Chapter 1

Chapter One

Luka Vitali

“ M ama, we needed to leave two hours ago,” I yell, knocking on my parent’s bedroom door again. Why does she have to be so exasperating? This fucking shit was her idea. I bang on the door a few times, getting madder each time my fist hits the dark cherry wood.

“Luka Fabrizio Vitali, if you knock on my door one more time, I’m going to kick your ass from here to Broadway. The show doesn’t start until eight.” I might be forty-one, but there’s no doubt in my mind she could kick my ass if she set her mind to it.

Shaking my head, I walk away and wait for her in the living room of the house that I grew up in. I don’t know how I got roped into this. It’s not that I don’t like spending time with my mother, but a Friday night at the theatre isn’t what I want to be doing. My typical Friday night includes managing the Vitali Club, 369 , right here in Queens. It’s a nightclub. Something about the flashing lights and the music pumping calls to me. We own lots of clubs, including strip clubs, but those don’t call to me. They never have. I don’t need that kind of entertainment, but they are lucrative.

“Let’s go. We’re going to be late,” Mom says, finally entering the living room as if she weren’t the one holding us up.

I roll my eyes and head out to the car with her. She turns my music off and puts on the soundtrack to the musical we are about to see. Kill me now. The normally forty-minute drive takes over an hour because of the traffic. There is nothing I hate more than being late. We just make it to our seats as the lights go down and the curtain goes up.

The show Mom wanted to see is popular—so popular, in fact, that she waited over two years for tickets. Not even our notoriety could get her in to see it faster. Nor could my cousin, Matilde, who was an actress, a bad actress, but she had contacts. My father was supposed to take her, but he had pressing business to attend to, and I drew the short straw to take her. Any one of my five siblings could have done it, but it fell on me. Everything is falling on me these days.

We take our seats, front row center, and I turn my phone off and pray that I don’t snore when I inevitably fall asleep.

Then the curtain opens, and I forget how to breathe. The raven-haired goddess on the stage completely enthralls me. I sit up straighter and pay attention.

“Mama, who is that?” I whisper once I remember how to breathe, how to think.

“Who?” she whispers back.

“That one,” I reply, pointing to the woman I can’t take my eyes off. Nothing, and I do mean nothing like this, has ever happened to me before. Of course, I’ve dated some, but nothing serious. Nothing that felt like my soul was trying to leave my body to get to hers.

“I don’t know yet. Let the play start. When she starts to speak, my heart flips in my chest, and I swear I fall in love with her. That’s the Vitali magic. We just know when we find the person we are supposed to be with forever. It’s instant. It’s irrevocable. It’s forever. “She’s Keira Kelly.”

Keira Kelly? Why does that name sound familiar? Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. I know where I’ve seen her before. She was in the news just the other day with Sean Kelly. The fucking bastard. The Irish mobster from Brooklyn. She’s his daughter. Sean is known around the city for his brutality. The Kelly’s don’t do things like the Vitali’s do, but none of that matters right now. I’m so enthralled with his fucking daughter that I’m contemplating all-out war right now.

Later, our eyes connect while she’s singing about her sisters, and she falters. I should feel bad about that, but I don’t. Instead, I smile at her. Throughout the song, she stares at me; I know she’s feeling this too. How could she not be?

During intermission, I text my father and tell him he needs to pick my mom up after the show. He doesn’t question me; he just confirms that he will. When Keira doesn’t come back on-stage during Act II, I, being me, excuse myself and make my way backstage. I have to see her now. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I control this?

I walk around the dressing room area until I find the one marked with her name. I knock on the door and wait.

“Come in, Alberta,” she calls in a sing-song voice.

Turning the knob, I open the door. Her back is to the door. She’s changing. Her smooth back is begging for lips. I clear my throat, causing her to turn around abruptly. For a solid ten seconds, her beautiful tits are on display for me. I just about swallow my tongue. Then she screams. Of course, she does.

“I’m not Alberta,” I say. She stops screaming but makes no move to cover herself up.

“No, you’re not. Who are you?”

“Luka Vitali.”

Her eyes widen at my name. She may not know me, but she knows my name. Oddly, she takes a step toward me. Most people step away from me.

“What do you want?” she asks, her voice clear but cautious.

“I think you know what I want, Miss Kelly. It is Miss, isn’t it? Fuck, do I have to kill someone to have you?” I’ll do it in a heartbeat. I kill people for a living, but killing for her would be a pleasure.

“There’s no need to kill anyone on my behalf. ”

“Good.” I step inside the room and close the door behind me.

“Please do come in and make yourself at home,” she says sarcastically, gesturing around the small room. Her perfect, rose-tipped tits are still out, begging for me to taste them.

“We’re going to have some fun, Miss Kelly.”

“My name is Keira.”

I know, baby. I know.