Tori

Angelo Rizzo; 34. Vittoria – Tori Romano; 23.

“Mark my words,” Giorgio says. “By the end of the year, I’ll be one of the bosses.”

I almost let out a snort.Listening to my stepbrother go on and on about how important he is in the Cosa Nostra is ridiculous.

He wishes.

Giorgio is…well, he’s a narcissistic asshole. There’s no other way to put it.

Everyone knows there are only five bosses in the Cosa Nostra – Rizzo, Torrisi, Vitale, La Rosa, and Falco. The five families run New York, and no one dares go against them.

Giorgio is all talk, and one day, it will get him killed.

A girl can hope.

Instantly, I’m hit with a wave of guilt for wishing my stepbrother dead.

Forgive me, Father.

Since my father and stepmother died in a car accident seven years ago, Giorgio took over Papà’s place in the Cosa Nostra. It went straight to Giorgio’s head, and he’s become downright unbearable to live with.

My aunt on Mamma’s side of the family asked Giorgio to let me live with them, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Sadly, my mamma died of pneumonia when I was three years old, and my aunt, uncle, and cousin are the only family I have left.

I Was only sixteen, but Giorgio’s word was law in our family, so no one dared go against him. Now I’m twenty-three and still stuck with the bastard.

I suspect he’s only holding onto me to get my share of the inheritance that will pay out when I turn twenty-five.

He’s already blown through more than half of his share, wasting it on gambling, alcohol, and women.

Giorgio was the perfect stepson to my father. Papà even adopted Giorgio as his own, so I can’t blame Papà for leaving him in charge of our finances. Even I was shocked when I learned what a vile person Giorgio really is.

Cettina, Giorgio’s mother, and Papà got married two years after Mamma died. I was five, and Giorgio was thirteen, so we grew up as brother and sister.

But overnight, he changed into a different person. One that’s violent, selfish, and greedy.

I don’t know what I’ll do when I turn twenty-five in two years, but Giorgio won’t get a dime from me. I’m hoping I can cash in my inheritance and run to somewhere he won’t be able to find me.

Clearing my throat, I murmur, “Excuse me. I’m going to the restroom.”

Giorgio’s eyes are on a beautiful woman who just came in, and he doesn’t pay me any attention as I get up from my chair.

Walking to the back of the restaurant, I glance around the establishment. The place is packed, and even though I’ve grown up around these people, they all feel like strangers.

Every Friday we have lunch at Piccola Sicilia. The restaurant belongs to Angelo Rizzo, and I’ve only seen him a few times. It’s never long enough to get a good look at him.

Not that I want to. The five heads of the Cosa Nostra terrify the living crap out of me. They’re known for being brutal when it comes to business.

Growing up in the Cosa Nostra, I’ve learned to fear the five families like the rest of the Sicilians who call New York their home.

Even Giorgio is shit scared of them. He talks big in front of me, but when he has to speak to one of Angelo Rizzo’s men, he’s pathetically humble.

Whenever he’s forced to eat a slice of humble pie, I’m the one who suffers. The last time Big Ricky scolded Giorgio for being late for work, Giorgio broke two of my ribs.

He seldom leaves marks on my face because he loves to parade me in front of the single men in the Cosa Nostra. I know he plans to marry me off to one of them, but he’s holding out for my inheritance.

The only solace I can find in the crappy situation is that Giorgio can’t force me to marry him. We live in a tight-knit Sicilian community who would disapprove if he tried to marry me. After all, we were raised as brother and sister. It’s my only saving grace and also the reason he hasn’t looked at me in a sexual way. To Giorgio, the only thing that matters is getting his grubby hands on my inheritance.

I slip into the restroom, and after relieving myself, I wash my hands and touch up my lipstick. My eyes flit over the light peach summer dress I’m wearing, making sure the fabric isn’t stuck in my underwear. It happened to Aida when we were fourteen, and I almost died of second-hand embarrassment for my cousin. Since then, I always check my clothes to ensure nothing is out of place.

My gaze locks on my reflection in the mirror, and I lift my chin.

Just two more years of this hell, then you can run away and create a new life for yourself.

As I step out of the restroom to return to the table, an office door opens to my right. Not thinking, I glance in the direction of the sound, and instantly, I’m doused in ice.

I have a clear view of Angelo Rizzo, who’s gripping a man by his neck. I can’t hear what’s being said, but as Big Ricky comes out of the office, I see Angelo slam a knife into the man’s throat.

Mother of God.

The squeak escaping me has Big Ricky’s eyes snapping in my direction.

Crap!

My heart instantly hammers against my ribs, and I quickly dart to the left. I know it’s stupid of me to run, but my flight or fight instinct kicks in, and flight always wins.

I don’t even reach the end of the hallway before being grabbed by the arm and hauled back to the office.

NoNoNoNoNo!

“I didn’t see anything,” I plead. Big Ricky ignores me, which has me begging, “I won’t tell anyone. Please.”

I’m shoved into the office and stumble forward. My eyes lock on Mr. Rizzo, who’s wiping the blood from the knife, and the sight brings me to a dead stop.

His head is lowered, and focused on cleaning every crimson drop from the blade, he orders with a low and threatening tone, “Remove the body.”

With wide eyes, I watch as the man’s body is dragged out of a side door by Tiny, who doesn’t even break a sweat. Then again, he’s a mountain of a man. The trail of blood smeared on the tiled floor almost makes me gag.

Father, I’ve been a good girl. I’ve never dated and kept myself pure for marriage. I attend church every Sunday. Please get me out of this mess. You owe me.

Slowly, Mr. Rizzo lifts his head, and when his hazel eyes lock on me, shivers of fear rush through my body.

Crap.

Just one look from Angelo Rizzo and my mouth goes bone dry. I swallow hard on the lump of panic in my throat.

His eyes crawl from my head to the sandals on my feet before they flick to Big Ricky.

“She saw what happened,” Big Ricky explains.

I quickly shake my head, and my voice quivers as I plead, “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

Mr. Rizzo lifts his hand, and while his thumb scratches his bottom lip, his eyes lock on me once more.

The brutality in his gaze delivers a punch to my stomach.

Father, I don’t want to die. Get me out of this mess, and I’ll do anything you want.

Tiny comes back into the office, and without taking his eyes off me, Mr. Rizzo hands the murder weapon to him.

“She’s Romano’s sister,” Big Ricky informs his boss.

If my heart beats any faster, I’m going to pass out.

Mr. Rizzo lifts an eyebrow. “Vittoria.”

He knows my name?

Of course, he does. I’m pretty sure nothing happens in his territory without him knowing.

Mr. Rizzo takes a deep breath while slowly stalking closer to me. “I haven’t seen you since your father’s funeral.”

The urge to back away overwhelms me, but by the grace of God, I manage to stand still.

When he stops mere inches from me, I have to tilt my head back to look up at him.

If I weren’t so freaking terrified, I’d take the time to admire the man’s attractiveness. His black hair is in stark contrast with his hazel eyes. There are tiny golden flecks that make it look like flames are burning in his brown-green irises. I know he’s in his early thirties and still unmarried because he’s too busy ruling over his territory with an iron fist.

When Tiny stands close behind Mr. Rizzo, I realize they're the same height. Easily two and a half heads taller than me.

Where Tiny is all bulging muscles and brute strength, Mr. Rizzo’s body is firmer, giving me the impression of stealth and death cloaked in an expensive suit.

Tiny has a round face, whereas Mr. Rizzo has a sharp jaw.

My eyes keep flitting between the two men while I’m overly conscious of Big Ricky behind me.

Mr. Rizzo’s eyes remain locked on my face, and when I can’t stand the pressure anymore, I whimper, “I won’t tell anyone what I saw.”

A frown line appears between his eyebrows, and his words are soft and dangerous as he murmurs, “I know.”

What does that mean? Am I free to go, or is he going to kill me?

GOD!

When Mr. Rizzo suddenly lifts his hand to my face, I cringe back and let out a frightened sound. I pinch my eyes shut, and fisting my hands at my sides, I try to brace for the punch.

My skin stretches tightly over my cheekbones and jaw, and I clench my teeth.

Seconds pass, and when I feel something tug at my hair, my eyes fly open.

Mr. Rizzo’s gaze watches me closely while he wraps a curl of my hair around his forefinger.

Confused by what he’s doing, I startle again when Giorgio’s voice booms outside the office. “For fuck sake. Tori, get your ass out of the restroom!”

I hear Big Ricky move, then the hinges of the office door squeak, and he says, “Your sister is with Mr. Rizzo.”

“What?” Giorgio gasps.

I hear more movement behind me, but my eyes remain on the biggest threat in the office. Angelo Rizzo.

“What did you do?” Giorgio hisses at me.

A frown forms on Mr. Rizzo’s forehead, and as he lets go of the curl, I nervously brush my hand over my hair while quickly taking a step away from the terrifying man.

Needing to explain myself, I ramble, “As I came out of the restroom, the office door opened. It drew my attention, and I accidentally saw Mr. Rizzo…ah…do something. I didn’t mean to look. It just happened.” My hand flies to my chest, and covering my racing heart, I swear, “I won’t tell anyone.”

Mr. Rizzo’s eyes flick to Big Ricky. “Escort Miss Romano to a table and get her a cup of coffee while I speak with her brother.”

Huh?

Not sure I heard right, I ask, “I get to leave?”

Mr. Rizzo’s penetrating gaze returns to me. “For now.”

Intense relief washes through me as I quickly exit the office with Big Ricky.I cautiously glance at Big Ricky, who’s not much taller than me. “I’m really sorry.”

With the corner of his mouth lifting slightly, he nods. “It’s okay, bellissima.” He leads me to a table and nods at the chair. “You can wait here while Mr. Rizzo talks to your brother.”

“Stepbrother,” I correct him. Big Ricky looks the least threatening of the bunch, which gives me the courage to ask, “How much trouble am I in?”

He shakes his head. “As long as you keep quiet, you’ll be fine.”

More relief floods me, and with hope filling my heart, I ask, “Really?”

He nods again before gesturing for a server to come closer. “Bring a cup of coffee for Miss. Romano.”

When the server leaves, Big Ricky looks at me again. “Stay right here.”

I nod and watch as he walks toward a table where three men are enjoying lunch.

Letting out a breath, I slump in the chair while wiping my palm over my forehead.

Dear God. That was intense.

I stare at the table as the terrifying past few minutes replay in my mind.

Crap, I’m going to be in so much trouble with Giorgio.

A heavy feeling settles over my shoulders, and I glance at the hallway again.

I can’t believe I just came face-to-face with Angelo Rizzo.

God, the man is intense.

And handsome.

And freaking scary.

Now that I’m no longer in the direct line of fire, I realize just how attractive Angelo Rizzo is. I understand why Aida, my cousin, was so infatuated with the man when I saw her a couple of months ago at a family gathering.

He might be one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen, but it doesn’t take away from how terrifying he is. If anything, it adds to it.

Father, it’s me again. Thanks for saving my butt.

My thoughts turn to the murder I witnessed, and it brings all the fear back.

Growing up in the Cosa Nostra, you'd think I’d be used to crime and corruption, but that’s not the case for me. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing someone die.

Just two more years, then you can make a clean break from Giorgio and this world.

Angelo

As Vittoria is escorted out of the office, I walk to my desk and take a seat behind it.

My eyes flick to Giorgio, who looks like he’s about to shit himself.

He was only twenty-one when he took over from Tony, but during the past seven years, he hasn’t done half the work Tony used to do for me. He also has a gambling problem that’s starting to cost me money.

“I hear you like spending time at Fallen Angels,” I mutter. The strip club was the first business I opened, so I have a soft spot for the establishment.

The club has three sections. Heaven, where customers can only watch the girls dance, and Hell, where everything goes. The gambling room is in the third section, called Purgatory.

Needless to say, the place brings in a fortune.

“Yes, sir,” Giorgio says.

When he aims for one of the chairs by my desk, Tiny places a hand against the man’s chest before shaking his head at him.

No one sits in my presence. Well, unless your last name is Rizzo, La Rosa, Torrisi, Falco, or Vitale.

“What is his tab standing at?” I ask.

I know the exact amount, but I don’t want to give Giorgio the impression I have any interest in his life.

“Just shy of three hundred thousand,” Tiny answers.

Lifting an eyebrow, I shake my head.

Giorgio begins to sweat, the drops beading on his forehead and running down his temples. “I’ll settle the tab soon.”

“Yes, you will,” I say. “Today.”

His eyes go wide as saucers. “I can’t get the money that quick.”

With zero mercy on my face, I mutter, “That sounds like your problem.”

Tiny takes a threatening step toward Giorgio, which has him rambling, “I’ll get the money. I just need a month.”

My eyes narrow on the fucker.

His scared gaze darts between Tiny and myself, then he adds, “I’m the only family Tori has left.

Please give me a month. I promise I’ll get the money.”

I’ve heard that before.

Usually, right before I kill someone.

But the debt is not the reason Giorgio is standing in front of me. If it were, he’d be dead already, and truth be told, tomorrow would’ve been his last day if it weren’t for his little sister.

Vittoria Romano.

I’ve been so busy I haven’t realized the girl blossomed into a beautiful woman.

I’m used to people looking at me with fear, but seeing terror in Vittoria’s eyes had my cock hardening at the speed of light, which was an unusual reaction for me.

I wonder what it would be like to bend her to my will.

I have a healthy sex drive, but lately, all the women seem to blur together. It’s become boring as fuck. There’s also the matter of my uncle, who’s been nagging that it’s time for me to take a wife.

Then, the scared little fawn appeared in front of me, and her doe eyes had my pulse racing faster.

“Vittoria is twenty-three,” I mention.

Giorgio does a double take before his face lights up with relief. “Yes.”

“She’s of marrying age.”

“Yes.” His head bobs up and down. “I’m just waiting until she’s twenty-five before arranging a marriage for her.”

Finding the fucker funny, I let out a rare chuckle. “What makes you think you’re allowed to arrange a marriage for her?” I lift a hand and wave at the desk. “Did I miss the part where you’re the one in charge?”

Giorgio’s eyes widen again. “N-no, sir.”

Why wait until she’s twenty-five?

I push the thought to the back burner. Tiny can look into Vittoria’s personal life after I’ve dealt with her brother.

Resting my elbows on the desk, I lean forward. “You’re not to arrange a marriage for Vittoria without my blessing.”

I want my fill of the woman before she’s passed off to whoever I deem good enough.

Giorgio nods, then asks, “About the debt, sir. Is a month okay?”

For now.

I nod and wave a hand at the door, indicating for the fucker to leave.

As soon as he’s gone, I glance at Tiny. “I want to know everything about Vittoria Romano.”

“Yes, boss.” He hovers for a moment, then asks, “What do you want me to do with Duncan’s body?”

“Drop it off at his house so his family can bury him.” Pulling my phone out of the breast pocket of my jacket, I add, “Pay for the funeral and give his wife fifty thousand. God knows she needs it after putting up with him for so long.”

Big Ricky comes into the office as Tiny leaves. “The girl left with her brother.”

I nod as I scroll through all the emails and messages.

“I don’t think she’ll talk,” he mentions.

I nod again while I look at the meeting scheduled for Tuesday at five p.m. Every two weeks, the five heads of the Cosa Nostra meet. In the beginning, it was to keep the peace, but over the years, we’ve become friends. Now we play poker while talking business.

My cousin was supposed to take over the Rizzo seat in the Cosa Nostra, but he was assassinated by the Quintero cartel when they tried to move into New York.

I was nineteen when I took over so my uncle could retire as head of the Rizzo family. He still helps with the business in Sicily and keeps an eye on everything for me, which is something I want to discuss with him. It’s time for him to step away from the business so he can enjoy his old age.

Fuck, has it already been fifteen years?

Time flies when you’re making money.

No wonder Uncle Maurizio’s been on my case about getting married. He’s scared I’ll be taken out before I get the chance to give the Rizzo family an heir.

The only problem is the women from suitable families are either older than me or still in school.

Uncle Maurizio’s been dropping hints that I should marry Valentina Toscano, who’s from an influential family, but that’s never happening. She’s six years older than me and batshit crazy.

Vittoria’s beautiful face pops into my mind, but I shake my head because the Romanos are way beneath the Rizzos.

At least she’s fucking Sicilian.

I shake my head again because I sure as fuck don’t want Giorgio for a brother-in-law.

My gaze lowers to my right hand, and I rub my fingers together as I recall the feel of her silky hair.

She flinched as if she thought I was going to hit her. A woman only has that reaction when she’s been beaten before.

My eyes narrow as my thoughts turn to my parents. Before they were killed in a hit-and-run, my father used to beat the shit out of my mother. Every other night, her blood coated the walls.

The world I grew up in has made me a hard man, but I’ll never hit a woman.

Again, the memory of Vittoria flinching ghosts through my mind.

I begin to tap my fingers on the desk as she fills my thoughts.

I’m easily twice her size. Her heart-shaped face is framed by golden brown curls that look like they refuse to be tamed. Her doe eyes hold a mysterious power that has the ability to grab my attention.

The woman is fucking beautiful.

  “Boss?” Big Ricky says to get my attention.

I forgot the man was still in the office, and shaking my head to rid my thoughts of Vittoria Romano,

I tuck my phone back into my pocket.

Letting out a sigh, I stand up and mutter, “Let’s head over to the club.”

Every day, I’m surrounded by beautiful women, but none of them has grabbed my attention like the little fawn with her wild hair and doe eyes.

Tori

“You little fucking bitch!” Giorgio roars as I’m shoved into the house.

My family home used to be filled with love and laughter before Papà and Cettina, Giorgio’s mother, died. Now, it’s filled with hopelessness and violence.

Giorgio’s palm connects with the back of my head, and stumbling, I lose my balance. I sprawl over the wooden floor that takes hours to polish, intense pain shuddering through my brain.

My handbag slides beneath a side table, and before I can push myself up, Giorgio’s foot connects with my right side.

My teeth sink into my bottom lip to keep the cry of pain from escaping.

The first time he hit me, I was left with a black eye. I couldn’t leave the house for two weeks.

Everyone at the Parish asked where I was, and it upset Giorgio. Since then, he doesn’t touch my face.

“Because of you, I only have a month to find a fuck-ton of money! I’ll have to take a chunk out of my stocks.”

Another kick to my stomach makes the air explode from my lungs. My vision goes spotty, and an agonizing sound bursts over my lips.

I feel tears fall down my cheeks as I gasp through the pain.

It doesn’t help to beg or argue. If I dare say a word, it will only anger Giorgio more. I manage to curl into a fetal position and wrap my arms around my waist.

Giorgio shoves his boot against my back and puts his full weight on me as he sneers, “One of these days, I’m going to kill you.”

The pressure eases off my back, and I hear him stomp into the living room.

Bastard.

Pushing myself up, I suppress a groan from the pain radiating through my abdomen and torso. I don’t bother grabbing my bag from beneath the side table, and using the wall for support, I stumble to my bedroom.

Shutting the door behind me, I make sure to lock it, and finally, in my safe space, I slide down to the floor until I’m sitting flat on my butt.

Silent tears roll down my cheeks, and I don’t bother wiping them away.

Just two more years.

Still, it feels like an eternity. Is the money even worth it?

Maybe I can run away in the middle of the night and find a small town where I can work as a waitress?

Keep dreaming. You don’t have a dime to your name. Are you going to walk to the small town?

Feeling trapped and hopeless, I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around my shins.

God, I miss Papà. I don’t remember much of Mamma, but I know I look like her.

I was the apple of Papà’s eye until the day he died. Even when he married Cettina, things didn’t change. I thought I was the luckiest girl for getting a loving stepmother and big brother. Things were so good until they passed away.

It felt like my life went from sunny to thunderous in the blink of an eye, and the storm hasn’t stopped. If anything, things just keep getting more volatile.

Giorgio pounds his fist against my bedroom door, making me startle.

“Go clean the mess in the living room!”

Closing my eyes, I swallow the tears down before answering, “I’m coming.”

I hear him stomp away, and pulling myself up, I unlock the door and open it. I peek down the hallway and see Giorgio’s door slam shut.

He moved into our parents' bedroom a month after they were buried. I thought he was being disrespectful, and when I mentioned it to him, he slapped me so hard it felt like my teeth rattled. He said he deserved the main bedroom now that he was the head of the family.

After the first time Giorgio hit me, I cried my eyes out. I couldn’t understand why he changed so much, but with time, I realized he was always evil and just hid it from our parents.

I dart across the hall to my bathroom and grab a couple of Advils to help with the dull ache in my side.

Walking to the living room, I stop by the side table to pick up my handbag. I set it down on one of the couches before seeing pieces of shattered glass scattered on the floor and whiskey trickling down the wall.

Letting out a sigh, I head to the kitchen to get everything I’ll need to clean the mess Giorgio made.

You can hold out for two more years. You need your inheritance so you can make a fresh start somewhere else.

I collect all the pieces of glass and throw them in the trash before wiping down the wall.

When I’m done with the chore, I walk back to the kitchen.

It’s my favorite place in the world. I love baking and cooking. Needing to take my mind off the crap I’m dealing with, I start to make apple pies for the coffee hour we always have after Mass.

While I peel one apple after the other, the tension slowly drains from my body, and the painkillers lessen the ache in my side.

Cutting the apples into slices, I dream about meeting a loving man in whatever small town I move to. We’ll have a white-picket fence around our house. Maybe three or four kids and a dog.

I’ll be a stay-at-home mom, making sure my husband has a delicious dinner waiting when he returns from work.

I’ll be far from Giorgio and the Cosa Nostra, and with time, I’ll even forget they exist.

After Sunday Mass, I hurry to the tables where everyone gathers for tea and coffee and quickly switch on the urns.

It’s been two weeks since the incident at Piccola Sicilia. Giorgio seems to be on edge about the money he owes Mr. Rizzo and has taken his stress out on me. He even tried to get me to sign a document stating he would be my beneficiary should I die.

Shaking my head, I still can’t believe he thinks I’m so stupid that I’d sign my own death warrant. I know the moment I sign that document, he’ll get rid of me. Giorgio wants my money, and he’ll kill to get it.

With the danger increasing by the day, I’m not sure I can hold out for another two years, but I don’t know what else to do.

If I go to Aunt Maria, Giorgio will find me there. It will place her in a horrible position because she and the rest of my family are bound to the laws of the Cosa Nostra.

Even if I ask her for money so I can run away, she will get in trouble for aiding me. Nothing happens without the Cosa Nostra knowing about it.

Feeling miserable, I let out a sigh.

“Did you bring three pies?” Rosa asks as she joins me behind the tables.

I force a friendly smile to my face. “Yes, but there seems to be more people than usual.”

“Keep a slice for Father Parisi.”

Nodding, I take the pies from their containers and place a slice on a plate. Rosa prepares a cup of tea, and while she takes the beverage and pie to Father Parisi, I begin to help the parishioners who are already milling around the table.

I keep smiling and greeting everyone, and soon, the rush passes, and I’m able to pour myself a cup of coffee.

My head is lowered when I hear a voice rumble, “Morning, Vittoria.”

My eyes snap up, and I accidentally pour hot water over my hand. “Ouch!”

“Are you okay?” Rosa asks while Mr. Rizzo, who’s scared the living hell out of me, rushes around the table.

When he gets close to me, my mouth instantly goes dry, and my heart sets off at a wild pace. Rosa darts to the end of the table to get away from us and cautiously watches Mr. Rizzo.

Not a single soul here will dare go against Angelo Rizzo.

He grabs a dishcloth from the table, and taking hold of my hand, he pats my skin dry before inspecting the red spot.

My eyebrows fly up, and my lips part in shock.

His voice is still a low rumble as he mutters, “It doesn’t look too bad. You need to be more careful when working with boiling water.”

With eyes as wide as the saucers on the table, I stare at Angelo Rizzo as if he’s lost his mind.

Does he actually care about me burning my hand?

His gaze snaps to mine, and just like before, I feel the punch of his brutal gaze.

I pull my hand free from his, and swallowing hard, I ask, “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?”

His eyes narrow on me for an unnerving moment before he slowly shakes his head. “Come with me.”

What?

Feeling nervous as hell, my tongue darts out to wet my lips. “Where?”

Without answering, he turns around and proceeds to leave the building with Tiny and Big Ricky right behind him.

I’ve never seen Mr. Rizzo at Mass before, so this can’t be good.

I can feel the other parishioners' eyes on me, but I know none of them will step in to help me.

Confused and scared, I reluctantly follow after the man.

There are overgrown gardens at the front and sides of the cathedral, and at the back is a very old cemetery.

My stomach turns to lead as I follow the three men to the back, but I keep a safe distance as Mr. Rizzo looks at the weather-worn tombstones.

I wrap my arms around myself, and as the silence stretches, my body begins to tremble.

Father, don’t let this man kill me on holy ground.

Actually, don’t let him kill me at all.

After the longest minutes of my life, Mr. Rizzo tips his head at Tiny and Big Ricky. My fear multiplies when his two guard dogs wander off to give us some privacy.

A breeze picks up, making the fabric of my dress billow around my legs. My hands slap down against my sides, and I quickly grab fistfuls of the fabric to keep it in place.

When he still doesn’t say anything, I ask with a quivering voice, “Why did you want me to come with you?”

With one hand in a pocket and the other lifting to rub over his jaw, his eyes narrow on me again.

Jesus, I’m going to die of a nervous breakdown if he doesn’t speak soon.

A frown forms on his forehead then he says, “You look tired.”

Wow, what a way to say I look terrible.

Feeling self-conscious after his comment, I give him a frown of my own while shaking my head.

“Honestly, this is nerve-wracking. Can you please tell me why you want to speak to me?”

Keep your mouth shut, Tori!

Maybe it’s because I feel so trapped and scared all the time that I’m starting to slip up.

I must imagine it, but the corner of his mouth almost lifts in a smile before returning to the usual grim line. It was only for a split second.

Mr. Rizzo steps closer to me, his body moving like a wolf that’s stalking his prey. Intense fear ripples through me, and my breathing speeds up.

When he stops in front of me, he tilts his head and locks eyes with me. “Your brother paid me a visit yesterday.”

“Stepbrother,” I correct him.

I hate it when people refer to Giorgio as my brother.

Mr. Rizzo’s right eyebrow lifts, and I quickly apologize, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, sir.”

“You can call me Angelo.”

I’ve never heard anyone call him by his first name.

Caught off guard, I blink at him.

He folds his arms over his chest and looks downright terrifying as he stares at me.

“Giorgio has informed me you’re untouched.”

What. The. Hell?

I continue to blink at him as my face goes up in flames, and embarrassment sets my insides on fire.

I can’t get offended because the capos of the Cosa Nostra have a right to know the status of any woman who’s of marrying age. In most cases, they must give their blessing when a marriage is arranged, which means this conversation is nothing out of the ordinary for Angelo.

Feeling red from my toes to my hair, I nod.

Please, please, please, Father. Don’t let this man arrange a marriage for me. Then I’ll never get away from Giorgio.

Angelo’s eyes narrow again. “You’re a virgin?”

Oh, geez.

I nod again.

“You’ve never dated?”

More heat pours into my cheeks as I nod for the third time.

When he suddenly moves his hand to my hair, I instinctively flinch from the years of abuse I’ve suffered from Giorgio.

Crap.

Angelo pauses for a moment, his gaze sharpening on my face before he twirls a curl of my hair around his finger.

“You flinch as if you think I’m going to hit you.”

His comment makes my insides turn to ice, and the tremble in my body grows.

Unable to tell a lie on holy ground, I admit, “You scare me.”

He lets go of my curl and murmurs, “I don’t find pleasure in hitting women.”

His words don’t make me feel any better.