Chapter 1

1

"For where thou art, there is the world itself, And where thou art not, desolation"

(Henry VI Part 2 – Act 3, Scene 2)

JJ

"You motherfucker." Sinclair Sterling, my host for the evening—though he doesn't know it yet— draws himself up to his full height. Anger thrums off of him. "The fuck are you doing in my house?" The muscles of his neck tighten. He draws back his arm, and his fist connects with the face of the man standing opposite him.

The man who's as tall, as broad, and is dressed in a dark black suit which could be the twin to Sinclair's camel-colored one. The man who's as powerful as Sinclair in every way, for he's the leader of the Cosa Nostra . The man who barely flinches as he absorbs the blow, then shakes his head.

A collective gasp runs through the assembled crowd. Michael's shoulders bunch. Tension leaps off of him. The hair on the back of my neck rises.

"Oh, fuck." I take a step back. Not that I'm a coward, but any moment now I expect the Don to pull out his gun and empty it into Sinclair's head. Instead, Michael Sovrano raises his hands.

What the—? I've never seen the most powerful man of the underground crime scene in Europe make a conciliatory gesture, especially when he was provoked. Sure, Michael is going legit but he's still the leader of a lethal Mafia clan . Their reach extends to corners that Sinclair's never could. Sinclair plays on the right side of the law, but you don't become number one on the Rich List in Europe without cutting more than a few corners.

Of course, since Michael and his brothers have gotten married, the mindset of the Cosa Nostra has changed. From being focused on growing their prowess in the underworld, they have transitioned to moving their businesses into legitimate entities. Something I wholeheartedly support. Turns out, making money by legal means involves jumping through as many hoops and cutting corners as you'd do leading an organized crime syndicate. I should know.

For the past few years, not only have I run the Kane company, the foremost crime organization in the UK, but I've also moved many of its dealings to the Kane Corporation, the lawful business I incorporated. A thriving business for which I am the CEO. The position by any other name is the same. You're the leader, the visionary, the person who sees the big picture. The one who connects the dots, forges alliances, and on occasion, brokers peace. Where I get my cut, of course. Which is why I'm here. Not that either of these men know it yet. All the better. The situation plays in my favor, putting me in a position of strength. I couldn't have planned it better.

"Get off my property—" Sinclair reaches for his inside pocket.

I step forward. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Sinclair jerks his chin in my direction. "JJ Kane." His frown deepens. "The fuck do you want?"

"I know you didn't invite me. However, I do think you'll be happy that I stepped in."

"You with this bastard?" Sinclair nods in Michael's direction.

"I'm not with either of you, ol' chap. I'm like Switzerland. Bloody neutral and all that."

Sinclair frowns.

Next to me, Michael glowers.

"Sinclair." The petite woman with pink threaded through her hair standing next to Sterling tugs on his sleeve. "Sin, stop. He's my sister's husband."

Sinclair's shoulders bunch. His features still wear that expression of fury. Then he turns his head in his wife's direction and his gaze softens. "Summer—" He frowns. "This man… He's responsible for everything that happened to me and the rest of the Seven."

Of course, he's referring to the rest of his friends with whom he runs 7A Investments, the leading financial services company on this side of the pond.

Summer's eyelids flicker. She looks past Sinclair to where Michael's wife—her sister—stands with her hands over her belly. Summer's gaze widens. She steps around her husband, who moves with her to block her approach. It's a stance of extreme protectiveness. Interesting. In the little time I've known Sterling as a business associate, I've only seen his work face. This is Sterling as a husband. A protective husband. It's also an angry, pissed-off man who's trying to come to terms with his past. A past I have details to because… I never do business with a person unless I have investigated him thoroughly.

"Sin, please." Summer tugs on his sleeve. "I haven't seen my sister in months. Please, I need to go to her now."

Sinclair hesitates, then steps aside. Summer moves at the same time as Michael's wife, her sister. The two women embrace.

"Karma," Summer breathes. "I missed you so much."

Karma sniffs. "Me, too. I'm so sorry I didn't stay in touch properly all these months."

"I was worried sick about you. One cryptic message from you that you had a new boyfriend and you were going to Sicily with him, and I don't see you for months. Months, Karma. How could you do that?" She steps back and searches her sister's features. "You are okay, though. Aren't you? You're safe. Not hurt or anything?"

Next to Karma, Michael shuffles his feet. His arms are loose at his sides, but his fingers are poised in readiness. Opposite him, Sterling's stance, too, is one of alertness. The two men glare at each other. The air between them thrums with tension.

Behind Sterling, his friends—I count five more of the Seven—are poised to jump to his defense at the first sign of trouble. Considering we're on the lawn of his house, where his friend has just gotten married, it's fair to say we're in his territory. A dangerous place for his enemy to be, and without backup. Which is the situation Sovrano is in. Although, knowing him, his brothers can't be far off. Which makes this situation worse than a football stadium packed with hooligans where the visitors won.

"I'm fine." Karma once more places her hands over her stomach. Summer glances down at her gesture, then back at Karma's face. "Karma." She swallows. "Are you?—?"

Karma nods.

Summer's features break into a big smile. "Oh, wow." She squeezes her sister's hand. "So am I," she whispers.

"No way." Karma gapes, then her features crumple, and her voice cracks. "I'm so... so very sorry I didn't keep in touch. It's my fault we lost so much time."

"We have so much to catch up on." Summer sniffles. She turns to Michael and holds out her hand. "I'm Summer Sinclair, Karma's sister. Welcome to the family."

Sinclair makes a choking sound.

A ripple of something seems to run through the rest of the crowd. If the tension had crackled before, now it seems to press down on all gathered. A cold fog of fury gathers speed and coils in on itself. The blood thuds at my pulse points, and all of my senses go on alert. I need to step in before someone takes a wrong step, and it starts a shit storm of tsunami proportions. Not that it'd matter to me. If the Seven and the Sovrano brothers—who also happen to be seven in total—is that a coincidence? —engage in an all-out war, the winner would be… You guessed it; yours truly.

It would work neatly to my benefit. Except I'm here at Sovrano's request. Also, because Karma personally asked me to help broker a deal with the Seven. It's the only way for her to be reunited with her sister. And apparently, chivalry isn't dead. At least, where I'm concerned.

Michael glances down at Summer's proffered hand. Sinclair tenses. The tendons on his throat stand out.

Behind Sinclair, his friends tense further. The apprehension in the space ratchets up. My nerves stretch to their breaking point, but I don't move. Neither do the men. Not even Michael. Everyone seems to be holding their collective breath when the sound of barking cuts through the tense atmosphere. The thud of paws on grass reaches us, then a small bundle of dogginess shoots out from behind Sinclair. The puppy brushes past Summer and comes to a halt in front of Michael. It glances up at the big man and pants. The animal wags its tail so hard, it threatens to fall off. It woofs again, then leaps up to plant its paws on Michael's pant leg. Every muscle in Michael's body seems to go rock hard. His gaze narrows on the puppy. Sinclair steps forward. Summer draws in a sharp breath. Then the Don bends and rubs the puppy above his nose.

The little fella closes his eyes in ecstasy and pushes into his hand. Michael scratches the dog behind his ears, and the dog pants loudly. Then begins to hump Michael's leg.

Michael freezes, a look of shock on his face.

Karma chuckles.

Summer snorts.

Sinclair's face reddens. "Down boy. Here Max. What's wrong with you?"

"Umm..." Summer chortles, then seems to get a hold of herself. "Darling, I did say it was time to get him neutered."

Both Michael and Sinclair wince at the same time. A look of comical horror is mirrored on their features. They exchange glances. Then Sinclair grabs the puppy and lifts him. Max turns his attention to Sinclair and licks his mouth.

"Enough." Sinclair moves his face to the side, and Max licks his cheek, his ear. Sterling finally manages to pry the puppy off of himself and places him on the ground. Max barks again, then sits his butt on the ground and whines.

A slightly frazzled Sinclair pulls out his handkerchief and wipes his face.

Meanwhile, Michael finally clasps Summer's still extended hand. He lowers his head and kisses her knuckles. "My wife's sister is my own sister. I pledge the loyalty of the Cosa Nostra to you, and by extension" —he glances at Sinclair— "to your family."