Two years ago I might have been tempted. Hell, maybe even six months ago. But nothing about her invitation appeals to me. One night stands, especially with two women at once, have gotten old and even more meaningless. They’ve started to leave a bad taste in my mouth. Especially when it’s pretty clear that any Donnelly would do. I just happen to be in the line of fire.

  I give her the most disappointed expression I can muster. “As lovely as the offer sounds, sadly, I’m going to have to decline.”

  She pouts and gives a little shoulder flounce. “We’ll really make it worth your while. We don’t just…play with anyone.”

  It takes a herculean effort not to snort in disbelief. “Yes, I’m sure you’re extremely discerning.”

  Her brow creases as though she senses my sarcasm.

  “Well, well, well. Who is this lovely lady?” Paddy approaches us with a near-empty glass in his hand.

  In an instant, as though homing in on a better target, the woman beside me steps away and turns her attention to my brother.

  “Paddy, this is…” My voice trails off. Her name has already slipped my mind.

  “Aria,” she interjects smoothly with another seductive smile, and then throws me a quick narrow-eyed glare.

  “Yes, and her friend.” I gesture in the other woman’s general direction. “They’re interested in having fun tonight. Maybe you would like to entertain them.”

  Paddy’s grin widens and his gaze bounces between the two friends. “Fun, you say? Well, wouldn’t you know that’s just what I’m looking for. What do you say, ladies? Let’s leave this poor, pitiful soul here. He’ll only drag us down anyway.”

  I send him a tight smile as he wraps his arm around Aria’s waist. She’s suddenly far more interested in my brother than me. The two of them cross to where her friend waits. Paddy smiles broadly, an expression she mirrors, and wraps his other arm around her waist as well. He whispers something in each of their ears and they laugh. Then, the three of them wander out of the room together, the women’s giggles trailing off as they disappear through the door.

  As I stand there, the loneliness rises up. It’s an uncomfortable sensation, but one that is occurring more frequently. I toss back the last of my drink and place the empty glass on the bar behind me. With a final glance around the room, I head for the exit. Anything to try and escape the emotions rushing over me like a tidal wave.

  Chapter 9

  Aurora

  * * *

  I’m sure I’ve worn a path in the carpet with my pacing. At least it’s keeping me awake. I didn’t sleep at all last night. Alessandro is playing his favorite mind game with me. After we left the christening reception, he’d done nothing the whole evening except make veiled threats, reminding me of the pain he can cause. I waited—am still waiting—for the blows to come. They always do, but usually when I least expect them.

  He left for his twice-weekly business meeting an hour ago, with yet another reminder, and I don’t expect him back until this afternoon. It’s why I asked Lucia to come this morning. The house is empty, except for Irene and me. Even having my aunt in the house is a risk, especially while Alessandro is away.

  While she’s never come outright and said anything, I’ve gotten the impression that Irene is sympathetic to my plight. I only hope my tentative trust that she won’t mention I had a guest over isn’t unwarranted. I’m a nervous wreck.

  I’ve done nothing but pace. I peek out the window every time there’s a noise outside. My heart leaps into my throat, because I just know that Alessandro is going to surprise me and come home early. A car door slams. I jump and rush to the window, making sure to stay out of view.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. Instead of my husband, Lucia strides up the sidewalk, her long, navy double-breasted coat buttoned and a matching scarf tied around her neck. I envy the confident way she walks, with her head held high and shoulders back. I used to walk like that.

  Before she can ring the bell, I rush to the door and open it, letting the cold, winter air push its way in. A shiver dances along the back of my neck, sending goosebumps down my arms.

  “Jesus, I forgot how cold Brooklyn gets,” she says as she unravels the woolen scarf.

  I take it from her while she shrugs out of her coat. I reach for that, too, and turn from the entryway toward the rarely used front room. I pause at the coat rack and hang her things. She follows behind me as I continue walking. It’s so uncomfortable being in here. Everything in it is designed for show, not comfort. From the expensive couches I’m afraid to sit on for fear I’ll dirty them to the crystal chandelier dangling from the ceiling to the antique secretary desk.

  It serves its purpose today, because I don’t want to be comfortable. I want the constant reminder of where I am and who lives here.

  “Please, have a seat.” I gesture to the nearest couch. “Can I get you anything? Water? A glass of wine?”

  Lucia reaches for my hand and holds it tightly within her grasp, her gaze focused intently on my face. “I want the old Aurora back. The one who doesn’t bring me to a stuffy room and formally ask me if I need anything, as though she’s nothing more than a maid. I want to know where she went. The girl who never stopped smiling. Who sat with me during my first real breakup and connived ways to get revenge on Luca Gallo. That’s what you can get me.”

  “Then you’ll be waiting a long time, because that girl doesn’t exist anymore,” I tell her bitterly.

  Lucia reaches up and brushes my hair off my face before tucking it behind my ear, her gaze never leaving me. She palms my cheeks and pulls me in for a hug before I guess her intent. I try to hold in the whimper of pain, but it escapes. She releases me with a small step back, but wraps her hands around my upper arms holding me still. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

  “I tripped the other day and fell against the corner of my dresser.” I wave off her concern. “It’s just a bruise.”

  She drops her arms and turns with a growling screech, her fists balled at her hips. I flinch and stumble back several steps. Lucia whips around, her gaze taking in the distance I made between us. Her eyes flash with rage. “God, you’re infuriating, you know that? I actually thought you were going to stop lying to me.”

  “I’m not—“

  “Stop,” she yells and holds up her hand. “Just stop.”

  I blink rapidly. My throat thickens with tears, and that heavy weight of dread grows inside my stomach. I sniffle and swallow hard. Lucia’s shoulders drop. She moves to the couch and sits onto the cushion edge. Her gaze is directed toward the floor, but then she blinks and it shifts to me. “There isn’t anyone in this world I’m closer to than you. No one else. Except, I don’t even know who you are anymore,” she says fiercely. “I trust you with every aspect of my life. Why can’t you do the same?”

  The silence stretches between us, neither of us giving an inch. Lucia shakes her head in disappointment and rises from the couch. She picks up her coat and scarf and heads toward the doorway without a backward glance.

  “I don’t know who I am anymore, either,” I whisper so softly I’m afraid she doesn’t hear me.

  Her steps pause, but she doesn’t turn around. She just stands there, waiting for me to make the next move. Deep down, I know that if I don’t speak another word, Lucia will be gone. I’m also positive she won’t be back.

  “He beats me.” The words slip out on another whisper as though he’ll hear them if I say them too loud. “He’s almost killed me more than once. And there’s no doubt that if he found out I told you, he’ll actually do it next time.”

  Despite the nearly paralyzing fear, I almost feel lighter. Like I’m no longer carrying this terrible burden alone anymore. I watch Lucia, who still hasn’t moved. Until my gaze lands on her shoulders. The movement is barely noticeable, but it’s there. She’s shaking. A small noise comes from her.

  Ever so slowly, she pivots to face me. Tears run down her face. With tiny steps, Lucia closes the distance between us until only inches separate us. She stares at me, a trail of wetness bisecting each cheek. Ever so gently, she wraps her arms around my waist, keeping her embrace loose. I breathe in her perfume, still the same fragrance she’s always worn, the one I bought her for Christmas years ago.

  My arms go up and I’m holding her tightly to me. My eyes remain dry despite the burning. I lose track of time and how long we hold each other, but finally, we separate. “Let’s go into the other room,” I say.

  Lucia takes my outstretched hand, and I lead her into the library where the giant wall fireplace is lit and burning bright. The warmth is comforting. “This is my favorite room in the house,” I tell her.

  She sits on the chaise near the fire and I lower myself next to her, staring into the flames for a minute before turning my gaze back to her. She waits patiently, now that I’ve spilled my secret, although I can see all the questions in her eyes.

  I stare down at my hands, folded in my lap. It’s hard to see the pity carefully peeking out behind the anger. “I don’t know where to start,” I rasp out quietly.

  “Just start at the beginning,” Lucia encourages.

  The beginning was when my mother died. When my father decided that money was far more important than his daughter. But I’m sure that’s not what she’s asking.

  “I can’t make him happy. No matter how hard I try. Nothing I do is right,” I finally confess.

  “When did it start?”

  “Our wedding night,” I say softly. The terror of that night comes rushing back. Being thrown on the bed. My torn clothes. The desperate cries for him to stop. Alessandro prying my legs open. The pain. Not from him tearing at my virginity. But rather from the slap to the face because he couldn’t.

  “My god,” Lucia breathes out. “He hit you because he couldn’t get it up? That piece of shit. Jesus, what a miserable old fucker. Blaming you because his tiny little knob doesn’t work?”

  It’s not remotely funny, but a small smile appears. “I think you’ve been in England too long if you’re calling it a knob. Although you’re not wrong about its size,” I add slyly.

  She shudders. “I don’t even want to hear about that.”

  The moment of levity passes, and we both sober. “So the old man can’t get it up and blames you for it. Sounds about how all those useless pricks his age act. It can’t be his fault. Which means he has to place the blame on someone else. On you.”

  “Alessandro started saying that if I was skinny enough, maybe he could get hard.”

  Another flash of anger crosses Lucia’s face. “So that’s why you’ve lost so much weight.”

  “Yes,” I say, even though it hadn’t really been a question. “It didn’t help, of course.”

  “Of course it didn’t. Because the problem was never about how thin or curvy you were. It’s about him breaking down your self-confidence. About blaming you and letting you think it’s your fault. Well, fuck him,” she spits. “God, I could just kill him.”

  I’ve thought about it. More times than I can count. I’ve pictured myself going into the kitchen, getting a knife, and entering his room while he sleeps. I’ve watched myself raising the blade over my head and thrusting it deep inside his chest over and over again until every last drop of his blood is spilled. It scares me how often I’ve wished for Alessandro’s death.

  “We have to tell someone,” Lucia says.

  “No,” I snap, frantically shaking my head as I grab her hands in mine. “You can’t. He’ll kill me.”

  “Aurora, you can’t let him continue to abuse you.”

  Panic rears louder inside me. “You don’t understand. No one will believe me, and I’ll only be punished. Please, you can’t tell anyone.” My plea is frantic. I squeeze her hands so tight, I’m sure I’m causing her pain.

  My breaths are coming faster, yet no air fills my lungs. I gasp, desperate to suck in the tiniest bit of oxygen. Lucia’s mouth is moving, but there’s no sound. Only a buzzing noise inside my ears. My vision goes blurry. She yanks her hands from mine and shoves my head between my knees. Her hand gently pets my head, while her other still holds mine, as she covers me with her body.

  Ever so slowly, whispered words fight past the crashing waves and I begin to make them out.

  “Breathe, honey. Just keep breathing. That’s it. In and out. Nice and slow,” Lucia instructs. “There you go.”

  Her gentle words are all it takes. I’ve held the tears back this whole time, but the dam bursts. Sobs pour out of me. The harder I try to stop, the worse they get. I throw myself into her arms, desperately clutching her like a lifeline. She continues talking to me, comforting me, reassuring and promising to keep my secret.

  I cry for minutes, or maybe hours, but eventually, my tears slow. Lucia pulls me down so my head rests on her lap and she continues to stroke my head as though I’m a little girl. I lay there a while longer completely wrung out. Exhaustion makes my limbs heavy. I want to close my eyes, but I don’t dare fall asleep. Not when Alessandro could be home any time. Alessandro.

  I jerk upright, nearly slamming my head into Lucia’s face, and jump to my feet. “You can’t be here when he gets home.”

  She stands as well. “Aurora, it’s okay. I’ll go. We’re going to figure something out, though. I promise.”

  Chapter 10

  Jack

  * * *

  Heads turn as the three massive Italians wander through the pub owned by our family and make their way to the back room where Da, Paddy, Nathan, and I wait. The black and white image displayed on the security feed does nothing to minimize the power they all exude, particularly the man in the lead. He strides forward with a nonchalant air, his head high and shoulders back, as if daring anyone to question why he’s here.

  I catch a glimpse of the butt of a gun tucked within a shoulder holster under his perfectly tailored—expensive—suit jacket. I’ve never seen my brother-in-law wear anything but. He commands respect. The man behind him, however, invokes fear. Even in the grainy image, the caution and nervousness on patrons’ faces as they take him in is obvious.

  Their gazes focus on the eerie skull tattoo decorating his entire throat. From my own experience, the heat of its hellishly red-eyes almost feels real. The man taking up the rear seems almost bland compared to his companions, but it’s merely a mirage. He’s just as brutal behind the façade he presents. The trio pause outside a door and knock. It opens and they disappear through it. Moments later, hinges creak and they stride into our safe room. Da stands from his chair and circles the desk.

  “Gentlemen,” he greets them with a welcoming smile.

  “Cormac,” Emilio steps in to receive a brief fatherly hug. After the death of my grandfather, family get-togethers, even if they’re business meetings, have become less tense and far less formal. To Da, Brenna’s husband is just another one of his sons. With the death of Salvatore Ricci, I think Emilio appreciates the gesture.

  The rest of us shake hands and then settle into the various chairs scattered around for our discussion. Except Pierce. He stands at attention against the wall closest to the door with his arms crossed and his usual inscrutable expression that gives none of his emotions away. Something I still wonder if he even possesses, although Brenna assures me they’re there. Giovanni glances over at Paddy and gestures with his chin.

  “How’s the arm?” he asks.

  “It’ll heal.” My brother lifts it a bit and then a devious smile crosses his face. He wags his eyebrows. “I met a couple of women at the christening, who, after inviting me over to their place, each put on a sexy nurse’s costume and spent the rest of the night seeing to all my needs. Every single one of them.”

  I roll my eyes. “No one wants to hear about you playing doctor.”

  Da clears his throat. “Let’s get down to business,” he scolds.

  Paddy does nothing but grin back unrepentantly. Our father merely shakes his head and turns his attention to Emilio. “The Polish seem to have gained a few new resources.”

  “Their Armenians allies have given us more trouble than I anticipated when they aligned with Wójcik. I’m afraid I may have underestimated Sevan Petrosyan,” my brother-in-law confesses, a tinge of rage in his voice. Whether it’s aimed at himself, the Armenians, or both is anyone’s guess.

  “Our sources tell us that the Polish are trafficking even higher numbers of women than last year,” I share with them. “They’re bribing more people and discovering when we’re on the move to their warehouses. They transfer the women to another location and station men to wait for us. We were lucky we only lost one man the other night.”

  Emilio nods his head. “I’m sorry for the loss of your family member. I wish my hands weren’t tied, but there is nothing I can do about the Polish aside from offering you more weapons. I regret allowing Wójcik to maneuver me into swearing neutrality when we made that trade for Anya.”

  “I understand. Getting Mila’s sister back from those bastards was far more important. But I’ll appreciate whatever you can do,” Da says. “I’m considering calling my brother back in Ireland. See if he can spare some of his men to send over here.”

  My brother-in-law cocks his head. “That might not be a bad idea, actually. I have a few calls in myself to several of our other outfits along the East Coast as well as Chicago. They have their own fair share of enemies to deal with. But I’m sure they can spare a few men.”

  “In the meantime,” I add, “we need to figure out where to hit Wójcik next—and fast. Before he gets wind of our intent. Have you heard any rumblings about where they might have moved the women?”

  “There’s talk of another warehouse in Greenwood Heights,” Pierce speaks up from his position. “I don’t know how reliable the source is, but it’s worth investigating.”

  I tip my head in thanks. “I’ll put out some feelers and see if I can get a bit more solid intel.”

  The conversation continues until we all have an assigned task.