Toronto, Ontario Imet the devil the morning after my eighteenth birthday. Hungover and tired, I rolled over in bed, where my toes brushed against warm skin and crisp body hair. A friend of mine held a graduation party last night at her pool and my boyfriend, David, slept over after. We usually hooked up at his apartment, but I was too drunk last night and insisted on coming here. It hadn’t been easy sneaking him into the house under the watchful gaze of the cameras monitored by Papà’s men, but I was a pro. I’d been outsmarting the guards and the cameras for years now. The one thing the guards loved? Routine. Once you learned the routine, you could get around it and do whatever you wanted. Papà was the head of one of the seven families of the ’Ndrangheta in Toronto, a criminal network that stretched from Canada to South America to Italy. My father’s business was dangerous, so my two sisters and I weren’t raised as typical teenagers. Wherever we went, we were trailed by guards with guns inside their jackets—including to school. Our extracurricular activities were severely limited, our lives kept under careful scrutiny. Which was why I couldn’t help but occasionally sneak out. I was the responsible one, the big sister who began caring for my two younger siblings when our mother died. I deserved a break every now and then. A knock sounded at my door. “Frankie. Are you awake?” My father. Shit. Panic filled me. The first night I dared to have my boyfriend sleep over and my father was outside my door. This could not be good. Hangover forgotten, I grabbed David’s shoulders. “You have to get out of here,” I mouthed silently. “Like, now.” David nodded and hurried to dress, while I handed him his clothes. I looked at the door. “Papà, don’t come in. I’m not dressed.” “You need to get up and look presentable,” he said from the hall. “We have guests.” Guests? It was barely nine o’clock. “I’ll need at least an hour,” I said. “You have ten minutes.” I could hear the command in his voice. “All right,” I called. David zipped up his jeans and threw on his t-shirt. I opened the window and looked down. My bedroom was on the second floor, so it was high but not a death-defying jump. “Hang down from the window ledge and you should be fine.” A rough hand slid over my bare ass. “Maybe it’s time for me to meet your family, babe.” The idea almost made me laugh. My father would strangle David with his bare hands for daring to touch his precious daughter. “You have to go. Keep to the side of the house and out of sight. There is a path on the left and it leads to a wall. The cameras won’t see you there. Hurry.” He pressed a hard kiss to my mouth, then crawled out the window. I watched as he slowly lowered himself down, his biceps bulging with the effort. Before we graduated last month, he’d been one of the most popular boys in our senior class and captain of the hockey team. I was going to miss him when I left for college in August. David dropped to his feet and then gave me a salute. I blew him a kiss and shut the window, my mind already racing to Papà and the guests. After a quick shower, I braided my wet hair and dabbed concealer under my eyes. A swipe of mascara later, I threw on a prim dress that covered most of my body, as my father preferred. Instead of flats, I put on a pair of heels. I was tall, but I liked the way I looked in heels. Like nothing could stop me. Intimidating. Fierce. The house was quiet, my sisters still asleep. The sixteen-year-old twins, Emma and Gia, usually stayed up well into the night, watching movies and talking to their friends online. I would miss them when I went away to school, but they didn’t need me as much these days. They would be fine after I left. My heels popped on the marble floors as I approached my father’s office. I rarely went in here, seeing as how I’d rather not know what Papà was really doing most of the time. Ignorance was bliss when it came to having a family member in the mafia, let alone running it. I knocked and waited until I heard my father’s voice telling me to come in. He was seated behind his desk and the room was full of men in suits. Some faces were familiar, like Uncle Reggie and my cousin, Dante, but the others were strangers—and they all stared at me. “Francesca, come in.” My father stood and buttoned his suit jacket. Swallowing my nerves, I approached his desk. “You wanted to see me?” “Yes. This is Fausto Ravazzani.” A man unfolded from the armchair and my heart leapt into my throat. I’d never seen such a handsome man before, one with such thick, wavy dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He was trim, with a chiseled jaw and broad shoulders, and his suit fit him perfectly. He looked to be in his late thirties, and under any other circumstances I would have guessed him a former model or actor. No one looked and dressed like this unless they were dependent on their looks for a living. But this was no prima donna. Power rolled off his taut frame in waves, like he was in control of everyone and everything around him. The men accompanying him clearly weren’t his friends, they were guards. He was someone important, someone worth protecting. And he seemed... dangerous. I nodded once. “Mr. Ravazzani.” His eyes drifted over my face and down my body, as if I were a horse he was considering purchasing. Tingles broke out along my skin wherever he looked, but I couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or embarrassment. Even more confusing, my nipples hardened in my thin bra, which I hoped he wouldn’t notice. The smirk on his face when he met my gaze told me he was aware of the state of my nipples. “You are eighteen?” The words rolled out of his mouth with an Italian accent and my heart gave an ominous thump in my chest. Were these men from Toronto? I doubted it. No one in my father’s employ had an accent this thick. “Yes, sir.” He nodded once to my father. “She’ll do.” She’ll do? “Do for what?” I asked. My father shot me a quick look before addressing Ravazzani. “Excellent. We’ll plan the wedding for next month.” “Wedding?” I screeched. No, no, no. I was supposed to go to college first. My mother made my father promise that all three of their daughters would be educated before marriage. I was counting on it. “What wedding?” “Quiet, Francesca,” my father hissed. I glanced at my cousin, hoping to find answers, but Dante wouldn’t meet my eye. Which meant this was bad. Really bad. Normally he relished my unhappiness. One of Ravazzani’s men entered and leaned down to speak in his ear. The edge of Ravazzani’s mouth curled as he listened, then he waved the man away. Returning his attention to my father, he said, “No. The wedding will take place at my home in Siderno, where Giulio resides. We leave tomorrow.” Giulio? And wait, Siderno? As in Italy? What the fuck was happening? Lines deepened on my father’s forehead. “But what about me and my family? We have a right to—” Stiffening, Ravazzani glared at my father, and the mood in the room went arctic. “Be very, very careful, Roberto,” he said softly. “You lost your rights when you lost my shipment.” Yikes. No one moved and the moment stretched. I’d never seen anyone put my father in his place before. No one had ever dared. I held my breath until my father finally put up his hands. “Mi dispiace,” he apologized. This appeared to appease Ravazzani, but I still had no idea what they were talking about. “Will someone please tell me what is going on?” I blurted, unable to hold back any longer. Ravazzani moved quickly, stepping closer, until he towered over me. His irises were so blue, with hints of gray, but they didn’t seem angry. Instead, he appeared amused. “You have spirit. That’s good. You will need it, piccolina.” Walking around me, he went to the door, trailed by five of his men. “I expect her ready, Mancini,” he said over his shoulder. Anger burned in my chest. Expected me ready? Like I was a piece of luggage? No one was carting me off to Italy. I was going to school in New York City, not getting married to some scary Italian man who was most definitely in the mafia. When the door closed, I rounded on my father. “Papà, what is this all about?” He dragged a hand down his face and dropped into his chair. Uncle Reggie and Dante didn’t move, but the rest of my father’s men left the room. “Sit, Frankie.” “I’d rather not. I’d rather stand until I know what’s happening.” Papà slapped a hand against the surface of his desk. “For fuck’s sake. Do as you’re told!” I hated when he spoke to me so coldly, like I was one of his men. Dante shook his head, clearly indicating he thought I was an idiot, and Uncle Reggie wore his usual frown. Pushing away the hurt and confusion, I slid into a chair. “There. Now please explain what is happening.” “You have been chosen to wed Ravazzani’s heir, Giulio. It’s a good match, Frankie. An honor, really.” An honor? I stared at the man who’d promised I would receive a college degree before marriage. Who said I could have my choice in a husband. Empty lies. Every single one. “Absolutely not. I won’t marry some stranger in Italy. I don’t want a mafia husband. I’m going to school in the fall.” My father’s face hardened into a scary expression, one I’d never seen before. I suspected this was his ’ndrina face, the mafia leader who did terrible things with no remorse. “You will do as you are told or people will die. People in this family. Is that what you want?” The threat hung in the air between us and I thought of my twin sisters upstairs, asleep and trusting. With no idea I was being forced to choose a life I didn’t want to secure their safety. It’s no choice at all. I would do anything for them. Though I was just two years older, I had been the one to care for them after my mother’s death. I taught them about boys and periods. Helped them buy bras. Dried their tears and managed their screen time. The backs of my eyelids started to burn. “Why is this happening?” “Alliances through marriage are a part of our world. There is nothing anyone can do to prevent this. I expect you to do your duty and make Giulio happy.” I pressed a hand to my stomach, trying to ease the sudden cramping of my insides. How had my future changed so drastically? “But you promised,” I said weakly, fighting tears. His expression didn’t budge. “My promises to the ’Ndrangheta come first. Now, do not dishonor me. This is an opportunity for us to gain more power through your husband’s family. Ravazzani is one of the wealthiest men in Italy, the head of one of the largest clans, the ’ndrina which bears his name.” Power. Wealth. Was that all anyone cared about? I rubbed my eyes, uncaring if I smeared my mascara. “This isn’t fair.” “Grow up, Frankie,” Dante sneered. “Ravazzani is one of the highest-ranking men in all of the ’Ndrangheta. You’ll be married to his son, who will inherit everything one day. Any woman in our circle would kill for this chance.” “Screw you, Dante. I don’t want to marry a boss,” I snapped. “I want to go to school and get a degree.” Like I had been promised. College meant freedom from my father and his men. It meant living in New York City and going to clubs and bars, dating boys and drinking too much. I would study and have a career and live a normal life before I had to marry. It was all my mother had wanted for her girls. Be your own woman, Francesca. Don’t make my mistakes. She was a top Italian model before she met and married my father. While their marriage had been a love match at first, she said she always regretted giving up her career for him. “Stop,” my father said. “You’re acting childish. It’s been decided. Go up and pack your things. I expect you to be ready first thing tomorrow.” “But—” “Not another word, Francesca. You are leaving with Fausto Ravazzani and that is final.” I pressed my lips together and rose. The men said nothing as I left, thinking I’d agreed. That I’d willingly cross an ocean and marry a man I hadn’t met, just because my father screwed up with some mysterious shipment. They should have known better.

The car turned into the warehouse lot. The place hadn’t been used in years by the looks of it, which was perfect for this errand. When the wheels stopped, I opened the door of the rented car and stepped out. Marco got out and unlocked the trunk. The boy was yanked out and thrown onto the ground, where he crumpled in a pile of limbs covered in cheap clothing. My men caught the stronzo crawling out of her bedroom window this morning. I stared at him, wanting to see what she saw. Why would a woman as beautiful as Francesca Mancini ever waste her time on such a pathetic and ordinary creature like this? She was glorious. The rumors of her looks weren’t exaggerated. All three Mancini daughters were said to resemble their mother. Sofia Mancini had been a famous model before marrying Roberto—I remember jerking off to her photos as a teenage boy—and Francesca was the spitting image of her mother, except with bigger tits. Dio, how I would love to fuck those tits. Stop. She’s marrying your son. Angry at my inappropriate thoughts, I transferred that fury onto the man on the ground. “So you are the boyfriend.” His frightened eyes darted between me and my men. “Who are you? Why am I here?” I nodded at Marco, who gave the boy a swift kick in the ribs. “I ask the questions,” I said when the boy caught his breath. “And I want to know if you fucked her.” The boy’s brows rose. “What?” After another kick from Marco, the boy wheezed for two full minutes. I sighed. “David, I grow weary. Just tell me if you have fucked her.” “Wait, are you talking about Francesca?” Marco lifted his leg to kick again, but David held up his hands. “Stop, stop. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Finally. I bent and looked him in the eye. “Did. You. Fuck. My. Son’s. Fiancée?” My tone seemed to impart the gravity of the situation on David. His brows flew up and he started babbling. “I had no idea she was engaged. Really. I’m sorry. She never told me. I never would have slept with her if I’d known. Please, you have to believe me.” “How long, David?” He licked his lips. “We’ve been seeing each other for seven months.” I rose and gestured to Marco, then put my hands on my hips. Seven months this brutto figlio di puttana bastardo had been putting his dick in her. Cazzo, what had Mancini been thinking, letting his incredibly hot daughter loose on the streets of Toronto? Marco put some effort behind this kick and David curled up in a tiny ball, gasping. “Please, no more,” he begged. “I think you broke a rib.” I exchanged an amused look with Marco. We both knew he’d been holding back. “Get him up,” I ordered. Marco and Benito each grabbed an arm and hoisted David to his feet. The boy moaned, his head hanging, so I snatched his hair and tilted his face up to meet mine. “Listen to me carefully. Forget she exists. If she contacts you—today, tomorrow, a year from now, whenever—ignore her. If you don’t I will peel the skin from your body while you watch. Do you understand?” He whimpered and I could smell the piss now staining his jeans. Cristo santo, I wanted to go home. “Are we clear?” I repeated. David wisely nodded. “Yes.” “Good.” I stepped back and headed for the car. “Leave him.” I heard David drop to the ground as I opened the door. Marco and Benito, both my second cousins, got in and we drove off, leaving David to find his own way home. I rubbed my jaw and stared out the window. Mancini had clearly let his daughter run wild. She’d probably slept with a handful of men. Did I care? Even though we retained most of our traditions in Siderno, the old way of insisting on a bride’s virginity was dying out. The bloody sheets ritual was practically archaic these days. My wedding twenty years ago had adhered to all the traditions, the things that were supposed to bring a couple good luck. Yet my bride died after just five years of marriage, a young son left behind. There hadn’t been good luck. Only heartache and regret. I hadn’t loved Lucia. We’d both been young, the marriage arranged as an alliance with the Lombardo ’ndrina. I thought she understood her role as my wife, tolerating my long absences and the mistress I kept in town. After all, these things were common in our world. Giulio had been born after our first year of marriage and I always assumed we’d have many more sons and daughters. How foolish I’d been. How naive to think the violence of my world wouldn’t extend to my family. “You think Giulio’s going to like her?” Marco asked. “He wasn’t happy you were coming here to select his bride.” “Giulio will marry whoever I tell him to marry.” To be honest, I had no idea of Giulio’s taste in women. Even at eighteen, my son was secretive—a trait he learned from me. But who wouldn’t want Francesca Mancini? And it didn’t matter. The marriage would forge a strong bond between our families, as well as settle a debt. A win-win. Marco glanced at me in the rear-view mirror. “Should we go back to the hotel?” “For a bit. But she’s going to run, so we need to be ready.” Mancini had given his daughters too much independence, clearly, with no discipline or consequences. The manner in which Francesca had spoken to her father and to me meant she didn’t know her place. I almost envied my son for his task of bringing her to heel. I liked women with spirit. They were much more fun to fuck, and having a strong woman bend to my will always got my dick hard. Benito turned around. “You think she’s going to run?” A smile tugged at my lips. “Oh, you can bet on it. But we’ll be waiting. Tell the pilot we leave today.” Francesca Later that afternoon, I threw my makeup bag into a satchel. I couldn’t bring much when I ran, but I would take my very favorite things, like the earrings Mama left me. A photo of me, Gia and Emma at CN Tower. The leggings that fit my legs and ass perfectly. And, of course, my passport and money. “This is a bad idea,” my sister, Emma, said. “How are you going to live?” “Forget about that, how is she going to escape Papà and the guards?” Gia turned the page in her magazine, barely paying attention. “You’ll never even reach the street, Frankie.” “Yes, I will.” Two years ago, I discovered the cameras didn’t cover one sliver of the stone wall surrounding our house, so I chipped footholds into the stone, which allowed me to come and go as often as I dared. It was how I snuck out to lose my virginity to David last November. My sisters didn’t know this, however. That escape route was too dangerous for anyone but me. Gia made a noise in her throat like she didn’t believe me. “Papà’s going to be totally pissed when you’re caught.” Bag packed, I went and sat on the bed next to them. “I hate to leave you both, but I have to do this. I cannot marry some stranger and become a mafia wife, trapped at home with a zillion kids while my husband fucks a mistress on the side.” “The Ravazzanis are loaded,” Gia said. “I Googled them. They live in a castle, Frankie. An honest to God castle. And the son is a total snack. I don’t know what you’re bitching about.” God, Gia was so spoiled. She had no idea how bad it could truly get for mafia wives. “Mama gave up her modeling career for Papà and she always regretted it. You don’t remember her as well as I do, but I can’t give up the chance at a normal life. Not for any amount of money. It’s not worth it.” “I understand,” Emma said, always the level-headed twin. “And I don’t think you should agree. The man who came here, his father? They call him il Diavolo.” The Devil. I could well believe it. No one rose to the top of the Calabrian mafia without being evil and terrifying. Emma touched my hand. “I have a thousand dollars saved up in my room. Do you want it?” I felt like crying. Again. I threw my arms around her. “I can’t take your money, Emma. You might need it someday. But it’s very kind of you to offer.” I had five thousand plus some gold coins in my satchel. It wouldn’t last long, but it would be enough to disappear. I hoped. Next I hugged Gia, who embraced me almost reluctantly. “I’m just going to see you again in an hour or so when Papà’s men drag you back inside,” she said. “Well, in case you don’t, please give me a hug.” That got Gia’s arms to tighten ever so slightly. “Good luck, Frankie.” “I love you both. Use these next two years to figure a way out. He won’t marry you off before you’re eighteen.” “He might,” Emma said. “Gabriella Pizzuto’s father arranged her marriage when she was only thirteen.” Gross. I stood and grabbed my satchel. “You can both come with me, you know.” Gia frowned. “That would only make it easier for us to be caught. Besides, they won’t hurt us in retaliation.” I hoped that was true. Women and children were supposed to be off-limits in any mafia conflict, but I would never forgive myself if either of my sisters were harmed because of me. “Convince Papà to honor his word about allowing you each to go to college.” “Go,” Emma urged. “It’s dark enough now that you won’t be seen.” She was right. I needed to get going. The guards were eating dinner for only another twenty minutes. I looked at my phone on the dresser. Not taking it with me felt very strange, but it would be too easy to find me if I kept it. I needed to leave it behind, as I always did when I snuck out. After opening the window, I took the rope I kept under my bed, secured it to the bedpost, and unrolled it over the windowsill. I tossed my satchel to the ground and then climbed down into the yard. My sisters watched me safely descend before pulling the rope back up. I blew them a kiss then sprinted for the trees. Papà had no idea David existed, so I’d start there tonight. In the morning I would come up with a plan. Perhaps I’d go to Vancouver. Or Colorado. Somewhere I could hike and ski. I couldn’t stand being cooped up inside, not since I’d accidentally locked myself in a closet as a girl. It had taken four hours for someone to find me, and I was nearly catatonic with fear by then. After that I hated the indoors, and Mama used to let me follow her outside to her gardens. She grew vegetables and flowers, and it always seemed like everything around her was beautiful. Ever since then, I’ve loved dirt and rocks and fresh air. First I had to escape the estate. Then I would need to stay hidden, change my name, and never contact my sisters. I couldn’t allow Papà to find me, not until the threat had long passed. Still, I could do it. No, I had to do it. I had to leave all this behind and become my own person. Find happiness for myself, as my mother had urged me. Never settle, Francesca. Be your own woman. She said those words when I was a young girl, and I hadn’t understood them at the time. But I did now...and I would heed her advice. I followed the well-worn path to the wall and into the trees, where the cameras couldn’t see. I chucked my satchel over the wall first, then I used the footholds to climb up. At the top, I threw my legs over and held on with both hands so I could jump the rest of the way down. Except fingers wrapped around my legs, startling me. They didn’t let go. I kicked—hard. But it did no good. The hands only tightened. “Stop it! Let me go.” “Not a chance, Francesca.” No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. How had Ravazzani found me here? It was impossible. I struggled to get away but my arms weakened and I was quickly forced to let go of the wall. I fell into a hard, male chest, arms folding like steel bands around me. “Get your hands off me. I’m not going with you.” He didn’t budge. “You are coming with me. Even if I must drug you to do it.” I gasped. “Drug me? Is that what you Italians do to unwilling women?” His lips met the edge of my ear. “I could not say. There are no unwilling women in my life, Francesca.” Was that...sexual? My mind remained confused, but my body must have been on board because it went up in flames. I was close enough that I could smell him—lemon and mint and maybe green apple—and my nipples tightened. I shut my eyes, humiliated. Why was I having this reaction, especially when this man wanted to kidnap me and force me to marry his son? Using all my strength, I bucked against him. “Get off me, you dick.” He gave a soft chuckle. “Drugs it is.” I tried to push away to see his face. “No, please. Don’t—” A sharp prick in the back of my neck was followed by a cold rush in my veins. “What was that? Are you seriously….?” And the world went black.

The dream wouldn’t let go. As I struggled to wake up, my brain felt as if it was swimming through molasses, sticky and thick. Where was I? I heard murmurs and a rumbling underneath me. Was I in a car? My body felt heavy and my limbs were cement. I couldn’t seem to open my eyes. What was my problem? Then I remembered. The wall, Ravazzani, the needle. Shit! He drugged me. That asshole. I concentrated on my breathing and willed the drugs out of my system. I needed to fight whatever was happening to me. “Good. You are awake.” I would have started if I’d been capable of moving my limbs. Was he spying on me while I slept? Just my luck to get kidnapped by a murderer and a creeper. Great. I was on a mattress, the sheets crisp and cool beneath me. “You...kidnapped...me,” I forced out. “And...drugged me.” Large fingers brushed the hair off my face. “I retrieved my son’s fiancée by any means necessary. Let that be a warning to you.” A tiny shiver went through me. None of this made sense. Ravazzani could choose any woman to marry his son, and most would probably come willingly. “Why...me?” “Don’t you know that you and your sisters are legendary? Your mother was very beautiful and famous. Tales of her daughters have been spread across the globe.” I swallowed against a dry throat. My mother hadn’t wanted this for me, for any of her daughters. Have your own life, Frankie, and never give it up for any man. I knew I looked like her. Everyone told me as much and I had seen enough of her modeling photos online to notice the resemblance. Still, that wasn’t a good enough reason for ruining my life. Blinking, I finally pried open my lids. Ravazzani’s gorgeous face filled my vision, his lips twisted into a smug smile as if I amused him. As if my resistance was nothing but a joke. I held his gaze steadily. “I will never marry your son.” The smile dropped instantly. “Never is a long time, Francesca, and don’t forget you are at my mercy. You’d be wise not to make an enemy of me.” The threat rolled so easily off his tongue, and I didn’t doubt him for a single second. Even still, I would not bend. He could try to break me, try to force me into a marriage I didn’t want, but I would never stop resisting. “What will you do, threaten to shoot me? Torture me?” “That depends on you, monella. Because if you refuse, I will consider the debt unsettled. I’ll be forced to retaliate against your family. Is this what you want?” Brat. I knew that word, one I had been called before by Papà’s men. “You won’t hurt my sisters.” A dark brown brow shot up. “No?” We stared at each other, and I tried to see inside his head, to figure out if he was bluffing. I couldn’t tell. The man was too good at concealing his thoughts. But even if he promised not to hurt Emma and Gia, he might kill Papà. “What does your wife think of you kidnapping a woman to marry your son?” “My wife died many years ago.” A lump settled in my stomach. Had he killed her? Or had she been killed by a rival family? The mafia was violent and cruel, which was why my mother tried to protect us from it. “I’m sorry,” I murmured. Avoiding my eye, he pushed to his feet and straightened his cuffs. “It was a long time ago. Giulio is my only son, which is why he will have the best wife, the daughter of the famous Sophia Romano Mancini. A woman to make all other men envious.” “And if I won’t marry him?” “Do not make me answer that, Francesca.” He strode to the door. “Two hours before we land. You should sleep.” He had a lot to learn about kidnapping if he thought I could possibly sleep right now. “I need a bathroom and my satchel.” “Through there,” he pointed to a small door in the rear of the bedroom. “I’ll have the hostess bring in a tray. I’m sure you are hungry.” I wasn’t about to thank him, so I repeated, “And my satchel.” “You won’t have your things returned until I find you cooperative.” I glared at him and tried to burn holes in his skin with my eyes. “There are people who will be worried about me. I need to somehow let them know I’m okay.” “Do you mean David?” he sneered, sending a bolt of cold fear through me. “He’s not worried, Francesca. You no longer matter to him.” “Oh, my God. Did you kill him?” He had the gall to look down his nose at me. “You watch too much American television. He is alive and well—for now—but you will not see him again.” At the door, he paused and pinned me with a dark stare that scared me down to my toes. There was no feeling there, no sympathy. Just a man always used to getting his way. “Oh, and do not bother looking for a weapon. I made certain you won’t find one.” I waited until he disappeared before ignoring his advice. I jumped off the bed and started searching. There had to be something in the bedroom or bathroom to defend myself with once we landed. Papà had reluctantly let us take self-defense classes, and the instructor said many ordinary objects could be used as a weapon. The bathroom yielded nothing. The medicine cabinet was empty and the shower contained only plastic bottles. I quickly used the facilities and washed my face, then found that a tray was waiting for me on the bed in the other room. I dug in, knowing a hunger strike would only weaken me, and I had to keep up my strength to fight when we landed. I hardly tasted the food, though, my haste and fear overriding everything else at the moment. Unfortunately, the silverware was plastic, as was the wine glass and water bottle. I kept looking. The desk contained nothing but blank paper, while the nightstand just had condoms. Extra large, naturally. Disgusted, I slammed the drawer shut and then dropped down to check under the bed. Tucked into the carpet along the wall, I spotted it. A pen. I snatched it up and slipped it into the pocket of my jeans. As a weapon, it wasn’t much but I just had to wait for the right opportunity to use it. Fausto I heard the bedroom door open and my body went on alert. I didn’t want to admit it, but I had been listening for any sound of her back there. Eager, like a schoolboy. I shook my head, disgusted with myself. Even if I weren’t too old for her, she was engaged to my son. I needed to pull my head out of my ass. All my men turned to watch as she picked her way to an empty seat, her tits bouncing with each step. Long legs and shapely hips, with waves of blond hair that reached down her back, and a face that could make angels weep. Dio, she was hot. When I looked away, I found Marco smirking at me. Had he read me so easily? When my father died and I became capobastone ten years ago, I appointed my cousin my right-hand. In fact, there was no one I trusted more. We’d grown up together, killed together, and risen through the ’ndrina ranks together. But that didn’t mean he had the right to smirk at me. “You have something to say to your capo?” I asked him. He didn’t appear chastised in the least. “Are you going to shoot me if I say it?” “Probably, once we are on the ground.” Marco held up his hands and remained silent. I went back to my phone, to the emails and notes I was reviewing. These were for the legal businesses, the ones I used as a public front for my family’s wealth. My cousin, Toni, handled most of the Ravazzani corporation for me, but I kept involved. After all, I had to provide answers if the Guardia di Finanza paid me a visit. Earlier, I texted Giulio to ensure he remained home tonight. I wanted him to meet Francesca as soon as we arrived. The sooner the two of them met, the sooner she would accept the marriage. In the meantime, Giulio could look after her well being, acclimate her to life in Siderno. Though my son was only eighteen, I needed him settled and married. The time had come for Giulio to fulfill his role as my heir, which meant producing heirs of his own. I was an only child, as was my son. Therefore, until I had grandsons, the future of the Ravazzani ’ndrina would remain at risk. That brought my thoughts back to Francesca, who was staring out the window at the night sky. Was she on the pill? I’d need to inform Giulio about her former boyfriend and the possibility she might be carrying another man’s child. Best to wait until she bleeds before the wedding. Her gaze met mine in the window’s reflection but she did not cower. I liked that about her. Most women feared me, or at least my reputation. Francesca didn’t seem to have that problem. In fact, she showed more spirit than most had dared in the last ten years. Would she show that same spirit in bed? I had to stop. These thoughts weren’t productive and I could not afford the distraction. Besides, even if she weren’t marrying my son, she was too young. I had a mistress already, one who gave me no hassle whatsoever, and I wasn’t interested in replacing her. Resolved to ignoring Francesca, I returned to my phone. For the rest of the flight, Marco and I talked business, going over all that needed my attention after this trip. The crimine in San Luca was coming up in two months, where all the leaders gathered every year to discuss our operations. Even the Toronto capos, like Mancini, would attend. This meant that profits needed to be up, all our debts collected. We would need to pull some men off other jobs to clean up the ’ndrina books. I rubbed the back of my neck, exhaustion pulling at me. I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t relax on planes or in hotels. It was why I rarely left the castello in Siderno. At least there I was safe. “You should sleep in the back,” Marco said. “Now that she is awake.” “We are close. I’ll wait until I’m home.” “Too bad. I bet the sheets smell like her.” “Fuck you.” Marco chuckled. “You think Giulio can handle her?” I cracked one eye. “Are you saying he is soft?” “No, but he’s not like you. He doesn’t have them eating out of the palm of his hand. Never seen a meaner bastard get more pussy than you.” I had a temper, for sure. Giulio was more even-tempered, like his mother. “She will come around,” I said about Francesca. The pilot announced our landing. A silent Francesca put on her seatbelt as I secured my own. Her quiet demeanor bothered me. Shouldn’t she be yelling and panicking right now? Throwing something at my head? Trying to overpower the pilot? The instinct that had kept me alive for nearly thirty-nine years screamed inside me, telling me to be on my toes around her. She was up to something. I smothered a grin. Whatever she planned, I would be ready. She didn’t stand a chance. Minutes later, we touched down. As I descended the steps to the ground, I made certain Francesca was directly behind me with Marco on her tail. My car was waiting, so I clasped her arm to pull her toward it—and felt a sharp pain in my hand. “Cazzo!” I hissed. She’d stabbed me with a pen, the point now embedded in my flesh. I snarled and ripped the thing out of my skin, tossing it to the ground. That stranza. Francesca darted off the second she had the chance but she was no match for Marco, who still jogged daily. I hadn’t even finished cleaning up the blood on my hand before she was dragged back to my car. “Help!” she shouted to the crew I employed at the private air strip. “Help! I’m being kidnapped.” My men snickered. No one in a fifty-mile radius would aid a person complaining of a kidnapping here. They all knew better. I jerked open the rear door of the car. “Get the fuck inside, Francesca.” I walked around to the other side, fury boiling inside me until I nearly choked on it. She had embarrassed me in front of my men. Drawn my blood and made me look weak. She would pay for this when we arrived home. She fought Marco, but it was in vain. Soon she was pushed inside next to me and the car sped off. “I won’t apologize,” she said, like a petulant child. For once, I didn’t try to appear civilized. Instead, I let her see the darkness I normally kept hidden. “Good, because I am looking forward to punishing you.” She swallowed and focused on the scenery. Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at my home, Castello di Ravazzani. I loved every bit of the estate—the olive groves, vineyards, farmland and pasture—but I couldn’t appreciate any of it at the moment. And this only increased my fury. When the car stopped in front of the stone entry, I didn’t move. “Leave us,” I told Marco and my driver. The doors closed and Francesca jumped, a frightened little rabbit. I angled toward her slightly. “Do you know my favorite part of owning a castle?” “No,” she said, her voice breaking. “Not even a guess?” “The turrets?” Smirking, I got out and came around to her side. Once I pulled her from the car, I leaned down. “My favorite part of this castle is the dungeon.” She gasped. My patience thin, I didn’t give her a chance to run. Instead, I hauled her over my shoulder and started walking toward the back entrance that led below ground. She instantly began thrashing, her legs kicking frantically. “Put me down! Stop, please.” I ignored her and kept going. “No, please. I can’t go into a dungeon. Don’t take me down there. Please, Signore Ravazzani.” Signore? That was new. But I was mad, beyond rational thought. We used the dungeon for business, though I preferred not to kill people on my land. It made too much of a mess. Francesca could stew in one of the dank cells for a few hours, then she might be more amenable to my hospitality. By the time I threw open the heavy door, she was weeping. Good. Perhaps this would help her learn her place. “Please, signore. I can’t... You cannot put me down here.” The soles of my shoes scratched against the old stone as I descended. Hopelessness rattled off the walls, while blood and despair hung in the air—two familiar scents that never failed to please me. I had done terrible things in this place, and my son would do countless more. The legacy of the Ravazzani ’ndrina would continue here through fear and intimidation, through wrath and torture. Grabbing a ring of keys off the peg by the door, I strode to the nearest cell. The iron bars were impossible to escape, though many had tried. Chains were embedded into the wall, but I didn’t think those were necessary with her. Not yet, at least. I set her on her feet. Tears tracked her cheeks and her eyes were wild as she clutched at my jacket. “Please. Don’t do this. I will literally freak out.” This generation. So damn dramatic. I shook her off and stepped back, my intention clear. A capo never changed an order once it was made. We never showed weakness or remorse. I would gain the upper hand with this woman and she would fall in line. I stepped outside the cell and swung the heavy metal door shut before she could slip through it. When it closed, she shook her head, panic causing her to shake. She clutched the iron bars. “Please, signore. Don’t do this. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll be good.” The words made my dick twitch as I imagined her on her knees being very good for me. Minchia! There had to be a special circle of Hell for a man who had impure thoughts about his son’s fiancée. With a furious twist of my wrist, I locked the door with the old key. Above ground, we may have gone high tech but medieval worked perfectly well down here. “Perhaps this will teach you who holds the power in this house, piccola monella.” She rattled the bars with a pained cry and for a brief moment I reconsidered, something which I almost never did. A capo cannot show weakness. My father had drilled this into my head for years, almost from birth. It was in our blood, our history. After all, the word “’ndrina” was derived from the Greek, meaning “man who does not bend.” Which meant there would be no mercy, not even for her. I spun and started for the exit. “Enjoy your stay.”