Chapter Fifteen

Violet

Santa Monica Mountains, Bel Air, Los Angeles…

“Home, sweet home,” Violet murmured as she parked in front of the three-story mansion. “Why did I agree to meet them here? I’ve done my best to divorce my life from this place, yet here I am. Back at the Devil’s Den.” She sat motionless in her car, staring at the imposing mansion that had both sheltered and imprisoned her childhood. The Mediterranean-style architecture, with its terracotta roof tiles and cream-colored walls, mocked her with memories of better days. The sprawling bougainvillea her mother had planted still cascaded down the walls like purple waterfalls, just as vibrant as they had been fifteen years ago.

Prosecco Vineyards was one of the most unique wine estates in California. Growing up at the elevated estate in the Santa Monica mountains had been the only good thing in Violet’s life as a Russo. She had loved learning the skills of a sommelier from her father.

“I wish they kept it from me. My life would’ve been so much easier if I hadn’t known.” Her hands tightened around the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. Every window, every balcony held a story. Her eyes drifted to the third-floor bedroom where she’d spent countless nights dreaming of escape. A wry smile curved around her lips as she glanced at the garden where her mother had taught her about roses and resilience. The pool still glimmered in the sun just as she remembered. Memories of her father teaching her to swim before she could walk washed over her. The house itself was a beautiful lie, much like the life they lived within its walls.

For years, she had dreamed of George Russo giving up his criminal tendencies to only concentrate on winemaking and the vineyard—a source of remarkably refined wines that perfectly reflected a union of distinctive terror and the gentle guidance of focused winemaking.

However, her father reveled as much as the Don of the Gragna Mafia as he did in his expertise of the Italian DOCG white wine.

The conflict churned in her stomach like acid. This house represented everything she’d fought to leave behind. The violence, the secrets, and the suffocating burden of her father’s expectations. Yet, somehow, it still felt like home. The scent of jasmine from her mother’s garden drifted through the partially opened window. For a moment, she was twelve again, helping her mother tend to the flowers while pretending not to hear the “business meetings” happening in her father’s study.

Violet wasn’t completely ignorant as to the real reason he would never walk away from the vineyard and the wine-producing market. As a prosecco magnate, the industry offered him the perfect opportunity to launder money. Ignoring her family’s illegal activities over the years had been easy. She just stayed away from them, and when they did come together at locations she chose, they honored the condition Violet had demanded to be met—they never talked family business. What she didn’t know couldn’t bother her, right? For years, it had worked to turn a blind eye, but the longer she fought legal battles for smaller companies against large conglomerates, the more difficult it was to accept that her own loved ones were rotten to the core.

“Who am I fooling? I know exactly who and what they are, and by keeping their secret, I’m just as guilty,” she whispered in a dour voice.

Violet had moved away from defending known criminals over the past five years. It had been a deliberate decision to widen the gap between the gray area in her life that defined what was right and wrong. In the end, it didn’t matter. She was a born Russo, and the Gragna Mafia was in her blood… whether she liked it or not. No matter how hard she tried, she would never be able to run away from it.

Not as long as she kept her family’s secret, especially not now that they expected her to be their unwilling savior.

“Some things never change,” she said with a bitter smile crossing her lips as she noted the new security cameras discreetly positioned around the property. “This old dame of a mansion might look like something out of Architectural Digest, but it’s still just a gilded cage, right, Dad? Like everything in your life, it’s designed to keep secrets in as much as it keeps threats out.” Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the headrest.

“Ten minutes,” she whispered as she checked her watch. “I’ll give them ten minutes, then I’m gone.” But even as she uttered the words, Violet knew it was a lie. The pull of the past was always there, and despite everything she’d done to build a new life, part of her would always belong in this beautiful, terrible place.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her bag and stepped out of the car. Each click of her heels on the cobblestone driveway felt like a countdown to something inevitable. For the first time in fifteen years, she was walking back into the Devil’s Den, with fear trilling through her the closer she came to facing her family.

“They’re going to lose their shit when they hear what I have to say.”

Moments later, she stepped through the grand mahogany doors. Immediately, the familiar scent of lemon polish and her mother’s signature gardenia potpourri enveloped her. The foyer opened up to soaring ceilings, crowned with an antique crystal chandelier that had witnessed three generations of her family’s secrets. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, dancing across the Persian rugs her father had “acquired” from a collector whose name she still didn’t know.

The house was exactly as she remembered. It was a masterful blend of old money and carefully curated respectability. Dark wood wainscoting lined the walls, complemented by cream wallpaper that her mother updated every few years to maintain its pristine appearance. Family photos in gilded frames traced the staircase leading to the upper floors, telling the story of a perfect, law-abiding family.

If only those walls could talk.

“Violet!” Her mother’s voice rang out from the formal lounge, followed by the quick click of heels against hardwood. Sophia Russo emerged, still elegant at sixty-two, with her silver-blonde hair perfectly coiffed and her designer dress impeccable. “My darling girl, finally!”

The embrace was genuine, and despite herself, Violet melted into it momentarily. Her mother’s Chanel No. 5 perfume hadn’t changed, and for a split second, she was eight years old again, before she understood what her family really did for a living.

“Hi, Mom,” Violet managed. Her throat became tight with conflicting emotions. The home’s warmth was seductive, courtesy of the fresh flowers in still familiar crystal vases. Nostalgia gripped her at the subtle aroma of something baking in the kitchen. The same comfortable leather armchairs that had hosted countless afternoon teas with Los Angeles’ elite still stood sentinel in the room. Her mother had always excelled at creating the perfect facade.

“George! Tag! Come quickly! Our girl is home!” Sophia called out as she continued to cling to Violet’s shoulders as if afraid that she might disappear again.

Violet’s cringing was unchecked as her father’s measured footsteps preceded him. He appeared in the doorway of his study, whiskey in hand as was his habit this time of day. His steel-gray hair and tailored suit projected authority, but it was his eyes—cold and calculating—that revealed the true nature of his business acumen, or rather, his true nature, period.

“So, the prodigal daughter returns,” he grunted in a voice carrying that familiar edge of disapproval. “Fifteen years is a long time to stay away from your family home and obligations, Violet.”

“George, please,” Sophia intervened, ever the peacekeeper. “Let’s just enjoy having our daughter home. I’ve had Precious prepare your favorite dinner, darling. The garden room is lovely this time of year.”

Violet’s stomach churned at the normalcy of it all and the way her mother could smooth over tensions with mentions of dinner and pleasant weather, while downtown, her father’s empire continued its devious operations. The house was beautiful, comfortable, loving even, but she knew it was built on blood money and broken lives.

“Ah, what a sight for sore eyes.” Violet turned to watch her brother walk down the stairs and summarily yanked her into a tight embrace. “Missed you, sis. Damn, it’s good to see you back in this house.”

“Good Lord, the way you’re carrying on, one would swear you never see me,” Violet grumbled. “Or did all of you forget that we see each other with every birthday and every single holiday? In fact, if I recall correctly, we had a party at the Ritz for Mom’s birthday a month ago.”

“It’s not the same.” Tag shrugged off her protest. “Come, I’ll get you something to drink before we stuff ourselves with all the food Precious is cooking up.”

“Actually,” Violet said, steeling herself, “Before we sit down, I need to discuss something important with you both.”

Her father’s eyebrow arched slightly in the same look he gave business associates before they mysteriously vanished.

“Business before pleasure then? Some things never change.” He gestured toward his study, the room where all significant family decisions were made.

“Of course, dear.” Sophia’s smile faltered slightly, but she recovered quickly. “But afterward, we simply must catch up properly. Your old room is exactly as you left it.”

That was her mother’s specialty. Maintaining the illusion of normality by keeping everything pristine and perfect, ready for a daughter who’d fled from the very life they represented.

“I told you I’m not staying, Mom, and I haven’t changed my mind.”

“But, darling, I—”

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Violet gave her a long hug and whispered in her ear before she released her, “Nothing has changed. I’ll never be a part of this household again.”

Sophia’s disappointment flashed so briefly across her face, Violet couldn’t help but be in awe of her. Nothing ever seemed to faze her. She knew, better than anyone, that underneath that friendly and fragile facade was a woman of steel. One who had the strength to defy George Russo and refused to back down once she had made a decision.

As Violet followed her brother and parents into the study, she couldn’t help but feel like she was eighteen again, about to disappoint them with her rebellious ideals of living an honest life.

The door closed behind her with a soft click that somehow sounded like a prison cell sliding shut.

“Well? Did you manage to get Dexter Flint on board?”

Violet returned her father’s dark gaze unflinchingly. It was the one thing he had taught her well. Never show emotion—fear or insecurity, least of all. George Russo never beat around the bush, not even with his own children. He had given her a task, which she had accepted, albeit reluctantly, and now he expected results.

“You’ll have to rethink your strategy, Father. I’m afraid Dexter Flint isn’t an option.”

George’s face flushed crimson. The vein in his temple pulsed as he processed her words. His fingers whitened around the crystal tumbler, and for a moment, Violet thought he might hurl it across the room.

“What do you mean he isn’t an option?” he snarled. “I didn’t send you to play games with him. I sent you to convince him!”

“George, please,” Sophia interjected, perching gracefully on the arm of a leather chair. “Let her explain.”

Tag, who had been silently observing from his position by the window, turned to face them. At thirty-two, he was the spitting image of their father in his younger years, right down to the calculating gleam in his eyes.

“The great Violet Russo, failing at her first assignment task? How shocking.” Tag’s smirk was infuriating, but she didn’t miss the warning that glittered in their depths. One that said, ‘Tread carefully, sis.’

Violet heeded his warning and pretended to ignore his taunt. “Dexter Flint is... different. He’s not like the others you’re dealing with, Dad. He’s incorruptible.”

George slammed his glass down on his desk. “Everyone has a price!”

“Not him,” Violet insisted, standing her ground. “He has built his entire reputation on being untouchable. If I even hint at our family’s proposal, he’ll have me arrested for attempted collusion. His loyalty to the law isn’t an act. It’s who he is.”

“Darling,” Sophia stepped closer and continued in a soothing voice, “surely there must be something. Everyone has desires, weaknesses—”

“Mother, you don’t understand. This man…” Violet paused, choosing her words carefully to ensure no one would suspect the true feelings she was struggling to hide. “I suspect that he’s already investigating the allegation against you for The World Bank. If I push this, he won’t hesitate to use me to get to you and bring down everything you’ve built.”

Tag pushed away from the window. “Then we handle him the old-fashioned way, how it was done in grandfather’s days. One bullet solves—”

“No!” Violet’s voice cracked like a whip. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you. Dexter Flint isn’t some small-time businessman you can intimidate or eliminate. He’s got connections I could only dream of acquiring. If anything happens to him and it points to me, everything—the Gragna Mafia included—comes crashing down.”

George’s expression darkened further. “So, my daughter, after fifteen years of running away from her responsibilities, returns only to tell me what can’t be done?”

“I’m telling you what will happen if you pursue this course of action,” Violet replied firmly. “Mark my words. Dexter Flint has the ability and contacts to destroy us all.”

“Perhaps,” Sophia interjected diplomatically, “we should consider a different approach? Violet, darling, you’ve obviously spent time with him. Surely you must have observed something useful?”

The irony of her mother’s question made Violet’s stomach turn. Oh, she’d observed plenty—like how his touch made her skin tingle, how sexually he gave her more satisfaction than she had ever dreamed of, how his rare smiles transformed his entire face, and how his integrity was as much a part of him as breathing. Most of all, how her heart rate increased every time she thought of him.

“The only approach with Dexter Flint is to stay as far away from him as possible,” Violet stated firmly. “Unless you want to see this entire family in prison.”

Tag snorted. “Since when did you start caring about what happens to this family?”

“Enough!” George roared as he fixed Violet with a penetrating stare. “I stand firm by the only solution to our problem, Violet. He is in the perfect position to sway the false claims against us. You have two weeks to find another way to manage this situation. Two weeks, Violet. After that, we will use one of our own female associates to spin the kind of web you seem unable to do to save your family.”

Ice spread through her veins as the threat in his voice was unmistakable. She’d be damned if she stood by and watched some whore seduce Dexter and lead him on a path not meant for him. Not now that she was in love with him.

Shit! When did may be falling in love turn to IN love?

Violet struggled to keep her expression stern as the realization struck. She had run away from Dexter’s house because of the way he had made her feel in that pool. She’d realized she wouldn’t be able to force him to do anything illegal… but being in love all of a sudden? Her? The one who didn’t believe in it? Who had sworn never to submit to that feeble emotion that writers write about?

Fucking hell. It’s true. I am in love with him.

“Remember my warning, Father,” she replied as her mind raced through possibilities. She had fourteen days to find a way to keep the man she was growing to love from becoming the latest acquisition of the family she’d never quite managed to escape.

She tilted her head back and stared at him resolutely.

“Don’t cry wolf when the shit hits the fan.” Stepping forward, she hugged her mother. “I’m sorry, Mom, I won’t be staying for dinner.”

“Good. You don’t deserve to be treated,” Tag sneered. He grabbed her by the arm. “But I will do the brotherly thing and walk you to your car.”

Violet didn’t protest, and with a nod at her father as a goodbye, she walked beside him to her car. She knew Tag as well as she did herself. Her brother had been playing a role, but she would never expose him to their father. He must have a very good reason for the warning he had sent her the day Theo came to see her and for acting out like he just did.

“Spit it out, Tag,” she said as they reached her car. “Just what the hell is going on? What the fuck has Theo done this time?”

Tag lit a cigar and stood dragging on it as he lazily looked around. She knew what he was looking for. Guards keeping an eye out, bodyguards always on the edge for anyone who might be out to get to the big, bad Don… and the CCTV cameras catching words said not meant to be heard.

Turning his head slightly away from the cameras, he muttered around the cigar, “I have reason to believe that Theo is up to no good. Dad doesn’t want to hear any of it, but I have been watching him. He’s colluding with the wrong people, sis.” He blew out the smoke and continued as the gray mist swirled around his head, “His power as the son of George Lucky Russo has gone to his head. He wants it all, and to be third in line as successor suddenly doesn’t sit well with him.”

“Are you saying he’s the one behind the rumors and falsified documents that implicate you and Dad?”

“I’m saying Theo is the one who laundered the money, and he did it to get Dad, Leo, and me out of the way so he can take over as the Don of the Gragna Mafia.”

“Come on, Tag! He’s only twenty-eight years old. Surely, you’re mistaken?”

“In this, I have never been surer about anything in my life, Violet. You haven’t seen Theo in the role of a mafioso. He changed from the sweet, funny boy we all knew. It doesn’t matter to him that we specialize in white-collar crime. He’s pursuing his own accolade and turned rogue in more ways than one. His street cred is… Slasher. That alone should tell its own tale.”

“I can’t believe he’d go that far.” Violet ran a hand through her hair as frustration built inside her. “What the hell do we do, Tag?”

“The only way to shut him down is to get those investigations from The World Bank to be done properly to find the true culprit and not concentrate on Dad, Leo, and me. They have to delve deeper to follow not only the digital trail but the actual money. It’s the only way the rest of us, including Mom, will stay out of prison.”

“Which would mean Theo would be the one ending up behind bars.”

“He broke the code, Violet. You know what that means. It’s either jail, or he’s going to end up where anyone who fucks with the Gragna Mafia does… swimming with the fishes, wearing concrete boots. Which one do you wish for him?”

Violet sighed heavily. No matter how badly Theo had messed up, he was her little brother, and she loved him.

“So, you believe Dexter Flint is still the only option we have?”

“You’ve come to know him, Sis. The question is… don’t you?”