Chapter One
Diego
"You were supposed to get me off on all charges!" Sweat drips down Donato Burciaga's red face as he shouts loud enough for the entire building to hear. Apparently, he confused lawyer with miracle worker again. It's not the first time. The son of a bitch seems to think I'm God, capable of making every shred of evidence against him vanish into thin air.
Unfortunately for him, it doesn't work that way, even for a lawyer as good as me. Not when he's too stupid to cover his tracks, anyway. He left his fingerprints all over the crime scene, didn't wipe the cameras that put him there, and left his victim alive to tell the sordid tale when he was done.
Most of my clients are smart enough to clean up after themselves. It's part of the job when you're in the mafia. But Donato Burciaga is not one of the smart ones. The fact that he's yelling at me now is testament to that fact.
I may not be the worst thing that walks the streets of Chicago. That title is reserved for Rafe Valentino, the Capo dei Capi. But I have no illusions about where I'm headed when I die. The devil has a spot reserved for me.
I'm guessing the horned bastard probably put it right beside Valentino's sauna just to make sure eternity lasts as long as possible for both of us. The Capo dei Capi is my brother-in-law. He's also the man who murdered my biological father.
I spent most of my life hellbent on razing his empire to the ground…only to walk away from that plan a year ago. Right about the time it damn near cost my adopted sister, Amalia, her life.
Rafe helped me rescue her the night Tommaso Genovese found out she was the only remaining Cerrito heir and kidnapped her. We left a trail of bodies in our wake, trying to bring her home. There's nothing like a murder spree to bring people together. The two of us aren't necessarily friends now, but we aren't enemies anymore, either. We're whatever you call two men willing to work together to keep a woman happy. He worships the ground my sister walks on. I owe her more than I can ever repay. It's an uneasy alliance, but it works for us.
"Are you listening to me?" Donato slams his hand down on the edge of my desk.
I flick my gaze to him, my temper rising. He's a piss-ant in this city. I'm a boot. I could squash him with a single phone call. He'd do well to remember it.
"Lower your fucking voice when you speak to me," I warn him.
"Fuck my voice!" he shouts, spittle flying from the corner of his thin lips. "I hired you to defend me, not send me to fucking prison, Butera. This plea deal is bullshit."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, reaching deep for a little patience. Getting blood out of carpet is a bitch. Been there, tried that. "This plea deal is your only hope of getting out of there in the next ten years, Donato. You left a witness alive to point the finger at you. What did you think was going to happen?"
"I thought the porca puttana was dead," he mutters sullenly.
"Yeah, well, he wasn't, so sign the goddamn agreement," I snap, leaning back in my chair with my arms crossed. I hit him with a hard look, letting him know I'm done with his bullshit. "Or go to trial and spend the next thirty years in jail. Either way, you were too fucking stupid to make sure he wasn't breathing. You were also too stupid to wipe the cameras and clean up your prints. I'm a lawyer, not God. This is the best I can do when you left a treasure trove of evidence for the DA to choose from. You don't like the consequences? You should have taken the time to do the job right. This is your mess. The Capo expects you to deal with the consequences."
No one else is going to do it for him. We certainly aren't going to stick our necks out to save him from his own fuck up. There's only so much I can do, and I've given him all the help he's going to get from La Cosa Nostra on this one. We protect our own, but not when they put us all at risk. Donato should have been smarter, plain and simple.
His expression twists as he snatches up the pen sitting atop the plea deal the ADA sent over. "Should have hired Lorenzo Bianchi," he mutters, inking the agreement hard enough to tear a small hole in the paper. "At least he knows how to talk to people."
"You mean he knows how to kiss your ass."
Donato shoots me a baleful glare but doesn't disagree. The story is always the same for motherfuckers like him. He thinks being Made makes him special. As if he's someone just because he took the oath and made a few bucks along the way. The only thing special about him is the fact that he's survived this long without a brain in his head.
Bianchi might have kissed his ass, but Bianchi couldn't have talked the DA's office down to ten years with his criminal history. He's lucky Valentino found him moderately useful, and the DA likes me, or he'd be spending the next twenty-five to life in prison for attempted murder.
Donato finishes signing the agreement and shoves it across the desk toward me, knocking over a stack of files in the process. "Are we done now?" he demands, looking at the Rolex on his wrist. "I have things to do."
"For the moment." I meet his gaze. "Don't try to run. If I have to hunt you down because you failed to show up for court, ten years will look like a cakewalk."
"You know, I never put much stock into what people said about you, but maybe there is some truth to all those rumors." He flicks a contemptuous gaze at me.
I don't have to ask what rumors. I already know. They've been saying the same shit for the last year.
Diego Butera is a rat.
I heard he was a rat.
Rumor is, he's a fucking rat.
"I don't waste my time listening to small men talk."
Burciaga snorts. "For someone who took the oath, you help send a helluva lot of us to prison, Butera. It's not a good look for you."
"Like I said, I don't listen to small men talk, Burciaga," I return, smiling coldly. "But I find it curious that those smart enough to cover their tracks don't have the same complaints. It's always those who think the rules don't apply to them who point the fingers. You should look in the mirror instead to find where the fault lies. I'm not the one who got myself caught and pissed off the Capo in the process. You did that all by your little ole self."
His eyes narrow to slits at the reminder.
"We're done. Enjoy what's left of your freedom." I push the intercom button on my phone to let Ricci Morano know we're finished in here, making it clear to Donato that he's been dismissed. If he's mad that he's going to prison, he can sulk somewhere other than my damn office. I've got more important shit to do.
He stomps out, brushing past Ricci, who simply quirks a brow at me as if to ask what the fuck his problem is. I shake my head, silently telling him not to ask. He jerks his dark head, nodding, and quietly closes the door behind Donato.
As soon as I'm alone, I rise to pace across my office, seething in silent fury. Donato didn't outright call me a rat, but he came close enough. The rumors about me refuse to die.
Perhaps because they're partially true.
Until a year ago, I was slipping info to the FBI in a bid to make Valentino's life as complicated as possible. I had been for a while. It blew up in my face when Tommaso Genovese found out. He used the knowledge to try to push Rafe into a war, just so he could name himself Capo.
He nearly succeeded. But he overplayed his hand when he kidnapped Amalia, intending to use the Cerrito fortune to help cement his place at the top. All he managed to do was unite me and Rafe in a joint mission instead. We killed him and brought Amalia home. Cleaning up the mess, avoiding the war he wanted, and keeping ourselves out of prison wasn't as easy. But we managed it.
The FBI has been breathing down my neck ever since, trying to find out what the fuck happened. They know the bullshit intel they've managed to scrape together isn't remotely close to the full story.
I'm not inclined to fill in the blanks. If Valentino goes down now, chaos will erupt in the city, and we won't be able to stop it this time. There will be a bloodbath for the crown, and we'll all lose.
I have no intention of letting that happen when it puts my sister at risk. She's the last Cerrito heir, and she's carrying Rafe's baby. The only way she's safe is with him in charge. And we'll both go down if the truth comes out.
Like Burciaga suggested, I've helped put too many motherfuckers in the system to want to spend time in a cell myself. I've been juggling two competing oaths since the minute I finished law school. Omertà demands I put the mafia above all else. My degree demands I support the Constitution and the Rule of Law. The two rarely agree.
I've been balancing a house of cards for a long fucking time…and the FBI is ready to blow it over. They're worse than the mafia. Once they have you, they don't let go easily.
Blood in, blood out.
Unfortunately for them, I'm smarter than I look. And unfortunately for them, Valentino has every reason to ensure they don't hook me again. I've done my fair share of dirty shit in my life. But I've done double that since he married Amalia.
To keep her safe, I'll do whatever I have to do. But on the off chance I ever forget what's at stake, Ricci Morano is a living, breathing reminder of just how little my brother-in-law trusts me on my own. Rafe installed him here to keep an eye on me.
Ricci reports back to Rafe about what I've been up to around here, I have no illusions about that. He's taking no chances that I'll betray his family again.
Guess the fact that my hands are stained with the blood of his enemies isn't reason enough to trust that I chose my side. My loyalty was all but guaranteed the minute he put a ring on my sister's finger and declared her queen. I won't make a move against him so long as it puts her at risk.
Sooner or later, he'll figure it out. Until then, it is what it is. I did the crime when I betrayed him and his brothers. If being watched closely is my punishment…it's a helluva lot less than I deserve. The sentence for betrayal in this world is death. The sentence for rats is a slow, painful one.
I got off easy.
The intercom on my desk buzzes.
"Mattia is on the line for you," Ricci announces.
"Send him through," I growl. Mattia Agostino is Rafe's consiglieri. He's also become a surprisingly good friend. Things were touch and go for a while—his loyalty is to Rafe—but somewhere along the way, an actual friendship developed between us. He's an interesting motherfucker.
Ricci sends the call through without another word.
"You're expected for dinner," Mattia says without preamble.
"Hello to you, too."
He ignores me, same as he does every time he calls. Mattia's phone skills are shit. His people skills aren't much better. He doesn't do small talk or exchange pleasantries. When he calls, he says what he needs to say, and that's the end of it. He's been mafia too goddamn long to trust phones. Shit. He's been mafia too goddamn long to trust anyone or anything.
And yet, for some reason, he trusts me.
"Rafe wants all of us there."
"All of us?" I quirk a brow, not sure which all of us he means.
"Luca, Gabe, you, me, Coda, and Domani."
Luca and Gabriel, two of Rafe's brothers, help oversee the Valentino empire. Between the three of them, they've got Chicago in a stranglehold. Gabriel runs their legitimate business—a multi-billion-dollar company. Luca oversees acquisitions for the business and day-to-day operations for their less-than-legal endeavors. Coda Passero and Domani Brambilla are two of Rafe's most trusted lieutenants. If Rafe is calling us in but not his twin, Nico, either someone fucked up or there's trouble on the horizon.
I don't ask for details. Mattia won't give them over the phone, and I'm not stupid enough to believe the FBI isn't still monitoring my calls. They stopped coming around months ago, but they're like a fucking dog with a bone.
"What time?"
"Be here at six." Mattia pauses. "And your sister says don't bring more shit for the baby, or she's killing you. I believe she means it."
I smile in genuine amusement. Amalia's been threatening to kill me ever since she found out she was pregnant. Apparently, pregnancy makes her cranky. Or maybe it's all the shit I keep buying for their kid. Who the fuck knows? But she loves the presents, even if she'll never admit it.
And she won't ever admit it. My sister would kill for the people she loves, but she's stubborn as all hell and has a fiery temper. I'm not surprised Rafe fell for her. She's as temperamental as he is and just as much of a wild card.
The world will tremble when their kid gets here.
"Bring more shit for the baby," I murmur, pretending to write it down. "Got it."
Mattia's sigh sends static down the line. "It's your funeral, Butera."
"Mr. Butera."
I stop halfway across the parking garage outside my penthouse on the Loop, turning to glance over my shoulder. Most people who live here don't know who I am. I've never bothered playing nice with the neighbors. The less they know about me, the better.
Whoever's calling my name seems to know me, though.
My gaze lands on a curvy African American woman weaving her way between two cars, and my dick turns to steel. Even in heels, she's petite, the top of her head barely reaching my shoulder. Her black hair is pulled up in an elegant bun, leaving her round face unobscured.
I don't know who she is, but she's fucking gorgeous. She's strait-laced perfection, not a hair out of place. Not a single wrinkle in sight. She carries herself with her head high, her expression serene. It's a fascinating glimpse of who this woman wants the world to think she is. But her bright hazel eyes tell a different story. There's fire in her, burning hot. And it's not nearly as contained as she'd like to think it is.
It's been years since I was last with anyone. Except for client dinners, I haven't even been to dinner with a woman in longer than I can remember. When you're juggling a job, the FBI, the mafia, and protecting a long-lost principessa, dating isn't high on the list of shit to do. But I want this woman in my bed.
I want to unwrap and unravel her, uncovering all her mysteries.
Who the hell is she?
There's no way she lives here. I would have noticed her if she did. Some women are simply unforgettable.
"You're looking for me, bella?" I shift to hide the tent in my slacks as she draws to a stop in front of me.
She huffs a breath, her chest rising and falling as if she just raced across the garage to catch me. There's no way she just ran in those fuck-me heels and her pretty little suit, though. "You're Diego Butera, the lawyer?"
"Yes."
"Good. I need to speak to you."
"You need a lawyer?" I reach into my pocket to retrieve a business card, irritated as hell that I don't have time right now to find out what she needs. I'm already running late for Valentino's dinner. I'd rather stay right here and talk this goddess into my bed. "Why don't you call me tomorrow, and we'll talk?"
She eyes me as I hold the card out to her, her expression carefully blank. "Do I look like I need an attorney, Mr. Butera?"
"Are people who need lawyers supposed to look a certain way?"
"You seem to think so."
My brows pull down. "I didn't intend to insinuate anything or offend you, bella," I murmur. "I simply thought you were confirming I was a lawyer because you want to speak to me as a lawyer."
She eyes me for a long moment as if assessing whether I'm feeding her a line of bullshit or not. I guess she decides I'm not because she plucks the card from my hand and tucks it into her pocket without looking at it. Her eyes meet mine, her expression almost sheepish. She seems rattled for some reason, as if I'm not what she expected. "Sorry."
"Maybe we should start again?" I suggest, giving her a reassuring smile.
She nods gratefully.
"I'm Diego Butera." I hold a hand out to her.
"Athena White." She slips her hand into mine, startling slightly when I accidentally shock her.
Her skin is soft as silk. Jesus. I want to feel it wrapped around my cock.
"Athena," I repeat. "Goddess of war."
She quirks a brow. "She was also the goddess of wisdom, heroism, and pottery."
She's argumentative and fiery beneath that perfect exterior.
I smile, amused. "No. You're definitely war."
"Hmm?"
"If you don't need a lawyer, what do you need from me, sweet Athena?" I ask instead of repeating myself. We both know she heard me anyway. I think she knows what I meant, too. She just wants me to explain it anyway. I have no intention of giving her that explanation today.
"We can discuss it tomorrow. You look like you're in a hurry."
"Duty calls."
"You're working?"
"Something like that. Come by my office in the morning. The address is on the card. We'll talk." I hesitate for a moment, half tempted to invite her to dinner tonight. It'll be a helluva lot more bearable with her seated across from me. "Unless…"
She cocks her head to the side, curiosity sparking in her gaze. "Unless what?"
"Do you have dinner plans?"
"Uh, not at the moment." She seems caught off guard by the question, and then an amused smile spreads across her face. "Are you inviting me to dinner, Mr. Butera?"
"Actually, I'm begging you to save me from a night of unbearable tedium."
Her sultry laugh washes over me, sealing her fate. One way or another, I'm getting her in my bed. I may keep her there for days when I do. "For some reason, I find it hard to believe you're in for a night of tedium."
"You're right. It's worse than that." I grimace. "It's dinner with my brother-in-law and his family. He doesn't like me much."
"Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? You aren't supposed to like him since he married your sister?"
"Oh, I don't like him. He's a bastard, and that has nothing to do with the fact that he married my sister." Truth be told, I like him more since he married my sister. He's changed. Or hell, maybe I have because he's still one dangerous motherfucker. I just seem to hate him less than usual these days.
Gratitude is a bitch.
Athena laughs again.
"So, dinner?"
"I don't think that's a good idea," she says regretfully.
"Why the fuck not?"
She eyes me for a moment and then sighs before reaching into her pocket to pull something out. I watch in curiosity as she turns the object in her hand around to show me.
My stomach sinks as soon as my gaze lands on the silver shield in her hand.
Jesus Christ. She's a fucking fed.
"Because I'd rather not die tonight, Mr. Butera." She meets my gaze, unblinking. "And I don't believe Rafe Valentino would welcome me into his home with open arms, do you?"