lands on her outer labia and drips inward. She’s so pretty.

I take out my phone and start snapping pictures.

“Niko!” she screams, trying to hide her body or face in any way, but she can’t.

“While they make excellent leverage, I promise they’re just for me. I’ve never seen anything prettier than you tied up and covered in my cum.”

I click a few more, and tears gather in her eyes. I’m assuming she’s upset with me, and she would have a right to be. I’m not trying to humiliate her like she always accuses, but if I were, this would have been an excellent showing. I assume she’ll demand I delete them, saying something about her dignity.

“Let me see, let me see right now, Niko.” Her body shakes, and my eyes are glued to her tits.

“You’re demanding for a tied-up, cum-covered slut.”

But I oblige her, turning the phone and flipping through the different angles I took watching her expression. The anger I expect is absent. Instead, her face is filled with glazed-over lust. I let her look as long as she wants, her hips twitching as my cum cools on her skin.

“You want to fuck now, don’t you, baby?” I ask her gently as I slip a finger inside her and rub her G-spot only enough to tease. She rolls her hips, trying to take more.

“Please fuck me, Niko.”

I smile, truly smile, enjoying this position more than any other I’ve stood in.

“No, baby, because you’ll hold it against me tomorrow, but I’ll eat your pretty cunt for you. Would you like that?”

She whines like she’s devastated but nods frantically. The idea of some relief is better than nothing. I drop to my knees in front of her.

“You know how badly I missed this?” I stroke her lips, spread her, and inspect every inch.

“No.”

“Let me show you.” And finally, after fifteen years, I have Gianna on my tongue again, and everything is right in the world.

She shakes and moans as I eat her clit like it’s my last meal, and when I slip my tongue inside her and fuck her with it, she comes, squirting her juices over my face and down my chin, making the only type of mess I want in my room.

She’s shaking and beautiful, but it’s not enough. I’ve wanted her for so long I need more. I slip an extra finger inside her and go back to licking her clit, sucking it when she screams it's too sensitive and begs me to stop. It doesn’t take me more than five minutes to wring another dripping-wet orgasm out of her.

I’m soaked in her cum, and I leave her tied up as I rub my cock again. She’s limp, hanging against her restraints. I'd be worried about her neck, but her arms bear the worst of the pressure. She’s gorgeous, cum drunk, everything I want.

I rub my cock over the swell of her tits as her chest expands, the soft way her eyelids flutter, and how she breathes through plush, half-opened lips. The sleepy snores that pick up in her throat. I touch her cunt again, enjoying the way she jumps awake, shivering and overstimulated.

“Niko, I’m tired.”

“I know, princess. Just let me come on you one more time. You’re so pretty covered in my cum.”

“Mm, please come on me. Please, Niko.”

And who the hell am I to deny her? Thick ropes of cum shoot out of my cock, covering my princess in dripping pearls.

A little while later, we’re lying in bed together. She’s covered in my cum, but most is stuck to the sheets. I stroke her back and play with the crest of her ass.

“Why were you back so late?” she asks.

“Why were you worried?” I counter.

“I proposed to you, and you still want me to kiss your ass?”

I chuckle lightly before I bite her on the shoulder. She squeals the most delicious sound.

“Carlo followed me after the funeral.”

She’s too still.

“What happened?” Her entire body locks up.

“Nothing that should make you that tense.” I rub her shoulder where I bit. “He thinks your parents are dead, and I know where you are.”

She tries to sit up, but I hold her tight against my chest.

“So I shouldn’t be concerned that he’s figured everything out?”

I kiss her temple, relishing in being near her.

“He’s not figured anything out. He’s suspicious, but I think he’d already be here if he suspected I actually have you.”

“You’re probably right. That’s a relief.” She won't meet my eyes.

“Why? I thought you’d be looking forward to your reunion.” She bites her lip, the picture of beauty.

“How the hell could I face him now? I’m going to marry you.” The weight of her guilt pours off her, and I suppose if I were a better man, I wouldn’t let her marry her parents’ killer. Too bad for both of us, I’m not a better man.

“Perhaps he’d choose to work for us,” I offer, realizing I’d do really stupid things to make her happy.

She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t want that. He’s wasted enough of his life on me. But why does he think you know where I am?”

“He says I’d be upset if you were really missing, and I’m not.” I shrug. “I think I seem upset. Everything has been going to shit lately.”

“Why does he think that you would be upset? As far as I know, he’s not even aware we dated.”

She’s definitely wrong about that, considering he told me to leave her alone or he’d bust my kneecaps after our first date, but I decide not to bring that up now.

“He’s apparently noticed me watching you over the years. My affection for you is obvious.”

She's too quiet again, too still. I trace her skin, trying to urge a subtle movement out of her.

“What's wrong?”

“He never told me.” The sadness in her voice urges violence against Carlo, and I’m not even sure why. He was her father’s employee, not her bosom buddy.

“Should he have?” I wasn’t under the impression they had that close of a relationship despite him being with her constantly, but given how her parents treated her, it makes sense for her to be confused about what affection actually looks like.

“My father never told me.” I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or herself.

“Did you expect him to?” Honesty was never Stefan’s style.

“You told me about meeting with Carlo.”

My eyebrows push together in genuine confusion, and she finally looks at me, staring deep into my eyes, looking for something I can’t be sure of.

“I’m not like your father, Gi,” I promise her.

“I’m starting to see that.”

CHAPTER 15

GIANNA

IT’S BEEN SO LONG since I’ve visited the monastery that I expect some great change when we arrive, but there’s nothing. I could be seventeen years old heading to church like I had my whole life. Great pine trees line the drive, interspersed with some smaller maples. The grounds are green and lush with the inevitable summer encroaching.

We sit beside each other in an SUV with windows so darkly tinted God himself would have trouble seeing inside. Niko said something about military-grade bulletproofing, but I tuned him out, not really caring about the fine details of his fifteenth car. His left hand rests lazily on the steering wheel, and his right one holds mine. I haven’t decided whether it’s an intimate gesture or a game of chicken.

He gave me an engagement ring this morning. And it sits on my finger, shining. With one giant diamond and a halo of rubies, it’s so distinctly Niko and so beautiful it seems a shame to replace it in a few minutes when we say I do. He already informed me he had wedding bands for us. The collar has also been removed, but I suspect he’s still got it on him, and in its place sits a delicate golden chain with a heart-shaped lock.

“I will be putting this back on you,” he told me when he slipped off the leather and replaced it with the lovely jewelry I’m quite fond of.

It’s all the same, except I’m in a simple white summer dress rather than my church clothes, and Niko’s dressed in a suit that says business more than marriage. Oh, also all our parents, aside from his mother, are dead, and nothing is the same, but the monastery is untouched by all our problems.

The thought of his mother surprises me. I knew she was alive, but with everything going on, I haven't given one bit of consideration to how she might feel about this union. Niko hasn’t mentioned her once, so I can’t imagine they’re close these days.

“Will your mom care that we got married without her?” I ask, breaking the silence for the first time in a while.

“Yes,” he says, offering no further explanation or comfort. Will I ever get used to how direct he is?

“And you’re not going to elaborate on that?”

“Whenever my mother stops long enough to notice what’s going on with me, she will likely be upset that she wasn’t invited to the wedding.” He says it slowly as if it’s obvious, and maybe I’m irritating him. I’ve noticed the thicker his tone, the more upset he is. It’s a defense mechanism.

“Will that be a problem long term?” I ask, really hoping that if we have kids someday I don’t have to deal with someone undermining my parenting. The thought surprises me, but I meant it when I agreed to marry him, and I plan to have children.

“Likely the two times a year we’ll visit with her. I’ve never known her to let something go.”

“So your mom is going to hate me before I even have a proper conversation with her?”

“Oh, honey. She already hates you.” He pats my knee like that solves everything. “Your last name is Gemelli.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“She’s Sicilian.”

No further explanation needs to be given. My father and the Sicilians have a long history, and he’s personally responsible for removing their stake in the ports. But of course Niko’s mother has separate reasons for hating me from his father. One family feud would be too boring.

We reach the top of the hill where the cathedral, convent, and rectory all sit, giving us a stunning view of the grounds and river. Foolishly, I expect to park the car in the parking lot for the cathedral, but I suppose it would be pretty obvious if I just walked across these grounds. I’m well-known here, or at least I used to be.

Niko drives past the pull-off I know and down a road I’ve never followed. We take it all the way around the property to a side I’ve never seen before with sheer cliff faces that lead to much more direct access to the water below. The dirt road is edged with grass, kept in place only by what appears to be steady travel; lines of tire tracks that lead right off the side of the cliff.

As we come to that spot, I’m about to have a heart attack when Niko doesn’t hit the break. I expect the free-falling sensation of a drop and then our inevitable death, but instead, there’s a slight whoosh of falling and entire darkness for one heartbeat. We’re slipping underground.

Industrial lamps light the tunnel placed every ten feet. They're permanently installed, but they look more like something a construction crew would use rather than real infrastructure. Water drips down the stone walls, which are so closely pressed to the car that I’m not sure we’ll fit.

“Tell me this is only the entrance.” I don’t like tight spaces.

“Sorry, princess, exit too.” His voice is entirely nonchalant.

“And if someone else is coming?”

“Someone will have to reverse, but it won’t be me.” He winks, and I try and fail not to smile back.

“It will only be a few more minutes.” He squeezes the hand he’s holding.

My nerves sing as we wind deeper into the cliffside, but I’m excited too. I’ve never done anything this interesting, and it's amazing and depressing to think how much more vivid my life is since Niko took me. I’m playing a game by marrying him, but I’m not sure which one of us will be more wrecked for it.

“Is something wrong? Other than the tight space, I mean,” he asks me a few minutes later. “You’re unusually quiet.”

“Niko, what would you say if I told you I’m marrying you for my own nefarious reasons? Would you still go through with this?” Only a faint outline of his face is revealed in the light from the dash and the lamps beside us. He’s pensive for a minute and bites his lip. I’ve never seen the action before, but I’d like to try it. He has the softest mouth.

“Your reasons can’t be that nefarious if you’re asking me that question. A true villain would just act.”

“Just answer.”

“Gianna, I would have to be a hopeless fool to think you had anything other than nefarious intentions in mind when you offered to marry me. Sadly, I’ll take you however I can, scheming and all. I will warn you, though, if you’re planning to stick a knife in my back, I really am your best option.”

He sounds like he’s joking, but the look in his eye tells me he’s desperately serious, maybe even afraid of what might become of me without him. Maybe what I said at the house last night about his men struck a chord.

“I think I expressed my understanding of that when I suggested we get married.”

As much as it hurts to admit, the past week with him has been better than the previous six months. My parents’ murder is the one glaring exception.

“One of the best moments of my life, wicked woman and all.” I look over, finding him calm and sincere.

“You’re serious?”

“I’ve spent half my life in love with you. I can wait for whatever you think you need to do.”

“And if I kill you?” I ask him, wondering where this trust came from when I don’t have any of the same for him.

“Then I don’t have to live without you.”

I digest his words for the final few minutes of our journey. What must it feel like to be that sure of anything? Or is he full of shit and just that convincing? Before I fully understand what’s happened, Niko slows to a crawl, and the tunnel shifts into a long stone room, kind of like a parking garage but far older.

Niko pulls off into a narrow spot in the corner. We must be directly beneath the monastery. I look at the tunnel we entered through, and even in the dim light, I can see the marks where they blasted the wall to make the connection to the tunnel.

“Is this a secret mob entrance to the monastery?”

“Cathedral and nunnery, though I won’t scandalize you with why mobsters need private entrances to either.” He shoots me a wink, and he’s so damn handsome it hurts.

“Who said I don’t want to be scandalized?” I challenge, finding it hard not to flirt with all this giddy nervousness.

“You did.”

“When did I say that?”

“Last night when you wouldn’t let me fuck you because you’re Catholic, Gi.” He sounds far too petulant for someone who came twice anyway.

“Somehow, I think what we did was worse.” I roll my eyes, but my heated cheeks betray me. It certainly was filthier than the majority of the sex I’ve had in my life.

He gets out of the car first, opening my door for me and taking my hand again. It’s been so long since someone touched me with casual affection that it unnerves me. Even though years have passed and things couldn’t be more different, it still feels like I’m not allowed.

My heart is in my throat at being caught here with Niko. So much like when we were teens. This is Niko’s territory, and I’m about to be his wife, so I am more than welcome. But how often do things work out how they should? What if someone sees me? Niko’s plans all center around securing our hold before revealing our hand, and I actually agree.

He opens a door for me and leads me down a hallway. It’s built from the same ancient stone, but the fixtures seem more modern. I stare at his broad shoulders as he walks ahead and leads me to a narrow staircase with my hand still in his. The lights barely illuminate the space, and there’s a haunting sense of timelessness.

He’s a step above me when he turns. We can only just discern each other's features.

“I know we’re not here for any good reason, but you’re the only person I’d want to be here with.”

And he kisses me, soft and deep but painfully sweet.

The kiss ends, and he opens a door leading into the chapel. As I step inside, time rewinds—the wet stone smell, the old carpets, and the wooden pews so old the wood is soft. My breath leaves my lungs, and tears fill my eyes. The last time I visited, my family was beside me. Now I have no family, and I’m about to replace them with my parents' killer and make him my husband.

I don’t understand how things have gone so wrong since they were all alive and we had each other. Were things ever really better, or was I just too young and naive to see the truth? Did I ever have a real place with them, or were we always doomed?

“You okay, Gi?” Niko asks, pulling me closer to his side. “You don’t need to be afraid. I’ll keep you safe.”

It’s a reasonable assumption. So many bad things could come from me being discovered, but it’s not that. It’s the fact that I want him. I’m excited. And I’ll hate myself until the day I die.

I always dreamed I’d get married in this chapel, but reality often differs from our dreams. The chains barring the cathedral door against entry are too stark a reminder of our recent history and possibly our present.

“Am I still your prisoner, Niko?”

“You never were, princess. My dad was going to see you dead one way or another. If I didn’t follow through on the hit, the next guy would have killed you too. I have always done whatever I’ve needed to keep you alive.”

The weight of that takes a while to sink in, and part of me is floored because I know it’s true. If Niko said no or if Niko failed, the next guy would have killed me. He didn’t know his brother was going to murder his father, and could I really ask him to choose my father over his? If I was in his position, I would have done the same thing. Saved him and obeyed my father as best I could.

My world spirals on a newfound axis.

“So I’m not your prisoner?”

“Won’t be letting my wife go any time soon.”

Something else he said sticks out to me.

“When else have you needed to keep me alive?”

“Right here.”

Is he referring to when he dumped me by shaking his head and then never speaking to me again? But apparently stalking me once a year thereafter.

“Why—”

“Let’s talk about the past later, Gi.” He traps my face between his hands, then slips one around my neck, holding me gently. His kisses are electric sparks dancing across my lips.

“We’re going to,” I insist as I push him away, but I don’t think he looks as nervous as he should.

Candles dance in their red votives, and I take a few steps away from Niko to light one for each of my family members. He seems to think better of crowding the activity and begins inspecting the space, searching for bugs.

As the one for my baby cousin Sofia sparks to life, the side doors open. The lit taper hits the floor as I jump, an echo of years past when Pax dropped the candle on Estella Medeiros. I turn to Niko for protection but relax when I see it’s one of the priests.

He’s an older man with dark eyes and gray hair. It takes me a second too long to realize I recognize him.

What the hell is going on here? My great-uncle Marco stands in front of me wearing full priest gear and a hell of a lot more wrinkles than the last time I saw him.

He’s got the same features, though, and I see his resemblance to his older sister, my grandmother, more plainly now than ever. I last saw him fifteen years ago, here in this chapel, when he told my family we were no longer welcome. No one ever spoke of it or would ever explain, but I now realize why.

The Bouchards don’t know who he is, but why don’t they?

“Wh—”

“Good afternoon, Mr. and soon-to-be Mrs. Bouchard.” He cuts me off, sweeping into the room with a flourish of his robes. He stares at me intently, looking me up and down for only a moment before flitting to Niko, but I’m used to silent communication from aggressive men, and I know how to read “shut the fuck up” in body language.

I’m not the last Gemelli.

The truth of that statement is surprisingly freeing. Perhaps I was attributing some kind of magic to an almost dead name and the power of all that loss. Now that Marco is in front of me, real and alive, some of that mystique is gone. Should I want to jump into his arms? I don’t. All I want to do is figure out what he’s up to.

While Niko’s back is turned, he shakes his head at me, quick, small, definitive. It’s almost the exact way Niko broke up with me, except it says we both know but don’t dare reveal me, and for right now, I don’t see any reason to. Other than the nagging in my heart that tells me not to lie to the man I lo—. I hate him. I can lie to a man I hate.

“Nikolai.” His voice holds more gravel than I remember. “You didn’t tell me you were marrying the Gemelli princess. This certainly complicates matters. Won’t her father want to be here? Since yours can’t.”

There’s definite judgment in his tone, and the look he gave me a moment before is a distant memory. He’s regarding me as an oddity, something perhaps not worth all the effort.

“No, Stefan has nothing to do with this.” He tucks me even tighter to his side like he’s wary of my uncle, and I’m not sure I disagree with his assessment.

“What about when Stefan finds out you’ve run away together?” He watches my reaction, not Niko’s. I’m not stupid enough to trust him just because he’s my uncle, so I don’t react in any way.

This man is probably the last person on earth I’m blood-related to, but I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. I’ve been a valuable pawn long enough to know when someone is scheming ways to move me across the board.

“I’m not concerned about Stefan’s reaction.” Niko puffs up like the mere suggestion has him ready to fight.

Marco knows my father’s dead, doesn’t he?

May he rest in peace.

“I didn’t peg you for suicidal, Mr. Bouchard.” He looks at me again, and his eyes say too much, but it’s nothing I can decipher.

“Does Stefan serve as the cause of death in your analogy?” Niko asks.

“If he were still alive, that would be your father.” The grave look Marco gives Niko leaves it ambiguous whether he means the statement as a threat or not.

“Ah, but he’s dead. We aren’t getting nostalgic for old times, are we?”

“’Tis the folly of an old man.” He shrugs and plasters on a fake and amicable smile. “Shall we get this done before someone catches us?”

I’ve never been so sure in my life someone is up to something, but who am I ultimately loyal to? Who is my uncle?

“Please, I’ve been waiting to marry this woman forever.” He squeezes my hand and looks at me with true excitement and love. I try to return it, but I think my smile cracks on my face.

Niko gestures for my uncle Marco “Father DiMarco” to go ahead of us, and he takes his place behind the pulpit.

My uncle opens an old Bible and starts the prayers. It’s Catholic and traditional like I wanted, and by the time we say I do, I’m overwhelmed by a spiritual connection with Niko. There's a timeless power in the rituals and vows. I love him and have for years beyond all reason. The teenage girl in me wants to be bound to him, and I’m not so sure she and I are different people but two parts of a whole.

We slide rings onto each other's fingers, and I smile so hard my face nearly breaks when I see the band fits the gorgeous engagement ring to form a set. We kiss, and it’s like being alive again for the first time in so long, truly able to breathe. Tears well in my eyes as all these silly teen dreams I once had are realized, and the burn of loss chases the high.

I look up. My uncle married us, and I’m not sure whether I’ll tell Niko. He’s my husband now, but I still don’t know for sure if I can trust him. Niko hands Marco a marriage license, which I certainly haven’t signed, and the old man signs both as our officiant and our two witnesses with remarkably different sets of handwriting. Did he sign his legal name as the witness? Marco Gemelli?

“I love you so fucking much, Gianna Bouchard,” Niko says as he turns back to me, pulling me into his arms and kissing me again.

I kiss him back, pouring every bit of conflict I feel into the kiss.

“I love you too, Niko. I really do.”

CHAPTER 16

GIANNA

“DID you just say you love me?” Niko asks with a frantic light in his eyes.

“You heard me.” It’s so true it burns in every part of me, passion and shame and far too much for me to admit again so soon. Here in the church I attended with my parents, where he and I married one another.

I’m overwhelmed by the intensity, terrified he’s about to get a knife plunged in his back, and I’m serving as the distraction. I try to pull away from him, but he won’t let me move an inch.

“Niko, please.” My nerves skyrocket. What if my uncle were going to kill him? Now would be the time.

“Please what, Gi? You know how many times I thought about fucking you while I was supposed to be thinking about God? Trying to look up your skirts and waiting until I could get a second alone with you.”

“Priest,” I manage to get out before his lips are back on mine, but he laughs and releases me enough to let me see we’re alone.

“He could come back any time.” My skin itches. I’ve never felt so paranoid. Even when I was left alone in my apartment for so long, I started talking to myself just to combat all the noises I thought I heard.

“Not a problem.”

Niko moves around the room, locking the doors with wooden planks and deadbolts that can’t be turned with a key. We’re alone, and with my uncle no longer in the room, what I saw feels even less real. Did my uncle just marry us, or did I actually go crazy inside my apartment? Is any of this real? He’s back at my side, and his hands on my skin prove this is happening. His lips touch my shoulder, and I base everything else on that.

I love Niko in a senseless, consuming way, but will it be enough when this all shakes out? His hands burn through the fabric of my dress as he teases my skin and touches the curled length of my brown hair.

“I’ve always loved this.”

He tugs, emphasizing his point and tipping my head back to kiss along my neck before dropping to his knees. He lifts my skirt until he’s exposed my panties.

“This pretty cunt is mine.” He presses his face to me, inhaling and groaning. “All fucking mine.”

He stands, catching me by surprise when he grabs my thighs and lifts me into his arms. He’s so much bigger than me, even more so than when we were kids, and the breadth of my husband's shoulders alone has me wet. And the way my legs spread around him? I don’t know when the guilt and shame became a kink, maybe right here in this church, but that agony fuels this in the most intense way.

He massages my ass as he walks us a few feet and then gently places me on top of the altar. The cold stone touches my ass, and I immediately try to hop down, horrified by the prospect of what he’s suggesting, but he holds me in place.

“You're my wife now, Gianna, and I’m going to do what I want with you.”

“You can’t.”

“But I can.”

It would be so much easier if I didn’t also want it. He pushes me down by my throat, gentle but dominating. My back hitting the stone is a final tap out. I can’t keep fighting him. The cold sinks through my dress and raises chills all over my body.

His one hand remains around my throat, squeezing until the buzzing faintness of lightheadedness rushes through me. His hands burn as my head swims, and they slip over me, groping and squeezing like he can’t touch enough of me fast enough. I feel like an offering to the devil when he pulls my tits out of the top of my dress.

They're cold for only a moment before his hot mouth is on them, sucking, kissing, lavishing my nipples the way he does my pussy. I’m of two minds, desperate to have his bare skin pressed against mine but relieved when he makes no further moves to strip me naked.

His hand is still around my throat, blocking the blood to my brain rather than my breath. I’m equally relieved when he pulls his hard cock out of his pants but doesn't drop them. I should be wearing stockings and a fancy garter for him to take off, but so much is wrong with this day that it’s best I not keep track.

“You’re so beautiful, Mrs. Bouchard. Every single thing I’ve wanted.”

I gasp at the raw intensity of his gaze, dragging air through my constricted throat. The truth in his words is the blood missing from my brain, and he becomes everything. Niko has never lied to me, but I can’t say the same. That shame burns through me again as I decide not to speak up about my uncle, but it fades into the back of my head as the pressure on my throat gives me a weightless buzz.

Niko slides my panties to the side and lines the thick head of his cock up with my wet pussy, and I expect a slow tease, a stroke to my clit, like he usually does. Apparently, he’s as desperate as I am, and neither of us needs it. He’s inside me a moment later, stretching me as far as possible. My pussy is so tight around him it aches and ripples to adjust, but I’m so wet he finds no resistance. I moan much louder than I intend, overwhelmed by him. He squeezes my throat harder, trapping the sound inside.

He pumps into me, closing his eyes and grunting. His eyes twitch behind the lids, and his unconscious pleasure practically undoes me. He recovers, picking up the pace of his hips, savagely kissing and biting my lips, controlling where my lips land with the hand at my throat.

“Finally. Fucking. Mine,” he grits as his other hand digs into the soft flesh of my hips, and I whine, partially because it feels good but also because I’m his. “No one is ever going to take you from me.”

“Yours,” I agree. The word comes out quiet and half strangled, but I only say it out loud because I’m afraid of what might happen in the face of all that unmet intensity.

“Fucking love you, would die for you, kill anyone before I let them touch you.”

He’s telling the truth, and no matter how much it hurts me, that assurance sinks deep into my soul where it plans to stay. His hand stays in place, serving as the collar around my throat in the absence of the leather he’s grown so fond of. Before I come, I look up at the crucifix hanging on the wall and wonder if my faith will be enough to keep my soul intact. Spots of color dance in my vision, painting Jesus in technicolor.

I married my parents' killer, but Niko’s my savior from a cold and lonely existence. Will God judge me for making the best out of an awful situation? Probably not, but He might judge me for enjoying it so much, and I really do.

I come moments later, and Niko’s right behind me. The franticness between us and the location are more than enough to speed his thrusts. The hot rush of his cum fills me, and he forces himself to fuck through the orgasm, thrusting into me slowly. He pulls out when he’s empty and soft. His hand remains around my throat as he watches my pussy leak onto the stone altar. Behind it dribbles a trail of my shame and joy, both of them too intense to contain within a single person without bursting.

He lifts me into his arms, wraps my thighs around his back, and I wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me back to the car, leaking cum onto his suit.

After the wedding, we go back to his winery and shower together. It’s different this time than the first one. For one, we fuck in a different position, and for another, he doesn’t force me. I come twice more before he’s done with me, and the feel-good chemicals have me high off my ass.

We dry off and lay naked in bed together, holding one another until we wind up screwing again. He eats my pussy twice. The whole time, I’m totally blissed out, but in the back of my mind, I can’t help thinking, should I have told him about Marco? Should I tell him right now? Should I have done this at all? Am I going to wind up burning in hell?

I’ve decided to accept that my parents were going to die either way and this was the only way to save me, but part of that old family loyalty won’t die. And even though I love Niko, even though he’s my husband now, part of me wants to see the Gemellis come out on top. I can’t quell the hope that I may have other options for a family. The guilt of that is the worst of all because it’s not just a betrayal to Niko but my heart as well. My heart wants him as my family.

CHAPTER 17

GIANNA

NIKO LEADS me downstairs hours later to a lovely dinner spread on the dining room table.

“You do have staff!” I accuse, wondering when they came and if they heard any of my screaming.

“Of course I do. This place doesn’t run itself.” He puffs up with pride as he does every time we discuss his business. I want to ask him more about it. What is his daily life like outside of all this insanity and passion between us?

“I meant in the house.” He’s got a vacuuming and mopping robot on every floor, but I’ve not seen anyone but him in the week I’ve been here.

“Oh, well, I don’t really. They sent this over from the restaurant, but it’s Michelin-starred. You should enjoy it.”

“You have a Michelin-starred restaurant?” I ask with my eyes wide and properly shocked.

“No, the chef who owns the business and I have just worked out a very profitable arrangement whereby he operates on my property, and it allows me to get this treatment whenever I like.”

“Can we go and eat there in person sometime?”

“Of course, in a few weeks, when everything is settled, we can go anywhere you want, whenever you want, within reason.”

The thought of that is so appealing; it doesn’t sound real, but everything really looks amazing. So when he pulls out a chair for me, I take it with a smile. I expect him to sit on the opposite side, which is already set for him, but he moves everything to sit next to me.

He smiles as he does, and I smile back, a giddy lightness filling my chest before the guilt shoves it back down.

“This is weird,” I tell him.

“This is dinner.” He disagrees and points at the wine. I know he won’t relax until I take a sip, so I do and make a little noise of pleasure. He really does wine well.

“This is the most normal day we’ve ever had, and given you had to smuggle me into a monastery and then fucked me on the altar, that’s really saying something about us as a couple.”

“We’re a couple?” he asks with a stupid little smile that warms my heart and breaks it all at once.

“We’re married, Niko. Of course we’re a couple.” I gesture back and forth between the two of us and roll my eyes, trying to dismiss some of this new connection before it takes over every part of me.

“It’s not really the same thing, and you know it.” Neither of our parents had happy marriages, though my parents did stay together. I’m not sure if they ever loved each other or if it was a convenient match. They never told me, and I can’t ask now.

“It is to me. I don’t believe in divorce, and after what we did on that altar, I’d rather not offend God anymore by sacking you. I’ll be taking my husband to hell with me, I suppose.”

He doesn’t laugh at my joke right away, and he’s quiet for a minute too long. There’s amusement in his voice when he finally speaks.

“You don’t believe in divorce?”

My cheeks glow.

“I don’t have an opinion for other people, but for myself, no. Though I am regretting my choices right now.”

He laughs outright, and I consider getting up from the table.

“Let me get this straight?” he insists, and I do stand, but he grabs my hand before I can go. “You married me today, planning to remain so for the rest of your life?”

I pick up my knife, which is just as sharp as the one I used to accidentally flay Antonine.

“And it’s up to you how long that might be. Death can do its part right now, Niko.”

“I’m glad to hear you plan to stay in this marriage, and I suppose I’ll stop instigating you for the purpose of a long union.”

A flash of fear shoots through me because I’m not sure he’ll want me anymore when the truth comes out, and it always does.

“Oh?” I put the knife back down before I accidentally kill a second person. Instigating me is his favorite pastime, and I scarcely believe he plans to stop.

“I had similar intentions for our marriage. I just assumed you’d be difficult,” he tells me as I sit back down. I’m too hungry to storm out.

“So you’ve been planning to force me to stay married to you even if I wanted a divorce?” He doesn’t look as concerned as he should.

“You haven’t eaten since breakfast. We can talk about that later or not since it doesn’t matter. You don’t believe in divorce.” He laughs again.

“Stop laughing at me!”

“I’m sorry, Gi, it’s just the very first time your belief in God has done me any favors.”

“It is most certainly not. You’re just too arrogant to see it.”

“I am arrogant.”

I’m inclined to keep arguing with him, but the food smells so good, and I am starving. I’m pretty sure God himself couldn’t humble this man, but a panic attack bowls him over.

“What are we having?” I ask, aiming for pleasantness.

“The pork is raised in-house. I’m very proud of my pigs. They’re fed only the finest things with an occasional treat, and their meat is bar none. The sauce is a wine reduction made from one of our sweet reds. The haricot vert were also grown on the property, and the whipped potatoes are the best I’ve ever had.”

“This looks amazing.” I cut myself a piece of pork, and it’s beautifully cooked. I gather a little bit of everything, make myself the perfect bite, and moan out loud as it hits my tongue. “Wow. Are you telling me we can eat like this every night?”

“Most nights,” he agrees with a smile in his voice rather than a laugh. My happiness reflects on his face rather than amusement at my embarrassment.

“I’ve had nothing but cold takeout for months. I forgot how much I like food.” I’m just musing and chatting with him, not even thinking that what I said sounds odd.

He pauses. The tension in the air suddenly thick.

“What do you mean by that exactly, Gianna?” His sharp gray eyes stick to my face as he awaits my answer.

“Well, I couldn’t order groceries since it was a security risk to have people coming and going from my apartment. My father wanted it to look like no one lived there, avoid windows, etc. Even my packages were sent to his house and then delivered to me through Carlo.

“I could have Carlo pick them up, but he didn’t often have time, and it gets depressing cooking meals for yourself. Mostly, I just wound up eating whatever he grabbed for me that day. Usually something from the restaurant in my building, but no one was allowed to come up, so I just waited for him.”

I don’t want to remember how grim my life was before last week. I don’t want to be grateful to Niko, but how could I not when he sees me, loves me, took me when I needed him, and married me knowing I wasn’t doing it for the right reasons?

“You were imprisoned,” he summarizes.

“No, I—” But I’m not sure where I could even argue his point from. ‘My father was trying to protect me’ sounds so weak with his deal with Domalachego in play.

Holding a grudge against my husband is becoming more and more impossible. Hell, feeding me like this alone would make hating him hard but with all those things together? Time and time again, he’s proven I mean the world to him.

Now I’m keeping a secret that could cost his life. Is that why it’s suddenly so easy to love and forgive him? Because I know I’m doing a worse wrong to him than he would ever do to me. He may have killed my parents, but he’s always put me first. I’ve never done the same for him, and that thought cuts me to my core. I want to be the person who puts him first, but can I?

I don’t muster the courage to tell him and ruin whatever this is between us. I’m on the verge of a panic attack just trying to make sense of it all when he mutters to himself.

“Should feed Carlo to the pigs as well for taking such shit care of you.”

He cuts off another bite of pork, shoving it into his mouth and chewing with much more oomph than before. I’m sure I’ve misheard him. He didn’t say as well. Half of the pork on my plate is already gone.

“What did you say?”

He rolls his eyes as he takes another bite.

“I didn’t mean to insult your beloved Carlo, and I won’t kill him if the idea offends you so much. But please admit he’s done a shit job taking care of you. If you think lowly enough of yourself to argue that was sufficient, I'll explode.”

Part of me agrees, but I’m not ready to admit that. I think Carlo tried his best. I want him to have tried his best because the alternatives are too depressing, but that is really not the issue right now.

“Nikolai, these are the pigs you raised, yes?” I point between our plates, trying to keep down the nausea clawing up my throat.

“Of course.” His shoulders rise, and I’ve offended his ego again. “Is there something wrong with it?”

He tries to grab my plate, but I stop him. There’s nothing wrong with the preparation of the food.

“You said you should have fed him to the pigs also.”

His brow furrows as he tries to figure out what I’m talking about, and he only gets more frustrated. “Yeah, I’m murderously angry that he let you suffer. Your suffering upsets me. What is your problem?”

“My problem is the pork!”

“The Michelin-starred pork you just called excellent and asked to eat every night? That pork?”

“Yes!” I’m about to pick up my knife and threaten him again. Is he fucking with me, or is he really this clueless?

“You haven’t eaten anything today, and if you don’t stop poking your dinner instead of eating it, you’re seriously going to piss me off.”

I don’t even touch on that.

“Did you feed people to the pigs we are eating right now?”

I shove the meat with my fork for emphasis. He shakes his head rapidly, but it’s not a denial, more like a fit. His eyes widen as he shrugs and shakes his hands. I’ve really set him off this time.

“I already told you I give them treats!” he shouts, but it doesn’t scare me. Niko is just temperamental. I know without a doubt he won’t hurt me. He’s done everything to keep me safe.

“Who the fuck did you feed to the pigs, Niko?!” I slam the cutlery down, absolutely unwilling to eat another bite. If he thinks he’s the only one who can muster up a good tantrum, he’s got another thing coming. I’m supposed to be a Mafia princess, and he made me a goddamn cannibal.

“Quite a few people, but no one to whom you have any attachments.” His tone says that should be more than enough consolation.

“So we’re eating people right now?!”

I shriek, and he slams his own cutlery.

“That’s an awfully melodramatic view of things. You eat mushrooms, many of which grow on rotting things. I feed them fresh meat at least.”

The entire room is quiet for about thirty seconds before I shout at the top of my lungs.

“Meat? People are meat to you, Nikolai?!”

“The muscle is once they’re dead, technically. I’m not going to fucking eat them, but I’m also not going to sit here precious about the circle of life.”

“You feeding Mafia hits to your pigs is not the ‘circle of life.’”

“Get over yourself and eat your dinner, princess.”

I never realized he was psychotic. An anal-retentive egomaniac, sure, but I thought the serious derangement that affects Pax had skipped him. I see now that I was gravely wrong.

“I’m not eating your murder victims.”

“No one is asking you to. I’m asking you to eat a beautiful Michelin-starred meal on our wedding night, and you’re being impossible.”

He fed the Michelin reviewer human pork. Does his chef know? I’m suddenly certain he does not. Oh dear God. I make the sign of the cross and say a Hail Mary.

“Feel better now? Eat.”

“No. You’re right. I am impossible because I’m not fucking eating that.” If I wasn’t so angry, I’d snap a picture of his face. Niko hasn’t been told no enough in his life, and coming from me, that’s saying something.

“You have five seconds to start eating before I make a point.”

“I’m not your kid, and I’m not a captive, and most importantly, I’m not eating your murder pigs.”

“Business pigs,” he mutters under his breath.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

He runs his hands through his hair, and I worry he might rip some out. Which would be a shame, considering it’s so pretty.

“You’re my wife. This is our business. Eat.”

“No. I’m becoming a vegetarian.” I push my chair back. The smell of our previously wonderful dinner now turns my stomach.

“Wouldn’t work. I fertilize the fields with pig shit. Your green beans are murder green beans.” He picks one up off his plate with his hands and takes a bite. “Mm, human flesh and whatever else has died in that field too.”

“You're awful.”

“You’re an awfully precious princess, considering you’ve been in this business your entire life.” What the hell is that supposed to mean? My father’s business may have been illegal, but it was more refined than that.

“I have standards—”

“What you have is five seconds, four, three…” He stares at his watch to measure the ticks accurately. What kind of a psycho wears an analog watch anyway?

I consider arguing. I still have a lot of shit left to say, but I don’t think Niko is planning to use his words. Instead, I jump out of my chair and run. I'm sure I really won’t like what happens when he counts down.

He’s out of his chair faster than I am and slams me face down on the table before I can get anywhere.

My breath whooshes out of my lungs, and before I can refill them, he presses his hips into my ass to keep me in place as he secures my wrists in more leather. Where does he even keep it on him? Once I’m bound, he flips me on my back and reapplies his weight.

“Open your mouth,” he says as he holds my hands above my head. I rage and thrash against him, but he really is absurdly strong, and with his body pressed along mine, I don’t stand a chance.

He uses his free hand to pick up a loose green bean. I do not open my mouth like he demanded, and he pushes it against my lips, giving me the choice of getting covered in butter and herbs or relenting, but I don’t know who the fuck he thinks he married. I turn my head to the side and cringe as it slides along my neck.

I’ve seen too many “you are what you eat” style advertisements to happily chow down. He drops the green bean on my cheek, and I flip my head back and forth until it falls off my face. He stares at me, rage making him look insane. His gaze darts between me and the plate. He picks up a piece of pork and places it between his lips.

“Oh no! Oh no! What the fuck are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer me through the pork. Instead, he holds my nose. I hold out for as long as I can, I really do, but when I open my mouth for a breath, he drops down like a bird diving for prey and shoves the meat between my lips. I would spit it out, but he slaps his hand over my mouth.

“Swallow, or I swear to God I’ll keep you here all night.” And for the first time in our marriage, I bend to Niko’s iron will.

He’s panting as he watches, making sure I swallowed and didn’t squirrel it away. As he stares at me, that light goes out of his eyes, and he seems to return to himself.

“That may have been an overreaction,” he tells me as he unties my wrists.

After he releases me, I simply ignore him and storm off back to the perfect room he’s been keeping me in. I don’t consider going to his. I've only slept there last night and when we napped earlier. I hardly feel comfortable enough to walk into his space, but his expression is pinched when he follows me.

“That fast you don’t want to share a room with me?”

“What are you even talking about? I’m trying to get away from you because you’re fucking crazy!” Who the hell would want to sleep with him? He’d probably force-feed me human flesh in my sleep.

“You married me, princess. You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m aware, but having you on the other side of the house won’t fucking kill you. I might, though.” I have my finger in his face, and he doesn’t look even slightly intimidated.

“I already said I was sorry.” He blinks at me, the picture of false innocence.

“‘That might have been an overreaction’ is not an apology!”

“Okay, it was an overreaction. Is that better?” he asks.

“No, Niko, it’s not.” I turn around, trying to get away from him, but he stays on my ass. He takes up too much space in the room. I can’t get away from him no matter where I turn.

“Fine, Gianna. I’m sorry.” He grabs my shoulders and shakes me, not hard enough to hurt.

“Okay.” I stare off, refusing to engage with him when he’s being like this.

“You’re not going to accept? I apologized!” The simple outrage of that statement tells me everything I need to know.

“Because you’re not sincere. You’re just as irritated with me as I am with you. You’re allowed to be angry, Niko. Maybe if you didn’t bottle it up all the time, you wouldn’t explode like a fucking asshole.”

He takes a deep breath and one step away from me.

“How can I prove I really am sorry? Because I am. That was… my father.” And I do feel a faint flicker of true regret.

“I have no clue, Niko. I’m tired. I’m a wife. I’m a cannibal. I just want to go to bed.”

“What if I were to make good on a promise I really don’t want to? Maybe that will convince you I’m sorry.”

I stop because I can think of only one thing he could mean.

“Let me tell you what happened to Dante.”

CHAPTER 18

NIKO

I GO into the bathroom and grab Gianna a wet towel to wash her face off. She takes it without a word, but I don’t miss the way her hand shakes. She’s so beautiful. She’s my wife. I’m not sure if I’m lucky or not, as I have so much to lose. Maybe it was easier when I was nothing but my father’s hand in the world. Easier but not better, I decide.

I am sorry, though apologies aren’t something I’ve ever received and have a very hard time giving. It’s not a lack of sincerity she feels but my own discomfort, my own feeling of failure that implicitly comes with being wrong.

I return to her side, and she won’t look at me. Her pointed little chin aims toward the other side of the room, and I want to kiss along her jaw so badly. She’s so beautiful. I hate upsetting her, but there’s this determination in her when she’s angry that I can’t help but gravitate toward.

“Here, Gi.” I hand it to her, and she takes it. I would have cleaned her, but it seems like the time to give her some space. In the interest of doing that, I take up the armchair about ten feet away. She looks at me with anger, confusion, and if I’m not imagining things, a trace of longing, like she wanted me near her even after my outburst. She carefully cleans off her face and ties up her hair.

“I need another shower already.” She slides me a suffering look, and I do my best impression of sheepish.

“I’ll wash your hair,” I offer, secretly wanting to do just that. I’ve always loved her hair and wanted to touch and play with it.

“Don’t flirt with me. Tell me what you promised you would, and I’ll consider forgiving you for making me a cannibal and holding me down and force-feeding me.”

I would smile at how adorable she is if not for what I have to tell her. How can she be so principled about certain things but have such forgiving stances on others? She’s a hypocrite but a sweet, wonderful one. I wonder if the full truth of her father will finally put some of that to rest.

“I take no pleasure in hurting you,” I tell her as a preemptive measure to doing exactly that.

“After you just held me down and force-fed me?” she demands. For a moment, I think she might hop off the bed and attack me, and maybe I want her to because how dare she question how I feel about her.

“That didn’t hurt you. It pissed you off and grossed you out, but most importantly, it disrespected you. For all those reasons, I am fucking sorry, but don’t pretend that I ‘hurt’ you.”

I open and close my hands on my knees to keep from getting in her space. Staying away from her those three days was only possible because I thought she hated me and things were unsalvageable. She will never get that kind of distance from me again. I shout it at her with my stance and the way I stare into her eyes.

“Fine!” she shouts, slapping the bed.

“Fine what?”

“Fine, you're sorry. I believe you. Okay?” She says it with the utmost sarcasm, like it means nothing, but I let out a breath. She’s still clearly pissed and not making any move to come near me but believing the apology is the first step to accepting it. “Just tell me what happened to my brother.”

And since there’s no way to avoid it, I do exactly that.

“Dante was out running guns for your father. It was one of the standard runs from what I’ve heard, but it was with new clients.”

“Guns?” She gasps, interrupting me.

Her eyes widen, and her hand flies to her throat. She makes the sign of the cross with the other, and I do everything I can not to roll my eyes. She can believe in whatever she wants and now’s not the time to argue philosophy.

“My brother never ran guns for anyone, especially not my father.” True anger lines her expression. “They didn’t do things like that.”

My brow furrows. What is she talking about? The Gemellis were huge in arms dealings. This makes even less sense than that damn prison of an apartment Stefan sent her to. I’ve looked into the place, and it wasn’t even a residential building. She wasn’t supposed to be living there.

“Of course they did. What do you think they sold?”

She stutters as she speaks. I’ve never heard her sound so unsure of herself. “Imported oil, illegal cheeses and alcohol, immigrants, mostly.”

Not for the first time, I wish I could raise Stefan from the dead and kill him slower. How did he let her go more than thirty years without understanding the truth of her world and the danger aimed at her?

“You’re not an olive oil princess, sweetness. Your empire is built on ammo.”

“I would know,” she says, but she sounds more like she’s trying to convince herself than me. “I-I’m thirty-two years old. I wasn’t that deeply in the dark.”

“Yeah, Gianna, you were. They specialized in guns, military-grade explosives, heavy-duty shit. You didn’t know?”

“I did.” The lie is stupid at this point, and we both know it, but she’s spiraling.

Her reputation as an out-of-touch princess is well-known. Personally, I never found her anywhere near as clueless or spoiled as people would like to paint her. Her family keeping her out of the loop is a given. They kept her away, but not to even clue her in on what their major business is? People get killed a lot less often for olive oil and cheese than they do for guns. She should have understood the danger she was in.

“Do you want me to keep going, or was that revelation enough for one evening?”

“Fuck you, Niko.”

I consider doing just that, but she’s lashing out at me because she’s hurt, and I haven’t even gotten to the worst of it. I choose to be the bigger person for once and just take it. It’s not like I don’t deserve her ire for other reasons.

“Do you want me to leave?” I ask, not trying to be an asshole but rather do what she wants me to for once. We got fucking married today, and despite what she seems to think, all I want in the world is to keep her safe and happy.

She’s quiet for a minute, then the anger melts to sadness, a single tear falls, and she shakes her head.

“I’m sorry. Please tell me what happened.”

“Dante was meeting with…” I hesitate, trying to think of the most diplomatic way to say it. There’s no good way.

“Who the fuck was he meeting, Niko?! Who the fuck was my big brother selling guns and military-grade explosives to?” More tears follow the leader.

“The Russians.”

“The Russians who my father traded me to?” Again, she’s got that sarcastic, disbelieving tone. She wants me to say punk, psych, anything else, but I just can’t do that this time.

“I’m not sure that Domalachego was there when your brother died, but they were his men. They were bringing the weapons back to him. It was his money paying for them.”

The air leaves her lungs, and she doesn’t take a full breath for so long that I start to worry. I get out of the chair to be near her, but she holds up her hands.

“Just, just tell me what happened.”

I want to touch her so badly, bridge this gap between us, comfort her, hold my goddamn wife. There’s only one way she’s going to allow that.

“I wasn’t there, so I don’t know for sure, but by the time your brother's truck exploded, there wasn’t enough of him to bury.”

“An explosion? You’re telling me my brother was blown up?”

Her brows furrow. She’s thinking so hard it looks painful.

“That’s not possible.”

“How did you think he died?”

“A gun, maybe?” So many people in our business are shot. It’s not an unlikely solution, and it would leave Stefan open to pretending he didn’t know what happened. So many people could have a gun, and I have even more questions for the man.

“Why was there no body to bury then, Gianna?”

She’s crying in earnest now, even though she’s silent, and something about the noiseless tears tracking down her cheeks makes it that much harder to bear. She puts her face in her hands.

“How could my father not know what happened?”

I don’t say he did because I don’t think she’s asking me, just mourning the truth of who her father was. I stay silent as she tries to digest it.

“Are you sure it was the Russians?” She wipes her eyes on her sleeves, a frenzied excitement lighting her eyes that I’ll have to promptly kill. “Are you sure they killed my brother? They could have been meeting someone else, maybe faulty wiring in the truck.”

Her desperate innocence is a knife in my heart. I’m not sure how he managed it, but I blame every bit of this on Stefan. My life has been stunted under my father’s thumb, but I’ve lived. I’m starting to see that she hasn’t at all. Why didn’t she work after college? Why were her friends and boyfriends few and far between when she’s beautiful and funny?

“I’m sure, Gi. They bragged about it. Though I doubt the circumstances they painted were accurate, having known Dante well enough. Rather than proving a point by killing him, I think they were trying to be tough, firing a warning shot, and it ignited the goods they paid for.”

Stupid, sloppy, dangerous. Exactly why I want the Bratva out of this area and fast.

“What did my father do?” The certainty in her voice slays me. “He didn’t tell me anything, fine, I was a moron. What did he do once he found out what happened to my brother?”

Why should I have to keep plunging knives into her heart? Didn’t I do enough when I killed this bastard?

“Nothing, Gianna. Absolutely nothing. And I never could figure out why, but I have my suspicions now.”

He had money but fewer men by the day. Dante was his only son, but he was also a hot head with a coke problem, and they were constantly at odds the way Gianna was with her mother. Their family was always fucked up, and I say that having been raised by Alexandre and having Pax for a brother.

“And what are your suspicions, Niko?”

I might be wrong for suggesting something so awful when I have no way to prove the truth, but Domalachego waiting in the burned-out hull of the building makes a lot more sense under these circumstances.

“I am of the impression that he made that deal with Domalachego a lot longer ago than you were led to believe. Five years ago, when your brother died, your father did nothing, and the Russians suddenly backed off.”

“You think Domalachego would wait that long? That he would agree to back off for five years and wait all that time to collect?”

If the deal was good enough, I do.

“If you were intended for someone other than him. It’s very possible.”

“Like whom?”

“One of his sons. They’re both near your age, and Domalachego was old enough and had two heirs. He was married, so he didn’t need you for himself.”

She slaps her thighs again, and I don’t know what I’ve done to upset her now.

“He has two sons?”

“Yes.”

“Then why the hell would he need between three and eight children with me?”

The world tilts on its axis at the mere suggestion of her bearing someone else’s children. I want to rip into his throat with my bare teeth at the thought.

“He wouldn’t,” I insist.

“That was part of the deal. My father told me.”

“Then I feel confident saying Domalachego never intended to marry you himself. Though whether your father knew the truth or not is a separate matter.”

“There’s no way he made a deal to marry me off five years ago.”

“I am truly sorry, Gianna.” So much more so than I was over holding you down and force-feeding you when you’re obviously hungry.

“My mother. My mother can’t know, couldn’t have known,” she corrects herself, choking on her tears. “She loved him so much. He was her favorite. She, she wouldn’t let my father—” Her sob cuts her words off. She falls to her side, rolling face-first into the mattress and letting the duvet take her tears.

“I don’t know, Gi. I really don’t know her part in all of it, but you’re probably right. She didn’t know.”

I have to leave her something to hang on to whether or not I believe it. I can’t keep my distance anymore. I’m at her side, touching her back, and she leans into it instead of shying away, which alone fills me with selfish happiness.

She rolls onto her side, looking at me through tearstained lashes.

“My father has barely looked at me since Dante died, barely spoken to me. I’ve been practically alone for five years. Why? Why did he do this to me?”

I sigh, unable to keep my frustration in because I think I know, but I can’t stand hurting her more.

“I assumed it was out of weakness and guilt,” I tell her, hoping to leave it at that.

“Assumed?”

“I have a different opinion now.”

“And what the fuck is that, Niko? Please don’t be shy now that there’s no food to force down my throat.” I remind myself she’s picking at me because she’s hurting, and keep telling her what she thinks she wants to know.

“I think he was cutting his losses.”

“Maybe he was just too scared to retaliate and too ashamed to face me.”

“That’s possible, though I now regret not asking Domalachego more about it. Even his denials might have told us a lot about your father’s scheming.”

“Why do you say it like that? My father wasn’t some kind of disloyal—” She sounds offended, but she can’t even finish her own defense of him because that’s exactly what he was.

“I worry there may be more traps laid for us to stumble into. We don’t know the full extent of the promises he made in your name. There may be more than just Domalachego out there.”

An intense look of pain or fear flashes across her face. I grab her wrist, pull her closer, and gather her in my arms.

“What's wrong?” I tip her face until she has to look at me, but what I see in her eyes brings me no comfort. “Tell me, I’ll keep you safe.”

But she doesn’t, and she doesn’t say anything as I help her into her pajamas and lay beside her. I don’t try to fuck her again, even if I’d like to. Whatever is going on inside her right now needs to have room to play itself out.

She lies beside me, her back tucked into my front, and my nose rests in her hair.

“Don’t be afraid, Gi. I’ll protect you.” Instead of relaxing into me, her body just tightens up more. Something is terribly wrong, and for some reason I can’t explain, I don’t think this is about her brother.

CHAPTER 19

NIKO

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I’m back to work and hating the fact my life isn’t simply rolling around with Gianna all the time. We should be drinking wine across France and Italy on our honeymoon, enjoying amazing food and beautiful art. I’m feeling even more trapped than I did when my father was alive as I sit in my office.

When he was the boss, I had much less input but also significantly more free time. I flip through papers, not actually reading them as I replay the night I made Gianna suck me off with the leash around her throat. Things have changed so much between us, but I will be getting her back on that leash. My fantasies have my cock hard enough that I’m about to go find her when my phone rings.

Unknown number flashes across the screen, which I would ignore on a normal day, but the fine hairs on my neck stand, and I’ve learned it’s unwise to ignore what remains of our animal instincts.

“Hello.” I press the phone to my ear.

“Mr. Bouchard.” The thick Russian accent and gravelly voice betray Domalachego immediately. Though how he got my personal number is a mystery.

“What can I do for you this morning, Mr. Domalachego?”

Hearing from him wasn’t something I planned for. My palms sweat, and the only reason I can imagine for his call is my marriage to a certain Mafia princess. I’m not afraid of him for my sake, but the fear of losing her is that much more extreme now that I truly have her. Did DiMarco talk that fast? It seems absurd that someone would be willing to toss their own life away so quickly, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen someone do it.

I’m prepared for a fight, but I’d prefer to be more than that, hungry for the conflict by the time it comes, with loyal men inclined to follow me for something more than money. That may be an even more immature dream than when I hoped to win over Gianna. Which was a success if I’m keeping score.

I’m thinking of her instead of plotting ahead of my enemy. Gianna has only been here for a little over a week and I’m too emotionally involved and distracted with her to deal with Domalachego. Once again, I wish Pax had chosen a different time to kill our father or maybe that I loved her just a little less.

“You and I have a problem, and I would like to speak face-to-face to settle it.” The rushing wind tells me he’s outside, by water?

Fucking DiMarco spilled his guts.

Instead of talking and causing myself more problems, I take a slow, steady breath, remembering how unwise it would be for DiMarco to risk himself. He’d lose his life’s work with the church as well as his position in the Bouchard organization. Which, as the territories confessor, is one of immense knowledge and power.

I still haven’t decided whether my father was wise or a fool to keep him so close. The idea of a confessor at all seems like something men made up to take advantage of one another. Giving someone all your secrets is handing them a loaded gun. Somehow I doubt my father ever confessed his sins.

“What did you have in mind? I’m quite busy with my new organization.” I want to say, fuck off, I have work to do, but I’m still not decided on the fine details of getting him and his men the hell out of my territory.

“Oh, I’m sure you are. It’s always a chore stepping into your father’s shoes before you’re ready.”

I’m in my midthirties and stood taller than my father when he died. Now that I have Gianna as my wife, I actually believe I can do a better job wearing them. She might have been too innocent, but she’s far from stupid, and she makes me a better man. I’m not grabbing the bait he’s dangling.

“I’ve heard your sons are ready for their own chance to wear yours.” I lay some of my own, wondering if he might bite first.

If rumor is to be believed, which it’s often not, the sons are even worse than their father. The ruthless bastards are looking to put a bullet in him the first chance they get. Pax pops into my mind with that thought, and I realize I haven’t heard a word from him since the funeral. It’s weird for him to be quiet for so long when we usually check in with one another constantly.

“Enough chitchat, Mr. Bouchard. Like I said, we have a problem. Meet me on my territory so we can discuss the matter. I’ll send you the coordinates.”

I don’t argue with the use of his territory, but I’ll be registering my issues soon enough. He’s going to get the fuck out of here.

“Coordinates? Why don’t you just send me the address?”

“Well, the fucking riverbank doesn’t have an official address does it?” he barks as if I should know why he’s calling and where he’s calling me from.

“Not sure what your territory has to do with me.” And I hope he can hear the quotations in my voice. “Sounds like you’re trying to toss me in the river. I don’t want to make things so easy for you.”

There’s no hint of amusement from him, and I’m not surprised. He seems like he’s even more miserable than I am, at least since the Gemellis disappeared.

“You are not the body in the river I am concerned about.”

What body floated up in the river?

“I wish I could say I knew what you were referring to, but I don’t. I’m very busy. I ought to go and let you deal with your own issues while I deal with mine.”

If it were someone else, I would just hang up and go about my business as I said, but because this is about Gianna, I wait.

“You and I have a unique opportunity to start fresh here, Mr. Bouchard. Our families don’t have ninety years of history. My sons and I are our own family, and as of now, you don’t have a feud with us.”

I won’t be having a feud, I’ll be putting their heads on spikes the first chance I get, but for right now, Gianna is the chink in my armor, and she’s a big one.

“Text me your coordinates. I’ll be there when I can.”

“I wouldn’t make me wait too long.”

The line goes dead. I’m not afraid of him. My own father was the worst man I’ve ever known. But I can’t dislodge this deep sense of dread that our situation is darker and more twisted than I’ve given it credit for. How many ways can I be fucked before I start to give the universe her due?

Two hours later, I arrive at the riverbank. The coordinates he gave me were exactly one hour from my house, and while I didn’t actually need to wait, I wanted to impress that my time was my own and he would not make my schedule.

When I roll up, I’m surprised to find a dozen men. They’re all holding guns, but none of them take a particularly aggressive stance as they see me park. The last time Domalachego and I met, we were alone. Stupidly, I assumed this was a similar situation. A meeting of men who know the truth, not one for the masses.

I realize as I step out of the car that there’s a man tied to a metal folding chair placed right on top of the rocky shoreline. His head hangs at an odd angle, fingers are missing, and he’s dead. At first, I assume this is what I’ve been called about, but the tortured man has nothing to do with me. The Medeiros family crest on his chest is a shock. All but one or two old women from their line are dead. There’s no reason for anyone to get that tattoo now.

I’m staring at the man, so I don’t realize right away that there’s another body. One of the nuns from the monastery, which is upriver from here. Fucking hell, Pax. He’s only been in charge of priests and nuns for two days, and one’s already dead in enemy territory.

She’s much deader than this fresh victim who might have been alive for me to question if I hadn’t dragged my feet. Her habit barely hangs on to limp, wet hair. She’s waterlogged and strangled. That looks like my brother’s handiwork.

“I’m a Catholic, Mr. Bouchard,” Domalachego says as he steps up to my side.

“I was raised one,” I hedge, finding that many current practitioners are offended by my apostasy.

“So you might understand why I’m so offended by seeing one of Christ’s brides defiled like this in my territory.”

“I can see how one might find it upsetting.” Her eyes are closed, her body covered in a cloth to give her a hint more modesty, but the white sheet is fairly sheer with the water and corpse ooze soaking into it. It’s not quite blood that’s left inside her. She’s still wearing her full nun getup, which lends even further to this being my brother. His murders don’t include sex crimes as far as I know.

“But it doesn’t upset you.” He points his dark eyes at me, the scar on his face a deeper purple than I’d seen it last time, perhaps with his anger.

“There aren’t many things that do, I’m afraid, but I agree fully that this is unacceptable. She’ll get the proper burial she deserves, and all will be made right again.”

“You and I have a very different opinion of right,” he tells me with judgment thick in his tone.

“Oh, of that, I have no doubt.”

I wave to the men surrounding us, implying I count them among the things I disagree with, and in a lot of ways, I do. I despise having staff up my ass.

“I am surprised you came alone,” he tells me, though that wasn’t a plan so much that I thought I'd be better off if I could speak freely. “I suppose that lends some truth to you saying you didn’t know. You wouldn’t intentionally offend me, then come here alone, would you, Mr. Bouchard?”

“No. I wasn’t aware of what we would be discussing. I thought this was about another matter.” I raise my brow, implying I assumed we were discussing the supposedly fine Gemellis. “I didn’t think it required men.”

“No, today we’re working out why nuns from your territory are showing up dead in mine? Why this man over here”—he viciously points in the direction of the corpse—“was dragging her upriver and what that symbol on his chest means.”

He was just condescending to me about our ninety years of family history, as if it had resulted in nothing but bad blood. It also provided knowledge. Why would he know the symbol of a dead crime family? They were gone long before he came to town.

“That symbol on his chest means nothing to me, but as far as the nun goes, it won’t be happening again. I’ll see to it.”

“This is a woman of God, not a street thug. I would have expected better from you. Your father did better.”

“My father wasn’t the man you imagine him to be, but I’ll keep the nuns from washing up.”

He takes a step toward me, and I bristle at the way he crowds my space.

“Don’t make this personal between us, Mr. Bouchard. So far, it’s only business.”

“Did you bring me down here because this girl was murdered or this gentleman over here? Which one do you assume is personal?”

He gestures toward the dead man on the chair.

“That one did say a few things before he died. Ones I wanted to ask you about.”

“Oh?”

“He mentioned a priest from your monastery, DiMarco, but he died before he could say anything else.”

My heart races halfway out of my chest, but I use all my energy to appear calm. What the fuck does DiMarco have to do with this? I need to talk to Pax immediately and tear him a new asshole for this one.

“If this DiMarco is killing nuns, you need to take care of him before I do.”

At this point, I’m not so convinced that would be a bad thing.

“I assure you I will,” I answer sincerely. Partially for the sake of peace and partially because my crazy-ass baby brother is not going to be killing the nuns. I’m putting a stop to his bullshit.

My worry that DiMarco told Domalachego about our wedding is officially gone, but what could the old priest actually be up to? As I’m about to part ways with him, his black eyes catch on my wedding band.

“Since when are you married, Mr. Bouchard?”

“Oh, very recently.” I smile, but internally curse my carelessness.

“Do I know the blushing bride?”

“No. You’ve never met her.” I smile briefly rather than the Cheshire cat one I’d like to give him. Domalachego has never met Gianna.

“Well, congratulations.”

He watches me as I leave, suspicion rooted deep in his eyes. I’m going to kill Pax.

I call my brother as I’m leaving and he ignores my first call. Fucking dick. I call again and finally get him. He’s acting weird, and he sounds it too. He tells me he’s not killing nuns, he’s fucking multiples of them, and then he finally agrees to meet me. Weird nun-murdering bastard.

Finally, I arrive at the restaurant and wait long enough to piss me off. As I’m looking around and noticing how exposed my position is, I call a few of the soldiers I hired to come inside. I’m cagey and distrustful of everyone and everything, including my baby brother who wasn’t even in charge two days before everything went to shit. It’s almost like he’s doing it on purpose.

When he arrives, we sit together for only a few minutes. I spin him a twisted version of the truth, and while he acts strange. I’m not sure what he’s actually up to, but whatever vulnerability or closeness we developed through dads death is resolutely gone.

He says something about Gianna and my affection for her. It’s been months since he brought her up to me, and the fact he would now makes me that much more suspicious of him. I see a look in his eyes that tells me he thinks he can take me. That he might try it. I might have to kill him.

I leave my brother feeling lonelier and more suspicious than I’ve been in a long time.

CHAPTER 20

GIANNA

IT’S BEEN two days since Niko returned from his meeting by the river with Domalachego and then his brother. Three days since we got married and he told me the truth about my brother. The stress weighs on both of us. Not only do I feel bad for his suffering but I’m also partially responsible for it.

I’m not acting like myself, constantly torn between overwhelming feelings of love for him and guilt, spending hours wondering if I have Stockholm syndrome. This marriage feels like all my childish fantasies come to life, and much like they did when I was a teen, they come at the expense of my family. But is Niko really my family now?

I haven’t told Niko about my uncle because I’m still not sure about our relationship. What if he suddenly backpedals and all this respect and obsession flies out the window? Should I really cut off my only exit strategy, if it is one, that doesn’t involve Domalachego himself? This feels amazing right now, and I don’t want it to end, but my life has been a series of startling and bloody disappointments. Why should this be different?

I’m struggling with what I learned about my brother’s death and what it means about who my father was as a man. I wish I could say I thought Niko was lying to me, but I don’t.

We fuck constantly, multiple times a day and on every surface. The thin golden chain stays in place around my neck but the collar and leash hang between us despite not coming back on yet. The sex not only gives me the feel-good chemicals I so desperately need, but it makes me feel connected to him, to anyone, something I missed out on for so long stuffed inside that apartment.

After one such occasion, we’re lying on the couch.

“Why would someone get a Medeiros family seal now?” he asks.

“Maybe he didn’t, maybe he was a child soldier.”

He nods like the suggestion makes sense, but it doesn’t comfort him.

“What, you don’t think so?”

“It was a fresh tattoo, Gi.”

No one but me has any idea how hard a time Niko has been having coming into himself and taking over this role. It makes it sting even worse that I’m betraying him. That part of me is still unsure, that maybe my loyalties do lie with my great-uncle rather than the man I love.

I’m in my head a lot, thinking when we’re not screwing, and sometimes I think he fucks me just to prevent whatever is happening inside me from getting worse. I swear I’m grateful until I remember everything that’s happened between us and why I shouldn’t give into him so fully.

There’s a distance between us despite all the nearness and I know it’s my fault. I feel his tension when he’s beside me and find myself wondering if I shouldn’t just give it all up, but that last shred of mistrust and family loyalty hangs on.

We both agree we should wait to announce our marriage until things have settled, but he’s being so careful with me that I wonder if he hoped I would be offended. I don’t mind being his secret when I’m keeping so many of my own, when I’m not even sure what my truth is anymore.

Domalachego seems to be gearing toward something big, so Niko has been dumping money into manpower and hiring soldiers. They fill the property, and while I’m glad for their presence, the constant march of armed men sets my teeth on edge.

Hundreds of them line the property behind the wall, through the wood line and beyond, where guests of the vineyard can’t see how strapped we are. Niko has told me he may have to temporarily close things down if there’s an all-out war, and the thought of his disappointment makes my heart ache.

“This winery is what I’ve poured my life’s passion into when I couldn’t have what I really wanted, Gi. Every part of this place is inspired by you. I built it hoping I’d get you here with me someday.”

He’s been saying sweet things like this a lot to me lately, and each time he does, I swell with love, then burst with shame that’s so intense it’s nearly crippling. I’m starting to have stronger feelings for my lie than the death of my parents who spent years abandoning and betraying me. My family loyalty is realigning and shifting to Niko, but I still don’t know if I can trust him.

It’s nearing the middle of the night, and we’re still lying on the couch wrapped around each other when there’s a knock on the door. Niko and I sit up. He places my wineglass on the table with his own—he does produce my favorite wine.

“Go in the kitchen and get the knife you used to filet Antonine. It’s in the block.”

My heart skips a beat, and my stomach knots.

“You kept the knife?!” That shouldn’t surprise me, given he fed the body to the pigs, but slipping a murder weapon back into the block to be used on our food is disgusting.

He pulls out his gun, making how seriously he’s taking this situation quite clear. I jump off the couch but stare at the front door, worried it might just open like when Antonine barged in.

“Go.”

I listen to him for once and scurry off into the kitchen and grab the knife, but I hang around the wall so I can see everything that happens.

He looks through the peephole.

“What the fuck?” But he doesn’t sound angry like he would if someone were here to hurt or threaten us.

He opens the door with the gun trained on a man I initially think is Pax, but I quickly realize his hair is wavy instead of curly and his eyes are blue, not green. Pax’s cousin Shane, stands at the door. He’s no relation to Niko, and his resemblance to my murderous brother-in-law would be unsettling even without his existing reputation.

He’s a psychiatrist, and as far as most of the gossiping crime families believe, he killed Pax’s mom while he had her in inpatient care. I don’t know much about him other than that, and I’ve only seen him at church a few times, but he’s always creeped me out.

“Hey, Niko, mind putting the gun down?” His voice is so smooth and charming, and his blue eyes and black hair make him look like a Disney prince. Man, what a crock of shit. A shiver runs down my spine.

Niko does not put the gun down.

“What do you need, Shane? It’s late,” he asks, shifting his body to cover the kitchen in case Shane looks around him, but I find I’m more worried about Niko’s proximity to Shane.

“Well, I committed my first murder, and I figured you were the best person to turn to for help.” His casual tone, the easy smile, and the charm so thick it’s like bubbled-up paint on metal—if he did just kill someone, he and Pax have officially too much in common.

Niko runs his hands through his hair in his frustration, something he usually only does when it's the two of us, betraying a level of comfort with this guy that sets my teeth on edge. He needs to stay highly on his guard, especially given his new position and how quick people will be to take it from him.

“Take them out back and feed them to the pigs. I don’t have time for this shit.” He waves him away, permitting him run of the property and allowing him to feed more bodies to the pigs, which I’ve made my feelings on extremely clear.

“We are not feeding the pigs any more bodies! You stop feeding the pigs bodies, or I don’t eat your food!” I demand as I step out of the doorway holding the knife, but I’m not threatening Niko, rather the creepy fucker standing too close to my husband.

Shane looks up and meets my gaze wearing a wicked smile. His eyes shift to my knife, and his eyebrow subtly lifts in interest.

“That’s not Gianna Gemelli?” he asks, his excitement and interest making him look like a snake sizing up his dinner, deciding whether he’ll live consuming it. He better fucking watch himself. I will cut him.

“Of course not. She’s Gianna Bouchard,” Niko says, and a rush of sweet emotion fills my stomach.

“Pax is going to lose his shit.” Shane laughs, suddenly looking a lot more like someone who just committed a murder. A manic light gleams in his eyes and seems to reflect off his teeth, but it’s just my sense of dread building in his presence.

“You tell Pax anything, and I’ll make sure you’re caught for your crimes.” I can’t see Niko’s face, but his shoulders tense. Niko and Shane are nearly the same height, though Niko beats him out by an inch, but they're both too broad and strong for me to feel certain Niko has the upper hand. I give Shane a harsh glare, and he chuckles as he mimes locking his lips and throwing away the key.

“Niko, you can pretend you hate me all you like, but we both know you passively tolerate me, and I do greatly appreciate your help.”

“I don’t remember saying I would help you once the lady nixed my pig plan.” I’m glad to see he’s keeping him at a distance, but that protective instinct won’t stand down. Something about him makes my skin crawl, just like Pax.

“I have a lovely lady of my own to get back to. Speaking of, how long has he been keeping you here?” He looks directly at me like he might be offering me help. I’ll slice him up worse than I did Antonine, if he even thinks of it.

I look him up and down, letting my opinion of him show. “I’m his wife. I keep him here. Thanks.”

I shift my gaze resolutely away from him and back on my husband, who stares at me with wide eyes. Is that the first time I’ve said it out loud?

“His wife?” Shane asks, even more interested than before. “I thought he was being facetious when he said your last name was Bouchard. You married him?”

“Yep.” I pop the p.

“Well, best wishes.” He tips his head in my direction. “And congratulations to you, Niko. I know you often don’t feel the same, but I consider you a cousin. This is wonderful news.”

He gestures toward us as if it really is a wonderful turn of fate, but I’m sure the creepy bastard is up to something.

“Am I your cousin exclusively when I’m doing you favors, or all the time?” Niko asks, his patience wearing thin.

“No need to be rude, Niko. We can all be friends here.”

Niko turns to me, pointedly looking at my knife.

“Gi, do you want to be Shane’s friend?”

I sure the fuck do not.

“Not particularly. He smells as crazy as your brother.” The stench is all over him, floating off him like a walking red flag.

“Smells crazy?” Shane asks, cocking his head lightly to the side. He’s so handsome and smooth he doesn’t seem real.

“Yeah. It’s on a person. For me, it’s like a smell. You reek.”

He puts a finger to his chin and taps like the phenomenon really fascinates him.

“What does Niko here smell like?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Shrink.” I give him a nasty look before turning back to Niko. “I don’t give a fuck what you do with the bodies, but I mean it. Feed them to the pigs, and I’ll never eat in your Michelin-starred restaurant again.”

“Michelin starred, you say? I’ll have to bring Seraphina.”

The mention of some woman’s name shoots ice through my heart. How many women do the men in this family torture?

“Who’s that?” I ask even though I know I shouldn’t get in deeper with him. It’s a mistake to show interest to someone who enjoys fucking with people’s heads.

“She was a patient of mine, but she’s become quite a bit more.” A dreamy gaze enters his eyes when he speaks of her, and I’d say he looks smitten if I didn’t know he’s too fucked up for that.

“She’s not the body, is she?” I ask.

“No, no she’s not.” But the sly little smile on his face certainly lends to what I was saying about him smelling off. “But I do need your help, Niko, whether it involves the lady’s pigs or not.”

“They’re my fucking pigs,” Niko grits but then looks back at me and stows his anger. “Gianna, I’m taking Shane out back to dispose of the body without the pigs.”

“I’m coming with you,” I insist, and while he tries to argue, he eventually realizes it’s pointless.

I’m not letting him go out into the night with Shane without someone watching his back. He could be the one who winds up disposed of, and despite all my earlier claims of hatred, that’s very far from what I want.

“I promise I won’t feed the body to the pigs. You could be seen. You need to stay behind.”

I step up to his side to whisper in his ear. “I don’t trust him, and you’re not going anywhere without me.”

He grudgingly agrees and sneaks me out of the house through the garage and the extremely tinted windows of his BMW sedan.

He instructs Shane to follow us to one of the barns, and we both pull inside. Niko closes the bay door and locks it before allowing me to get out of the car. I stay quiet, looking around, taking stock of all the farming equipment.

“Not to seem forward,” Shane says, “but are you alright? You seem like something is weighing on you.”

I’m so thrown off by the astute observation that I’m quiet for a minute. I want to tell him he’s wrong or to fuck off, but I can’t even look at him.

“I’m fine.”

“Of course. My mistake,” he answers, but his eyes tell a different story.

“You see those vats over there.” Niko points at a series of blue tanks. “Industrial farming acid. I can afford to lose one for you to dissolve your problems and save the virtue of the lady's pigs.”

“Thank you, Niko,” I tell him sweetly, grateful this night is coming to a close.

“This is very kind of you.” Shane smiles, and it’s really not right that he and Pax are so handsome.

“Not kind. You owe me. I’ll collect eventually,” Niko tells him.

“Of course you will,” Shane says with a sarcastic sigh, revealing a little of the real him beneath the charm. “Leave it to good old Niko to remember every cent he’s owed, right?”

“You’ll owe me big.” Niko squares his shoulders.

Shane gestures toward me. “And your secret here isn’t repayment?”

“She’s hardly a secret, but there’s this little thing called timing. Interfere with mine, and you will wind up dead, Shane. You may play around in your patients' heads and try your hand at murder, but I promise you the people I want dead, die.”

A little of my anxiety dies as he speaks.

“Why be uncivil?” Shane puts his fake voice back on. “I’m just going to dissolve this one body and be on my way.”

We watch as he yanks a blond-haired man out of his trunk, a sling hangs around the victim’s neck, but neither arm is secured. Poor man is a pretty good-looking guy, barring the death pallor.

“Who is he?” Niko asks.

“The question is who was he, and the answer is no one.”

CHAPTER 21

NIKO

THE FOLLOWING DAY, I’m exhausted, angry, and overworked. Shane left promptly after dropping the body in the vat, not even waiting to make sure his first victim fully dissolved, and I’m sure there will be more. He seemed too pleased with himself not to kill again. The man he murdered did eventually turn to a floating fatty goo, and he and the vat remain, seeing as I need a different way to get rid of bodies now.

I pull the collar and leash out of my desk where I put them before our wedding. I thought it was in poor taste to have them on me, and I didn’t want to offend her, but all I can think about this morning is offending her, and I’m so fucking hard at the thought. I track her through the house, following her scent. She just took a shower and put on her perfume, and she’s like a sensual beacon.

When I find her, I know this won’t go well. She’s looking at herself in the mirror, doing her makeup. She is such a pretty princess, and I can’t wait to muss her up. I walk up behind her, the picture of innocence as she applies her lipstick. She smiles at me for one moment before I shove her hips against the counter and wrap the leather around her neck.

The shock on her face makes my dick jump, and she whines when she feels how bad I want her pressing against her ass. She struggles but doesn’t speak as she fights and thrashes like the first time I put it on her. She scratches me a bit, but ultimately, she’s no match for me, and that makes me all the harder. Gianna has to take me the way I want to give it to her.

As she fails to my superior strength, she finally catches my eye in the mirror. She tips her chin up in submission and lets me close the clasp and clip the leash into place.

“God, you’re fucking pretty,” I tell her, lips spread against her skin as I try to taste every inch of her exposed shoulder she’s been teasing me with all morning.

“I thought you weren’t going to keep this up?” Her pout is perfect, and I yank her head to the side to taste that too, kiss and bite her lips. Her hips still dig into the sink in front of her, and she shimmies against the pressure. Her reflection reveals the world’s most suckable tits.

“I don’t know why you thought that when I told you I would.” I yank the leash and force her to turn around. I touch my nose to hers and tease her with a kiss I don’t land. “You don’t trust me to do what I say I’m going to?”

“I trust you, but I’m not some whore for you to play with. I thought you might think better of treating your wife this way.” Her little chin sticks up, and I can’t help but kiss her under her jaw, just on the edge of the collar. She smells so fucking good.

“You’re not a whore. You’re my whore, and playing with you is exactly what you’re here for.”

Her cheeks flood, and she whines in response, so I lead her back to the bed so she can get what she wants rather than embarrassing her more, as she will most certainly accuse later. I climb on, lying flat, and let her take a look at how hard my cock is. I leave some slack in the leash, letting her fall into a false sense of security as she tries to look angry but manages something more like hunger.

“Tell me you don’t want to be my whore.”

“I don’t want to be your—”

I yank the leash, cutting her off.

“Too bad, princess. What’s done is done.”

Instead of making her strip, I yank her by the leash until she’s forced to climb on top of me. My cock slides against her panty-covered pussy, and the wet spot on them tells me how she really feels about being my whore. Then I slide those panties to the side and slip deep inside her.

“Fuck, you’re wet for not wanting to be my little whore,” I groan, my eyes rolling back as I feel every inch of my wife.

“Obviously, it doesn’t matter what I want. I’m yours.”

Yes. The fuck. She. is.

When my phone rings, I ignore it in favor of staying inside her sweet cunt. She’s so tight on me, so good. I dig my fingers into her hips and love the way they leave marks in her soft flesh.

My phone rings again, but I stare at her swaying breasts, where my cock impales her cunt.

“Maybe you should answer it.” Her whole body tenses as the noise distracts her.

“No, Mrs. Bouchard. I should keep fucking you.” I drive my hips into her harder to bring her attention back to me.

Another call, a text. Fucking hell.

“Niko, seriously, who would call you like this if something wasn’t wrong?”

“No one, but I don’t fucking care.”

I thrust into her, but she shifts her hips so I slip out.

“Ow fuck!” I complain.

My hard cock hits her pubic bone. She’s unaffected and giggling as she hops off my cock, grabbing my phone herself. I yank her by the leash, bringing her back to my side, but I stifle my knee-jerk reaction to snatch it from her. She’s entitled to my secrets, which I now worry is just as dangerous as having a confessor, maybe more so.

All the laughter is gone from her voice, and her face pinches in concern. “Niko, get dressed and head down to the restaurant now.”

She’s already putting her own clothes on and she better be removing the temptation of her nakedness because she’s lost her mind if she thinks I’m taking her down to the restaurant now.

“What is it, Gi?” I demand, but she just hands me my phone.

Jean Paul: There’s a man in the restaurant with a gun. Someone called the cops. You need to get down here.

“Fuck!” I shout at the top of my lungs as I launch myself into action, grabbing my clothes and shoving them on. My still wet dick sticks to my underwear. “Fucking goddammit.”

“Who's going to deal with the police? I’m assuming you’re going to talk to whoever is in the restaurant.”

“Domalachego,” I grit the single word, knowing no one else would be stupid enough to try to pull this.

“Domalachego is going to deal with the police, Niko? What the hell are you talking about?”

Pure, blinding rage fills my field of vision, and I want to kill. I would enjoy killing him.

“Police?” I ask, barely having heard what she said.

“Who is getting rid of the fucking police while you deal with Domalachego?”

Her cheeks are still pink from the fucking. Is she suggesting herself? I wouldn’t endanger her in a million years, for anything.

“They won’t show up here. They know better.” I have an understanding with local law enforcement, though I’ll be hearing about those phone calls. Scrubbing them from the 911 operators’ memories might cost a pretty penny.

She relaxes a fraction. Without the threat of police presence, she slows how quickly she’s shoving on her clothes, probably realizing there isn’t a chance in hell she’s coming with me since she doesn’t need to play diplomat with the authorities. I don’t share her relief and only grow angrier by the second. How fucking dare he come here and make a scene. What is he playing at?

I kiss her goodbye at our bedroom door, not wanting her near the front if the property isn’t secure. The restaurant is on the other side of the property, and I would walk if things were leisurely, but I don’t have time to wait, so I drive. A few minutes later, the restaurant comes into view, beautiful with ambient lighting. You wouldn’t even know there was a problem except for the line of frightened restaurant patrons who haven’t been allowed to leave.

My hired guns surround the outside of the building and keep them all in a line.

“They can go,” I tell them. If some of them belong to Domalachego, it really doesn’t matter. This is between him and me now.

I pass my own soldiers and enter the restaurant with off-white walls, deep red, and burnt orange flashes of color. Domalachego sits at a table with a plate of pork so similar to what I served Gi. Beside him rests a pistol on the table as he eats.

I shut the door behind me and watch for a minute, thinking through my plan to shoot him dead right here or possibly kill him with my own hands. He cuts himself a chunk of pork and chews, pretending he didn’t notice my entrance as a shitty power play. I have plenty of time to kill him while he fucks with me. Whether I should or not is the issue, but before I decide to make a move, he speaks.

“How does it feel to be openly disrespected, Mr. Bouchard?” He leans back in his chair and gestures to the room around him. “Do you enjoy the treatment as I have?” The vicious glint in his eyes tells me he’s only more angry since we last spoke, not less. “Is it bitter?”

“I don’t give a fuck how you feel about the nuns in my territory, and you’re not welcome on my territory. How’s that for disrespect?”

“Not bad. You’re ungrateful of my patronage, sure, but you and I both know this isn’t about the nuns. Rather, it’s about you and Stefan believing you can play me for a fool.”

“I assure you no one needs to play you for it. You’re quite naturally talented.” I gesture around to my restaurant. This choice, above all else, proves he’s stupid and suicidal. I’ll make him pay for this.

“Mr. Bouchard, do me a favor and cut the crap. You’re married to Gianna Gemelli, which directly conflicts with arrangements Stefan and I made.”

“We’re not—”

“Five years!” he shouts, cutting me off. “Five years without a realized deal, and you fucking marry her? Do the two of you think I’ll back down that easily? He owes me. Stefan will pay up.”

“You’re wrong about my wife. Whatever deal you had with Stefan is your problem. You should never have trusted a man who would betray his own children. Now that you’ve learned that difficult lesson, you need to leave before you’re dead.”

A wicked flash of excitement lights his dark eyes like he’s daring me to act.

“Oh, trust me. We are not like the Gemellis. If I wind up dead, you will pay for it. My family accepts no trades.”

“I’m not like the Gemellis either. You need to go.”

This is going the way he expected. His eyes shift to his gun, and I think he really considers killing me and being done with it. If he so much as twitches for it, I’m shooting him in the hand.

“What kind of man doesn’t claim his own wife? What kind of a man marries a woman and hides her away because he’s too weak to admit what he’s done?”

I wish I could say something in my own defense, but I have nothing. There’s nothing I want more than to claim that woman and show her off to everyone. I’m not hiding her. I’m protecting her.

“My wife is none of your fucking business, and I know nothing about Stefan.”

He stands, and I pull out my gun in case he makes a move, but there’s an entire restaurant worth of people waiting outside to see what happens. I can’t kill him, not now.

“You still haven’t said out loud that she’s yours, but it’s a relief you’ve stopped denying it.” He steps up to me, but he leaves his gun on the table.

“Fine. She's my wife.” A furious flash in his eyes. “Gianna Bouchard is now my problem. Stefan Gemelli is yours. Let’s not confuse matters.”

I could tell him right now Stefan is dead, but I’ve made a real enemy of Domalachego this time, and it's best if his attention is directed elsewhere.

“Watch yourself, Mr. Bouchard. You have such a beautiful business here and so very much to lose.”

He gestures toward the gun. “A gift from Stefan’s stores, a message.” And he walks out of the restaurant. I pick it up and take a careful look. The gun is Italian-made, but since I’m not crazy, I’m not sure what the message could be.

After my confrontation with Domalachego, I gather my top men and tell them about my marriage to Gianna. That Stefan is missing, and no one knows where he is because I can hardly claim I killed him when there are no bodies, and I can’t say where they’ve gone. With that, I start the war with the Russians.

CHAPTER 22

NIKO

AS THE WEEKS pass and Domalachego gives up hiding behind Stefan’s specter, he makes vicious moves to convert Gemelli territory to his own. News of our marriage travels through the Gemelli men like wildfire. Some of them choose to side with Domalachego, but many arrive at our door, alarmed by the bloodshed and uncertainty of the paychecks coming their way.

Gianna sits in our dining room most of the day, meeting with men who want to give their loyalty to a face they know.

“Serge!” she exclaims as another one of the men enters the room. He’s around Carlo’s age, and by how she greets him, she considers him valuable.

His eyes widen as they dart between her and me.

“I didn’t think it was true. I never imagined Stefan would allow such a union.” After that initial meeting with my top men, it was her idea to take over the lie surrounding her family.

He makes the sign of the cross, and she’s off her feet in an instant. She takes his hands in hers, holding them as she speaks.

“My papa saw the wisdom in joining our families once Alexandre was out of the way. The grudge was never with my husband, you see, and ordering his own brother to perform the hit was just depraved enough to satisfy my father’s need for vengeance. To be killed by both of your own sons and have your empire merged with your enemy is a graver insult than he could have levied on his own. I must admit I think it worked out terribly well for me.”

She gives me a flirtatious little smile and wave that I’d pay a million dollars to be real, but it’s an act. The ultimate hostess, the beauty and softness central in the home. Exactly what she was to her father and Dante, but this time, with someone behind her who believes in her capabilities.

He turns red as his gaze darts to mine. She drops his hands, and he squares his shoulders.

“Domalachego isn’t paying what Gemelli paid, and the work is far worse. Can you offer me better?”

I look at my beautiful wife. Brown curls surround her face, and her deep brown eyes are almost black, coal-lined with red lips like an old movie star. She’s fucking perfect. She’s all of these mens’ fantasies of a good Italian woman, and the glimmer in her eye says to give him something good.

“How would you like to spend some time as security in one of the brothels? We run a tight ship and pay well, but I don’t put young hotheads in there who will wind up raping my girls and fighting men over their egos. It’s a retirement position if you’d like.”

He agrees happily, and we work out a number before he leaves, kissing my wife on both her cheeks.

“That was a good call, Niko. We can expect quite a few more men to show up now. He was one of my father’s capos.”

She’s right, and the numbers steadily tick in our favor. More so as the people who live in this region are starting to notice the violence, something we’ve managed to avoid for years. Powerful businessmen with a lot to lose reach out to me to back my bid now that they see what happens with someone who won’t settle for the status quo.

This was always Domalachego’s plan, and why my father and I worked so hard to keep this from happening five years ago when he first made moves against this area. His own territory is far more grim by all accounts. He wants to turn this cozy slice of life into nothing, a bare path to the port where he can sell drugs and weapons and make more money than God.

I take meetings across town with men who used to pretend organized crime didn’t exist and they pad my pockets even fatter than I could have imagined. I also happen to book several major corporate events for the winery, which I hope to have the time to enjoy, but doubt I will.

I visit my father’s brothels, the major source of his business, for the first time since I was a teen, starting with the convent on the grounds of the monastery that has always kept a couple of call girls mixed in with Christ's brides. I guess the idea being you can get away with a lot if you say you were just communing with God at the monastery. Dimarco pops up at the convent as I’m picking through and pulling out the girls who’d rather not be there anyway.

“Nikolai, what do you think you’re doing?”

He stops me in the hall surrounded by three whores in habits and one girl who just begged me to get her the hell out of here. She didn’t give me any more reason, just that her name was Mary Katherine and she needed to get away.

“I think I’m doing whatever the fuck I want in my own territory, DiMarco. Do you have a problem with that?”

His eyes narrow with murderous intent.

“After your brother has already reduced our numbers so egregiously, I certainly do.”

“Too bad for you, then.”

And I take the women with me, keeping an eye on my back the whole time, but no one argues, and I hear no more about it until I’m at the next brothel dropping them off as replacements for the ones I’m pulling out. The underage girls who didn’t want to be there.

The old madames who have been protecting their girls as best they can for years don’t trust me for shit, not even convinced my father is really dead. It will take time for them to adjust, but like everyone else, they will. I leave each one with half the cut my father took and instructions to make necessary repairs to the girls and decor both.

I take Gianna with me when we leave Mary Katherine at a church outside any of our territories.

“I’m proud of you for that, Niko. It was the right decision.”

She’s been pensive lately. I’m not sure exactly what’s wrong. Whether it’s the weight of everything we’ve had to do or something more complicated. Does she still hate me for what happened with her parents?

“What do you mean?” I’m not sure where she’s going with this, but her serious tone always makes me a little nervous. She can fuck my world up with a couple of words, so it’s important to pay that proper respect.

“You could have left her to keep getting fucked by creepy old men. You could have left the sixteen, seventeen-year-old girls behind. You didn’t need to drive four hours into open territory to leave her somewhere safe.”

“What’s your point exactly?” She sounds like she’s praising me, but there’s something more to her tone than that.

“You know exactly what the right decisions are. You have the right instincts. You are getting us through this, winning this war, and maintaining the fabric of the man I love. I’m proud of you.”

“But…”

“But I’m angry with you because now that I know how capable you are of doing the right thing, I wish you’d done it sooner. I wish you killed your father, even if you still felt you had to kill mine too.”

I grit my teeth, anger coursing through me that isn’t directed at her.

“I do too,” I tell her with all the sincerity in my heart, and neither of us pretends I’m sorry for what I did to Stefan and her mother because I’m not. I do regret the housekeeper, though.

The fact I still haven’t found the bodies weighs on me. If they’re still intact, they’re beyond rotting, and it must be bothering Gianna too. Each day, she gets just a little jumpier and more sensitive to the random things I say. She’s growing into herself beautifully, but there’s still a distinct thread of fear in her that I hope I can weed out eventually. I said something about praying I never become an uncle, and she nearly passed out, leaving me to wonder if my brother’s murders aren’t standing between us.

Other than her strange behavior, she’s wonderful. She’s with me every step of the way, holding my hand all the time, and just the feel of her soft skin calms me down enough to get me through the day better. We talk through our plans together and discuss how we might best deal with the men. She handles the complicated dance of lying to them, and I simply continue my narrative of never liking Stefan to begin with, and now that he’s out of the picture, he’s not my problem.

We’re sitting in the dining room again with an array of guards and our visitors, two recent converts who are starting to doubt the story we’ve laid out for them.

“My father has made it clear this is what he wants,” she tells the two men. “He asked me to marry Niko, and I saw the wisdom in his decision. Combining our families strengthens them.”

The dubious glare in their gazes doesn’t lighten.

“Where is he now?”

There’s only a sliver of distress on her face before it breaks out into a smile, and she pulls out the piles of postcards she has carefully penned in what is an exact match for Stefan’s script.

“Oh, all over.” She flips through the stack, looking for one in particular. “Most of them are personal, but he never tells me where he’s going until after he’s been.”

She pulls out a single card. “Ah, this one.”

The men take it from her and read it over. I happen to know it’s congratulating her on our union and thanking her for being agreeable to something so shocking after so many years of bad blood. He thanks her for being a dutiful daughter.

“That is Stefan’s hand,” the one says to the other.

“Sounds like him too.” They look slightly mollified, but distrust still passes between them.

“Does it really matter, gentlemen? He’s tired of being the boss. He and my mother are on vacation in paradise, and they won’t be paying. You do still need an income, don’t you?”

She giggles this pretty, disarming sound, and they all laugh. I’m impressed by her and stupidly in love with her but also suspicious of when the other shoe is going to drop.

Speaking of shoes dropping, after our confrontation at the monastery, Father DiMarco called to tell me not only did my brother kill one but he kidnapped another. This makes sense of Pax’s shift from constantly around to weeks of near silence, maybe even why he was acting so strange when I caught him with the dead nun, but why did the priest wait so long to tell me?

Since I heard what Pax is up to, I’m sending him on missions just to bother him for making my life harder and test his loyalty. So far, I’ve had him out killing defectors, and he’s happily met the challenge. I’m still leery of the pending confrontation I saw in his eyes the last time I met with him, but he’s being obedient for now, the nun obviously excluded.

That’s the one thing I haven’t told Gianna about because she would want me to go over there and rescue her, and I’m not going to. Not everyone’s problems can be ours. I don’t really give a shit about anyone but her.

Three weeks pass as I war with Domalachego and his men. We work and succeed at securing a real loyal group of men, and everyone discovers Gianna is my wife. Except for Pax, who never wants to talk and only comes when he’s called. I worry I’m actually going to have to go over there and check on my brother very soon.

CHAPTER 23

GIANNA

NIKO and I have been married for almost a month, and I still haven’t told him about my uncle. Things have been better than I could have imagined. He talks to me, confides in me, and trusts me. We fight all the time, but it’s more like bickering, and it seems to bring the best resolutions rather than taking from us. We’re passionate and good together, and I’m a miserable liar.

I just can’t do it anymore. I love him too much to look him in the face and lie to him, to risk his life and let him walk into unknown danger when he would never do the same to me. It doesn’t matter what happens. If he chooses to be done with me this time, so be it, but he needs to know the truth, and so do I. Despite keeping his secrets, I still don’t have a clue why my uncle is living as someone else or what he’s up to.

I’m always lonely when Niko is away. As much as he values my input, he won’t bring me anywhere there may be gunfire, and I miss him on the days he’s gone. Soon enough, I’ll have something to do at all times, and my protection will make sense, but for now, we’re doing this weird dance of people knowing he married the Gemelli princess, but no one being completely sure it’s real. That includes the two of us.

I’m trying to keep busy. I’ve already made dinner—eggplant rollatini, which Violetta used to make for me when I needed a little extra comforting. I hope it has the same effect on him, that my cooking for him makes him forgiving. Niko is explosive by nature, and I’m not afraid he’ll hurt me, but I am afraid of his reaction. I don’t want him to be angry with me. I don’t want him to hate me, and he would be well within his rights to feel both.

There’s nothing to do really. He does have someone come in once a week to clean, so I don’t have anything to scrub my tension out on. I pace the house, starting to make a plan for how I’m going to decorate. I still don’t have a phone, which I’m sure I could ask him to rectify, but so much has been going on that I haven’t thought about it. I have a tablet and have been buying things here and there.

I’m on the upper floor, looking out the window over the gorgeous winery that’s my home now when I see someone moving in the tree line. I step to the side, behind the curtain, hoping they weren’t watching me. My heart speeds, and it’s hard to catch my breath. I search until I find them a little farther back, tucked behind a tree on the edge of the property. Are they, are they waving at me?

I push the curtain aside, squinting as hard as I can. Oh my God, is that Carlo?! It can’t be. Why would he come here like this? I rush to the other side of the house, where I might get a closer view, and find that it is Carlo, hiding in the tree line and waving me out. I hold up my finger, telling him to wait a minute. The security is tighter than ever but it’s pointed at intruders now rather than at the house. I’m no longer a prisoner.

I don’t know why he’s here, but clearly, he has something to say, and I have so many things to ask him. It doesn’t matter what’s happened. I have known Carlo my whole life, and I trust him. I’m happy to see him. I am so excited. Actually, my heart is in my throat as I put on my shoes and think about how I can possibly get past the guns to have a word with him.

The garage has a side door pointed directly toward the woodline, and there are a shortage of soldiers on that side as the house is the most naturally defended. I slip out through the door, and I only see one person on this side of the house, but he’s watching the distance. I am not a prisoner, and I’m not afraid of getting shot, so I do my best to sneak past him without actually creeping.

If I get caught and sent back inside, Carlo can return when Niko is home. But I worried for nothing. He doesn’t turn around, and in no time, I’m in front of the wall, which is much lower here, where the visual of the house doesn’t need to be blocked from the property. Using the bricks as steps and finger holds, I get over the much lower area and slip into the woodline myself.

I pick along the edge until I find Carlo leaning against a tree. His familiar face is a stab in the heart. All the well-known lines seem to have grown deeper in our time apart. His hair and beard have lost the battle to the gray. I run toward him, throwing my arms around him. A silent tear tracks down my cheek as I breathe in his smell, and for the first time since my parents died, I feel like I have something of my old life.

“God, Carlo, I missed you,” I whisper, trying to control the worst of the emotion. He’s never liked tears, making me a terrible appointment for him. I’m always crying.

It’s true that I missed him, but not in the way I used to when he left me alone for days with only a couple of minute visits to break it up. This time, I thought I’d never see him again. There was no use in being angry over all the things he didn’t tell me because our relationship was forever lost. But now he’s standing right here, and I think I’m angry with him too. His face is sterner than I expect as he hugs me for only a moment and pushes me back.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt? What’s happened?” He looks me up and down, clearly expecting some grave injury, and I can’t imagine why. He knew Niko wouldn’t hurt me, knew he was completely obsessed with me and had been for years.

“Yeah, of course I’m alright. You know Niko wouldn’t hurt me. You told him so yourself.”

“He told you that?” he asks, looking back and forth like perhaps this is an ambush and he shouldn’t have trusted me just showing up so easily.

“He tells me everything since I married him.”

I flash him the ring, and he laughs at me. The sound isn’t good-natured or entertained like I’m used to with him, but sharp and cruel.

“You actually married him? Even after Marco told me, I didn’t believe it.” The disgust in his tone is so thick I open and close my mouth, waiting for the right words to come. The casual mention of my uncle’s name throws me for a loop.

“You’ve spoken to Marco?”

“I have, and he’s just as disappointed in you as I am. You should be ashamed of yourself.” I hang my head, trying hard not to let the tears gather in my eyes. I’m not sure if I deserve what he’s saying or not. Maybe I do. Maybe I’ve gotten too much out of my parents’ death, and I just need to suffer more for things to be fair.

“I did what I needed to do, Carlo. It’s not as if I’ve seen you here before today. I don’t know if you know this, but my parents died a month ago. I needed to keep myself safe.” I do believe that I secured my position and kept myself alive like I needed to. And my marriage isn’t the betrayal he wants to act like it is. I believe Niko could have said no and let someone else kill me, but that was the choice he could not live with.

“I know your parents are dead, Gianna,” he answers with a sneer. “And who killed them.”

He already knows. It’s clear in the way he’s looking at me. I don’t answer, and my silence is as loud as if I said my husband.

“He didn’t have a choice.” I continue to defend him because I know without a doubt he wouldn’t have killed them if he had a real option.

“You always have a choice.”

“His choice was to refuse the hit and let the next person kill me. He chose what he thought was the next best option. You don’t have to understand, but you do have to accept it.”

“I think you’d be better off dead than married to the enemy, Gianna.” His words are like a slap in the face, a punch to the gut. Is he not happy at all to see me? Is that why that hug he gave me was so short and forced? Does he wish I died beside my parents?

“Is that why you were okay with me being married off to Domalachego? Why you never said anything even though it was planned years ago? What about my brother’s death? You sound like a hypocrite.”

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand, little girl. You may think you know what you have gotten yourself into, but you are as clueless as they come, and I was never okay with what your father planned for you.”

“You have a funny way of showing it, considering you did whatever the man told you for years, locked me up on his orders. You didn’t even tell me Niko was stalking me, Carlo! What the fuck? You let me sit there waiting for the day Domalachego would take me.” I’m about to start shouting, but if I do, someone will come and check on me. I dig my nails into my palm as I bite my tongue.

“I didn’t know he was coming that day, but I had my suspicions. You remember how much I didn’t want you to go?”

“Come on, Carlo. No more games. If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, I’m going back into my house.”

His face turns bright red, and I worry about his health just like I used to when he was the only person who might notice if I died in that apartment. I never thought of that as a selfish feeling. Instead, I considered it to be about him, but as he’s no longer responsible for my well-being and the anger is starting to surface, I’m remembering a lot.

I wouldn’t have killed myself, but I was terrified of dying from carbon monoxide. Listening to the alarm go off but not being able to open my own front door, or someone figuring out the Gemelli princess was a sitting duck and taking me out. I practically cried in relief every time I saw the man. I had that reaction just now when I saw him even though I’m happy with Niko. Do I love this man, or am I trained like Pavlov’s dog?

It’s a question I’ve asked myself about Niko more than once over the past month, and standing in front of Carlo, I’m suddenly sure what Niko and I have isn’t Stockholm syndrome. This is. This man has never loved me.

“Your house?” He laughs again. “That Bouchard fucker’s house is now your house? Do you have any idea how quickly he’s going to toss you away once he has a complete hold on your father’s territory?”

“That’s not true,” I tell him, revealing how angry the accusation makes me, how scared I am that it’s true.

“I had no idea you were this stupid,” he snaps, something akin to hatred in his eyes.

I think it’s deep resentment. The kind a man suffers from when he’s spent his whole life appointed to a spoiled clueless princess who didn’t know the truth about anything. Who married the very people he was trying to protect her from. I am a failure in his eyes, just like I was to my papa.

“I had no idea you were this cruel.”

“I’m a lot of things you don’t know, Gianna, but you want to know the truth? Come with me and find out.” He gestures around himself, issuing the challenge like I’ll cave to it quickly.

I’ve always been predictable. Hotheaded, quick to rise to a challenge even if it ultimately hurts me. I got tricked into getting naked with boys more than once as a result of this competitive streak mixed with naivety. But I’ve been working hard to be more than that. To grow from the fact I didn’t know shit when I thought I did and start learning. Niko relies on me, and he values me. We’re better together.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here. I’m sorry, Carlo. I don’t trust my father or you. If you're in contact with my uncle, tell him my husband knows who he is. You don’t need to come back here again.” I turn and start to walk away from him.

“I haven’t been loyal to your coward papa for five years, Gianna. Not since the day Dante died, and he traded you to the people who killed his own son, but I am loyal to you, to the Gemellis. You need to come with me.” I stop and turn back to look at him.

“You’re loyal to me? After everything you just said? I’m sorry, Carlo. No,” I tell him as I turn back around.

“Come with me now, Gianna. If you know what’s good for you. You’ve lost your mind if you think you can trust Nikolai Bouchard.”

“Are you actually threatening me right now, Carlo? Do you know how fast those men would be over here to defend me?” I point off in the distance, where no less than two hundred soldiers are waiting to use him for target practice.

“I have your parents’ bodies, Gianna. Come with me if you want to see them laid to rest. That does still matter to you doesn’t it?”

Of course it does. I’m a Catholic, and despite everything that happened, I still care about my parents. I don’t want to see anything happen to their corpses. They deserve peace, respect, and to be laid to rest. He watches my face, and the subtle smile is so arrogant I wish more than anything I didn’t care, that I could tell him no. But I can’t let my parents’ bodies go, not after all the other ways I’ve betrayed them.

“Fine, Carlo. Let’s go.”

“I hoped you would see reason.”

And I follow Carlo through the woods and to a side road where he hid his car and found his way through the woods. Just as soon as I get back to Niko, I’m going to point out every weakness this place has, and we’re reinforcing our fortress, whether he wants me or not.

CHAPTER 24

GIANNA

I TRY NOT to look at Carlo as he drives me away from the winery. I’ve sat beside him so many times that it’s hard to fully convince myself I’m in danger, but his jaw sits much tenser than I’ve ever seen it, and his knuckles turn white as he squeezes the wheel. There’s a lot to Carlo I’ve not seen, and if he’s been working for my great-uncle for five years, there’s a lot my father didn’t know either.

I stare at the changing scenery, and at first, I’m not sure where we’re going, trying to guess where he might be taking me, but eventually, we straighten out and head in the general direction of the monastery. He was making sure we don’t have anyone tailing us, and we don’t. I didn’t make a scene, and no one noticed me slipping away. No one is coming for me or has any clue where I am, and I cringe when I think of Niko’s reaction when he comes home and finds me gone. The one plus side is I won’t be there to see it.

Carlo holds his phone to his ear. It’s been there for the last ten minutes. He must have called my uncle no less than thirty times already, and each time Marco doesn’t answer, he’s growing more frustrated.

“Marco, pick up. I have Gianna.” The messages he’s left are growing shorter and snappier.

“Are you taking me to my parents or my uncle?” I ask him once he hangs up but before he dials again, letting my curiosity get the best of me. I fell into Carlo’s trap either way, but will I at least have the ability to try to bury my parents later, or was it all a ruse?

“Both. No more questions.”

He presses the screen again, and it reads “Father DiMarco.”

“Don’t have him in your phone under his real name? How precious. Do you have a priest name too?”

“Stop it, Gianna. He’s a real priest.”

I roll my eyes so far back they nearly stick. No, the fuck, he is not.

“You know he has an ex-wife and kids too, don’t you? He’s a real full-of-shit priest.”

I’m buckled, and the seat belt has been locked for a while. What I wouldn’t give for an inch of space. The claustrophobia winds around my throat, and I'd do and say almost anything to get out of this car, but my parents’ bodies keep me from doing anything more serious than irritating him.

“Shut the fuck up, Gianna,” he grits. Is he more frustrated with me or Marco? How unusual is it for my uncle not to answer him? How close are they? I wish I knew.

“Marco, call me back. I’m taking her to the bodies. She won’t shut up otherwise. Let me know how your end went. Our window of opportunity is rapidly closing.”

“What was his end, Carlo?”

I can’t imagine it was something good. None of these men are good. None of them are anything like they wanted me to believe except for Niko, who is so hard on himself he’s actually far better than he believes, who is honest to a fault, who loves for years without more than a scrap to hold on to.

Carlo doesn’t answer me.

“What did the two of you do, Carlo?”

“I said shut up. We have a long drive, and I’m not going to listen to you run your mouth the whole way.”

“Fuck you.” I’ve never cursed at him, not once.

Slap. His hand collides with my face, and the sting vibrates through me and throbs behind my eye. It’s been a while since I was hit like this, and usually, it would be my papa, but it stings just the same and humiliates just as effectively. Tears well in my eyes, and saliva gathers in my mouth.

“I told you to be quiet. Now fucking be quiet.”

And I am all the way back to the monastery.

When we arrive, I’m surprised to find we take the same hidden entrance I used with Niko when we got married a month ago. I don’t know why I would be. Carlo can’t just walk through the door with me, especially now since this is Niko’s territory and the men here are loyal to him other than my uncle. I simply didn’t want to see how deeply Carlo’s connection to my uncle runs. Deep as this tunnel, if he knows to meet him here, if he comes here without getting permission first.

He pulls into the same spot Niko did, and I want to shout at him to move, that he doesn’t belong in any place Niko has stood, that he stains his shadows, but that’s melodramatic even for me. Carlo opens his door and steps out, but I don’t follow him.

“Let’s go, Gianna. Don’t be difficult. No one wants to hurt you, but obviously, I will if I have to,” he says through the door before he closes it.

I’m not afraid of another slap despite the fact I don’t want one. My father slapped me anytime I said something he didn’t like. I’m used to men who hit, and I’m used to men who think nothing of women. For the first time in my life, I truly pity my mother, and I wonder how her life fared these last five years. Considering how things went for me, I can’t imagine well for her.

I make the sign of the cross before stepping out of the car and following him through the same hallway I walked with Niko. The stone is damper than last time. The slight water leaching from the walls drips like blood.

“My parents’ bodies?” I ask because I’m worried now this was all a lie. He doesn’t know where they are, and he’s going to lock me away down here.

“They’re here too.”

“They’re here?” I ask in relief, my hand flying to my throat. “Oh, thank God.”

“Yes, Gianna. They weren’t left somewhere awful to rot.”

“Thank you.”

I hug him from behind, and maybe he doesn’t deserve it. Maybe offering them respect in their deaths had nothing to do with him, but it doesn’t change how grateful I am, or the fact that Carlo used to be someone I trusted implicitly. It’s hard to remember he’s not who I thought he was. He allows me to hug him a moment longer than he did when I first saw him in the woods, but he steps out of my embrace.

“Let’s go,” he says as he heads down the hall, checking only once to make sure I’m behind him. I look back toward the exit, considering what I know of the chapel above, and think now might be the time to make a break for it. He’s older than I am, bulkier. I used to run constantly before I was taken just to keep my body from deteriorating from disuse.

I might be faster than him. But it was dangerous enough for me when I was the Gemelli princess, and now I’m Niko’s wife also. The price on my head is absurdly high, plus Carlo might shoot me. Probably in the leg, but the fact is I don’t trust him not to.

“Go ahead of me,” he says, officially taking care of the issue of my decision. “Straight forward.”

He nudges me between the shoulder blades with his gun to get me to move faster, and I speed up immediately. Fuck, what if he just kills me and leaves me here? These stone walls are filled with bodies. Crypts line the property. I could so easily become one of them. Maybe that’s his plan: show me my parents’ bodies and leave me beside them where I always belonged.

Instead of going up into the cathedral, we avoid those stairs entirely, pushing past into a deeper hallway I never noticed, with Niko’s broad shoulders blocking the way. We follow the path a bit longer. The claustrophobia that threatened when Niko was in front of me holding my hand now crushes me.

We find an even longer set of stairs than the ones to the cathedral and follow them up and up. Eventually, we reach a door, and he pushes me aside to open it, stepping through first. When he sees there’s no one, he waves me through. A staleness hangs in the air like there’s not enough fresh air or windows. It smells like my elementary school in the strangest way. Carlo pushes me back as one of the sisters passes on the far end of the hall, and I realize we’re inside the convent. Niko told me the tunnels came up here.

The smell that reminded me of school is the nuns' laundry room, which is right down the hall if the noises are anything to go by. Growing up in Catholic school, I spent a lot of time surrounded by that smell and the crush of starched fabric.

Carlo pushes me along as soon as the coast is clear, and before I can form any theories about why we’re here, he pushes me out of a side door and into the failing daylight. Fuck, more time has passed than I realized. Niko will know I’m gone soon. I say a quick prayer that something bad doesn’t happen to either of us because if it does, it will be my fault. He never would have let me leave the house the way I did.

A rose garden and maze sit between the convent and the rectory. This seems to be where we’re headed, but instead of picking our way through, we walk behind it. There’s no one to be seen, and even if people are on the other side, they won’t notice us. The walls must be at least ten feet high and serve as excellent cover.

He forces me to run for the small stretch of open path, but no one would recognize me from this distance anyway. He knocks on the door to the rectory, which makes me wonder if he’s not as close with the other priests or if they simply don’t know who my uncle Marco really is.

A young man who is most certainly not a priest opens the door, looking slightly mussed. He blushes hard when he makes eye contact with me, but it’s his own embarrassment on his face, no hints of recognition for me.

“Theo, where is Father DiMarco?”

His brows furrow, and I wonder if he’s even a man or a late teen. He’s too ambiguously aged for me to feel better about this situation.

“Father DiMarco and Fathers O’Rourke, Shawnessy, and Clifton have all been missing since they left yesterday morning. I’m growing very concerned about them, but they’re not here. Can I find another one of the fathers to help? Maybe Father Benedict? I know he’s in.”

Is that the priest he was with before we knocked?

“No, don’t tell them I was here. I’d rather not add extra stress if they are worried about the other fathers.”

“They’ll ask who knocked, and I’ll tell them,” he answers with a smile, making it clear in the politest way possible that he won’t keep Carlo’s secrets.

Carlo hears what he’s saying, and it ticks his frustration up another notch. I’ve never seen Carlo so out of control in a situation, never seen him panic, but I assumed he might have internally the few times he needed to protect my life from attempts on it. He yanks me by my arm back across the property, but this time, he doesn’t bother being so careful. I see a few people in the distance, but no one notices him yanking me along against my will.

We don’t bother sneaking as we go back through the convent, and I’m truly afraid as we pass a group of nuns, and I hear them gasp my name.

“Gianna, are you okay?” Mother Superior asks from the other side of the hall. “What’s happening? Unhand her!” she demands of Carlo, but he continues shoving me along. We’re out the door and he drops a wooden beam that serves as a lock over the door, preventing the sisters themselves from using the secret passage that provides unfettered access to them.

I thought Niko was kidding when he talked about the untoward reasons to need to sneak into a convent, but it’s clear now he wasn’t. Is there a woman on earth who’s safe from men? I’m starting to believe the answer is no.

He shoves me as we get back to the car, but he still hasn’t said a word.

“Where are you taking me, Carlo? What’s your plan now?”

Another smack before he pushes me into the back seat of the car and shuts the door behind me. He hops in himself, starting the car and pulling out as fast as he can. He rips through the narrow tunnel, scraping his car against the sides as he goes, not bothering to be careful.

“Who can help you now, Carlo?”

“Shut the fuck up, Gianna!”

“Just take me back, and we’ll pretend it never happened.”

We’re approaching the end of the tunnel, blinding sunlight floods the entryway, but there’s a black spot interrupting it. Carlo slows to see what’s blocking the way. Who is blocking his way. My heart is in my throat because I know who it is. He came for me.

A gunshot blasts through the windshield, the treated glass staying together but shattering in a massive spiderweb. Carlo’s head smacks against the rest, and the car comes to a complete stop, before his head drops forward, chin resting to his chest. He’s dead.

I scream for half a second and then collapse against the seat in relief because Niko found me. He’s here. He came for me. I’m safe now. He’s going to open the door and pull me out of this car that stinks like gunpowder and death.

But then my eyes adjust, and the smoke clears. Fyodor Domalachego stands on the other side of that gun. Not Niko.

CHAPTER 25

NIKO

I SMILE as I pull into my parking spot because life is finally looking up for me. The conflict with Domalachego’s men has been moving in our favor, with him pulling his men even further back as each day passes. Our hold on the port is solidifying, and Domalachego doesn’t have the men to drive us out.

I’m married to the love of my life. If the text she sent from the iPad earlier is any indication, she made me a delicious dinner, and she loves me. Did I ever imagine winding up with so much?

I click off my seat belt and wave to the men as I pass. They salute me back. Weeks of maneuvering and commanding them have led to a shift from respecting the money I pay to respecting me. As I approach the front door, I practically bounce up the steps. No one important to my schemes died today except the Domalachego spy I intended to kill.

I put the key in the lock and press my thumb on the fingerprint scanner. It’s never wise to trust one method completely. The mechanism clicks before the door swings open, and instead of the wonderful smell of my wife’s cooking, smoke billows out.

A panic attack threatens as I inhale a huge breath of it, but I shove it down as I rush into the house, looking for the source of the smoke and Gi. I find the first fast enough. The smoke is so thick because it’s coming from the kitchen, which drafts directly toward the front door. The oven billows, spilling thick black smoke with a low-burning flame inside.

For the moment, it’s well-contained, and I consider running off to find my wife. Rather than listening to what the panicked moron inside me suggests, I grab the extinguisher off the wall and spray the hell out of our dinner. I turn off the oven once it’s oozing foam and any fire is definitely out. Then I open several doors to clear the smoke and shout for my wife.

“Gianna, where the hell are you?” This happened to my own mother a time or two when my father was cheating on her, and she was hitting the sauce a little too hard, but that doesn’t seem like Gianna.

She doesn’t answer. My heart still pounds, but there’s a touch more sense in my brain since she’s not burning to death.

“Gianna, where are you?!” I shout even louder this time, and still nothing.

I tear through the house, looking for her, shouting her name, growing more concerned by the second. I flip the little coffee table in her room once I’m sure she’s not in there, not anywhere in the house. A vase she just ordered smashes, and I guess it was me. I turn back around and head to the men outside. Why didn’t they call me? What happened?

“Where the fuck is she?” I shout as I open the door, and they all snap to attention, but none of them race to answer me.

A new guy stands near the edge, not one of my hired guns, but a young Gemelli goon.

“Calm down, sir. What are you talking about?” The stupid look on his face ticks my blood up to boiling. “Where is who?”

That does it. I pull out my gun. “The only fucking reason any of you are here.” And shoot him dead before anyone can blink.

Blood and brain spray out of the back of his head, and the men standing at his side look between us like they’re worried any of them might be next, like they might need to turn on me.

“Where the fuck is my wife? She isn’t inside!” I roar, feeling like something next to human. I could tear their throats out with my bare teeth for what they permitted to happen. Drink their fucking blood for allowing me to come home to my wife gone. Maybe I want to.

“She is, sir!” one of them squeaks, holding up his hands. “We’ve been here all day. She hasn’t come out.”

I strongly consider shooting him too, but rather, I open my security app to see what the hell happened. It doesn’t alarm for movement in the yard because it would be going off constantly due to the men. The security system doesn’t trip when the doors open anymore because Gianna is allowed outside.

I forward through the day, knowing she was home to put dinner in the oven. She couldn’t have been gone more than a few hours. Finally, I find the spot where she opens the side door and creeps across the lawn. I watch in horror as she intentionally avoids the guards and then climbs over the wall intended to keep her safe. What the hell was she going toward? Rage boils my blood. How fucking dare she?

I switch through the cameras, first finding the ones pointed at the back of the property toward the woodline and find none other than Carlo skulking in the woods. I scrub through the footage, and it reveals he spent the better part of the day there, walking back and forth, trying to get her attention.

I switch to the ones I have in the woods. This is a popular venue. A lot of people come here. Leaving large portions of the property without proper surveillance would be irresponsible. It protects against lawsuits as well as treacherous wives running off with their bodyguards. I should have known her marrying me was too good to be true.

He leads her to a car parked on a road on the other side of the property. I’m going to kill him for this. I nearly smash my phone but think better of it. I head inside, up to my office, where I might have a chance to get enough peace to think. She went with him, and I want to wring her fucking neck for it, but why would he come for her at all?

Where the hell would Carlo take her? What would he do with her now that Stefan is dead, missing, whatever the fuck he is. Carlo is one person who would never believe Gianna’s story in a million years if it made it back to him. Someone has to be paying Carlo. He never cared for Gianna out of the kindness of his heart. Who does that leave? Domalachego possibly.

I close the door behind me, thinking of the times I fucked her in here, how she covered the place in Antonine’s blood after she flayed him. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted in my life, and when I finally got her, I was stupid enough to trust her. I’ll never make that mistake again.

I’ve never had a direct line to contact Fyodor, and with how many bullets I’ve put in his men this week, I’m sure Gianna would only suffer more from a call from me. He could use her for leverage against me or to try to tease out Stefan. But if Carlo were working for Domalachego, wouldn’t he warn him that Stefan didn’t hold enough affection for either of his children for that to work?

I call my brother with no answer. “Fuck you, Pax!” I shout, turning over my own desk. Everything on top smashes across the floor, proving there’s not a damn thing I can do. No amount of force will make things right.

I pace the room, crunching over my own broken things as I make the next string of calls. But they all give me the same answer. No one has heard anything.

Rage and pain coat my stomach, my throat, and the backs of my eyelids. She fucking left me. I killed her parents, and I was stupid enough to trust her, to feel what it was like to have her, and then let her slip through my fingers. There’s nothing I won’t do to get her back. Gianna is going to pay for this when I get my hands on her. Then we’ll really find out why she’s been so strange these past weeks. Was it all a lie? Does she love me?

Is she telling Carlo how I raped her right now? I slam my fist into the sheetrock, punching a hole through it and tearing the skin off my knuckles, yet I still don’t have anything but my fucking rage and disappointment.

Do I have a wife or a prisoner I need to stuff back in a cage, and will it even matter if I can’t fucking find her? Should have put a tracker in her neck like a dog when I had the chance. The idea of her on that leash now pisses me off just as much as it turns me on.

As I’m racking my brain with all of this, a thought occurs to me. If Carlo waited all day before she saw him, was his luck really that good? Was this the first day he came? I check the recordings, and the answer is no. This is his fifth day waiting for her.

How do I get the woman I love back instead of turning into an indiscriminate killing machine? Five days is a long time to lurk on someone’s property without payback. I could drive into Gemelli territory and kill every one of Domalachego’s men I see. As I’m debating what the hell to do, wondering how I could be stupid enough to fall for her kisses, her proposal, I get a phone call from Mother Superior.

“Gianna is at the monastery with her old bodyguard. Come quickly.”

CHAPTER 26

GIANNA

FYODOR DOMALACHEGO IS a lot bigger than his picture gave him credit for. The man makes Niko look small, which is hard to do. Black hair with a few flecks of gray, broad shoulders, and dangerously powerful arms. He must have been a serious weight lifter in his younger days, the hard muscle resting beneath a softer layer.

“Hello, Gianna,” he says in a smooth Russian accent. His voice is charming, and he’s quite handsome aside from the scar that stretches from above his eyebrow, around his nose and to the top of his lip. I’m fucking terrified, shaking from head to toe as he towers over the car. The back end is still inside the tunnel, but we’re just far enough out for me to open my door. “Please come with me.”

He offers me his hand, and I take it with a forced smile because if he’s playing kind and civil, I’ll play it back. I’ve already been slapped enough today, and this man has a lot more weight behind him than my father or Carlo. Niko said he knew about our marriage already, but still, my heart skips several beats as I lay my ring hand in his, and his gaze slips over the diamonds and rubies.

He helps me out of the back seat and closes the door behind me, leaving Carlo and the vehicle blocking the exit. If that’s not a message, I don’t know what is. I’m sorry for Carlo’s death, but not grief-stricken like I thought I might be. Maybe it was all the betrayal, maybe it's the fact I’m numb to the things that shake normal people now, but either way, I don’t worry about the man who spent his life protecting me and died beside me. He never did it for love, but for money. He resented me for wasting his life, but he did that, not me.

I’m shaking, but I try to keep it out of my extremities as we walk. I’m so small beside him, and the memory of my father telling me I was supposed to bear three to eight of his children flashes through my mind. Of course, his bullet-riddled skull follows. I’m getting used to that second image, and while it turns my stomach, I push it away. How the hell did my father intend for me to give birth to a single one of this man’s children?

I say nothing, hoping that if he doesn’t hear my voice shake, he won’t realize just how afraid I am. This man killed his last two wives, according to Niko, and he was supposed to marry me. He would have likely killed me if I was his wife, and now I’m just a woman who found a way to tell him no. I’ve never met a mob man of any background who enjoyed a woman telling him no. Even Niko.

I don’t know where Domalachego’s parked, but I don’t see his car nearby as he pulls me back down the road we drove in on.

“Didn’t want to give your husband too much warning,” he answers the question my eyes ask. I’m immediately impressed by his observational skills, but I don’t answer. Another fifty yards pass. How did he catch up with us if he was on foot? Did he run the rest of the way? He must be really offended to do something like that. This won’t end well for me.

“So you’re Gianna.” He muses as the road pitches up, just an obstacle to make our path harder as the road eventually continues straight down the plateau. “You’re even prettier in person. No wonder Mr. Bouchard was so determined to keep you to himself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Domalachego,” I answer him as politely as possible.

“Call me Fyodor.” He shoots me a smile, and while it makes him even better looking, it doesn’t touch his eyes. This entire persona is fake, and I realize with a sudden snap of intuition that’s exactly what I need to do to get out of this. Bullshit. Diplomacy. That’s one thing my father taught me in spades while convincing me he was an olive oil baron rather than an arms dealer.

“Thank you, Fyodor.” I give him a smile. “You’re much more handsome than your picture too, and I hope my choice of husband hasn’t proved an insult to you.”

“I mean this as kindly as possible, Gianna, but your choice means nothing to me. So that also means I am unoffended by it. I never made a deal with you.”

“No you never have,” I muse, letting the suggestion hang in the air between us. Maybe he’s just been dealing with hotheads and idiots, and there’s another way through this. A way that doesn’t result in months of ongoing war and more dead bodies.

“I don’t do deals with women.”

“That’s not a surprise.”

I don’t say anything more because there’s nothing you can do to convince someone who believes you are less than them that you are worthy, that you are an equal. Something I learned the day my husband put a bullet in my father’s head. He died, and I was still not enough for the man. I’m not going to be put off by a little misogyny and the threat of death. I’ll have to deal with that either way.

We walk a little farther before he says, “I don’t make deals with women, but perhaps in the interest of passing the time while we walk, I might hear what you have to say.”

“You see, the issue with my husband’s late father was his inflexible thinking. My own father suffered from the same problem.”

My casual use of the past tense doesn’t escape his notice, and he looks at me with heavy suspicion, but that’s not the important part of what I’m saying right now.

“My husband and I were childhood sweethearts with a very profitable potential for a partnership, but old men can be stuck in their ways. Old grudges die harder than the men who carry them.”

I pass him a sideways look.

“That they can,” he agrees, seeming to listen more carefully the more I speak.

“My husband told me you mentioned the lack of histories between his and your family, but ours is not the same, is it? You’ve had a deal with my father for a long time now. I can understand better than you might think how gravely my father was capable of disrespecting a deal. He didn’t understand loyalty.”

“And you do?” he challenges.

“Better than my father, I think,” I tell him, and I’m sure I do. I’m sure I understand that there are people and things in life worth more than money and power.

“Mrs. Bouchard.”

He stops in his tracks and I stop to meet his glare. There’s a deeper interest in his regard now, I’ve cracked through that fake polite layer I was using to keep me safe. I’m entering very dangerous ground.

“I was hoping to keep things pleasant between us until I could get a hold of your father and husband and speak with the ones I truly have an issue with. I wouldn’t bring him up now as it will be very hard for things to remain so between us.”

I square my shoulders and force myself to stand an inch taller to show him I’m not going to back down no matter how unpleasant things get because I know I either die before Niko finds me or there’s a good chance we both die when he does. All-out war has been raging for weeks, and both sides are hungry for blood, but both sides have been overly led by men. They haven’t been given another peaceful option.

“I quite agree, Fyodor. It will be unpleasant to bring my father up regardless of the circumstances as he is dead, and my husband is the one who killed him.”

He turns away from me, controlling some kind of reaction. There’s no physical sign of what it might be, so I simply wait for him to face me again.

“When, when did your husband kill your father?”

“An hour before we were supposed to meet. He took me, and he started the fire. His father told him to kill me.”

“And what of Alexandre Bouchard? I know he’s dead too. Was that all part of the plan? You both kill your parents, and then you have full power of the territory. Doesn’t sound much like you understand loyalty to me.”

“Fyodor, I’m not a fool. The fine workings of our plan and how things came to pass aren’t up for discussion. This is the reality of the situation, and I’ve offered you the respect of the truth.”

“Your husband doesn’t understand this, but you, a woman, do?”

“I, a woman, am in a position to offer you something much more valuable than my father’s old territory and an ongoing war you don’t have the financial means to survive.”

“What would you know of my financial means?”

“Nothing, but have you looked up the name Fletcher?” I raise my brow at him, sure he hasn’t. Sure that he would have judged things differently if he had.

“No, why would I?”

“If you do, you’ll understand my husband's family is worth far more than his criminal enterprise. His brother is worth more than a billion dollars, and he’s insane enough to enjoy watching every one of you die. My husband has already amassed a paid army. This isn’t a threat or an attempt at disrespect, Fyodor. It is an honest accounting of what you stand against and what you’re actually fighting.

“My father made that deal with you, and he never intended to renege. He told me at that dinner but never a day before it. I was to meet you for the first time when you walked in, just having learned a deal was struck at all. My husband is a hothead, and sometimes he acts in his own disinterest, especially where I am concerned.”

His expression softens, and he says, “I can admit love makes a fool of a man.”

“Do you know from experience?” I’m terrified he’s about to tell me how he killed his wives.

“My first wife, my son's mother, was my soulmate. She was killed when the boys were young.” The old pain and rage are still so clear on his features I’m nearly shocked enough to ask about the rumors, but I know better. It’s not my business.

“I’m so sorry.”

“You would have made me a lovely wife, Gianna.”

“And having met you, I don’t believe I would have minded being your wife either, but I think we can do quite well if you take what I’m offering.”

“You have something to offer?”

“Fyodor, my word is law for my husband, and most of my father’s men have already sworn allegiance to me. I have an incredible amount to offer.”

“You would make your husband look weak in my eyes?”

“That would be your mistake.” I shrug. “If anything, I hold him back from his more reckless decisions. He’s often the type who’s willing to burn himself along with his enemy.” I look him dead in his eyes this time. There is no threat, only a promise.

“Well, Mrs. Bouchard, I’m very surprised to admit we have a lot to talk about.”

“We do. Why don’t you and I go up to the chapel to discuss the matter on neutral ground.”

“How is your husband's territory neutral ground?”

“The chapel is God’s territory, not my husband’s.” I smile at him, hoping I haven’t miscalculated where he is concerned.

“You’re a practicing Catholic?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“You would have made me an excellent wife.”

But too bad for him, I’m already taken by a man who may wind up hating me when he finds out the truth of what I’ve been keeping from him.

CHAPTER 27

NIKO

THE TIME it takes to get to the monastery passes too slowly. Who’s to say that she’ll still be there when I arrive, that something hasn’t already gone terribly wrong. That she’s not intentionally trying to escape me. Mother Superior could be dead for all I know, so I won’t be waiting on another call, but I’m sickly sure Domalachego has something to do with this.

When I arrive at the entrance to the underground tunnel and find Carlo dead in his car, I’m further convinced he’s in with the Russians. Despite not trusting the shifty old priest who hasn’t answered his phone in days, it wouldn’t make sense to kill Carlo and leave him in the way of his favorite parking space.

The back seat where Gianna must have sat hangs open. I grab the driver’s door and check Carlo’s body. He’s cool but not cold. Maybe he’s been here an hour? Why kill him, though, if they were working together?

A lack of recent tracks shows no evidence of another vehicle in the area, and I wonder who came in and killed Carlo and then brought Gianna out on foot. They better not have hurt her. I’m so angry with her for leaving me, for putting herself in danger, but I’ll never forgive her if something permanent happens.

I pull Carlo’s corpse out of the car, tossing him just far enough out of the way so as not to run him over, and climb into the spot myself, leaning as far forward as possible to avoid his blood while I move the still running car.

I’m out a moment later. Rather than grabbing my own car or turning that one around, I run down the tunnel. The walls are so tight that it’s not worth the extra effort. I’m just as fast on foot. My phone is against my ear as I tell my men where I’m headed and to cover me up at the top of the hill and from behind.

Skipping the door to the chapel, I head up to the convent with my gun in hand. When I open the door and step out, several of the nuns shriek and gasp, immediately jumping back. Mother Superior stands with them.

“The chapel,” she grits. “The Russian’s got her in the chapel, and they took my phone.”

“Did they hurt any of you?”

“No. We’re fine,” she assures me as my phone rings. One of my men tells me they found cars still on the property with no one in them.

“God bless you for coming, Nikolai,” Mother Superior tells me in all seriousness. “Gianna looked afraid before the Russian took her.”

“Why did Carlo bring her here?”

“He was looking for DiMarco, but he’s missing.”

That’s all I need to know for now. I head back into the tunnel, and the men I find there are my own. I lead the charge with my gun out, finding the stairs into the chapel and climbing to the top. I’m expecting to have to break the door down, probably with a fair amount of help since it locks from the inside, but instead, I find the ancient wood standing open.

Domalachego and my wife sit beside each other on a pew, and they’re both staring like they are waiting for me. He’s three times her size, and I can see how easily he crushed his wives. Imagine him doing the same to Gianna if she married him. Her nearly black eyes beseech me, and her red lips form a pout. Did he make her a deal? Is she here because she thinks he can offer her better than me!

I step into the space, gun trained on him while my men swarm in behind me, but it’s just the two of them.

My wife and Domalachego. I don’t shoot him because she’s sitting right beside him. How many times can I splash her in blood before it’s too much and she doesn’t forgive me? I’m willing to risk once more because I won’t be letting her go either way.

He gives me a challenging smile that has the gun twitching in my hand, and I’m a hair's breadth from blowing him away when Gianna leaps off the bench, stepping between us.

“Niko, don’t!”

She puts up her hands, and I can barely see through the shaking rage, but I would never hurt her, not for anything. Her nervous smile trips me up, and my heart plummets even further knowing she left me. It takes me a minute to realize she’s saying something.

“Nikolai, put the gun down right now,” Gianna’s sharp and commanding voice cuts through the anger and panic blanking out my brain.

“You fucking left me, Gi!” I shout at her like I never have in my life, anger and betrayal I’ve never felt welling up inside me. “You fucking ran, and you’re sitting here with him.” I don’t put the gun down.

“I didn’t run. I miscalculated.”

“Are you sure you haven’t done that twice?” The soon-to-be-dead fuck has the audacity to ask my wife.

She turns back to him as she says, “My husband is the best and worst man I know, Fyodor. I haven’t miscalculated.”

That takes the slightest edge off my insanity. She’s still calling me her husband.

“What the fuck is going on, Gianna? Why did you leave the fucking house? Why did you go with Carlo? I saw the security footage. He didn’t make you leave!”

“You said I’m not a prisoner, Niko, and I needed to talk to Carlo. I left because he told me he had my parents’ bodies, but now that we’re here, I’m not sure he was ever telling the truth.”

“You would risk yourself for a pair of rotting corpses after everything!?” My voice rips through several octaves.

“That’s not what our problem is right now. Fyodor is not responsible for taking me from the house. It was…” She hesitates, and my hand shakes around the gun. “It was DiMarco. He and Carlo were working together. Fyodor here simply killed Carlo in a misguided attempt to lure out my father, but it gave us a chance to discuss things.” She presses her palms to my chest, and my heart beat gets even louder.

“What does that mean exactly?”

“Niko, Fyodor and I have come to an understanding, and I need you to listen,” she urges me, taking another step forward.

“You came to an understanding with a man who tried to buy you? A man who has killed his previous wives—”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to indulge rumors if I were you, Mr. Bouchard. They tell some ugly ones about you and your brother as well.” There’s a threat in his tone, and while his gun is away, I’m sure he’s armed. He’s outmanned, though, and by his own choice.

“So you didn’t kill your wives?” I ask with mocking doubt.

“I killed my second wife when I caught her cheating on me with my young son. My first wife, whom I did not kill, would have insisted if she were still with us.” His eyes are darker than Gianna’s, and when they meet mine, I see more demons than I’d care to indulge.

Gianna audibly swallows, and Domalachego makes the sign of the cross, kissing his fingers and offering them to heaven.

“Like I said, we’ve come to an understanding,” Gianna says

“Why the fuck should I be amenable to any understanding?”

“Mr. Bouchard, after weeks of losing good men and an illuminating conversation with your wife, I’ve decided peace between us may be in the best interest of our businesses.”

The slight smile on his face drives me insane.

“You’ve never been amenable to that before,” I say, vibrating with tension.

He spreads his hands, palms up, miming generosity. “The old players were too greedy to allow anyone else a seat at their table. That’s not the case here.”

“What did you offer him, Gianna?” My gaze shifts back to my wife, and I lower the gun. The armed guards around us do not and won’t until I give the order.

“In exchange for free use of the ports—”

“The ports?” I spit because they’re so damn valuable. They’re what Domalachego wanted all along, and I find I don’t want him to have what he wants in the end.

“He’ll be providing us a small ten percent fee each time he uses our enterprises, and in exchange for this rather lucrative deal, he’s willing to leave town and return to his previous territory. Leaving the Gemelli estate being of the utmost importance.” She narrows her eyes at him, and I wonder what he’s been using her childhood home for.

“Why would you agree to that?” I ask him.

“Your wife made some very valid points, and my interests have been called elsewhere as well. I have matters to deal with at home.”

Domalachego stands, sure now that I’m not going to kill him, that I’m going to see reason, maybe I’m going to see the inside of his skull. Gianna presses her body tight against mine, preventing me from grabbing my gun. Fury rips my stomach open before I remember there are fifteen guns trained on Domalachego without mine too.

“Fyodor would also like our assurance that we will be open to potential future business arrangements.” The sound of his name on her lips boils my blood.

“You’re fucking kidding, Gi.”

Domalachego puffs up as if he doesn’t like me disrespecting her. “Your wife is an impressive woman, Mr. Bouchard. I wouldn’t make a joke of her. You remind me of my first wife, Gianna.” The way he says her name in that accent makes me think maybe he still believes he has a chance to fuck my wife. White-hot jealousy tears me apart.

“What happened? What the hell is going on?”

“All it took was a little honesty and a little negotiation. The party that Fyodor is most aggrieved by is dead, and your issues with one another can be solved with a simple gesture of camaraderie.”

“A gesture of camaraderie?” I think my head is about to explode.

“Yes.”

“And what gesture does he want?”

“For you to right a very insulting wrong, Nikolai,” Domalachego calls me by my first name for the first time since he asked me why my mother chose that spelling. “I would like you to make a reservation for myself and my sons at your winery, and I would like you to tell everyone we are your esteemed guests.” The smile on his face tells me he knows exactly how much this will burn my ego, and that he wants it.

“And why would I do that?”

“A show of respect in exchange for your disrespect,” Gianna says.

“I wasn’t the only one to show it.”

Gianna places a kiss on my cheek.

“No, but Fyodor has already agreed to leave. It’s you, husband, who has yet to humble yourself, and I think a meal as a show of good faith is asking very little. Plus, we have the finest pork around, and the gentleman would most enjoy it.”

I want to disagree, fight, or kill someone because that’s what I came here to do. But I don’t. Instead, I say, “Very well,” and shake his fucking hand.

***

Later that night, I sit at the best table in the restaurant across from Domalachego and his sons with my wife beside me. We discuss the nuances of the deal she struck with him. I’m amenable to most of it, and the parts I take issue with aren’t really that big a deal for the concessions he’s making in leaving town.

That is how I come to break bread with a man who was once my enemy and is now my first true ally because my wife is fucking brilliant.

CHAPTER 28

NIKO

I’M LYING in bed with Gianna when I get a call from a number I haven’t seen in a long time.

“Lenny?” I ask as I answer one of Pax’s oldest and most faithful members of staff. She has no clue that I know her secret, but I owe her family a lot more than leaving a single old woman to her devices.

“Niko.” Her voice comes through the line even more tired than normal. “Your brother is hoarding bodies in the forest. It stinks like death so bad the cops just came by.”

“You’re fucking kidding.”

“Don’t curse at me, boy. I wouldn’t kid.” And I don’t doubt that because she hates me.

I could never do anything to harm her. Not only do I not have the heart but she’s helped me with Pax time and time again. There’s no reason to fear an old woman with no family.

I turn to my wife as she lies beside me naked. Every inch of her skin looks golden and sun-kissed. She’s complete perfection.

“There’s an issue with Pax. I need to go over there.”

She sighs as she stretches. We were up late last night, fucking like crazy after dinner with the Russians. Which went surprisingly well, but the stress of the situation aged me ten years.

“I’m coming with you. I have something I need to talk to you about.”

I don’t argue in part because I want her with me, and for another, I do better when she’s around. I throw on some clothes and head to the closet to grab her a summer dress. If the police have already been there, I don’t want to waste any more time. It’s easy enough to pay off law enforcement, but neighbors being forced to smell corpses tend to be a little more difficult and horrified.

Gianna accepts the dress I chose for her and slides it on without any bra or panties, leaving herself an incredible temptation for me.

Twenty minutes later, we’re packed up in the car with a hundred thousand dollars in cash just in case I need to pay anyone off on the fly, which is not unlikely with Pax around. Gianna looks nervous and pensive as we take the relatively short drive to my brother’s house.

“Niko, I have to tell you something, and I should have told you already. I know that, but I just… I don’t know.” Her voice trembles, and I reach over, instinctually squeezing her knee.

“Okay, what’s wrong, Gi?” I can barely breathe, and I wonder if now is the best time to tell me whatever this is, but she did mention before we left that she needed to talk to me. I just assumed it was some aspect of the deal with Domalachego she might have left out last night.

“I’ve been—”

My phone rings, and Pax’s number flashes across the screen.

“Pick it up,” she insists.

I do so grudgingly, but she’s already back to staring out the window, so I take it, giving her another moment to gather her courage.

“What?”

“Lenny is full of shit, there are no bodies, and you don’t need to come here,” my brother speaks down the line, and I speed up. If he’s trying to get me to stay away, there’s definitely a problem.

“Really? So what if I were a few miles away? What then?”

“So there are some bodies, but none you should be worried about,” he amends his statement.

“If cops are showing up over the stench of death, they’re bodies I need to worry about. You do know the monastery is your territory, right? Do you even know about the shooting that happened last night?”

“No, but speaking of the monastery…”

“What?” I demand, sharp and impatient.

“You know what, you’ll see when you get here. Might as well keep it all a surprise.”

I press the gas, and he ends the call. We’re only a few miles away now.

“Niko, I’ve been keeping a pretty big secret from you, and I need to tell you the truth. Please just don’t hate me.”

I’m about to lose my shit and aggressively demand she just spit it the fuck out when we come up to the main entrance of the property, and I turn up the mile-long rose quartz gravel driveway.

“DiMarco,” she says as she chews on her fingernail.

“What about him? Did he do something to you? Spit it out, Gi.”

Before she can answer me, a man runs down the driveway straight for the car. Curly black hair bounces all around him, half smile on his face like this is all a joke. Fucking Pax. I don’t stop the car. I press the gas to rev the engine. If he wants to get hit, that's his business. I’ve played enough games of chicken with him lately to lose this one. I’m not even going fast enough to kill him. He jumps to the side at the last minute, splaying his arms wide in outrage as if I’m the one who's wrong for not stopping.

I pull over on the side of the drive. The giant, castle-inspired mansion sits on the top of the private mountain, and we’re about halfway up. Jumping out of the car, I’m ready to have a slug out with him. I’m stressed as hell about what Gianna needs to tell me, everything that I’ve had to deal with since I killed her parents and Pax killed our father. I’m brimming, ready to explode. Stupid fuck has a body pile, and I sure can smell it. The whole area stinks. A breeze sweeps through the area, carrying hot death.

“Niko, just go home. It’s not what you think.”

“Is it what it smells like?” I gesture around myself to the odor, and it is thick.

He seems to be trying to block me from a particular direction, like a little kid who’s gotten into trouble again. The passenger door opens and closes behind me, and I don’t look back as Gianna gets out. I’m too set on the source of that smell.

“Oh my God, that’s foul,” she says as she comes to stand at my side.

“Whoa, is that the Gemelli princess? What the fuck?” Pax demands, and I think I’m going to have to kick his ass after all.

“Maybe if you didn’t have your head so far up the nun’s ass you would have heard we got married a month ago.”

“What the fuck? How did that happen? I’ve seen you so many times this month!”

“No, Pax, you haven’t. You’ve been MIA ninety percent of the time.” If he had been where I needed him to be, so many parts of this would have gone smoother.

“Okay, fine. I’m busy. Sorry I missed the wedding, no need to be angry but you don’t need to go over there. Would it kill you to mind your business?” He puts his hands on his hips.

“Yep, probably.”

I keep walking, and I hear Pax trying to talk to Gianna behind me.

“Leave my wife alone, Pax.”

“That’s my sister-in-law, actually. And she won’t let you make any rash decisions, will you, Gianna?”

“It’s Mrs. Bouchard to you,” she tells him with a stern glare.

“Given I’m Mr. Bouchard…”

“Fine, call me Gianna, but only when you must speak to me,” she snaps in a tone that tells me she’s never hated me as much as she claimed to.

“Do you not like me or something?” The offense in Pax’s tone is entirely genuine.

“I don’t appreciate the whole murdering women for fun thing, but Estella Medeiros was a little girl.” She turns her chin up and away from him, and my stomach drops out of my ass because I know what’s coming next.

“Oh, that wasn’t me. That was Niko. Dad made him do it as payback for fucking you. Funny that he’s dead, and you two are married now, isn’t it?”

Gianna makes a little noise like she’s had the breath knocked out of her.

“You didn’t.” There are tears in her voice.

I fucking hate myself.

“I’m not proud, Gianna.”

I won’t lie to her, even if it would be easier to, and I’d feel better too. I’m sure if I denied it and punched Pax, he would change his tune. He likes to cause chaos, but he can behave as he has proven a time or two over the past six weeks.

“That's why you dumped me like that?”

“I couldn’t make it worse.”

I pretend to ignore her reaction, but I watch her shake her head out of the corner of my eye.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been mad at you about that for such a long time. It didn’t mean anything with you killing my parents—”

“You killed her parents!?” Pax demands. “I thought I got you out of that!”

“Like always, brother, your timing is shit.”

As we walk, the smell only grows more intense, proving he doesn’t have a proper sense of urgency for anything. Whoever died out here died a little while ago.

“Niko, I know you’re going to overreact when you see it. Please don’t overreact.”

“Pax, what the fuck?” I ask when I walk into a small clearing and find the piled bodies. There are four priests including DiMarco and another man who I don’t recognize.

“Well, Shane killed him.” He points at the man I don’t recognize, and I internally nod. I knew another victim was coming from him. “And I killed them because they were trying to take my nun, and I do expect you to be at our wedding, Niko. You’re the best man.”

“Oh wonderful.”

“You’re marrying a nun? Didn’t you know she’s already married to Christ?” Gi asks with a healthy dose of scorn.

“She never took her final vows, and I’ve never minded a little stealing.” He winks at her.

“Oh my God,” Gianna says, suddenly taking a sharp breath and stepping toward the pile of bodies. “Is that…?”

“Father DiMarco? Yes, yes, it is.”

“That’s not his name,” she says, her mouth hanging open. “This is what I wanted to talk to you about. Niko, I am so sorry.”

“Well, this suddenly got juicy,” Pax comments, but I ignore him, shoving him out of the way to get a better look at my wife.

“What are you talking about, Gianna? Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not,” Pax agrees from behind her. “I guess I also have something to apologize for.” He shrugs.

“What the fuck are you both talking about?”

“That’s her—”

“Pax, shut your mouth and let me tell my husband the truth, please.”

And to his credit, he does shut his mouth.

“This is my great-uncle Marco, and he’s been working behind both our fathers’ backs for years. Carlo was working for him and had been since my father made that deal with Domalachego.” There’s nothing but the truth in her pretty brown eyes.

“You knew since the wedding.”

It’s not a question. Obviously, she recognized him, married me, and kept her mouth shut for quite a while thereafter. I’m angry at first. How could I not be? No one wants to be lied to. I take a few deep breaths and close my eyes.

“Ooh, Niko’s mad.”

“How the fuck did you know who he was, Pax?” I turn on my brother.

“Don’t take your bad mood out on me. Your wife is the one who betrayed you. I was just too distracted by my Snapdragon’s cunt to remember to inform you one of the men I already killed used to be in a position to fuck us over.”

“Did you betray me, Gianna?” I ask her, turning to her and ignoring my brother. “Is that what you think you did?”

Tears swim in her eyes, and I’m not sure what she expects to happen, but she looks afraid.

“Yeah, I did. I didn’t tell you what I knew. I left your back open. If he hurt you, it would have been my fault, and I was going to tell you. It just happened to be the same day Carlo took me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me yesterday when they took you?”

“Well, you had a gun, and I thought you were going to start a blood feud with Domalachego’s sons after blowing their dad’s brains out in a church. It didn’t seem like the best time.” But the defensive undercurrent is definitely guilt.

“And why didn’t you tell me later last night?”

She blushes, and I suppose we were very busy when we got home.

“I am so sorry, Niko. I love you. Can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Gi. I killed your parents. You’d need to betray me twice as hard for us to be even, but I wouldn’t advise you to do that.” The idea of it has phantom rage swelling inside me.

“I won’t,” she promises.

And we kiss beside a pile of corpses courtesy of my spoiled rotten, lazy family, who can be bothered to kill but not properly dispose of their own bodies.

Pax taps me on the shoulder. “So Niko, I know I said I didn’t want your help, but since you're here anyway, wanna help me bury them? It fucking reeks out here.”

EPILOGUE

GIANNA

1 YEAR LATER

I LOOK over at my husband as the grave digger seals the mausoleum, holding our tiny daughter in his arms. A small smile sits on his face, and I’m not even angry with him. Life is too good for that.

After Carlo and Marco both died, it took a long time to find my parents’ and Violetta’s bodies. They’d been placed in unmarked graves inside the crypt just as Carlo said, but there were many bodies in the same position. DNA testing and many months of searching through the twisted stone tunnels were necessary. The number of missing persons found was staggering.

Another month was spent constructing this mausoleum on the monastery grounds where the Gemelli family could rest in peace and glory in a place they loved. There was nothing left of my brother to bury, but he has a plaque alongside my parents. Tears stream down my cheeks, but rather than grief, it’s the relief of knowing I’ve finally done right by them.

Niko takes my hand as the sun starts to set.

“It’s time to go, princess. Little princess is tired and wants her mama.”

Our little princess Violet is two months old. So close in age to Pax and Niko’s new sister that she was likely conceived the same week Niko took me and forcefully restructured everything about our lives. It’s hard to pretend I have regrets when I look at her, light brown curls like Niko, and baby blue eyes that will shift to brown or possibly a lighter gray eventually.

The past year has been spent digging out my uncle's allies and figuring out the extent of his plans. He had been playing both my father and Alexandre for fools for years. All along, he had his own ace in the hole and planned to take this region for himself. It turns out Pax, of all people, was responsible for the ruination of his plot.

His little nun wound up being someone none of us expected, but that’s not my story to tell. We have enough family drama being the last survivors of a drawn-out blood feud. Despite our history, it’s working surprisingly well. Niko and Pax both love being a big brother, and Niko is the best dad I’ve ever seen.

He takes my hand and leads me back to the car. Armed guards are parked in front of and behind us. Since the merge in our territories, the tenuous peace we struck with Domalachego, and the birth of our daughter, Niko has been especially cautious. Part of me suspects he’s still nursing a grudge over me going with Carlo, though he won’t admit it.

He buckles Violet into her seat.

“You want to drive?”

I shake my head. Instead, I climb in the back beside our daughter and hold her tiny hand the way I wish my mother had with me.

“You’re such a beautiful princess,” I tell her. “More than enough for your mommy and daddy, always.”

I kiss her little nose and find Niko watching me in the rearview.

“You are everything I have ever wanted in life. I hope you know that,” he says.

“What about her?” I nod toward our daughter.

“She’s a bonus I was never crazy enough to hope for.”

We head back to the winery, which has doubled in size in the past year. Expanding into an extremely ambitious project that supplies wine to most of the country. We’ve scaled back on the illegal side of our business, allowing the brothels to flourish under their own management while still taking a cut and offering protection.

Domalachego bought out my father’s arms enterprise for a large sum. Since neither Niko nor I want any involvement and he’s dealing to an area outside our own, we accepted his deal and decided to mind our business. Though we are still especially careful when weapons are moving through the port.

My father fed me a lot of bullshit about the illegal movement of olive oil in and out of that same port, but it turns out the theory applies to almost anything, and we use our ships to move massive amounts of alcohol and avoid the taxes. We’ve got a rather nice scheme going with the business, just legitimized enough to cover our asses.

It turns out I don’t care for violence and high crime rates where I’m living, but I’m a Gemelli at heart, and I think I would fall over dead before I paid the appropriate taxes or did things by the book. My father simply wouldn’t stand for it, and my law degree makes it easy to manipulate the fine details while my hothead husband keeps the rest of things in line.

We arrive home, and Niko opens the door for us. I pull Violet out of her seat and carry her inside. We’re sitting at the table with a glass of wine a little while later.

“Are you still mad at me, Gi?” he asks, sounding so vulnerable for a minute. I don’t see this side of him much anymore as he’s grown into himself as a leader, husband, and father.

“For what?” I ask before I realize he’s talking about today. My parents’ burial. The fact he’s the one who killed them.

I’m quiet as I think about how to answer him. I want to give him the complete truth, but I’m still having a hard time making sense of it.

“I’m not mad at you, Niko, but part of me will always resent that you’re the one who killed them. I can’t blame you, though, when this life is everything I want. When I know it couldn’t have happened if they were still here. Maybe that makes me selfish and horrible, but I wouldn’t trade you or Vi for anything.”

He digests what I said for a moment before kissing me. He tastes like the wine we’re drinking and everything good and painful in the world. The benefit of someone being your everything.

“Are you mad at me?” I ask him. This question has weighed on me for months, but I didn’t want to rock the boat when we’ve been dealing with so much. Things have generally been good.

“For what?”

“Leaving with Carlo, lying about my uncle.” I gesture around myself to indicate all the surrounding lies that came with it.

He doesn’t need to think before he says, “No, princess, I’m not mad at you for doing what you felt like you needed to, to survive. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

I arch my brow at him. “I thought you said that was my not giving a shit about pleasing you.”

“That too.”

I smack him on the shoulder.

“Niko, seriously.”

“Gianna, I forgive you, but if you ever try anything like it again, I won’t ever let you off the leash.”

“Maybe I’d like that,” I tease.

“I’ll think of something worse then.” A salacious glimmer flickers through his eyes, and I giggle before running from him.

He chases me down, bending me over the stairs and smacking my ass red. I’m laughing first, then whining for him in no time.

He makes quick work of pushing my skirt up and my panties aside.

“You ever going to leave me again, princess?” He hasn’t stopped asking me this question since I walked out with Carlo. At first, it was an issue of self-confidence, but now it just turns us both on to hear how tied I am to him.

“Never, never,” I chant as the thick head of his cock slides inside me. “Oh fuck, your dick is too good to leave.” He smacks me hard on my ass, surely leaving the impression of his hand and a sweet sting.

“You better stay because you love me,” he grits through his teeth.

“I love your cock,” I whine back, knowing exactly what I’m doing.

Smack. Smack. Smack. My whole ass burns.

“Who do you love?”

“Niko,” I finally yield.

Since that six weeks without sex, he’s been inside me constantly, and I’m relieved he seems to want me just as badly despite how my body has changed. He abandons my spanking, giving all of his efforts to his thrusts, and we fuck on those stairs, knowing that everything is finally where it’s supposed to be. At least for now.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank all the dedicated service professionals who made this book possible as well as my beta readers who donated their time and opinions to make Gianna and Niko shine.

Original Cover by Kirsty Still with The Pretty Little Design Co.

Special Edition Cover by MLeram

Editing by Jenny Simms with Editing4Indies

Proofreading by Amy Perkins with Nerdy Girls Collective

Most importantly I’d like to thank the great love of my life, who stands beside me through every one of life’s journey, and curls up next to me to listen to my stories like my imagination is his favorite place to be. I love you, no matter what.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Aurelia Knight is a hot mess, doing her best to keep it together most days. Words are the greatest love of her life second only to her husband and sons. If she’s not typing away, getting lost in her own world, she’s reading and slipping away into the worlds of other writers. A caffeine addict who believes sleep is secondary to the endless promise of "just one more chapter".

For the most up to date information join Aurelia’s reader group on Facebook, Aurelia’s Illicit Library, and subscribe to her mailing list at www.AureliaKnight.com

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