Chapter Two

Finley

As soon as I come awake, I know something is different. My eyes aren't even open, and I feel the change in the air. It isn't as heavy as usual, crushing my lungs as if each breath has invisible weights tied to it…or as if the air has grown dangerously thin.

There's something else in the air, too. A masculine spice I've never smelled before. It's not my uncle's cologne. I don't recognize it from one of my cousins either. It's an intoxicating scent, one that makes my stomach flutter. I keep my eyes closed as I take a deep breath, pulling it deeper into my lungs.

"You're awake."

My eyes pop open as the rumbling growl washes over me.

The deepest hazel eyes I've ever seen connect with mine across the room. For a minute, everything else falls out of focus. All I see is the gorgeous giant leaning against the wall, his sleeves rolled up, his eyes locked on me. He's so beautiful in a fierce, warriorlike kind of way. Everything about him is dark. His hair, his eyes, the stubble on his jaw. Even the look in his eyes, as if he was born of darkness.

He isn't one of my uncle's men. I don't know who he is.

And we aren't in my room. I don't know where we are.

But in this moment, when I should probably feel overwhelming panic and fear, the first emotion that hits me is relief. It's an illogical, unreasonable response. But I've spent my entire life in a cage of glass, surrounded by monsters.

If this man is one, too, at least I'm not in that damn house any longer. At least I'll die staring at something other than the pretty gilding my uncle surrounded me with.

I'd rather die free than live another day in hell.

"My name is Domani Brambilla. I took you from your uncle's compound a few hours ago."

Domani Brambilla. The name is familiar. I've heard my uncle and cousins speak it before. But I still don't know this man. I know one thing, though. He's every bit as dangerous as they are. Moreso, perhaps. Because when they speak his name, they speak it in whispers, as if afraid of what saying it too loudly will conjure. He's the bogeyman to my uncle.

And I guess the bogeyman exists after all. He's standing in front of me, isn't he?

"Are you going to kill me?" I ask, far more calmly than I feel. My heart thumps against my breastbone in jarring thuds, each hard enough to rattle my bones. I don't know if it's fear or if it's the fact that he hasn't taken his eyes off me, though. He's just staring at me, a hunger in his gaze that has the same response fighting to rise to the surface within me.

How long has it been since I've felt anything but cold, simmering rage and hopeless despair? I can't remember. Cillian has kept me locked in that damn house since he moved me to Chicago almost two years ago. I'm twenty-one years old, and I'm a prisoner. My life is not my own. It never has been. Like I said, I've been surrounded by monsters.

Except they smile in my face and call themselves my family. And just when I think they mean it, they lock me in my room or tie me to the bed to keep me there. I'm a prisoner in my own life, held hostage by the men my father trusted to guard me with their lives. Their insidiousness is perverse, and they love every minute of my torment.

"No," Domani says, growling the word as if he's speaking a vow. "No one is going to kill you, mio sole."

"Then why…" I pause and lick my lips. His gaze follows the path of my tongue. "Why did you take me?"

"You don't belong in that place," he says as if that explains everything. It doesn't. Not even close. "What's your name?"

Should I lie to him? Probably. Do I? No.

"Finley Brennan."

"Finley," he repeats, rolling it around on his tongue. It sounds sinful on his lips. Like a kiss and a seductive promise. "I'm not going to hurt you, Finley. But I'm not going to let you go, either. You belong to me now."

There it is. The fire. The anger. A normal response to waking up in a stranger's bed after falling asleep in my own. Delayed, perhaps. But I'm not broken, after all. Anger rushes through me, filling me like a balloon.

"I belong to no one, Domani," I say, defiant. He may have kidnapped me, but that doesn't give him ownership over me. My uncle may be a lot of things, but he didn't raise a coward. I won't play along with this man or bow to him just because he says I should.

I may have spent most of my life locked away, but one thing my family has never been able to take from me was my own free will. I won't give it up for this man, either. I belong to no one. My soul is my own.

For some reason, my response amuses him. His lips quirk into a simile of a grin. He's a beautiful monster, hauntingly so. The darkness in his gaze is captivating. What has he seen and done that keeps him awake at night? Whatever it is, he wears it well, even if it eats at him.

"No?" He pushes away from the wall, stepping toward the bed. I refuse to flinch away, refuse to tremble in fear, or let this man think he scares me. My family may be afraid of him, but I won't be. I refuse. "Your soul was mine the second I stepped into your bedroom and saw you in your bed, Finley. If your uncle wanted to keep you, he never should have let a motherfucker like me get close to you." He crouches beside the bed, reaching toward me.

I lock my muscles, refusing to flinch or cower. Refusing to show fear.

His palm brushes over my right breast, and then he rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes locked on the sight. I shiver, my teeth clamped together to keep myself from moaning out loud. I shouldn't like the way it feels. I should hate the feel of his hands on me and the way he looks at me.

I don't. I hate that I don't hate it. Something in me responds to him, woman to man. It likes the feel of his hand on my body and the way he looks at me as if he can't stop himself. It likes the fact that he took me from that damnable place without permission and thinks he can own me.

I'm my own worst enemy. I know this. It's exactly why my uncle got away with keeping me locked away for so long. I should have been his worst nightmare. Instead, I was my own. I smiled and played along, letting them think I believed they were doing what they did for my own good, and every day, another piece of my soul died. And the whole time, I said nothing. I just smiled.

I knew what they were capable of doing. I witnessed them doing it over and over again. To other women. To the men they killed. They had no remorse. They have no souls. I did what I had to do to survive. But my soul? Well, I sacrificed more than my pride along the way.

Now, this man has me, he's touching me…and I should be fighting like hell. Instead, I'm reveling in the first human touch I've felt in years. It's fucked up. And I love it.

What's that they say about broken people? Oh, right. They can't be put back together again. No matter how much glue you use, the cracks and crevices remain. I guess that's me now. Broken beyond repair.

At least I'm in good company. Because if anyone understands what that's like, I think it might be this man.

"You will be mine in every way, mio sole. You can fight it. You can hate me. In the end, the pieces will align the same way." His gaze flits across my face. "You'll have my ring on your finger, and I'll kill anyone who even thinks about trying to take you."

"My uncle? My cousins?"

"Anyone," he snarls.

"Good," I whisper, arching into his touch. "I hope you make it hurt."

Deadly malice flares in his eyes before they turn to stone. He pinches my nipple again and then slowly pulls his hand away. "What did they do to you, Finley?"

I sit up slowly. Only then do I realize I'm still in the same crop top and panties I wore to bed last night. The purple blanket from my bed is draped over a chaise across the room, but the rest of the room is black. Black sheets, black comforter, black furniture. It's expensive and elegant. And as unrelentingly dark as this man's soul.

We're in his home. I'm not sure why I'm so certain, but I just am. It matches him.

I consider pulling the covers up over myself to hide my body from his gaze, but then say screw it. He's already seen everything. He's had his hand on my breast. I'm not going to cower and hide. I'm not going to crumble and fall apart. I've never been the delicate girl who cries at the drop of a hat. This is a big hat and a monumental drop, but I won't cry now, either. So I'm half naked in a stranger's bed. It's not even the strangest part of my night.

"Tell me," he growls, rising to his feet.

"I'll answer your questions if you answer mine," I negotiate. It's the one thing my uncle taught me…find a place of power and do whatever it takes to keep it. That's how I grew up. That's the big lesson I learned in life. Knowledge is power. Right now, I have neither.

He seems amused again, as if he knows exactly what I'm doing. But he plays along. "Fine. You ask your question. I'll ask mine, mio sole."

"Why were you at my uncle's house?"

"To plant listening devices."

"Why?"

"That's two questions, Finley."

"No, it's one. You just gave an incomplete response to the first."

The smile he gives this time is no simile. It's genuine. "Fair enough. Your uncle is a problem for us. This city belongs to La Cosa Nostra. He's forgotten that. We're handling the problem."

"By planting listening devices."

"Yes."

"Ho–"

"That's another question," he says, cutting me off. "It's my turn. What did they do to you?"

"Nothing." It's not entirely untrue. It's not necessarily the truth, either. It's the word that dances that razor's edge in between reality and fiction. The one that says nothing and everything all at once.

"And yet you don't care if I kill them."

"Monsters are monsters, Domani."

He plants a knee on the bed, his face suddenly looming in front of mine like a snake striking. One hand curls around my jaw, gently tipping my head back. The anger banked in his eyes turns my nipples to glass points. "Don't lie to me, Finley. What did they do to you?"

"Nothing," I whisper, my heart pounding an erratic beat. "They didn't do anything to me, Domani."

"And yet you have rope burns on your wrists and hatred in your eyes."

"Do you know how many people women they hurt in that house? How many people they killed?" I ask, licking my lips. His face is inches from mine, so close I see the gold flecks in his eyes. I smell the mint of his toothpaste on his breath. I want him to kiss me, as crazy as it is. He loathes my uncle, and so do I. He's the lesser of two evils. The enemy of my enemy and all. But I'd be lying if I said that's all the desire was. It's not. I know that on a fundamental level.

There's something about this man that tempts me even though it shouldn't. There's something about him I crave even though I shouldn't. He wants to own me…and part of me wants to let him.

"Do you know how many people I heard begging for their lives, Domani? How many times I laid in bed while the stench of burning flesh filled the house from the incinerator in the basement?"

"Cristo. You were there?"

"One year, nine months, eighteen days."

"What are you counting, mio sole?"

"How long it's been since I arrived in Chicago." I swallow. "How long it's been since I left that house."

Shock widens his eyes, followed by fury. "You've been locked in that fucking house for over a year?"

"Welcome to life as an Irish banphrionsa. I envy your principessas. At least they have freedom. I don't. I never have," I say quietly. "Since the day my father was murdered and Cillian took over as head of our family, I've been a prisoner in my own life, trapped like a rat in a cage."

"How old were you?"

"Eleven."

"How long has he been tying you to your bed?"

"On and off for years. Every time he decides I'm thinking about running away." I snort indelicately. "As if I could ever escape him."

"You've escaped him now, Finley."

For the moment, at least. But freedom comes with a price. And the one I suspect this man wants me to pay might be higher than I can afford. But I don't tell him that.

"How are listening devices supposed to handle my uncle for the Italian mafia?" I ask instead.

"He's dirty," he says, his hand still around my throat. I don't really mind. It's kind of…nice, actually.

He's comforting to me, like the smell of aged whiskey and cigars. My father's office always smelled of both. I used to curl up under his desk and read until I passed out, completely content in the knowledge that I was safe. I feel that way now. It's madness, of course. This man just kidnapped me. He wants to own me. But he tells me I'm safe, and every fiber of my being believes him.

Like I said, I'm my own worst enemy.

"We can't kill him without starting a war. We intend to let his people take out the trash for us."

I laugh abruptly. "You're a fool if you think they'll do your dirty work for you, Domani. You think they don't know that he's a snake? They've always known. Cillian and his family come before anyone and anything else to him. He'll always put himself and his sons above everything else, including his oaths. They knew this when they sent him here. They sent him anyway."

"Why?"

"Why did you take me?"

"Because you're mine," he growls. "Why did they send him here?"

"Because they wanted a piece of Chicago, and he was the only one with the power to pry it from the Valentino family's grip. If you think they care that he's skimming from the top, you're wrong. If you think they care that he's doing deals behind their backs, you're wrong. He's exactly where they want him." I eye him sideways. "And even if they did take him out, Cian is every bit as vicious and ambitious as he is. He'd take his place and bring war to your doorstep anyway."

"Cian is his son?"

"His oldest, yes. Why did you take me?" It's the only answer I really want. Why did he take me? Why did he pluck me from my bed in the dead of night and bring me here? My mind won't rest until I have an answer…a real answer, something tangible I can understand.

"Because you belong to me," he says again. "How many people work for him?"

"Hundreds? Thousands? I don't know. I wasn't a trusted confidant, Domani. I was a pretty little bird in a glass cage who heard things she wasn't supposed to hear. Why did you take me?"

"Because you were the only fucking thing I saw when I climbed through your window," he growls, his hand tightening on my throat. He doesn't cut off my air supply. He holds me captive, pinning me in place with his intensity more than his hand. "Because I saw you, and I knew I'd go to fucking war to keep you. You're mine, mio sole." His lips brush mine, his kiss hard and unyielding but somehow full of fervent devotion, too, as if he's staking a claim and making a vow at the same time. "Mine."

His words rip through me. I feel them striking chords in my soul, each note shaking loose a profound sense of belonging that makes me ache. For the first time since I woke up in his room and heard his voice, I know terror.

This man will be my savior or my destruction. He'll lead me to heaven…or send me straight to hell. I don't know which it will be. And I'm petrified of how much I ache to find out.