Chapter 1 RÓISE

Facing the guillotine to my dreams, I wait with my uncle while Don De Luca's secretary opens one of the imposing double doors to his office.

A foot taller than normal doors and each of them at least six inches wider, the entry to the Italian mafia don's office screams power and wealth. Right along with the twelve-foot ceilings.

In Manhattan every inch of real estate is precious, including vertical space. Having an entire floor in their building with twelve-foot ceilings tells everyone who comes to meet the don that he can squander that space on aesthetics because unlike normal people, his access to square footage is virtually limitless.

His ridiculous wealth and far-reaching influence are why my uncle is so ready to sacrifice my future.

Some might think I'm being dramatic.

I'm not.

Every one of my dreams dies behind those doors when this blood alliance becomes a reality.

When my engagement to a member of the Cosa Nostra becomes official.

The low timber of masculine voices leaks out as the door opens.

One of the voices sounds familiar. I shake my head. It's not possible.

No way can he be here .

Then one of the men laughs darkly and the cold dread of certainty freezes me in place.

My first lesson in the cost of being part of a mob family came when I was nine years old. I loved to play dodge ball during recess. Until one day, a classmate filled one of the balls with water instead of air .

When it hit me dead in the center of my stomach, all the breath in my lungs gushed out in a gasp. Unable to yell, or even cry, I stood there as pain like I'd never felt radiated out from my stomach.

The classmate was the son of one of my grandfather's men. He was angry about something my grandfather had done to his father. The boss of the Shaughnessy Mob, my grandfather was untouchable.

I was the easy target.

It was the first time I hated being the granddaughter of the mob boss and part of a world where violence was the go-to solution for conflict. But it wasn't the last.

Furious when he found out what happened, my dad wanted to pull me from the private Catholic school where the other children of high-ranking members in the Irish mob went.

He and my grandfather argued for days, but eventually my dad won. That grade school was my first taste of life not overshadowed by my family's criminal world.

Two months ago, when I chose who to take as my first lover, I thought I'd had my last. But even that was tainted by my family's world.

Because the man I can't stop thinking about…the one who stars in my dreams night after night and my fantasies while I touch myself just as often… is in that room .

I went across the country and evaded my bodyguards so I could choose who to have sex with the first time. All to give my virginity to a freaking member of the New York Cosa Nostra?

There is no way this goes well.

Whoever it is will have leverage with my future husband. Like all syndicate men, he'll use it. And once again, I will pay the price because I am the easy target.

"Come on, Róise. This is no time to get up the high doh." My uncle grabs my arm and tugs me forward.

Who wouldn't be stressed under these circumstances?

Even if my one and only sex partner wasn't in the same room as my future fiancé, meeting said fiancé for the first time is enough to make anyone's nerves riot.

And not in the way Ares made my nerves riot that night two months ago.

There are three men waiting in the room, but my eyes lock on only one of them and refuse to move on.

Ares.

He's wearing a black suit, either tailored high end designer or bespoke because it fits him perfectly despite his extra broad shoulders. He's not wearing a tie and the top two buttons on his shirt are undone, revealing the strong column of his neck and a hint of dark chest hair.

The gray silk shirt is smooth over his muscular chest, no straining buttons and no wrinkles from having to tuck too much fabric in at the waist either. Thighs ropy with muscle that only my mind's eye can see are encased in dark slacks.

My gaze finally travels up to his handsome features. His gorgeous lips capable of eliciting so much pleasure are set in a firm line and he's not looking at me.

A breath of relief escapes my lungs.

At least I have a few seconds to pull myself together before he notices me.

Will he say something? Will he pretend not to know me?

His gaze, along with everyone else's, locks on me expectantly in the suddenly silent room. Everyone else is looking at me too.

Heat crawls up the back of my neck and into my cheeks. "Uh…hello."

"Severu, this is my niece, Róise. Róise, this is Don De Luca, his underboss, Miceli De Luca and the Genovese consigliere, Sal De Luca."

"Keeping it all in the family," pops out of my mouth, but my brain is scrambling to make sense of the introductions.

My uncle did not point as he introduced each man, like I'm supposed to know who is who. My guess is that the consigliere is the older man.

That leaves the two men who look like brothers. The don and his underboss.

Which one is Ares?

"Family is important," the man who is not Ares and not Sal De Luca says.

The don?

But that would mean that Ares is the other man. The man I'm supposed to marry?

I cannot believe this. I traveled nearly three-thousand miles to a city with no mafia or mob presence and didn't just give my virginity to a Cosa Nostra soldier, but ended up sleeping with my future fiancé?

Fate isn't done screwing with me either because there is not a single glimmer of recognition in Miceli De Luca's eyes.

"A pleasure to meet you, Róise," Ares…no, Miceli …says in his deep tone, stepping forward with his hand outstretched.

I don't move.

Uncle Brogan nudges my shoulder. Not gently. I stumble forward, my hand rising of its own volition toward Miceli.

He takes it, his big hand dwarfing mine, just like it did the night in Portland.

His fingers are an inch longer than mine. I know because I measured my hand against his during one of our lulls in lovemaking.

Am I going to have to tell him that it was me in Portland? I can't imagine anything more demoralizing in this situation. My classmate's job on my makeup and the blonde wig made me even more unrecognizable than I thought.

"Nice to meet you, Miceli." My voice catches on his name.

I can't help it. That night two months ago was a fantasy, but this is reality. This man is not Ares, god of war and Aphrodite's lover.

He is Miceli De Luca, Genovese underboss and my future husband.

Miceli's espresso eyes narrow and he looks more closely at me, his hand on mine tightening when I try to pull away.

His gaze boring into mine, he turns my hand so my inner forearm is exposed. I know what he'll see when he looks down.

A flicker of some dark emotion tells me he does too. Or at least he suspects.

Was it my voice that gave me away?

Is this worse, or is it better that I don't have to tell him?

Dropping his gaze to my arm, he sees the distinctive tattoo. Two butterflies that starts off vibrantly colored at the top and fades to grayscale at the bottom of their wings. The symbol of two souls lost to this world too early.

Underneath are two dates. My parents' deaths.

I got the tattoo as soon as I turned eighteen and could sign the consent form for myself.

"Cazzo." His tone is low and angry.

I know what that word means now too. Fuck.

Cursing? Angry? What does he have to be mad about? I'm the one who got played by fate. Not him.

It all started with that damned doctor's report.