Chapter Four

Six years later

I stifled a groan when I glanced down at my phone.

I can’t do this alone. A good fiancé would have been here.

I was trying to get into the right mindset for the fucking meeting ahead and Cressida had nothing better to do than to grate on my nerves with rehearsal dinner number two. The only reason why I had humored Cressida and attended rehearsal dinner number one was because my father had insisted that I do to make up for my mistakes of the past. I couldn’t care less if we served smoked marlin or smoked tuna. I had far more important things to do. Of course, Cressida didn’t understand.

I’m not a good fiancé and I won’t be a good husband. You can still call this off.

Cressida always brought out the worst in me, and now definitely wasn’t the right time to rile me up. It would be difficult enough to keep it together.

Nothing you can do will make me call this wedding off.

That’s what I feared. I’d ignored her existence these last few years, not once touched her because not a fiber in my body desired her. Still she clung to me and our future together. Not for emotional reasons of course. We both knew the only thing that made her heart beat faster was the prospect of becoming a future Capo’s wife. Even Mom didn’t like her, and Mom was the kindest person I knew and gave everyone a chance. Dad utterly despised her. I could see it in his eyes whenever she was close, and yet he insisted on this ridiculous bond.

Fuck. Part of me got it. The Famiglia was still divided between the Traditionalists and the more liberal soldiers. It had always been like that, but since Marcella married Maddox, a biker from a hostile MC we’d been battling for decades, and became part of the family business, the Tradionalists had become too loud to ignore. The tide was turning and Dad and I needed to make sure we weren’t swept out onto the unforgiving ocean. Eventually we’d have to make a bloody statement, there was no way around it, even if Dad was reluctant to do so. Maybe because he could sense that it would very well be one of the bloodiest in the history of the Famiglia. I had a feeling he was biding his time until my brother Valerio was old enough to fight at our side. Considering he’d recently turned sixteen I really hoped that would miraculously happen before my wedding with Cressida.

But our wedding was only six weeks away and I had already endured a tight schedule of necessary tastings, rehearsals, meet-ups and brainstorming events that made it impossible to pretend I wasn’t caught in Cressida’s cunning clutches.

Where are you?

I ignored her question. She knew I was in Las Vegas for business and she didn’t need to know more than that. I didn’t trust her and that would never change.

Shoving my phone into my pocket, I raised my head in time to see us pull up in front of the huge steel gates to the Falcone mansion. An obnoxious F crowned the thing in addition to dozens of razor-sharp thorns.

“Judging by your pissed off look, that was Cressida. This meeting is important. We need to make sure we regain control of our drug routes. With the current mood in the Famiglia, we can’t risk earning less money. Even the Tradionalists are less likely to speak up, if their pockets are full. Don’t make a scene.”

“She makes my blood boil and not in a good way.”

“I don’t care. Do not mess up.”

I gave him a lazy smile. “I’m not a hotheaded teen anymore. You don’t have to remind me. Today’s about business, nothing else.”

Dad regarded me briefly and gave a satisfied nod, though I caught the hint of doubt on his face. He and I had worked well together these last few years despite our occasional disagreements. Maybe it was a matter of age that made Dad more cautious and reluctant to dish out violence. When he’d been my age, he would probably have ripped Antonaci’s throat out for demanding anything. He should consider himself lucky my father had abolished the bloody sheets tradition or Cressida would leave a very bad impression the morning after our wedding night. He was the leader of the Traditionalists after all. None of them would have taken him seriously anymore if his own daughter had done the deed before her wedding night.

Dad hit the button that made his window slide down so he could ring the bell and alert the Falcones of our arrival. Of course, they’d known about us because of their numerous security cameras the moment we’d pulled up.

The gates swung inward without a word out of the speakers. We pulled up the long driveway. “I don’t like that we’re meeting at their place. It always puts us at a disadvantage.”

“We want something from Remo and he invited us to his home. Refusing him would have set the wrong tone.” Then Dad’s expression became harder, and dangerous. “We’re outnumbered, true, but the house is full of people Remo wants to protect. That puts him at a disadvantage not us.”

“Then why invite us into his home?”

“Power plays as always. I’m sure the women and children of the family are well hidden and protected.”

In recent years peace had become harder to maintain. To think that not too long ago, our bond had been strong enough that Remo had allowed his brother Adamo to spend a year with us in New York…

Dad parked the rental car and we got out. Remo, Nino and Nevio appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Fuck, tell me that crazy bastard isn’t going to join the meeting too,” I pressed out under my breath, pebbles crunching under our shoes as we approached the house.

“He’s the future Capo. You and him will have to figure out a way to tolerate each other.”

“We both know war will break out the moment Nevio and I become Capos. No need to pretend otherwise.”

Dad sent me a warning look as we ascended the few white steps. Dad shook Remo’s hand but no love was lost between them either. I shook Remo’s and Nino’s hands before I came face to face with Nevio Falcone, the little shit that gave new glory to the name Madmen of Las Vegas. He wasn’t the little shit I’d last seen a few years ago. Now at almost nineteen we were almost at eye level while I’d always towered over him a couple of inches in the past.

His smile pulled wide, baring white teeth, his dark eyes gleaming with a promise I gladly returned. You’re a dead man.

Some people believe in love at first sight. Bullshit.

Hate at first sight? Definitely a thing. The first time Nevio and I had seen each other we’d loathed each other with fiery passion. I didn’t know why, only that our hate had been instantaneous and that it would outlast every promise and contract made by our fathers. One day I’d cut off his grinning head and skewer it on top of the obnoxious Falcone fence for everyone to see, even if that meant I would have to make peace with the Golden boy of the Outfit.

We didn’t shake hands, didn’t do anything but stare into each other’s eyes. I wanted nothing more than to give the crazy bastard a taste of his own medicine.

“Nevio,” Remo said in a low voice and Dad touched my shoulder in a very obvious way, his fingers digging in warningly.

I smiled at Nevio. He looked at his father then turned his back on me and headed inside. Stabbing someone in the back was dishonorable and I’d never considered doing it, but right this moment, I spared it a thought. The world would be a better place without his batshit crazy ass.

I supposed being the child of Remo Falcone and grandchild of Benedetto Falcone made it impossible to cling to sanity. I hadn’t met Nevio’s siblings yet, but they couldn’t be any saner than him.

Dad and I followed the Falcones through a long corridor, past what looked like a big common area, until we finally arrived at a big office. The blinds were drawn. I glanced around briefly. The desk wasn’t a place that was used very often. It didn’t have any signs of use, but the sofas and boxing sack had. I swallowed a comment.

“You want to discuss your drug routes through our territory,” Nino said as he perched on the edge of the desk. I preferred his cut-the-bullshit-style. It spared us all the fake pleasantries we all despised.

“Indeed. But Texas can hardly be counted as your territory at the current time,” Dad said.

Remo’s lips pulled into a hard smile. “It’s more mine than it is anyone else’s.”

“Tell that to the Mexican cartel and all the rogue MC gangs attacking drug transports left and right.”

“The rogue MCs are the result of unfortunate developments in the Famiglia, not the Camorra,” Nino said.

I gritted my teeth. He wasn’t entirely wrong, Marcella falling in love with the biker who’d kidnapped her had complicated things unnecessarily, but…

Nevio smirked as he leaned against the wall with crossed arms. “That’s what happens when women spread their legs for the wrong guy and the family doesn’t disembowel said asshole as should be done.”

I took a step forward, my hand twitching toward my knife at the same time as Dad snarled, “Careful.”

“Nevio,” Remo warned in a voice that even sent a shudder down my back.

Nino stepped between us and his brother and nephew. “We’re not here to discuss past decisions. This is about finding solutions for the future.”

“Speaking of future, how’s your lovely fiancée?” Nevio asked casually. His eyes held mockery. “I can’t wait to attend the wedding of the century to bear witness to the greatest love story of all time.”

I smiled cruelly. “When are you going to kidnap a poor woman as your wife of your own as is family tradition and the only way a woman will ever tolerate your crazy ass?”

Nevio lunged at me but I’d anticipated the move. It still didn’t stop me from losing my footing from the force of his attack. None of the Falcones liked to be reminded of the fact that Remo had kidnapped Serafina on her wedding day.

We slammed against the wall and blood filled my mouth as I pierced my tongue with my teeth. I jerked my knife out of my holster, seeing a familiar gleam in Nevio’s hand. An arm slung around my throat, pulling me back at the same time as Remo’s arm around his son’s throat brought him to his knees.

I was thrown against the wall once more and Dad pressed his forearm against my throat, breathing harshly, his eyes burning with barely restrained fury.

Remo had wrestled Nevio to his knees and was holding him there, while he murmured something in his ears. Nevio lowered his gaze from mine and gave one jerky nod before he dropped his knife with a madman grin. If he wore the right make-up, he could be the Joker in every Batman movie.

“Amo,” Dad growled, and I dropped my knife as well. He caught my eyes with his, forcing me to focus only on him. “Back down, understood?”

I nodded reluctantly. Dad released my throat slowly, still eyeing me as if he thought I might lose it again. Truth be told, I wasn’t far from it. The only thing stopping me was that Nevio had turned his back to me. If I’d seen his face, I would have lost it.

Dad turned to Remo who looked no less murderous than his son. Nino was the only one who seemed unimpressed by the whole spectacle. But I didn’t let his cool demeanor fool me. He was a lethal opponent given the right incentive.

Dad cleared his throat. “What my son said about your wife was inappropriate.”

“Your son doesn’t look like he regrets his words. Insulting a Capo in his territory is a strange way to maintain peace.”

“I didn’t insult you, only your son, and he isn’t Capo yet.”

“If I were, you’d be dead,” Nevio said quietly, his dark eyes slanting to me once more.

Remo motioned at his son and he moved over to the sofa and sank down, propping his combat boot clad foot up on his knee before he began cleaning the profile with the tip of his knife.

Dad gave me a look that made it clear he wanted me out of here now.

“I need to take a leak,” I said as politely as I was capable of.

Remo’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t lose your way.”

I stalked out, pissed about this sweet-talking bullshit that was about to go down. There was no reason for us to keep up the truce with the Camorra anymore if they couldn’t guarantee our drug routes. They were a liability now that Nevio took over more tasks.

I took a deep breath. I needed to get a grip. Dad wanted peace, and as long as we were in Camorra territory, I needed to calm the fuck down. Since I didn’t really need to piss, I walked down the corridor then into the common area, looking around curiously. The whole place was deserted. Like Dad had said, Remo had brought the vulnerable Falcones to safety.

I huffed, shaking my head. Trust and peace, what a load of crap. My eyes were drawn to the French doors overlooking the sprawling backyard. The sky was overhung with clouds and it was drizzling, which probably equaled a downpour by Nevada standards. I hated the barren landscape and desperate eagerness of the city. I walked out, sucking in a deep breath of fresh air. Maybe that would help me calm down.

A distant sound reached my ears. I couldn’t place it and so I followed a path of smooth white marble stone slabs down a gentle slope toward a small house. It was like a pool house but I had a feeling that wasn’t what it was for. The soft drizzle soaked my white dress shirt, making it cling to my chest and my leather shoes were soon speckled with dirt but I followed the sound until I reached a glass door, which was open a tiny gap, just enough to let classical music drift through it.

A figure moved behind the foggy glass. Driven by curiosity, I pushed my hands into the gap and slid open the door, and I froze.

A girl in a light-pink tutu was dancing to the music. She appeared weightless and in a world of her own. Her black hair was piled on top of her head but a few curls framed her face. She looked like a doll come to life. Heart-shaped lips, porcelain-smooth skin and fairylike features.

Something seemed familiar about the girl, but I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly.

She was so lost in the music, she seemed oblivious to me. Her eyes were closed. I’d never thought I’d enjoy ballet but watching this girl, I couldn’t imagine tearing myself away. My mind turned blank, my heartbeat slowed and every violent thought drained out of me as I slowly walked further into the room, drawn to her.

A yap sounded somewhere, tearing me from my reverie. The girl’s eyes snapped open and her poise fell as she turned to me. Eyes as dark as bitter chocolate. Those eyes reminded me of the person who was at the top of my to-kill list if peace between the Famiglia and the Camorra ever ended. Nevio fucking Falcone.

And this was no other than his twin Greta Falcone.

Terror twisted her face. “No!”

I tensed, raising my arms. She didn’t give me a chance to explain anything. Instead she rushed past me, just out of arms’ length, only leaving a whiff of vanilla in her wake, as she fled the house. I whirled around, watching her sprint up the slope leading toward the mansion at a speed I hadn’t thought possible with her petite frame.

“Fuck!” Had I just terrified Greta Falcone enough that she was running away screaming?

Remo Falcone wouldn’t give me a chance to explain. He’d just put a bullet in my head. If Dad didn’t kill me first.