Prologue

Stefano

Some would argue the morality of my work. Who were they that I should care about their opinion? I wasn't on my knees asking for salvation. Forgiveness wouldn't cleanse my soul. I wasn't sorry because it wasn't the lives I'd taken that kept me up at night. It was the enemies I had yet to slay.

I didn't need a priest to confess my sins. For confession, there had to be remorse. Remorse would require me to have regret. I had a conscience, but I didn't allow emotions to overrule my judgement.

My brothers called me the terminator, but I considered myself a debt collector. No one liked a debt collector. I reminded them of their failures because debts were like promises. Words whispered in backrooms. No doubt, at the time, spoken with good intentions, but good intentions paved the road to hell. And that was where they found me waiting to collect.

A lie was a debt to the truth, a broken promise. A liability. I had a few of those in my ledger and the scars to prove it.

The first lesson I learned from my father, like most lessons, I learned the hard way. That was to never make a promise I couldn't keep. And never let a broken promise go unpunished.

Another lesson learned the hard way—never trust.

Sitting in the underground level of the bank, I stared across the table to my brother, Marco, once known as the enforcer, but now the don of the Bruno family. I trusted him, but I wasn't sure he trusted me. Maybe he shouldn't. Maybe no one should.

I wanted blood.

My father had been assassinated, and I agreed with Marco, our papà had been betrayed. Betrayed by someone he trusted.

And there was the rub with debts. Death didn't remove the obligation for repayment. Someone had to pay, and someone had to collect. Some debts could be paid with interest. Some had to be paid in pain.

I cleaned beneath my fingernails with the tip of a four-inch folding combat knife. Holding a knife was like a child holding a security blanket. Fitting since I'd started sleeping with knives under my pillow when I was seven. Monsters dwelled in the shadows. They lurked in the darkness. I would know.

I'd become one.

Setting my knife aside, I leaned back in my chair and pulled a cigarette from my pack. The rough whirl of the metal wheel striking flint from the Zippo sparked a flame. I inhaled, and the paper and tobacco sizzled as it caught fire. Nicotine hit my bloodstream, and when I exhaled, the tension in my shoulders eased.

"What do we know about District Attorney Charles Moreau?" Marco asked Santino Jilani. One day Santi would take over for his father as don of the Jilani family. But he was a pussy. He had a temper but none of the power or influence required to instill trust from his soldiers and fear from his enemies.

Not that it would matter. Even before our families formed an alliance, Marco had taken over the Jilani family. Perhaps not outwardly, but don Jilani was old and tired, and Santi had questioned Marco's loyalty to Santi's sister, Allegra. Bad fucking decision. Marco had collared and leashed him like a dog.

I remained quiet. Smoke from my cigarette curled around my fingers. Marco was impossible to read. Brooding, pissed, calculated. He was never content. Maybe when he was balls deep in his wife. Probably not even then. The unforgiving asshole.

Marco had put nothing before the mafia. Not until Allegra. I glanced at Marco's badass bride as I took another hit off my cigarette. Sweet innocence cloaked a fiercely loyal woman who loved blood and violence as much as her husband.

A formidable queen for a mafia king.

Power, money, loyalty, and family. Omertà, the code of silence was the oath we lived by.

Knox rolled the cherry of his cigarette in the ashtray. "Moreau's in bed with the Irish like a hooker on a Friday night. Patrick has a get out of jail free card, and total access to the prosecutor's office. How the fuck else would he be able to set up shop next door to the mayor and move his inventory? Fuck cop credit. He has Black Amex level access."

Knox was Irish but had earned Marco's loyalty because he'd devoted his life to Allegra. Like the rest of us, he'd die for her, but his devotion went to the core of who he was. They had a bond rarely found and never between enemies. She was an Italian mafia princess, and he'd turned on his Irish mob brothers to protect her.

Santi rested his ankle over his knee and rubbed his palm on his trousers. "We tried for months. We couldn't break Moreau. He and Byrne have history." He stretched his neck, the pop and crack audible. "Chief Williams keeps the heat off us."

I drew in a long inhale of smoke, letting it escape through my nose. "Then why the fuck is my man facing racketeering charges?"

Dante Caruso had been my Uncle Cirillo's man. Dante was trusted. Had he not wanted to come to the U.S., there would have been no way I could've courted him away from Cirillo's accounting firm in Portugal. But with the money coming in, we needed a trusted lieutenant to keep the books clean.

While Cirillo had taken over the Bruno vineyards and business back in the homeland, Marco was building an empire in the States. Business was good. Orlando and his crew were growing his pharmaceutical business on the campus of Eminence University and in strip clubs.

Money needed to be invested and reinvested. LB Consorzio had been my brother Luca's holdings firm in the U.S.

Luca had been the negotiator in our family. While private, LB Consorzio was the name of a legitimate lending institution. Legitimate as far as the books were concerned while servicing the needs of both the Jilani and Bruno families.

I ground my molars because I didn't disagree with much when it came to my brothers. But Luca wasn't dead. I'd mourned him, only to discover he'd faked his death, and then hid behind the skirts of his petite, blonde submissive. He turned his back on his family for pussy. I didn't care about his reasons or his BDSM community. He wanted to inflict pain with pleasure. That I understood, but I relished the screams of my enemies, not my lovers.

Fuck Marco and his need to control every aspect of a situation before acting, and fuck Luca for thinking he could wash the blood off his hands. Someone had betrayed our family.

Lies and broken promises. I could feel the pressure building within me because someone needed to pay the debt. If not Luca, then the cunt we all knew was responsible.

As much as I wanted to become Giada's God and crucify her until she confessed her sins, I wouldn't betray Marco. He'd given the order. That didn't change the fact that I was getting tired of following them. We couldn't reveal the truth about Luca. Giada had associates, they were all culpable, and I wanted them all dead.

I wanted off the chain, unshackled to do what I'd been trained for. To collect debts.

I wanted to retaliate against anyone who betrayed my family. Someone had ratted again. Dante had sat in the executive chair at the bank for less than two weeks.

My fault. My responsibility. My fucking promise. This was my problem to fix. The Bruno brothers were leaving their mark. While the seat of our family was still in Italy, Marco had staked claim on the city. Eventually, he'd conquer the entire southeastern seaboard.

But the bank was my responsibility. A sixteen-story building had become the hub for our business. It kept the unsavory elements of our organization away from Savio and Anna. And it kept Marco's estate as a home. More visible influence of Allegra on our family—home had to be sanctuary.

Mafia business was now conducted at the bank.

"The charges are bullshit," Santi said. He spoke with confidence, but he wore his worry. Lines creased the corner of his eyes, and his dark hair bore the marks of aggressive finger swipes. He chain-smoked his cigarette, rolling the filter nervously between his thumb and finger. "The Irish are flexing."

"Patrick Byrne is out of commission," Marco said. "At best he's dead, and his lieutenants are covering for him. At worst, he's afraid to show weakness from his injuries."

"Maybe." Santi took a sip of his coffee.

"I wouldn't doubt your sister's skills with a knife," I said.

Allegra smiled at me for the compliment. "Thank you, but I want more hand-to-hand combat training. I want to fight."

"Sorry, can't help you there. Your husband doesn't like my influence on you." Not even for training. She was already lethal with a knife and fearless enough to take on the head of the Irish mob. She was the reason Patrick Byrne was out of the public eye. I hadn't seen the damage, but I'd seen her bathed in blood, and not much of it was hers.

She rolled her eyes. "You can handle him."

In a lot of ways, we were alike. Not only was she fiercely protective, but she kept her promises. I would keep mine. "I did promise."

Marco growled and rested his hand on her leg. No doubt he felt the hilt of her blade strapped high on her thigh beneath the fabric of her skirt.

"We don't know Byrne's condition," Allegra said. "And no one has seen him since the fire."

A fire I started when I'd burned his fucking mansion to the ground. The sick fuck peddled in underage pussy. Not kiddies, but girls like Deidre, Allegra's sister. A silent communication passed between me and Allegra. Byrne hadn't just taken her sister. He'd taken her too, held her in his home, and used her as bait to kill Marco, but she'd fought back.

"If he's not dead," I said. "Then he's still a threat."

"It doesn't matter if Patrick is dead or not," Knox said. "His brother Ian will take control of the operation. Fuck, he'd have struck the match to burn down the house if he thought he'd have the support of Patrick's men. He will now with Patrick out of the way and a new enemy in the Brunos."

"It's time I met with Moreau." I stubbed out my cigarette. A debt needed to be collected.

"You can't just walk into the district attorney's office and make demands." Santi tugged on his pant legs as he stood.

Nor could I start with breaking bones. That would come later if I failed to get the DA's cooperation. I needed him to be compliant not dead.

"He needs to be properly motivated." Marco snatched Knox's cigarette from Allegra's fingers before she could inhale. "As does my wife."

"Good luck with that." Knox chuckled. He focused on me. "I've met Moreau. He looks good in a suit and talks pretty, and he's not a coward. He's arrogant."

Marco nodded. "We need leverage, but not just against Moreau. I want the judge, too. And I think it's time I make an impression on Chief Williams." His gaze locked on Santi. "Perhaps we need a new chief of police with more influence with his district attorney."

"Moreau will be at the City Gala tomorrow night along with judges, city council members, and the mayor." Santi stood.

"We're supposed to go to that?" The statement was more of a question coming from Marco.

"Yes," Allegra said with a quirk to her lips. "Mom is on the planning committee."

Marco shifted his gaze to Santi. "I assume that means she'll be in attendance?"

Allegra laughed. "Of course, and you know she's going to want to introduce you to everyone. Formal attire for the dinner and awards banquet. They recognize businesses within the community. The tickets were a grand a plate."

"Thank god, there's an open bar because without it I'd never make it through the night." Santi tilted his head and lit another cigarette. "Pucker up or bend over. There's enough ass kissing to get a case of hemorrhoids."

Marco lifted Allegra's fingers and slid his lips across her knuckles. "Please tell me there is something you want more than for me to spend an evening with your mother."

"I'm open to suggestions."

He leaned in and whispered in her ear.

Allegra tightened her fingers on Marco's thigh, and a throaty little moan slipped from between her lips. Fucking newlyweds.

"Fuck me," Knox cursed. "I need to get out. I haven't gotten my dick wet in weeks." He stood from the table. "What's Dee up to today?"

Marco narrowed his gaze on Knox. "Look somewhere else."

Knox laughed and flipped him off. "The little patatina is mine now."

My brother and Emilio had gifted her the nickname when they gamed together. Marco hated it.

"You can stop glaring. They're friends. And she needs him." Allegra smiled at her best friend. "Besides, Knox doesn't have a problem getting girls."

Maybe not, but I hadn't seen him hooking up since he'd been with us.

Knox stayed close to Deidre because of what happened to her. Seeing her bruised and beaten had fucked him up. He protected her, felt responsible for the shit his Irish brothers did to her. He'd turned on them because of Allegra, but he'd become savage after what they'd done to Dee.

I think he was the only one Deidre had trusted with the truth of what happened while she was held by Byrne, but he hadn't said shit. Just protected her like he'd been doing for Allegra since they were kids. Hell, he'd stood up to Marco.

Outside of being Irish, Knox was solid. He, along with Orlando and Emilio, lived in the guesthouse at the rear of Marco's property. Initially, we used the guesthouse to run the business, but after the situation with Patrick Byrne, Marco didn't want our operation to attract our enemies to the mansion.

That was the motivation for our offices to be inside the bank—to protect the family. Once we'd acquired the property, we immediately began fortifying the perimeter, installing high tech security, and remodeling the interior. Now, it was a fucking fortress, isolated and on its own grid.

Emilio not only had surveillance systems monitoring every inch of the building and surrounding area, but scramblers protected the airspace, and he had subterranean detection systems.

The Bruno's had made enemies as they'd taken over the region. And we'd gone to war with the Irish. The floor below ground was my other domain. Soundproof, bulletproof, with industrial drains capable of cleaning up the messes I tended to make during interrogations.

I returned my attention to Marco and Allegra. "I'll go to the gala." I leaned back in my chair. "Make sure I'm on the guest list."