PROLOGUE
My fingers shook like leaves in the breeze as I raised them, my heartbeat hummingbird quick. Luca’s strong hand was firm and steady as he took mine and slipped the ring onto my finger.
White gold with twenty small diamonds.
What was meant as a sign of love and devotion for other couples was nothing but a testament of his ownership of me. A daily reminder of the golden cage I’d be trapped in for the rest of my life. Until death do us part wasn’t an empty promise, as with so many other couples that entered the holy bond of marriage. There was no way out of this union for me. I was Luca’s until the bitter end. The last few words of the oath men swore when they were inducted into the mafia could just as well have been the closing of my wedding vow:
“I enter alive and I will have to get out dead.”
I should have run when I still had the chance. Now, as hundreds of faces from the Chicago and New York Famiglias stared back at us, flight was no longer an option. Nor was divorce. Death was the only acceptable end to a marriage in our world. Even if I still managed to escape Luca’s watchful eyes and those of his henchmen, my breach of our agreement would mean war. Nothing my father could say would prevent Luca’s Famiglia from exercising vengeance for making them lose face.
My feelings didn’t matter, never had. I’d grown up in a world where no choices were given, especially to women.
This wedding wasn’t about love or trust or choice. It was about duty and honor, about doing what was expected.
A bond to ensure peace.
I wasn’t an idiot. I knew what else this was about: money and power. Both were dwindling since the Russian mob—“the Bratva”—, and other crime organizations had been trying to expand their influence into our territories. The Italian Famiglias across the US needed to lay their feuds to rest and work together to beat down their enemies. I should be honored to marry the oldest son of the New York Famiglia. That’s what my father and every other male relative had tried to tell me since my betrothal to Luca. I knew that, and it wasn’t as if I hadn’t had time to prepare for this exact moment, yet fear still corseted my body in a relentless grip.
“You may kiss the bride,” the priest said.
I raised my head. Every pair of eyes in the pavilion scrutinized me, waiting for a flicker of weakness. Father would be furious if I let my terror show, and Luca’s Famiglia would use it against us. But I had grown up in a world where a perfect mask was the only protection afforded to women and had no trouble forcing my face into a placid expression. Nobody would know how much I wanted to escape. Nobody but Luca. I couldn’t hide from him, no matter how much I tried. My body wouldn’t stop shaking. As my gaze met Luca’s cold gray eyes, I could tell that he knew. How often had he instilled fear in others? Recognizing it was probably second nature to him.
He bent down to bridge the ten inches he towered over me. There was no sign of hesitation, fear or doubt on his face. My lips trembled against his mouth as his eyes bored into me. Their message was clear: You are mine.
CHAPTER ONE
Three years earlier
I was curled up on the chaise lounge in our library, reading, when a knock sounded. Liliana’s head rested in my lap, and she didn’t even stir when the dark wooden door opened and our mother stepped in, her dark blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun at the back of her head. Mother was pale, her face drawn with worry.
“Did something happen?” I asked.
She smiled, but it was her fake smile. “Your father wants to talk to you in his office.”
I carefully moved out from under Lily’s head and put it down on the chaise. She drew her legs up against her body. She was small for an eleven-year-old, but I wasn’t exactly tall either at five foot four. None of the women in our family were. Mother avoided my eyes as I walked toward her.
“Am I in trouble?” I didn’t know what I could have done wrong. Usually Lily and I were the obedient ones; Gianna was the one who always broke the rules and got punished.
“Hurry. Don’t let your father wait,” Mother said simply.
My stomach was in knots when I arrived in front of Father’s office. After a moment to stifle my nerves, I knocked.
“Come in.”
I entered, forcing my face to remain carefully guarded. Father sat behind his mahogany desk in a wide black leather armchair; behind him rose the mahogany shelves filled with books that Father had never read, but they hid a secret entrance to the basement and a corridor leading off the premises.
He looked up from a pile of sheets, gray hair slicked back. “Sit.”
I sank down on one of the chairs across from his desk and folded my hands in my lap, trying not to gnaw on my lower lip. Father hated that. I waited for him to start talking. He had a strange expression on his face as he scrutinized me. “The Bratva and the Triad are trying to claim our territories. They are getting bolder by the day. We’re luckier than the Las Vegas Famiglia who also has to deal with the Mexicans, but we can’t ignore the threat the Russians and the Taiwanese pose any longer.”
Confusion filled me. Father never talked about practicalities to us. Girls didn’t need to know about the finer details of the mob business. I knew better than to interrupt him.
“We have to lay our feud with the New York Famiglia to rest and combine forces if we want to fight the Bratva.” Peace with the Famiglia? Father and every other member of the Chicago Outfit hated the Famiglia. They had been killing each other for decades and only recently decided to ignore each other in favor of killing off the members of other crime organizations, like the Bratva and the Triad. “There is no stronger bond than blood. At least the Famiglia got that right.”
I frowned.
“Born in blood. Sworn in blood. That’s their motto.”
I nodded, but my confusion only grew.
“I met with Salvatore Vitiello yesterday.” Father met with the Capo dei Capi, the head of the New York mob? A meeting between New York and Chicago hadn’t taken place in a decade, and the last time hadn’t ended well. It was still referred to as Bloody Thursday. And Father wasn’t even the Boss. He was only the Consigliere, the adviser to Fiore Cavallaro, who ruled over the Outfit and with it, organized crime in the Midwest.
“We agreed that for peace to be an option, we had to become family.” Father’s eyes bored into me, and suddenly I didn’t want to hear what else he had to say. “Cavallaro and I determined that you would marry his oldest son Luca, the future Capo dei Capi of the Famiglia.”
I felt like I was falling. “Why me?”
“Vitiello and Fiore have talked on the phone several times in the last few weeks, and Vitiello wanted the most beautiful girl for his son. Of course, we couldn’t give him the daughter of one of our soldiers. Fiore doesn’t have unmarried daughters, so he said you were the most beautiful girl available.” Gianna was just as beautiful, but she was younger. That probably saved her.
“There are so many beautiful girls,” I choked out. I couldn’t breathe. Father looked at me as if I were his most prized possession.
“There aren’t many Italian girls with hair like yours. Fiore described it as golden.” Father guffawed. “You are our door into the New York Famiglia.”