Chapter One

Coda

Everyone says cops are observant, but it's a lie. No one watches more intently than a predator stalking prey. I know because it's what I do. It's why I'm here.

Everywhere I look, my eyes land on one of Chicago's finest. It's a goddamn sea of blue from one side of the ballroom to another. Quite frankly, it's enough to make my skin crawl.

I don't fit in. I don't belong. In this room, I'm the predator, here for one of their own. And they don't spare me more than a cursory glance as I skirt along the edges of the throng.

Like usual, they're fucking clueless.

Typical.

I keep my gaze fixated on the man of honor…biding my time. Hunting.

Miles Alessepo hasn't changed much in the last twenty-five years. His blond hair is shot through with gray, and fine lines crease his eyes now. He's older and harder, but he's still a stone-cold son of a bitch.

Icy anger slides through my veins at the sight of the smug smile stretched across his face. The prick has less business in this room than I do.

I know who and what I am. I've got enough blood on my hands to drown this city. But I've never pretended to be anything other than a hitman for the mafia.

I swore an oath to put La Cosa Nostra above all else. Alessepo, though? He swore to serve and protect.

He's a goddamn liar. The only one he serves is himself. The only things he protects are his secrets.

Twenty-five years ago, he murdered my parents in cold blood with his shiny fucking police badge glinting on his chest. I know because I was there, hiding in the closet…a terrified nine-year-old boy convinced I was going to die next. Had he known I was there, I probably would have.

He took everything from me—leaving me an orphan with no home, no family, and nowhere to turn except the streets. I spent years on my own—freezing, starving, and alone.

I survived by doing what I had to do. When Rafe Valentino's father—the head of the Valentino family at the time—caught me stealing from him, he could have turned me in or killed me. Any other capo would have.

He didn't.

He put a gun in my hand and told me where to aim it.

I was fifteen.

By the time he died four years later, I was already deep into the life. Anything to get me closer to destroying Alessepo. Swearing my allegiance to Rafe at nineteen was easy. At least he has a conscience. He has a soul.

His father? I'm not sure that motherfucker ever had one.

I'm not sure I do, either.

I've waited twenty-five years to destroy Alessepo, watching him slowly rise through the ranks. Waiting until he was perched as high on his pedestal as he could sit. He's officially there…perched so high everyone else looks like peons.

They actually made the motherfucker the Superintendent of Police. The last one—Alexander Santorum killed himself. Guess he didn't like kissing Rafe's ring once we learned about the evil deeds he did when no one was watching.

Alessepo is no better.

He was a fucking dirty cop twenty-five years ago, and he's dirty now.

Not for much longer.

My fingers itch with the urge to reach inside my jacket for my gun. But patience is the creed by which I operate. It's kept me alive since Alessepo destroyed my world.

The glint of the chandeliers cast a golden hue over the sea of dress blues, the opulence of the gala bleeding into every corner like spilled wine. Their chatter rolls over me like white noise as I navigate through the throng, each step measured, each breath controlled.

As I edge past a column near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a curvy blonde in a red dress collides with me, her soft body crashing into my chest. I hook an arm around her waist to steady her before she lands on her ass. The heat of her bare skin sears me, turning my cock to stone.

She glances up at me, her pretty gray eyes full of shock, her sweet smile carving itself into my consciousness. She's a bright light cutting through the darkest parts of my heart.

For the first time in years, the damn thing jolts, rattling in my chest as if only just remembering it was made to beat.

Cazzo.

"Sorry," she breathes, a pretty pink blush staining her cheeks. Even flustered and unsteady in her ridiculously high stilettos, she's breathtaking.

A stray curl falls from her updo to brush against her bare neck. Wayward, untamable pieces frame her heart-shaped face, highlighting the blush on her cheeks. Her red ballgown dips between her full breasts and clings to her round, curvy body.

I've never seen a body so sweet. Or felt skin so soft. Every inch of her begs to be explored—the fullness of her breasts, the roundness of her waist, her thick thighs, and her plump ass. Every fucking inch makes my cock ache.

The thought of running my lips across that soft skin sends a bolt of heat straight through me.

Cristo. She's a work of art.

"It's fine," I reply, my voice a low rumble.

For a moment, we're statues amongst the revelry, her smile a fucking siren's song rooting me in place. She's sunlight, casting her warm rays over the pitch black of my soul without even flinching.

"Watch your step," I caution, more to myself than to her, a whisper of warning that this world—and men like me—weren't meant for angels like her.

Her gray eyes widen as they skirt down my body, taking me in. I know what people see when they look at me. I'm nearly seven feet tall and built like a brick wall. I'm imposing. Precisely the way I like it.

People respect what they fear. They fear me on sight—though most can't say why. It's survival instinct, whispering from the deepest parts of their subconscious. They recognize a monster when they see one. They know death when it stares back.

But does this sweet little thing see the monster—the one who kills without remorse or empathy? Or does she see the man—the one I've almost forgotten how to be?

I want it to be the latter.

It's a foreign desire, bubbling up from some soft place inside that I didn't know existed. I thought that place died long ago.

"I'm glad I'm not the only rebel here tonight," she finally says, a sweet smile tugging at her lips. "I was beginning to worry I'd overplayed my hand."

"Rebel?" I raise an eyebrow at her comment, the word hanging heavy in the air between us. It's almost laughable coming from her—this sweet, innocent little thing with no idea how deep into rebellion I am and how far past redemption I've traveled.

Not even the deepest pits of hell were designed for men like me.

Her blush deepens. She's clearly unaware of how fucking hard it makes me, or she'd stop immediately. She'd flee into the night, screaming in terror.

I want to trace the edge of it with my tongue. Preferably while she's riding my cock.

"Yes," she whispers, nervously tugging at the fabric of her dress as if willing it to cover more of her skin. My fingers itch to trace every exposed inch before they wrap themselves around Alessepo's throat. "We're the only two not in blue."

I glance down at my black suit, confirming her assessment. Rebels, indeed. I know why I'm not in blue—I'm not a fucking cop. I doubt she is, either. She doesn't look much older than nineteen or twenty…too young to be in uniform.

So, who is she? And why did she decide on siren red instead of boring blue? What authority is she rebelling against?

I suddenly want to know.

"Dance with me." I don't ask. I demand, knowing damn well that if I give her an option, it might not be me. I don't want that, so I don't allow it.

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip before she smiles up at me. "Gladly."

I lead her onto the dance floor, not speaking. Her body molds against mine as I pull her into my arms and begin to move to the rhythm, keeping her close to me.

My erection presses against her belly. There's no hiding it as her intoxicating vanilla scent swirls around me, clouding my head. Cazzo. She smells incredible. The pulse beneath her ear flutters, letting me know she feels how hard I am.

Good. Let her.

She's the reason I'm in this state.

I fight the urge to bend my head and taste her fluttering pulse.

"What's your name?" she asks, her voice shaking.

"Coda Passero."

"Coda," she repeats, licking her lips as she stares up at me. "I'm Karina Alessepo."

Fucking hell. She's his daughter. I knew he had a kid, but I've never seen her before. I made a point not to go looking. The less I knew about the kid, the better. It's a lot harder to kill a man when you know who they're leaving behind.

Those are the people who haunt you if you let them. Not the dead, but the living. They're the ones who plague your mind. The dead are easy to forget. A single bullet and they cease to exist. But the living? They're still out there, still walking around, still trying to pick up the pieces you shattered.

I never let myself think about them. As far as I'm concerned, they don't exist. Except one of them is in my arms right now, smiling up at me like I'm something special.

Fuck.

"Thank you for being brave enough to dance with me. No one else was." She rolls her eyes. "They're all afraid of my father."

"Cowards," I grunt, my mind racing. I need to shut this down now and walk away before I get any deeper with her. I don't need to know anything else about her. But my goddamn traitorous hands pull her closer instead. My fucking mouth betrays me. "If they're too afraid to ask, they don't deserve to dance with you, cara."

"That's what I said! It's not like dancing is illegal."

I watch her intently, not speaking—not trusting myself to speak. Her pretty gray eyes flit across my face, her bright, trusting smile doing things to me that it shouldn't.

Doesn't she know she's dancing with a goddamn monster? Doesn't she have any sense of self-preservation at all?

Cristo. She should. If she had any idea why I'm here tonight, she wouldn't be looking at me like she is right now—like I'm some fucking prize.

I'm not. I'm a murderer. A liar. Her worst goddamn nightmare.

She tilts her head to the side, studying me. "Is there something wrong?"

I shake my head, burying my face in the crook of her neck. Her scent is even stronger here. Sweet vanilla with subtle notes of lavender. For a moment, I forget who we are or where we are.

"You smell good," I mumble against her skin, feeling the vibrations of her laughter.

"Thank you," she says softly. "It's my shampoo."

I'm fairly certain it's her, but I don't say that.

"You smell good, too," she confesses, her voice warm and sweet as honey. "Not like the rest of them."

Blinking, I pull back to meet her gaze, an eyebrow arched in silent inquiry.

She giggles, the sound going straight to my fucking heart. "Half of them smell like they bathed in cologne," she whispers conspiratorially, her nose wrinkling in distaste. "It's suffocating." Her fingers tighten around my bicep. "You're the only one here not giving me a headache. I like it."

The unexpected compliment catches me off guard. I came here intending to blend in tonight, but the fact that I don't is precisely why she's looking at me with such avid curiosity and…trust. The irony of the situation makes me want to laugh—a cruel, bitter sound that would shatter this deceitful calm surrounding us.

"Why aren't you trying to impress him?"

"Who?"

"My dad." She nods toward the front of the room where he's still holding court. "Every other cop here is."

"I'm not a fucking cop." The words erupt from my lips harsher than I intended.

She notices. One brow rises toward her hairline before she laughs the tension away. "Well, thank God for that," she breathes. "Being the only civilian in the room was lonely."

She intends it as a joke, but there's a hidden depth to the comment that speaks volumes about her past. Karina Alessepo grew up cold and lonely, too—frozen out by his blue family, starving for affection, and alone in a world she didn't belong in.

Did he even notice?

Probably not. Just like he hasn't noticed her dancing with a stranger in the middle of the dance floor. Cristo. He doesn't deserve her.

An idea flickers, an opportunity unfurling like the wings of a dark angel. I wanted to kill him, but death is easy. Dismantling his world brick by brick would be far more painful. She's the key, a way of destroying him from the inside.

He may be a prick, but I'm guessing the prick loves her regardless. His world would crumble if she fell in love with a motherfucker like me. It's cunning, it's cruel, and it's exactly what he deserves.

He took everything from me. Why not take everything from him, starting with her?

Claiming her wouldn't be a hardship on my part. Not in the least. She's fucking gorgeous, and she's sweet as hell. I never saw myself bringing a woman into my world. It's dark and violent and ugly. But for this one? To claim her light as my own?

Yeah, I could work with that.

And I'm honest enough with myself to admit that it's not entirely about her father, either. I want her. Even before I knew she was Alessepo's kid, my dick was hard for her. When you live like I do, mired in shadow, even the weakest rays of the sun are tempting. And she's a fiery blaze.

She's innocence incarnate, a captivating combination of unattainable and irresistible to a motherfucker like me. I shouldn't want her, but I do—a craving that gnaws at my restraint.

I came to kill. Instead, I'll conquer.

With a subtle yet possessive touch, I wrap my hand around her hip, tugging her closer to my body. "You aren't a civilian, Karina," I murmur, my voice low and seductive. "You're a rebel, remember?"

Her eyes light up, a delighted laugh spilling from her lips. "What? You thought I forgot?" She smirks, heat in her gray eyes. "I never forget how to be bad, Coda. Especially if it pisses him off."

Ah, goddamn. She wants bad? Wants to rebel? Those innocent words set off an explosion in my mind. A dangerous desire courses through me as I imagine all the ways we're going to piss off her father together.

She has no idea the abyss she's dancing on the edge of, or the demon dying to lead her even closer to it.

Her bright eyes swirl with mischief, hinting at depths I'm dying to explore. Just how bad can this innocent little thing be? I want to find out. Her lightness against my darkness…it's a hell of a juxtaposition.

My fucking cock aches in a way that has nothing to do with vendettas or revenge and everything to do with her and that sweet vanilla scent.

"You want to rebel and piss him off, Karina?"

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, her eyes flickering across my face. She hesitates for only a moment before she answers. "Yes."

"Why?" It's not my business, but I want to know.

Her eyes flash as she looks up at me. "To him, I'm just someone else to order around. I'm supposed to do exactly what he says whenever he says it. I'm over it, Coda."

Fuck him. She's no one's property, least of all his.

"Kiss me," I command. "Right here where your father can see you do it. Right here in front of everyone he works with. Show him that you don't bend to his will."

Frankly, I don't give a fuck if he sees us or not—I don't need his eyes on us right now for my plan to work. But I want her lips on mine. I want to know if she tastes as sweet as I imagine—if her lips are as soft as I believe. I'm going wild with the need to know right fucking now if she'll quiver in my arms when I kiss her or if she'll go wild for me.

She contemplates her options for a moment, considering. How badly does she want to piss her father off? How badly does she want to kiss me?

"I have a better idea," she whispers, the tip of her tongue skating across her bottom lip as those gray eyes tangle with mine. "Take me home with you."

I freeze, barely even daring to breathe. "You want to go home with me?"

She nods, no hesitation. "Yes, please."

Fuck. We're racing down a path of retribution and revenge built on the bones of the dead…a path her father constructed twenty-five years ago. And suddenly, I'm the one with reservations.

She's so fucking innocent, so trusting. Does she even know what she's asking? No. How can she? She doesn't know who I am or what I want. She's putting her safety in my hands without even understanding what she's doing.

"That's dangerous, cara," I murmur, my voice low as I try to give her an out, one last chance to save herself. I trace circles on the small of her back, skimming over the silky fabric of her gown as I try like hell to save her from me. It's poetic, really…the man who kills without compunction suddenly desperate to save. "You don't know what you're asking."

She lifts her chin in a stubborn show of rebelliousness, staring back at me with fiery intensity. She's so fucking innocent and so fucking defiant.

My cock throbs.

"I know exactly what I'm asking," she says firmly. "I'm not a kid, Coda. I'm twenty-one. That's old enough to make my own choices."

My heart beats wildly against my ribcage, pure, unadulterated lust surging through me. Is this little spitfire actually challenging me? Throwing all caution to the wind?

She should know not to tempt the devil. He'll lead her straight to hell.

A dangerous glimmer sparks in my fucking heart as I dip my head closer to hers. Our noses brush lightly. Hunger and need rip through me in a dangerous maelstrom.

If she wants to punish her father, who am I to stop her? Like she said, she's old enough to make her own choices.

"Very well," I whisper against her lips before claiming them in a searing kiss. It's possessive and raw, a promise of what's to come.

A soft moan escapes her as her hands tangle in the lapels of my suit, drawing me closer. The taste of her tongue intertwining with mine sets me ablaze. I fucking devour her, consuming her alive.

She kisses me back with the same raw desperation, whimpering into my mouth. Her tongue moves with mine, unskilled and somehow far too goddamn perfect.

We break apart, dazed by the raw intensity of our kiss. Her breath is ragged, her eyes wide and glassy.

I grab her hand. It's time to get the fuck out of this godforsaken place before someone tries to stop what's about to happen. It's too late for that now. Far too late.

They never should have let me get close if they didn't want me to take her.

A murmur ripples through the crowd as I pull her toward the doors. But I don't give a fuck about them. All that matters right now is Karina. She wants to play, and I'm going to let her. It's a dangerous game, but I won't allow her to be hurt. My issue is with her father, not her.

As she slips out of the doors with me, I glance back at the man in question. The prick is still too wrapped up in his own bullshit to even notice that his world just started to crumble.