The Silence Lies, Part One (The Twisted Betrayal Duet)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

SERAFINA

T oday is the day I become a leader.

Today is the day I start my rule over La Cosa Nostra.

Following in my father’s footsteps isn’t something I ever wanted, but it’s an obligation I must fulfill for the Bianchi name. I knew this was coming, though. Maybe not this exact moment, but I always knew I would be locked into this family. I never had the option, the choice. La Cosa Nostra is all I’ve ever known, and it’s all I ever will.

For the last three years, I have been primed for this. With my grandfather’s deteriorating health and my own father’s decision to take a step back, I’m now being thrust into the spotlight. I wish I could say I was ready, but as I sit staring out at the shimmering waters of the Mediterranean, I’m not so sure.

“Ready?” my father asks.

“Yes,” I rasp, wiping my sweaty palms on my pants, while losing all confidence in my words. My mind has been racing since we landed in Italy yesterday, and despite my father’s efforts, I’m nervous as hell. The picturesque landscape I’ve been staring at for the last half an hour does nothing to settle my nerves either. I’ve spent the better part of my morning wondering if I’ll be any good at this, wondering if this is truly my calling or just a last ditch attempt for my father to keep our family at the top of the hierarchy.

I stand up and dust off my tailored trousers, my heels clicking on the wooden flooring as I turn to face the man about to seal my fate. I suppose I should feel some relief with what’s about to happen. Usually, women in our position are sold off, married to the next powerful family in a bid to align loyalty. Not me. I’m the heir, the one and only to the family name. And the first female in our family to hold this kind of power.

Fortunately for me, I have the skills and knowledge to lead this family— it’s the confidence I’m not so certain of.

My father holds the door open for me, eyes dragging down my white pantsuit. “You should have picked a darker color,” he comments, fingering the lapel on my jacket. “Blood stains.”

“Of course,” I mutter, ignoring the urge to roll my eyes. Even though we are close, my father can’t resist pointing out my flaws—in this case, the color of my outfit.

I see his point, though. These events never go as planned, and with tradition being scrapped, I’m anticipating some violence. Fortunately, no weapons are allowed during this ceremony, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t keep my wits about me. There’s always after.

I notice the tension straight away. There’s a heavy atmosphere as we enter the library, almost like every man here is out for blood— my blood.

Maybe I should have worn black.

My grandfather sits at the head of the table in the center of the room. His hands are linked and resting easy in front of him. Ten other men surround him, each wearing the same solemn, impatient expression as the other.

As I approach, they all stand. They bow their heads discreetly, but I don’t miss the distaste marring some of these men’s faces.

Only some.

We’re in a new era now. This is the new generation of La Cosa Nostra, and I’m the one these men have to obey. Of course, traditions have always favored the males. But there are guys here who respect my family’s decision; who respect me, including my best friend, Enzo.

He stands closest to me, at the other end of the table. His eyes glance up to me as I get closer, a look of respect and admiration swimming in them. With dark hair and dark eyes, this man is undeniably handsome, but that’s as far as our appreciation for one another goes. He has always been my rock, my confidante. We’ve grown up together, seen the best and the worst of one another, so it goes without saying that he has my back today.

I take my seat, and in uniformed silence, the rest of the men descend to their own chairs.

My grandfather watches me intensely. While he all but encouraged my father to announce my position, I still feel the bitterness over the fact my mother never bore another child, a male heir. Like in some way it was her doing that I came out her womb a girl. Still, he’s taking this situation with the grace and confidence of a man born into this role, born to lead the family. It’s the very reason he is leading this ceremony and not my father.

As a recent leader, he must remain silent and allow the room to speak up. My grandfather might be family, but he is also the oldest here. As far as hierarchy goes, Mafia or not, he is the most respected man in the room.

“Thank you for joining us,” my grandfather announces abruptly.

All eyes turn to him. All attention is solely on the man at the head of the table.

“First of all, as far as tradition goes?—”

A man to the right of him scoffs, eyes narrowing onto me.

I shift uneasily in my seat. As much as I want to put on a brave face, I’m the only woman in this room. I might have allies here, but there’s no denying I have enemies, too.

“Verdi, do you have something to say?” my grandfather asks, his glare matching the threatening tone of his words.

“She doesn’t belong here, and you know it,” Don Verdi snarls. “Women have never ruled the families! This is obscene, this?— ”

“This is the new generation,” I quip. I feel Enzo squeeze my hand, a show of support and strength I didn’t know I needed, but I refuse to tear my gaze away from the man ahead of me. “It’s about time we set a precedent for future families, don’t you think?”

“This is not how La Cosa Nostra is ruled.”

“No, this is how La Cosa Nuova is ruled,” I retort.

Don Verdi sits back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. He keeps his lips firmly shut at my words. Clearly, whatever he has to say, he has realized he won’t be heard here. His son, however, sits to the right of him, rolling his eyes.

Luciano and I have history— a really shitty history involving a romance that should never have happened. That was back when I was sixteen and immature. I didn’t know any better, and when it came to Luciano, I truly thought I was in love.

Oh, how naive I was ten years ago.

I still don’t know what I ever saw in the man. He has good looks, great charm, but that’s as far as my compliments stretch. When it comes to Luciano Verdi, he is every father’s worst nightmare. He’s the boy they tell their little girls to avoid. He’s the asshole all girls crave until they’re ruined. And he has made himself my competition.

I watch carefully as his lip curls, eyes setting on me before darting to my right. I know exactly what he’s looking at. My best friend is less than tolerable of Luciano and his ways. He was there to pick up the pieces when things between Luciano and I exploded catastrophically. Now, when it comes to me, he takes no prisoners. He’s not afraid to protect me, to stand up for me, or use his fists to set an example.

With the way they curl up tightly beside me, I know he’s sending a warning, one that seems to be received rapidly by the Verdis.

“Does anyone else have any reservations?” my grandfather asks the table. “We talk freely now.”

A few grumbles resound around the room, but other than the inaudible comments, nobody actually speaks up.

“Okay,” my grandfather nods before turning his attention to me. “Your vouching family? ”

I turn my head to Enzo, who promptly stands. “I am here to represent the LaRosa family. We align ourselves with the Bianchis, we pledge our loyalty and obedience to Serafina Bianchi as our leader and I personally vouch for her.”

“Of course, you do,” Luciano remarks.

My grandfather raises a hand in the air, abruptly halting any more comments. I knew this was going to be difficult, and it’s no surprise the Verdis are the ones with the grievance. They truly believe they should be the ones leading this ceremony, with Luciano taking the mantle. The problem is, that asshole couldn’t lead an alcoholic into a bar, and that’s putting it kindly.

“You’re treading on thin ice already, Verdi.” My grandfather flashes a warning to his right. “Disrespect will not be permitted here, old ways or not.”

“Of course,” Don Verdi mutters, dropping his head in submission. His son doesn’t mirror the action, instead, he glares at me like I stole his favorite toy.

To the right of the table, my grandfather’s assistant approaches. He grips a rolled up piece of parchment in one hand, and a blade in the other—the only weapon allowed in the ceremony. The assistant unravels the paper, and weighs it down with two inkwells—one for me, one for Enzo.

Enzo is the first to head to my grandfather, and with a nod from my own father, I approach.

I watch as Enzo takes the knife and presses it to his palm. He doesn’t even wince when the blade breaks the skin, or when he squeezes his fist tightly to expel a few drops of blood into a shallow inkwell. He takes the pen in his right hand, dipping it into the inkwell before signing his name on the parchment.

Old way, new Mafia; we still follow certain traditions. Signing your name in blood is a lifelong commitment. It’s a vow to honor, protect and remain loyal to the family name. Every time a new leader takes their place, these contracts are signed. Bound in blood is the oldest tradition, and sadistically, one I’m looking forward to .

Enzo turns and holds his tattooed hand out to me. Resting my hand in his palm, he turns it over, and drags the sharp edge over the flesh. I wince as a delicate scarlet flow of liquid appears, and with his help, Enzo guides the blood droplets into the second inkwell.

Dipping the pen into the deep red liquid, he hands it to me. Admiration flashes across his face, quickly and almost unnoticeably. This is it.

I lean forward and sign my name in its rightful place, beside Enzo’s. And then I release a long breath, one filled with anxious hopes and uncertain possibilities.

“Donna Bianchi,” Enzo announces to the table, lifting my arm into the air.

The table follows in unison, despite the reluctance. “Donna Bianchi!”

“First thing on the agenda…?” Enzo asks as he bandages my hand.

We’re all out on the terrace, continuing the celebrations. Many of the men have stuck around, but it doesn’t go unnoticed that Don Verdi and his son have disappeared. I’m not surprised, really. They tried to talk to my father after we left the library, but I don’t think it went down well.

“Tell me,” I reply, never letting my attention leave the people in front of me.

I know Enzo would never let anything happen to me. Not just because of our relationship, but since Enzo pledged his irrefutable allegiance to me and my family, he has in turn become my second in command. It’s funny how things work out in this way of life, but I don’t think he minds one bit.

“Is it too soon to deliver a kill order?”

“On who?” I frown, turning to him.

He rolls his eyes, sighing as he lights up a cigarette. “You know who. ”

“Enz, if we could kill everyone we hated, there wouldn’t be a Mafia. Sometimes we have to set aside our differences for the family.”

“Spoken like a true leader,” he teases, nudging my shoulder.

“If you say so,” I grumble back. The nerves of the day still haven’t left me. I’m still reeling in self doubt and uncertainty, and I have a weird feeling in my gut that today went far too smoothly.

“La Cosa Nostra needs someone like you. Or should we be calling it La Cosa Nuova?”

A chuckle falls from my lips. He always knows how to distract me, to cheer me up. I appreciate the hell out of the guy because he has already done too much for me.

“Relax, you’re going to be great,” he says, leaning in to drop a kiss on my temple.

Somehow, his words don’t settle that uneasy sensation somersaulting in the pit of my stomach. And it only increases when I hear the commotion coming from around the corner.

It’s the gun shot I hear first.

The rip roaring ripple as it pierces the glass on the table in front of me.

“Get down!” Enzo bellows.

Before I have time to react, he’s shoving me to my knees, protecting me with his body as he pulls out his gun and starts shooting.

The entire yard is filled with the racket of gunfire. It’s like we’re on a battlefield; bullets of all calibers fire at one another, shattering glass that spills across the cobbles at my feet. A body drops beside me, my blood running cold. It’s one of the old families, Fontana.

I’ve spent three years preparing myself for this role, but dead bodies will never be normal for me. As I look at the collapsed man, I feel the bile rising up.

“Sera! Get inside!” Enzo yells out over his shoulder.

I stumble forward, as my best friend reaches for me. Wrapping an arm behind me, he holds me to his back, acting like a human shield. He guides me to the patio doors, where glass decorates the ground.

“It’s the Verdis. ”

Without warning, my body is forced through the gap. My legs give out, but Enzo catches me effortlessly, placing me upright.

“You need to hide!” he orders, squeezing my hand. “I’ll come find you.”

I can’t let go, though. Fear has me frozen in place as I stare back at my best friend, silently pleading.

“I can’t, Sera.” He shakes his head, his lips thin and eyes grow dark. The weight of his unspoken words claw at my chest, and it aches knowing what he isn’t saying.

“You can!” I scream, yanking at his hand and trying to pull him through the doorway. “I’m not going anywhere without you!”

“No! Sera!” He grips my shoulders and shakes. He shakes me until the tears form in my eyes and bottom lip wobbles. He shakes me until he forgets why, and then he pulls me into his arms and holds me tight. “I vowed to protect you, and that’s what I’m doing.”

“Please, Enzo. Come with me.” The words are barely audible against his chest, over the gunfire rumbling around us.

He kisses my forehead, a gesture that means more now than it ever did before.

And then I hear it.

I feel it.

The gunshot rings so painfully loud that my brain can’t comprehend a thing. Enzo’s body shudders against me under the quaking force. And then he collapses, his eyes wide and mouth parted. He drops so heavily to the ground that he takes me with him.

My suit is doused in dark red, my father’s words haunting me. Red blood pours from behind Enzo, and we’re lying in it. We’re surrounded by the heavy flow of a wound I can’t see, of what I can’t stop.

“Enzo!” I cry, cupping my best friend’s face. “Enzo!”

He reaches up to my face, one heavily bloodied hand smearing across my cheek, but I don’t care.

“ Sei tutto per me, ” he whispers.

“No!” I wail. “You don’t get to say that to me!”

A whisper of smile graces his lips, just for a moment. It’s a sliver of time that grants me just one more look into the eyes of my best friend. One more glance at the little boy who grew up to be the man who protected me from harm. One more absorbent gaze at the guy who became everything to me and I never told him.

Then, his hand drops and his eyes close. And all I’m left with is blood. His blood.