Chapter Eleven

Stefano

Tension was palpable in the living room of the guesthouse. My brothers were all here. Marco twisted his lionhead ring on his finger. Luca sat next to Orlando. I leaned against the wall with my arms crossed.

Carmine and Timoteo were at the bank keeping an eye on Giada.

Knox was once again taking risks for this family. Protecting Allegra meant protecting her husband. Ian Byrne had ordered a hit on Marco. Knox was former Irish mafia. As a trusted soldier, he'd been in Patrick Byrne's inner circle. He knew the players.

He'd betrayed them to save Allegra and her sister. He risked exposure because he, along with one of the guys from his crew, was following Ian, identifying those closest to him, waiting for an opportunity to even the score after what they'd done to Deidre when they'd assaulted her.

Emilio leaned back in his chair. "I concentrated my search of Moreau's cases in the DA's office down to the last six months and the year of his wife's death, but the only connection to Patrick Byrne I could find were a few misdemeanors of sexual misconduct he'd pled out. I ran the list against the names in Celine's notebook. There are matches. Give me more time, and I know I'll find more. The prosecutor's office has hundreds of open cases."

"We know Moreau is corrupt," I said. "We know Byrne is reaping benefits from their association."

"Let's assume Isaak Karas is the point of the spear," Marco said. "Edmond Story was laundering money for him. And Patrick Byrne was using Karas to move his merchandise."

"We all know Patrick peddled in skin," Orlando said.

Antonio pulled a cigarette from his pack. "I'm sure they've partied in the same playground with underage pussy."

Emilio nodded his agreement. "Moreau arrested Dante to shut down the bank. Karas doesn't want us doing business in his territory. Story, with his network of smurfs, had a good thing going with Karas."

"Fuck him," I said. "Story is in the basement of the bank giving Dante everything he needs to take over his accounts."

"Story isn't connected enough to cover Karas," Marco said.

I agreed. "But Byrne is, and with Moreau in Byrne's pocket, they've been able to move money and merch."

Luca sat quietly in the corner. "Who's giving Moreau his orders?"

"You know who," I said. "If Karas is the point of the spear, Giada is the hilt."

"We can hypothesize." Orlando sat with widespread thighs, his knee bouncing with nervous energy. "If we assume what we know are facts, then we know Lazaro Adami killed Papà to stop the alliance between our family and the Jilanis."

Marco's jaw tensed. The alliance was formed when he married Allegra, don Jilani's daughter. "Let's assume Karas sent Giada to Adami. Then he ordered the hit against our father, and then he tasked Giada to clean it up."

When we went to confront Adami, she'd killed him before he could incriminate her. But Adami's eyes had spoken for him. He'd stared at her as she'd aimed her gun at him. He'd cursed her, and she'd pulled the trigger.

"We know she was meeting with someone in Greece," Marco said.

"Karas has a villa in Santorini." Emilio had been diving deep into Karas' business and associates.

"Fuck Karas," I said. "Marco, we can't risk Giada communicating with him. She needs contained."

"Agreed."

"Karas doesn't like competition. He's reclusive because he's deeply connected. He doesn't like to get his hands dirty." Luca glanced at Emilio. "Have you found a recent picture?"

He shook his head. "I've recovered surveillance footage, but it's long distance, and grainy. AI is working on it, but it's still shit. The only other photo I've found is from his early years in university on the rowing team."

Marco stood and paced. "We know Giada is in bed with Karas."

"Giada's a cunt," Luca said. "She's in bed with everyone."

"Not me." I smirked.

Ant gruffed. "She fucked her way into a position of power in this family. But she couldn't get Roberto to marry her."

"My father was only going to have one wife." Marco cast a side glance at Luca. An unspoken acknowledgment about our father. Even with his love, he was ruthless to the end. He wouldn't claim Savio because he wasn't born of his wife.

"Karas wants war. He's going to fucking feel it." Marco's hand balled into a fist. "Get Cirillo and Valentino onboard. We quietly start stripping him of his assets. With Karas, it has to be a cold war." He turned to Emilio. "I need you to make sure our assets are secure."

"Yes, boss."

Luca stood. "I need to speak with Mia. I won't commit her resources without her involvement."

Mia Thomas, Luca's partner, was heiress to a billion-dollar empire. She had money and resources and had given control of those assets to Luca. Along with becoming his sexual submissive.

I'd never understood his territorial view of women, until Celine. I didn't need her calling me sir or master, but I wanted her tears, her silent cries of ecstasy, and I wanted to be the only man in her head, in her heart, and inside her body. Just the thought of another man touching her sent a scorching white-hot flare of rage through me.

"I want us to own Karas," Luca said.

I smiled, relieved to hear him speak like the brother I remembered.

Avenging my father's murder was going to make my uncle Cirillo froth at the mouth. Valentino had taken over the Adami family after Giada murdered Lazaro, and he'd promised his loyalty to Marco. Marco would make him honor his word.

A turbulent vortex of contradictions surged through me. We were still missing something. Patrick was out of the picture, and now his brother wanted my angel. "If Patrick owed a debt to Moreau, and Ian collected, what the fuck does he want with my girl?"

Ant bristled. "How does a father trade his daughter for a debt?"

Emilio briefly met my stare, then dropped his head. He wouldn't say anything about Celine, respecting that she'd become personal to me.

"She isn't his daughter." I rubbed the knuckles of my left hand with my right. "She doesn't know, and I haven't said anything to her yet."

"Did you do a fucking DNA test on her?" Ant furrowed his brow.

Emilio glanced at me again. I gave him a slight nod.

"He didn't have to," Emilio said. "Her mom's medical records list her as O positive. Same with Moreau. The only possible blood type for Celine is O. Her dad is someone with A blood type because she's A positive."

"I'd asked Emilio to look into Moreau. Celine told me her parents fought after she'd been in the hospital with a blood condition. She overheard her mom confess to her father about an affair. He must have learned about her infidelity when the blood types weren't compatible."

Marco snapped his gaze at me. "Does she suspect?"

I shook my head. "She won't be safe until I know why Ian wants her. He didn't take her to sell her. He legally tied her to him through marriage." I had already decided my course of action. "I'm going to make her a widow."

Marco slid his hands into his pockets. "Make him hurt."

Emilio stood. "Do you want to see what I have on Karas?"

We followed him into the back room that had been converted into his computer command center. With a few keystrokes, he pulled up the grainy image of a man on the deck of a yacht.

Luca leaned toward the monitor, scrutinizing the image. "Fuck."

The screenshot from surveillance was too pixelated and distorted to see anything but black hair.

Emilio popped up another image. "I can age him with software, but it's not perfect." He pulled up an image. A row of young men in white shorts and polo shirts stood with their hands clasped in front of them, squinting against bright sunshine.

"There's something familiar about the dark-haired man third from the left," I said. He was a head taller than the other men, muscular, but still had the babyface of an adolescent.

"Good. That's Karas. One second." Emilio clicked some keys, dragging the image into another program. The image distorted with age progression software. "This is him at thirty. The older we make him, the more the computer has to guess, but it's the best I can do."

Slowly, the pixels began to come together, creating a computer enhanced image of a man in his fifties. Gray replaced the black hair. Wrinkles creased the corners of his blue eyes. The muscles softened into the fatter bulk of a man with a pampered lifestyle, and his neck thickened.

"Can you give him a mustache?" Luca sat in the chair next to Emilio.

Emilio typed on the keyboard. Then with the mouse control, he added a dark mustache to the weathered face.

"Figlio di puttana!" Son of a bitch. Luca leaned back in his chair, lifted his arms, and rested his clasped hands on top of his head. "He was there. At the diamond drop. I watched him strike Giada across the face and shove her into his vehicle."

"Do we know where he is now?" Orlando asked.

"Do we?" Marco went to Emilio for confirmation.

"Yes, and no. She knows we have Story, and she's been firing off emails, but none specifically that I can tie to Karas. He won't be easy to track." A slow smile spread across his face. "But we can give her something too good not to go directly to him." He turned to Luca. "Unless you're still dead."

Marco rested his hand on Luca's shoulder. "Once she knows you survived, she's going to be dangerous."

"That conniving bitch killed our father," Orlando spat. "She nearly killed Luca and Carlo. She wants Stef dead. She is dangerous. Stef wants her dead. Let him kill her."

Luca turned to me. "Are you ready?"

Fuck, I'd been ready months ago.

Marco slid his hands into his pockets. "Before we unleash Stef on Giada, I want Byrne in the basement with Story. Get Knox. That fucker managed to get into my house undetected, give my wife a secret phone, and elude you," he said to Ant. "Let him off the leash to get Byrne and bring him in. I want Santi with him. The Jilanis are at risk as long as there is a vendetta out on our family."

"Keep working on Karas," I said to Emilio. "I need to talk to Celine. Then I think it's time I paid the district attorney a visit."

***

Anticipation hummed through me, a primal need to hunt my enemy, to feel their blood on my hands and watch life drain from their eyes into a vortex of nothingness. First, I needed to talk to Celine.

The elevator ascended to the fifth floor of my building. I entered the apartment and tamped down the flash of concern at not seeing her.

Why would she sit alone up here when she could be on the floor below immersed in her painting? I immediately took the elevator down to her studio. Muted music thumped from behind the closed door.

And laughter. Someone was with her and after this morning, my guess would be that Anna had befriended my angel.

After entering the code, I opened the door and leaned against the jamb with my arms crossed over my chest.

Anna had a blindfold over her eyes while Celine helped her hold a paintbrush. They giggled as Celine scolded her.

"Soft strokes."

"That's what he said," Anna said, and they started laughing again.

Celine shuddered. "Antonio seems so mean and intimidating. I imagine he would prefer a firm stroke."

"Everything about Antonio is hard." They dissolved into more giggles.

I bristled. Neither my sister nor my angel should be thinking of Antonio's dick. But I was too enchanted by their smiles and laughter to scold them.

Celine continued to manipulate Anna's hand making the brush dance over the canvas. "This isn't a rainbow. And it isn't a penis like you helped me paint."

Anna huffed. "It was an elephant."

"That was a big trunk."

I couldn't stop the gruff chuckle from climbing up my throat and past my lips.

"Cazzo!" Fuck. "Is that Stef?"

Celine stared at me and nodded. The tilt of her wide lips hinted at mischief. Paint smudged her flushed cheeks. She finger-combed her blonde hair from her face.

"Having fun, Angel?" I slipped off my suitcoat and loosened my tie.

Anna ripped the scarf from her eyes, tumbled off the stool, and dropped to her knees. She laughed again and rolled onto her back. "Ouch."

Celine bent over and grabbed her hand to help her to stand. Anna tried to find her balance. She grabbed onto the easel. It tipped, and she scrambled to right it before it fell to the floor.

"Merda. Shit." Anna studied the canvas, listing her head to the right then left. "It's not an elephant." Her brow lifted. "And it's not a penis. What did I paint?"

They were drunk. I stood behind Celine and wrapped my arms around her. She leaned against me, tilting her head to the side as I breathed deeply of her warm skin and subtle wildflower scent.

Shades of oranges, yellows, and reds blended on the canvas. At first glance, it looked like an abstract wash of color, but the longer I stared at it, the colors began to flow together, becoming movement on the canvas.

"It's beautiful," Anna said and grabbed her cold slice of pizza from the paint palette. "Not nearly as stunning as yours."

"I want to see this penis elephant." I slipped my hand under Celine's shirt and grazed her belly with my fingertips.

"Absolutely not." Celine twisted out of my arms.

Anna stumbled toward the sink. "I'm talking about the one she painted of you. I'll help you clean up then I need to go to bed."

Anna kept talking from the sink, but I stepped in close to Celine. "You painted me?"

Celine rinsed brushes in the mason jar of water next to her easel. "You can't see it."

Anna's arms were laden with bottles. "I'm going to take the prosecco, Aperol, and soda water back over to my apartment."

"Stay there," I barked. "I'll help Celine clean up."

Anna popped her hip as she glared at me. "You'll need to share her. She's not just yours now."

"Out." The narrowing of my eyes, the hard line of my mouth, and the clipped tone of my voice sent the message that I wanted to be alone with Celine.

Anna scurried to the door. "I want that painting." She pointed to the painting on the easel. "And the elephant."

The door clicked shut. "Angel, why won't you show me the painting?"

"Because it's not complete." She carried the palette to the sink.

I came up behind her, brushed her hair off her neck. Her skin was damp with sweat. I inhaled, then touched my tongue to her slightly salty flesh.

"Feel what it does to me to know you were thinking about me." I pressed my erection into the cleft of her ass.

"I think about you all day," she said on a breath. "When I painted today, I thought about the way you look at me when you're inside me."

"Fuck, Angel." I gripped her hips, nipped the skin of her neck, then laved the bite with my tongue. Electric heat seeped low into my groin. "Feel how hard my cock is for you."

She turned in my arms, and I slanted my mouth over hers, split her lips, and sucked her tongue. Like opening the throttle on my Ducati at midnight on the interstate, the kiss went from zero to reckless, sliding into the curves of her mouth, feeling the G's tug on my gut, and the slip of adrenaline fueling my need to feel her cunt swallow my cock.

Her low moan clung to the kiss, sparking with an unquenchable thirst to take her hard and fast. She tasted of orange liquor and temptation.

"I'm going to fuck you so good, Angel."

"Your accent does wicked things to me."

"Do you want me to do wicked things to you?" I ripped off my tie and tossed it to the floor.

"Yes, please." She tugged her T-shirt over her head, unhooked her bra, and peeled the straps down her arms.

I bent my head and sucked one of her pretty, pink nipples into my mouth. She clutched my hair, and I sucked harder. I sucked until she moaned my name.

"Oh god, Stef. Please."

"You'll think of me every time you come to paint." I pushed her shorts and panties down her thighs, and the soft cotton fluttered down to her ankles. "You'll think about how it feels to have my cock slamming into your soaked cunt."

"I'm always wet because I'm always thinking about you."

As I unbuttoned my shirt, she unbuckled my belt and slid open the hook and bar closure. The whir of the zipper sent a tingle down my spine. I shrugged out of my shirt and tossed it aside, jerked my undershirt over my head, and stood in front of her with my chest bare, my heart hammering, and my emotions raw.

A guttural moan ripped from me as her fingers curled around my cock. The pressure had my balls tightening.

I stared into her glossy blue eyes, darkened by lust and alcohol. "You're my fallen angel, corrupted to want someone who isn't going to be good for you."

"You're good for me, Stef. So good."

This, the honesty in her words, the untainted aura of innocence, made her fucking tempting. She didn't feign her wants, not even the darker pleasures she'd only begun to discover.

I lifted her onto the counter, spread her thighs, and ran my finger along her drenched slit. Two fingers found their way inside her, stroking her satiny walls.

"Please," she softly begged, and wrapped her legs around my hips.

Heat from her pussy warmed my dick. I fisted my shaft, angled the head to her entrance, nudged her folds, and pushed inside her. Hot, wet walls encased my cock. My mind numbed. A surge of power rushed through me as I thrust hard and deep. She clung to me, her nails digging into the meat of my shoulder.

I gripped her ass and slammed into her again and again. I fucked her hard and brutal. I fucked until she was careening off a ragged precipice of release. Silent cries chased her tears. I was lost inside her, drowning in a maelstrom of emotions.

This was us. Obsessed. Desperate. Possessive. Dark and light. Sin and innocence.

Celine

I clung to Stefano, the euphoric high of sex flooding through me. With my legs still hooked around his hips, his cock slipped out of me. A gush of fluids dampened my thighs, and the mingled blend of us scented the air. He rested his forehead against mine, and his large hands rested on my hips.

"We need to talk."

"Is everything okay? Did something happen?"

Black lashes framed his amber eyes. They stared into mine. "It's about your father. There're some things you need to know."

A spike of fear hit my heart. Was I ready to know my father was dead? Tears pricked the back of my eyes, my throat tightened, and a heavy weight of insecurity settled in my gut.

"Wait," I stammered and pushed on his chest.

"Angel." He stepped aside, and I slid off the counter, grabbed a towel, and wiped between my legs.

I put my hand up. "Just wait," I said again and stepped into my panties and shorts. He made me reckless. The pill needed seven days to become effective. Yet, we kept taking chances.

I felt too vulnerable and too exposed. My emotions over my father were already too tangled up with my need for Stef. The lines blurred between lust, passion, fear, and retaliation.

Stefano zipped up, crossed the room to his suit coat, retrieved his pack of cigarettes, and went to the open window.

I felt his stare as I put on my bra and the T-shirt.

With space between us, the moment of intimacy morphed into a moment heavy with tension. Was I ready to hear what he had to say? It didn't matter. I had to be.

"Did you kill him?" I barely whispered the words.

"No." He lit the cigarette, then patted the spot next to him.

The one word said more than I wanted to hear. Or maybe I just wasn't prepared to know what else Charles Moreau could do to me. I grabbed a glass dish for Stef to use as an ashtray and sat next to him.

A tremble started deep in my belly, migrated out, and consumed me.

"This is serious, bella. My sister is drunk. Are you?"

I was feeling the alcohol, but I wasn't drunk. The serious tone of his voice had a sobering effect. "I'm not drunk. Please, tell me what's going on."

"I asked Emilio to check your father's cases surrounding your mother's death, and any recent activity that could lead to Ian Byrne."

"Is the notebook helping?"

"It is." He leaned back against the window. "I need to tell you something, but I'm afraid it's going to create a lot more unanswered questions for you. Questions I'm not sure can ever be answered."

My system spiked with the first telltale signs of anxiety. My breaths shortened, my chest tightened, and a chill slipped over my flesh.

Stef noticed. He laced our fingers. "It's about the affair."

I inhaled through my nose, releasing a long steady breath to calm my nerves. "Okay. Did you find out his name? I want to know who was so important to her that she would ruin her marriage."

He shook his head. "Angel, she cheated before they were married, not after."

"What?" My brows pinched.

"From what Emilio could glean, she'd gone on a semester abroad, and then found out she was pregnant. She'd been dating your dad, but she must have had at least one other encounter before she left or while she was abroad. Charles Moreau isn't your biological father."

The trembles inside me became a cataclysmic vibration. My foundation began to crumble. No, he was my dad. I made another bargain with myself. If there was even the slightest chance he wasn't, that I didn't share his DNA, I'd let go of my anger at the way he'd treated me. I'd never have to think about him again. No connection. No claim on me.

Was I really going to make a deal with myself right now? I was because my conception had already cost my mother her life, but it would also set me free from the Moreau albatross hanging around my neck.

I'd never forgive him for what he did to my mom. Nothing she could have done justified taking her life. And if was true that he wasn't my father, then all we had was each other. "How do you know? Even if she slept with someone else, she was still sleeping with my dad. If he is my dad."

"Your blood type is incompatible with Charles Moreau. I'm guessing that's how he discovered the truth."

Heat burned in my eyes. I swallowed the rise of bile in my throat. I could replay the arguments between my mom and dad with perfect clarity in my mind. The sound of her tears, and the anger in his tone. Much of what he'd said in their fights made sense now. That he'd never should have married. That she'd trapped him.

"They were a mistake from the beginning." I let the tears fall. "I know she loved him." My heart ached for my mom. Had she lied? Maybe she'd been scared. Nineteen and pregnant. Maybe she didn't know. "Who is my father?"

"I don't know. But I'm going to find out. I'm going to pay your father a visit tonight."

I spun toward him, swinging on an emotional pendulum. "I'm going."

"Angel, it's too dangerous."

"I'm going, Stef. I need the truth."

"I'm going to get it."

"And I'm going to be there to hear it from his mouth. I get it. She lied to him. He could hate her. He didn't have to kill her. He obviously didn't love her. I don't know. Maybe he blames me." My father was morally bankrupt. He used and abused. I lowered my head. "You don't know," I whispered. "He was cruel. I couldn't understand what I'd done to make him hate me."

He blew a stream of smoke from his nose. "You should hate him." He stubbed out his cigarette.

Sitting here with Stefano, I was a little girl again hiding in my closet. I was the terrified fourteen-year-old girl who understood the lecherous way my father's friends watched me, commenting on my pretty blue eyes and their whispers about what they'd do to my mouth.

And I was the woman in my room, having a panic attack before the gala. He'd stolen my innocence, my self-worth, and my security.

I glanced at Stefano. My vision blurred. "I do hate him." An overwhelming wave of rage crashed over me. "I hate him," I screamed. "I hate him!"

I broke. The floodgates opened, and I dropped to my knees burying my face in my hands.

"I hate him."

Stefano was there, banding his arms around me, cocooning me in his embrace. Muscles in his chest flexed beneath my tear-dampened cheek. He was warm, and solid, and somehow, I'd become his. I'd lost my innocence in his bed, found my self-worth in his eyes, and my security in his arms.

"Please, take me with you."

His strong hand cradled my skull, holding me tight to his formidable body. "Play this out with me, Angel." He pulled my face away from his chest and looked into my eyes. "Your father knows you're not his daughter. He traded you to Ian Byrne, a man who he knows traffics young girls. There is no good outcome for you with Byrne. You either end up his personal whore, or he sells you. Your father never meant to see you again."

I sat on the floor next to him, our backs resting against the wall. "I want him to know I'm not his emotionally challenged daughter. He bartered me for my mother's murder. I want him to see me with you. He tried to break me, but I can't let him see me broken."

"My usual methods of extracting information aren't going to work with your father. People, colleagues, and cops take an interest when a district attorney ends up dead."

Silence hung heavy between us. "Will you threaten him?"

"Sì, yes."

"Will you hurt him?"

I held my breath, waiting. One beat of my heart. Then two.

He bent his legs toward his chest, his wrists draped over his knees, and he rubbed his knuckles. "Sì. I'm going to hurt him. My threats are more like promises. I don't negotiate."

"If you do have to hurt him, are you worried I'd choose him over you?"

A slow smile tilted his lips. "It's too late for that, Angel. You're mine."

"Then let me go with you."

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. "I can't take you."

"Why?" My voice came out weak and small.

"Because when you see what I'm capable of you'll fear me more than you fear your father."

I rested my hand on his shoulder. He lowered his legs, and I straddled his lap. "Stef, look at me."

His gaze locked with mine, a storm of uncertainty swirling within the amber depths.

"I've been afraid of him since the night he killed my mother." I traced the faint scar in the arch of his brow. "I know who you are," I whispered and touched my lips against his, just the breath of a kiss.

"Do I scare you?" One of his hands rested on my hip, the other tangled in my hair.

"No. I'm brave because of you. I need you." If he was worried how I'd feel about my father's suffering, he shouldn't. "Please take me with you."

He tightened his hold on me, his arms like pythons surrounding me. "He's never going to hurt you again."

"I know." I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of him. His hair was soft against my face. I rested my hands on his bare torso, the sinew hot and hard beneath my fingertips.

Leaning forward, I opened my mouth over the tendon stretched taut in his neck. I sucked hard, working my tongue against his flesh, bruising him, and marking him as mine. Just as I was his.

"Even without your mouth on me, you own me," he said. "You can come with me."

"And I'd still be here, waiting, wanting to kiss you, if you told me no."

***

After we cleaned up the studio, we rode the elevator up. At some point today, someone had moved a few pieces of furniture into the apartment. A small two-person loveseat sat below my painting, there was a chair next to the window, and a small bistro table with two chairs in the kitchen area.

Stefano winked at me, and I went to the bathroom, grabbed a shower, and dressed in jeans and a hoodie. With my hair pulled into a high ponytail, I entered the kitchen area and used the microwave to make a cup of ginger tea. Then I sat by the window in the new chair and listened to Stefano and Carmine discuss the plan for getting to my father.

Not my father. I didn't know how to think of him. Referring to him as Charles felt strange but calling him my father slid across my tongue like acid.

"Does he have weapons in the house?" Carmine asked.

I turned away from the window. "Yes. In his office."

Stef strapped a gun to his ankle, then leaned forward. "Angel, are you sure?"

I picked up the notebook, flipped it open, and tore the first page out. Names, dates, and phone numbers, written in the hand of a child, scrawled across the page. Then I turned to the last page. Cameron Barras and Edmond Caruso were the last names I'd written in the book. I tore the page.

"What are you doing?" Stef asked.

"You said Emilio made a copy."

He nodded.

I carefully folded the pages and slid them into my back pocket. "I'm cashing in my insurance policy."

"Celine, you won't be safe until we know why Byrne wants you. We need to know what your father got out of the marriage. I'm going to do whatever is necessary. I need him to turn on Byrne."

"If he doesn't?"

"I'm going after Byrne next." He checked the magazine of his gun and slid it into his chest harness. "And yes, I'm going to hurt him."

I lifted a brow. "Can I watch?"

A smile curled Carmine's mouth as he strapped weapons to his body. "Our angel is ready to kick some ass."

Stef stood. "She's my angel."

"He won't be expecting us," I said. "I don't know if Marie will be there or not. If she is, I want her to hear my father confess." Maybe if she knew the truth, she'd finally have the strength to leave him.

I dug through my backpack for my keys.

"You're brave even if you stay here," Stef said.

I understood his concern about seeing my father—tortured, killed, beat up? I didn't know what exactly.

I recognized I'd never be free of my anxiety as long as my father had the ability to claw his way back into my thoughts. "I need to take my power back from him."

Standing between these two intimidating men I felt invincible. Kindness was weakness, and my father used weakness as a weapon.

We rode the elevator in silence. Once in the garage, Carmine slid into the backseat of the SUV as Stef opened the passenger front door for me.

Night surrounded the car as Stef drove us out of the garage. I could do this. I didn't want to live my life with regret. I'd lost my teenage years to anxiety.

The man next to me concealed guns and knives beneath the leather jacket molded to his muscular torso. He hid a black heart with a sinister propensity for violence.

"Breathe, Angel."

I lifted my gaze to his.

"You're going to be right next to me," he reiterated.

I vigorously nodded.

"First," he said, his voice deep and deadly. The voice of the devil. "Never turn your back on your enemy. Never show mercy. Never underestimate him." His focus shifted from me to the road, then back to me. "You are never on the defense. You never negotiate. You make the rules. He'll bend to you." His mouth formed a hard line, and his jaw clenched. "Or I'll take out his fucking knees. He'll never look down on you again."

Nervous energy fired through me. My skin felt like live wires were zapping me. I fought against the wave of nausea churning in my belly, but the closer we drove to my house, the worse my anxiety tightened my chest.

"Give me your hand," he said to me. When I did, he held it to his chest. "Breathe with me. I've got you."

I matched my breaths to the soft rise and fall of his. Even after my anxiety eased, he kept my hand in his.

"No one touches Celine." The ominous tone of his words made my tummy tip.

"Understood," Carmine said from the backseat.

"You stay next to me." Stefano release my hand as he pulled into the driveway, parked alongside Marie's sedan, and killed the engine. The slide of Carmine's gun echoed in the confines of the quiet vehicle. Before I could take a breath, my door opened. Carmine held his gun in his hand.

"What if Ian has men here?" Did we even know what we could be walking into? "If he does, are we going to kill them?" I asked.

"Don't worry, Angel." His gaze shifted to Stefano walking around the front of the SUV. "This is what your man does."

I slid out of the passenger seat with the key clutched tightly in my hand. With Carmine behind me and Stefano in front, I was banked by two huge Italian mafiosi.

We approached the door. I'd only been gone a couple of days, but this no longer felt like home. Home was a toxic four-letter word. My heartbeat ratcheted up as I climbed the three steps to the front door.

With trembling fingers, I slipped the key into the lock and twisted the handle.

The familiar scent of Marie's cooking hit me first. Then the panic flared. The house was eerily quiet with an occasional clank from the kitchen.

Carmine veered off in that direction. I followed on his heels and Stef stayed protectively behind me.

Marie loaded dishes into the dishwasher. Carmine filled the entryway. She squeaked and held a table knife in her hand. I pushed Carmine to the side.

"Shh." I rushed toward her.

One glance at me, and her body sagged with emotion. "Celine, what have you done?"

The accusatory tone of her voice stopped me still. "Me?"

"Who's in the house?" Stefano asked.

Marie cowered away from him. "Her…her father."

"Byrne has had men here," Carmine said. "Where are they?"

"He…he sent them away." A flood of tears soaked her face. "I'm scared, Celine. I know your father is scared. Men have been coming over. He's in trouble. I've overheard them threatening him. All this started because of you. When you left with them," she said, indicating Stef and Carmine, "you turned your back on your father. Now, you have to help him."

"Are you fucking serious?" Carmine stalked toward her.

Stefano stopped his progress with a hand to his arm. "Angel, remember what I said."

I didn't have to defend myself. None of this was my fault. I thought of the little girl who lost her mom, and I gave her back her voice. I understood Marie was scared, but I wasn't the one who brought terror into our lives.

"This didn't start with me," I said. "All I've ever wanted was to leave, to put distance between me and the man who killed my mother. He murdered her, Marie."

"Stop." Marie's brow furrowed, and her lips pursed. "Don't say that. He loved her. I loved her."

"You loved him more than you could have loved her because you buried her on Tuesday and climbed into her bed on Wednesday."

Maybe he'd had affairs, too. Marie had so easily slipped into the role of wife and mother. Maybe my whole life was a lie.

Marie dropped her head. "It wasn't like that." Her voice was broken and frail. "Your mom was my best friend. Your father and I…we shared our grief."

"Stop calling him my father. Did you know that I'm not really his daughter? Did you ever wonder why he treated me like shit?"

"Your father can be hard to please. He has so much stress with his job."

"Stop," I demanded. "Stop defending him. You do the same thing I do. You make up excuses for him. He broke me, Marie." I released an exhausted sigh. "And you watched him."

She covered her face with her hands.

"Where is he?" Stefano asked.

"Drinking in his office. He's changed since you left," she said to me. "He said whatever is happening with him is your fault. That you continually undermine his happiness. I didn't want to believe him, but you came here with them." She shifted her gaze between me and Stefano. "You say they're protecting you, but they've done something to you. I can't make you see it, but they've poisoned you against your family."

"I'm going to get the truth, Marie. Maybe you'll believe me when you hear it from his lips. Don't interfere. I'm going to get the truth out of my dad." I glanced at Stefano. "Or he will."

Stefano

Could I trust the words? Could I trust that she would still want me after I forced Moreau to comply? I stared into her ocean blue eyes. Her face haunted my dreams. An angel couldn't love the devil. Once she saw the truth, that I relished the suffering of my enemy, she'd never look at me the same.

I wanted to remember how she saw me now because everything would change in the next few minutes.

She pointed to the hall. "Through there. His office is through the living room and off to the left of the staircase."

"Stay behind me," I said to her. "If he's unhinged, he's desperate."

She nodded.

I could feel the tension radiating from her. "Stay strong, Angel."

"After you," Carmine said to Marie. He held his gun in his hand. She nervously wrung her hands and followed.

I paused in front of the office door. "Step to the side," I said to Celine. "Just until we know it's safe."

Carmine shifted closer to Marie and leaned in to speak to her. "This isn't about you. Don't say a fucking word. Do you understand?"

She hiccupped on a sob. "Don't hurt him."

"You're going to change your mind," he said. "You're going to want to pull the trigger yourself."

Carmine held his gun at the ready. I opened the door, my gaze darted around the room, and landed on Moreau sitting behind his desk.

"Took you long enough," he said tossing back the rest of the drink in his glass. "I heard Celine arguing and Marie bawling."

"Did you enjoy the anticipation?" I asked.

Celine entered the office and stood next to me.

"Are you here to kill me? Killing is what you do for your family. Isn't that your usual modus operandi when you have a disagreement with an enemy?"

"It usually takes more than a disagreement," I said. "But for you I'd make an exception."

Moreau's annoyance turned from me and aimed at Celine. "I should've known you'd disappoint me." He poured another tumbler of whiskey. "I guess it would be too much to ask that you return to your husband."

"She'll be a widow soon," I said.

Moreau's gaze narrowed on me. "You'll be doing me a favor when you kill Byrne. Find his brother Patrick and kill him while you're adding to the body count."

"You've added to the body count," Celine said. Her hands curled into fists at her side, but she approached him with confidence. Never show weakness. "I know."

"What is it you think you know?"

She stepped closer to him and slapped her hands onto the desk. "I know everything. I know why I mean nothing to you. I know I never did. I know you're a pathetic excuse for a man, and you were never a father."

"I never wanted to be. I'd made the mistake once. I wasn't going to make it again."

Celine straightened. "I guess you lucked out. You aren't. I know you're not my biological father." She spoke with a quiet strength even though I could feel the fire within her. She wanted to rage at him, but she was holding back, leading him where she needed him to go.

He laughed, darkly cynical and twisted with malice. "Your mother was a whore who fucked a guy for a grand." His face reddened, and his nostrils flared. "She fucked my life over for spending money on her semester abroad."

"Is that why you killed her?"

His mouth pulled into a snarl. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're a liar. Did she beg for her life the way she begged for forgiveness? I heard her crying." Celine took a deep breath and stiffened her spine. "I heard you tell those men your problem was at the bottom of the lake. Everything you talk about in your office comes through the ducts."

"Your memory is distorted. You were ten years old."

A slow smile curled her lips. "We both know my memory is perfect. I used to sit by the vent as a little girl because I loved the sound of your voice. Later, I listened for other reasons."

With each word from her mouth, fear began to shadow his eyes. Were past conversations running through his mind? He shifted on his chair causing the leather to creak. He wiped his brow with his palm.

"You're starting to sweat. Maybe you're wondering if I could really remember names, dates, and experiences. I mean, the night my mother died is a date I'll never forget." She turned to Marie. "Are you getting all this?"

Marie's lips trembled.

"He killed her. He left her dead in the bedroom, took me to school, and told you to stay home. He thought he'd gotten away with it. But I've known all along. I've been terrified of him ever since. I'm not anymore."

"You can't prove it."

I chuckled, and his gaze snapped to me. "We're not here to collect evidence." The judicial system had already failed my angel. "We're here for your confession."

"You're wasting your time. I'm a fucking prosecutor. I know how the game is played."

Celine turned back to her father. "I don't care what happens to you. Look at me," she demanded.

"Why should I?" Moreau stared at her over the rim of his glass as he drank. "I can't stand the sight of you."

"Then why didn't you just get rid of me when you found out I wasn't your daughter? Why not just give me to my biological father?"

"Your mother didn't know his fucking name. Your biological father doesn't know you exist." His voice rose, gravelly with agitation. "If I could have given the responsibility to anyone else, I would have. She fucked me over. My ambition overrode my loathing of fatherhood. I had an image to uphold." He slammed his glass to the table. "You're just like your mother. You've fucked me over, too."

"You owe me answers," she demanded.

"I don't owe you anything. You owe me. Unless you're going back to your husband, I don't have anything to say to you."

"Yes, you do. You're going to tell me why. You should've gotten divorced." Her voice softened. "You didn't have to kill her."

"The bitch got what she deserved."

"So will you," she said.

Marie dropped to her knees and sobbed.

I leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette. "Like you, Patrick Byrne has a particular taste for his entertainment. Ian doesn't share those same proclivities. What does he want with Celine?"

"What makes you think I'll tell you anything?"

"Because you need him dead, and I'm going to kill him. Give me a reason to take care of your problem."

Moreau paused with the drink at his lips. "I'm dead anyway."

I shrugged and blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. "I'm going to kill Byrne for putting his hands on Celine. In a strange twist, you've made her a very powerful woman. As Byrne's widow, she's going to inherit millions."

Celine didn't give away her shock at the revelation. She glared at her father. "Money is power. A lesson you taught me well as you used my trust fund as a weapon."

I extinguished my cigarette in a lead crystal bowl on the shelf. "Give her a reason to let you live."

Carmine chuckled.

"I don't know who her father is. What else do you want to know?"

"You arrested Dante Caruso on orders from Byrne?"

He hesitantly nodded.

"Byrne works for Isaak Karas. I'm after Karas."

Moreau licked his lips. Tension thickened the air between us. "Patrick Byrne kept a dossier on everyone he invited into his inner circle. When Ian took over, he gained access to all the files on Patrick's clients. He's been blackmailing those with influence he could use to his benefit."

My blood heated. Patrick trafficked young girls, girls like Deidre. Girls like my angel.

"He came to me weeks ago," Moreau continued. "At first, it was small favors. He wanted Celine, claiming she was exactly what he needed." He swallowed another gulp of alcohol. "He could've fucked her without marriage."

Rage exploded in my gut. I was across the room in an instant, my hand on the back of his head, slamming his face into his desk. I clutched a fistful of his hair, lifting his face. Blood gushed from his nose and mouth. Two teeth hung from his bloody gums.

Marie screamed.

Celine's eyes widened, and her lips parted. My heart pounded against my ribs, waiting for the fear to enter her eyes, waiting for her to turn away from me, to recognize I'm not a man of compassion.

Carmine rested a hand on her shoulder. "You can walk away, Celine."

With her gaze locked on mine, she shook her head. "No. He has answers I need. Stefano is going to make him tell me."

I leaned close to Moreau's ear. "Let me be clear. She's mine. Speak of her like that again, and I'll cut out your tongue."

Moreau choked, spraying blood onto his desk.

"Byrne threatened to expose me. I didn't have a choice."

"There are always choices and consequences. You owe a debt to your daughter you can't repay. You don't need blood to be a father."

Luca proved that with Savio.

"Byrne has a dossier on Karas. I don't know." His words slurred with the damage to his mouth. "I thought perhaps Byrne would use Celine to sweeten whatever deal he wants with Karas. She's his type. Young and blonde. Maybe Byrne thinks his wife would have more value than a young piece of—" His bloodshot eyes tried to focus on me.

Moreau wiped the blood dripping from his chin.

"Part of their plan is to kill your brother, Marco. When Marco took out Patrick, Patrick's clients became nervous. They don't think Ian's strong enough to run Byrne's empire."

Knox had talked about Patrick and Ian. There had always been sibling rivalry, but Ian had never challenged his brother's position as leader. Marco ordered the hit on Patrick, Allegra had nearly gutted him, and I'd burned his fortress to the ground.

"Ian's determined to form an alliance with Karas and overpower your family. Marco is becoming too powerful, and it's making some people nervous. Karas wants the Bruno organization, and he's taking over from the inside. If you want to stop him, you'll have to kill him, too."

Giada had been a made woman for my family, trusted at the highest level. At one time, I believed in her loyalty. That died when she betrayed Luca by fucking Marco, then betrayed Marco by getting in bed with my father. She was hungry for power with an appetite for destruction.

And I had a taste for revenge.

Along with Karas, she was responsible for Luca being shot and for my father's assassination.

"Ian had something Karas wanted." Blood continued to drip from Moreau's face as he stared at Celine. "Now, you have her."

Marie sobbed as she crawled into the corner of the room and pulled her knees to her chest. She kept her head bowed, and her body trembled.

I cupped Celine's cheek. "He doesn't have the answers you want."

"I know." She rested her forehead against my chest, and I curled my fingers around the nape of her neck, the silken tresses of her ponytail brushing my knuckles. She lifted her face. "But it doesn't matter."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Moreau barked. "I told you what I know. Now, go kill the Byrne brothers. Take out Karas. Bodies are going to start piling up. You'll be glad you have an ally in the DA's office."

Celine reached into her back pocket and pulled out the two pages from her insurance policy.

I cradled her face in my palm and ran my thumb over her cheek. "Never show mercy," I said. "Your enemy will see it as weakness."

"If I wanted him dead, would you kill him?"

"You don't have to ask me that."

"You would." She lifted my hand in hers. "And if I want to walk away? Leave him to his own demise?"

I flared my nostrils as I inhaled. Killing Moreau had been non-negotiable, but that was before I'd fallen. I was hers. "Is that what you want, Angel?"

"I don't know, yet." Celine turned to her father. "Stefano isn't going to clean up your mess. You might not remember all the things you've done. Your memory isn't as good as mine. But I can remind you of a few things."

She unfolded the two sheets of paper and set them on the desk. Many of the names and dates were written in colored markers.

He snatched up the first sheet. "What is this?"

"The writing of a scared little girl who discovered her mother had been murdered. When you killed her, you made her my guardian angel. I became obsessive. My pink items, my counting, the tricks I use to fight my triggers. All because of you.

"Fear isn't always rational. I became compulsive with writing down all the names I heard you say in your office."

His eyes shifted left to right as he read the names.

"I didn't realize until a couple of years ago, about the same time I found out about the trust fund, that I'd created an insurance policy."

I felt the weight of my gun against my ribs. "I don't need to kill you," I said. "You fucked yourself."

Moreau ran his fingers through his hair. "No one will believe this."

Celine furrowed her brows. "I'm not giving the list to the police. You have too many officers and judges in your pocket."

"I'm glad you understand." He scanned the second page.

"I gave it to the Italians. Your secrets are out. Those two pages are the first and last page of my notebook. Ten years of lies and corruption. Ten years of kickbacks. Ten years of betrayal."

"What have you done?" He crumpled the paper in his fist.

"The names on that list are going to have concerns if the wrong federal agencies connect them to the prosecutor's office," I said.

"I'm fucked." He glared at Celine. "You fucking bitch." He surged to his feet.

I pulled my gun from my holster and aimed it at Moreau. "Sit the fuck down."

With his focus zeroed in on my weapon, he sank down into his chair. "I'm fucking dead. My career, my reputation. I've prosecuted people, had them incarcerated. If this becomes public, my record will be tarnished, every case questioned."

Moreau gasped and slipped the top buttons of his shirt open. His chest rose and fell with harsh breaths. Sweat trickled along his temple, mingling with the coagulating blood on his face.

"Are you scared?" Celine asked. "Is your heart beating so hard you feel like it could explode inside you? Your skin hurts. Sounds pierce your brain. You can't focus. You can't breathe. You're drowning, wave after wave crashing over you, with no way of breaking the surface. I know how that feels. You did that to me! Fight it. It's just in your head. That's what you'd say to me. You're having a panic attack. Count bricks in the wall. Count your fingers. Get your shit together."

"I'm fucked. You destroyed my life. I have nothing left." Moreau yanked open the drawer.

Fuck. The world spun in slow motion. He held a gun. His finger slid onto the trigger. Fuck! No! I lunged for Celine. She froze, and her gaze followed the gun as he lifted it.

Marie screamed, and Carmine charged the desk.

Bang!

Chaos reigned. The gun fired as my arms banded around Celine, toppling us to the floor. I rolled her under me, shielding her body with mine.

She trembled as she clutched my torso, clinging to me as I covered her. Fuck, no. Fuck. Fuck. Was she hit?

"Fuck," Carmine yelled. He positioned next to me, his gun pointing at the ground. "Keep her covered," he demanded. "Fuck! Moreau is dead. He just blew his head off."