“No? What if someone hired me to kill you and I was in love with Adelina?”

  “If you weren’t in love with Adelina, would you kill me anyway? Knowing me.”

  “In a heartbeat.” It’s not a lie. I’d do it on pure principle because weakness must be purged like a sickness.

  Her face falls a little. “Even when you risked your life to save me from Bianchi.”

  “I shouldn’t have.”

  “But you did. For Adelina.”

  I release a slow breath. “Tell me again that emotions don’t hamper a soldier’s effectiveness.” I push to my feet. “I need all the information you have on Matteo Santori.”

  “I thought you weren’t helping her.”

  “I’m tasked with protecting her. That means assessing all possible risks.”

  Gabriella’s hard eyes meet mine. “So, just business then?”

  “Always.” I walk away.

  I allowed myself to step out of bounds before and look where it got me. My rules are my safety; boundaries are the clear constraints of my own mind. Adelina’s issues are not mine. In the Elite, we were always neutral. It was understood by whoever hired us that we were completely impartial. A man might hire us to remove an enemy one week, and the enemy might hire us to take out the very same man the next. As long as we were paid, we did it without any repercussions on us. To be Elite is to be a ghost, without motivations or care for why you are killing, only that it is the job set before you. I almost miss the time where thoughts and choices simply were not an option. I miss a rigid routine and orders, the lack of initiative.

  That is why I killed Eduardo Ricci. He was a faceless job and nothing more.

  5

  Adelina

  “You need to make up with Sasha.”

  I look up from the book in my lap and find Gabriella lingering in the doorway to the library. My father used to spend all his free time here. I came in here to feel close to him.

  “I’m trying. He hates me because I married Enrique.”

  Gabi’s eyes fill with sympathy. “Can you blame him? He loved you.”

  “I did what I had to!” How dare he be angry with me after what he did. I’m filled with this hatred that won’t abate, and it’s all directed at him.

  “Adelina.” She has that disapproving tone that my father always used when he was annoyed with me. “He has every right to be mad. I know I was. I still am.”

  I want to tell her that Sasha killed Daddy, if nothing else, just to bring her to my side. But I can’t. I don’t know how she’ll react, and if her behavior changes toward him, she might ruin everything. Sasha and I are dancing on a fine line. I hate him, and he hates me for entirely different and far more inconsequential reasons. I need his love, though, and he needs to believe mine. I can put on an act. I’ve been doing it with Enrique for so long, I’m practically a master. Lies are now my forte.

  I simply can’t expect my sister to be able to hide the pain of facing my father’s killer, to act as though she doesn’t know. She was right there with Daddy when that bullet ended his life. I love Gabi, and I trust her, but I can’t burden her with this. It’s too much. I just hate lying to her.

  “Just leave it, Gabi.”

  “No, I won’t leave it. Enrique is dead. Sasha still loves you; I know he does. He’s a good man, Lina.”

  Oh, how little she knows. All the lies are starting to build up into an insurmountable wall. I can’t tell her that Enrique is alive, either, because then she’ll ask why I’m lying, why I’m here. And so the web becomes ever more entwined, and I sink deeper into my own abyss, falling further away from the only person I have left in this world. Guilt eats away at me, but I promise myself that I will tell her. When this is all said and done, I will tell her what Sasha did as I present her his head.

  “Lina!” she snaps, drawing my attention back to her.

  “Arrange the meeting with Matteo, please. I don’t have much time.” Because Enrique doesn’t know about any of this, or that I’m even back in the country, but he will. This started as a back-up plan, a way to remain close to Sasha, but somewhere along the way, I grew to want this. I want the power, the untouchability that comes from not only sitting on a mafia throne but having fought to get there. I’m so tired of being a victim in someone else’s story. What greater revenge could there be than to take the very throne Enrique sought to steal from my family? Our marriage is an alliance that entitles him to all that is mine, but it works both ways. If I stay this path, it’s only a matter of time before Enrique comes for me, just as he said he would.

  I just have to play this right. Manipulate all the pieces on the board before I allow the ax to fall. Gabriella turns around, shaking her head before she walks away. She thinks I’m stubborn, but there’s so much more going on here than she knows. I do this to protect her.

  Closing my eyes, I trail my fingers over the delicate, worn paper of my father’s favorite book, a first edition of Moby Dick. The scent of the old leather and dog-eared pages reminds me of him. For a moment, I can almost picture him, smiling indulgently at me as he did whenever he found me in here. A lump settles in my throat, and my heart grows heavy. I don’t allow myself to think of him often because when I do, I miss him so much it hurts. I think of all that he was, all that was taken from me. I imagine one day marrying a man I love and having no father there to smile at me as he walks me down the aisle. I picture a life of children with no grandfather, events and memories that he should have been there for. All stolen. By Sasha. A man I loved.

  I drop my chin to my chest, as one tear breaks free. The storm of emotions envelopes me for a moment, and I let the self-pity run deep. Then I force it back, sucking in a deep breath. There will be a time for tears, but it is not now. Slamming the book shut, I close the door on my nostalgia as I put it back on the shelf. My mind is too engrossed. I need to switch it off.

  When I step into the gym, I’m not alone. The rhythmic thud, thud, thud of fists can be heard before I even round the corner. Lorenzo is on the bench, pressing weight with Ben, one of his guys, spotting him. Sasha pounds the punch bag with a force that is a little unsettling.

  I came here to escape him, and yet here he is. Shoving my headphones in, I jump on the treadmill. Within a minute, I’ve cranked it to full tilt. I sprint as though I could outrun my own thoughts and all the problems that seem to follow me like a plague. The music blares in my ears, and my lungs burn for air. I run until my heart pounds out of my chest and my legs feel like jelly. Then I slam my hand on the stop button and hop onto the side rails as I gasp for breath. The second I recover, everything I was running from is right there, waiting for me. When I turn around, I see Sasha, upside down on the pull-up rack, doing sit-ups. The sight of him ignites the festering anger within me, and I just want to hit someone. Him. I can’t, though, so I settle for the punch bag. My fist meets the worn canvas with a muted thud, and the bag barely even moves. I hit it again and again with the same effect, until my hand aches.

  I jump when something brushes my cheek, and my headphone is pulled loose. I instinctively lash out at the uninvited contact. Sasha easily bats my hand away from him, and I glare.

  “What?” I snap.

  “You’re going to hurt yourself, hitting the bag like that.”

  “Maybe I want to hurt myself.”

  His eyes narrow. “That’s…unintelligent.”

  I hate the way he says it, as though I’m some lesser human being. It’s the way he used to speak to me back before…well, before.

  Without permission, he moves behind me and grabs my hips impatiently. “You’re standing wrong. Brace your feet like this.” He twists my body before kicking one of my feet away and widening my stance. Hot breath washes over my neck, and an involuntary shiver tears over my skin. He lingers a few seconds longer than necessary, and my heart thuds awkwardly in my chest. His fingers flinch against my skin, holding me tight.

  My eyes close for a second, my body gravitating toward him without permission. Memories flash through my mind, the feel of his hands on me, the caress of his breath, the brush of his lips. They’re followed by a sickening kind of shame that has bile creeping up the back of my throat.

  “Make a fist like this,” he says quietly.

  I snap out of it, my spine stiffening. “I know how to throw a punch.” I’ve taken self-defense classes since I was six years old.

  “You know how to defend yourself. It’s not the same as an attack.”

  I swallow and fall into silence.

  “Clench your fist like this.” He shows me, balling his tightly. “Straight wrist. Power comes from the shoulder.” He demonstrates. One punch and the bag swings, the thick metal chain it’s suspended from creaking. He steps back, folding his arms over his muscular chest as he waits for me to do the same.

  I suddenly feel stupid, weak, and woefully inadequate. I punch the bag, driving all the power I have into it, and the bag sways this time, though not half as much as when Sasha hit it.

  “Good.” That’s all he says before turning away.

  I’ve been so occupied with the notion of getting close to him, I never really stopped to consider the actual act of killing him—Sasha Ivanov, a man trained for the sole purpose of ending lives. Perhaps for the first time, I realize how monumental my task is. I couldn’t kill Enrique, and Sasha is a damn site more formidable than a spoilt mafia boss. He’s a cold killer, a soldier, Elite. I stand no chance. Unless I can get close to him.

  Unlike Enrique, I won’t make the mistake of hesitating.

  Matteo’s home is a glistening white jewel in the Sicilian sun. A guard checks our credentials before the enormous metal gates swing open, allowing us through. Gravel crunches beneath the tires as we pass pristine lawns. Sprinklers arc high into the air, painting rainbows in the midday sun. Lorenzo pulls up outside the front door, and I step out of the car. The first thing I notice is the lack of armed men. As we approach the door, it opens, revealing only a butler. No guns, no men in suits.

  “Welcome, Ms. Bianchi.” The butler dips his head.

  I hate that name. “Thank you.”

  Inside is an enormous marble lobby with a grand staircase. In the center is a table with a vase of scarlet red roses sitting pride of place. The red is stark against the white backdrop. A chandelier hangs above it, and the sunshine hits the crystal droplets, scattering speckles of light over the floor like glitter. Everything in here is too pretty, too perfect. It’s almost like being in a movie.

  “Mr. Santori is awaiting your arrival. Please follow me.” The butler smiles and turns away.

  We cross the lobby and walk down a hallway. Each room I pass is equally as beautiful as the foyer. I’m finally lead to the back of the house, where I find an enormous sunroom waiting for me. It’s so warm in here, like summer all year round.

  Matteo sits on a white couch in the middle of the room, looking like something out of a magazine. He’s as impeccably presented as his home in an immaculate suit, his jet black hair perfectly groomed. He’s a handsome man with an easy smile, though he lacks the hardness in his eyes that men like Enrique and my father possess. His family lingers on the fringes of the mob world, respected and upholding of its traditions, yet relatively uninvolved in the grittier power struggles that run rife in our society. What money they make from illegal activities, they invest in legal ventures. They’re wealthy, though my father always said that if they were willing to get their hands a little dirtier, they’d be unstoppable. In a way, though, their family gets to live the best of both worlds.

  “Adelina.” He pushes to his feet, long legs quickly closing the distance between us. His hands gently clasp my shoulders as he leans in, brushing his lips over one cheek, then the other. The clean scent of citrus and freshly washed linens greets me. I find my cheeks heating slightly under his lips.

  “Matteo.”

  “Please, sit. Would you like a drink?”

  I step forward, leaving Lorenzo standing at the door. “Water, please.”

  Matteo glances at the butler, and I hear the man hurry away. He resumes his position on the couch, and I take the seat opposite him.

  “Your sister said you wanted to meet.” His expression suggests that he’s somewhat confused by my presence. “We heard Enrique was killed.”

  “Yes.”

  “By someone at the wedding?” Of course, Enrique has allowed the lie to get out, but a blurred version. Even in a false death, he’d never allow people to believe that his own wife could kill him so easily.

  “Yes, it was…unfortunate.”

  His eyes lock with mine, and I know he doesn’t believe that I find it unfortunate. “I’m sure. It still begs the question, why would you want to meet with me?”

  “I want an alliance.”

  His butler enters the sunroom and places a tumbler of water in front of me, sending ice tinkling against the glass.

  “We’ve been allied with the Ricci family for years.”

  “I need more than just a spoken alliance. I need action, backing.”

  He leans forward, bracing his elbows on spread knees. His lips purse, his jaw tensing beneath a layer of dark stubble. “Backing for what?”

  I lift my chin and inhale a deep breath, channeling all my inner strength and hoping he sees it. I can’t ask him to back anyone who would seem weak.

  “You once had business dealings with my father.” Their abundance of legitimate business serves as the perfect cleaning operation for dirty money. They also happen to rub shoulders with the people at the very top of the food chain; politicians, chief of police, and so on. With the right words in the right ears, the Santori’s can make life very easy for the right boss. Or…very difficult. That’s why I’m here. “Now, you deal with the Bianchi’s instead.”

  He inhales a sharp breath and swipes a hand over the front of his jacket. “I cannot move against the Bianchi family, Adelina. Not now. They are weakened, which means they will be vigilant against any traitors. Even if I could ice them out, they’re volatile. I’d be dead before I could even make the right calls to the right people.”

  “I’m not asking you to move against them, just to support me when the time comes. I’m going to take the Bianchi seat.”

  His brows shoot up. “I…did not see that coming.”

  “I have a claim.”

  He nods slowly. “You do, but you have to know, they’ll never allow you to make it. One day of marriage won’t outweigh blood ties and years of loyalties.”

  “No, but I’m not asking for permission. They have dominated power for too long. Your family has been relegated to dealing with teenage party drugs for small profits.”

  He smiles, dropping his gaze to the floor. “You know we don’t seek the kind of power or money the Bianchi’s do.” He lifts his gaze. “Have you ever thought that perhaps it’s best to fly under the radar? The law doesn’t bother with us because we don’t attract enough attention.”

  “The law doesn’t bother you because your father is a politician.”

  He shrugs casually. “Rival families don’t see us as a threat, so we escape the violence. We run in less…unsavory circles.”

  I see his point. I would probably do the same if I could, but I don’t have that luxury. What could I do if I became the boss, though? I could reshape the Bianchi business.

  “I can see the appeal in that, yes.”

  “I don’t need extra wealth, Adelina. I’d rather go home to people I love every night without worrying that I could be taken from them.”

  “That’s great for you. I don’t have that option, Matteo. I either control them, or I’ll be killed by them.”

  His eyes pinch. “Why would they kill you?”

  I say nothing, watching as the pieces slot together in his mind.

  “You killed him,” he whispers. His index finger taps over his bottom lip as a long breath trickles from him. “Oh, Adelina.”

  I don’t miss the trace of disappointment in his tone, or maybe it’s just surprise.

  “Enrique Bianchi was not a good man,” I say, attempting to defend myself.

  He inhales a deep breath. “It’s the mafia. There are no good men. Why agree to marry him if you wanted him dead?”

  “You know he killed my father?”

  “I suspected.”

  “That’s why I married him. For revenge.”

  A small smile touches his lips. “You’re supposed to be the innocent Ricci sister.”

  “Maybe once, but not now.”

  “I can see that.” He shifts, sitting back and propping one ankle on his knee. “Why did you come to me of all people? There are better alliances for you.”

  “Because you offered me a way out when you thought I had no options. Had I not wanted him dead so much, I would have taken you up on it. But I did not forget your kindness."

  His face softens, and I realize that Matteo is the kind of man I could trust so easily. That, in and of itself, should make me wary.

  “I hate to see anyone forced into a situation they did not choose. The mafia is full of bad people, but Enrique Bianchi was among the worst of them.” He’s right. There are bad men, and there are good men who do bad things. There is a difference. “I would have saved you from it if I could, Adelina.”

  I tilt my head, studying him, trying to work out his motivations. What lurks beneath those warm hazel eyes? “Why?” I ask.

  His lips twitch again, and that easy smile graces his lips. “You don’t know?”

  I’m confused.

  “Adelina, our families have been friends and allies since before you or I were born. I’ve been to almost every party, wedding, funeral, and celebration that either of our families has ever had. I watched you for years, too shy to ever approach. You and your sister were the apple of everyone’s eye, not just your father’s.” That’s not true. “And yet, when I broached you at your engagement party, you barely knew who I was.”