Hacking the Mob (Lords of New York #6)

Prologue

Fiona

I lied.

Seven years ago, I looked into the faces of my parents and two brothers, and with tears rolling down my cheeks, promised them I was going to quit hacking.

At fifteen, I was so good at it that I’d charge the kids in my class a few bucks to change their grades in the school system.

I did it for nearly a year and would have never been caught if one kid hadn't chickened out and blabbered to the principal about my little “business.” The incident almost got me expelled, but the school couldn’t afford to lose a bright student.

It also helped that my parents were the biggest donors at the school.

Still, I got in a lot of trouble for helping the kids with their grades, something I clearly did out of the goodness of my heart.

My actions called for my family’s intervention.

After three solid hours of scolding from my parents and the threat to take away all my computers if I didn’t straighten up, I promised them that I would never hack into anyone's device.

Of course, the ban was lifted when I turned eighteen.

My family does, after all, run the biggest security firm in New York City, and they needed my exceptional talents for some of their projects.

Still, I lied when I said I would walk the straight and narrow.

I haven’t known what a “straight and narrow” looks like since I got my first computer at six, but in all my snooping into people’s lives, I’ve never been more tempted to peer into someone’s life like I am in this moment.

His name is Lorenzo Rossi, six-foot-tall with the most stunning hazel-green eyes I have ever seen in my life.

In a crowd of people, my gaze hasn’t moved from him since he walked into the room.

Tall, muscular, and handsome with glasses that give him a Clark Kent feel.

In a room full of mob bosses and their families, the youngest son of the Rossi family stands out the most to me.

And hell, no one saw this coming—my family sharing the same space with the Rossis and the Marinos.

For years, the three families have co-existed in this city, but not once have our paths crossed.

Not until we all started marrying each other.

First, it was Matteo Rossi, the don of the Rossi family, who married Sofia Marino in a highly publicized wedding.

A marriage meant to bring two powerful families together.

With their union, the role of protecting the Marino women fell on Matteo, so he hired my family’s security firm to protect his sisters-in-law.

Matteo, the businessman who is always thirty steps ahead of the competition, never saw his sisters-in-law falling in love with their bodyguards.

But I did.

The nosy person that I am saw it the moment my eldest brother, Roarke, fell in love with Elena Marino—a woman he was supposed to be protecting.

I found out about their secret court wedding from all the bugs I’ve planted in the city’s record system that alert me anytime the O’Shea family name pops up in police or court documents.

Needless to say, that list has grown expeditiously since everyone started marrying everyone, and now, I don't just get alerts on the O'Shea family name but also on Marino and Rossi.

Somehow, the three powerful families got tangled. Now, we’re at the grand opening of Matilde Marino’s bakery, mingling as if we weren’t all strangers to each other just a year ago.

“Who are you staring at?”

I turn when my sister-in-law, Elena, pats my arm. Her marriage to Roarke is the reason we’re even in the same room with the Rossis at all.

With Lorenzo Rossi.

No one, I start to say but stop myself in time.

Everything I have learned about Lorenzo has been from gossip pages, but it's hard to reconcile that man with the airhead jock the public thinks he is. I figure if someone can give me insight into the man’s life, then who better than my sister-in-law, who also happens to be his sister-in-law.

“What is he like?” I find myself saying as I take in that rugged body hidden behind a black shirt and dark slacks.

“Who?”

“Lorenzo.”

Elena’s eyes follow mine to the man seated with the other Rossi brothers, and the frown on her face smoothens. “Oh, him,” she says with a fond smile. “Lorenzo is like the most harmless of the Rossi brothers. I’d even say he’s the golden retriever that lives among wolves.”

“Golden retriever, huh,” I muse, watching the man as I have since the moment he walked into his party.

Heck, my eyes have been on him the entire time, and there are pockets of time where that smile dropped, and something dark crossed his handsome face.

There is more to him than the dumb jock people make him out to be, all pretty face and no brains.

Just looking at him makes my fingers itch for my computer so I can dig into the secrets Lorenzo Rossi is clearly hiding.

I want to see the man beneath that shell, and something tells me it’s going to be interesting.

Whatever he's hiding, I will find it.

“Why are you so curious about him anyway?” Elena asks from my side, nudging me with her arm. “Don’t tell me you like him.”

“I don’t like him,” I laugh, ignoring the little warmth that settles in my stomach. Sure, Lorenzo Rossi is an incredibly good-looking man with that raven black hair and a charming smile, but it won’t matter much if that’s all he has going for him.

“I mean, I won’t judge you if you have a crush on him,” she says, turning back to the man in question. “Lorenzo is known to be friendly and has a kind personality.”

“What does he do?”

“Something to do with IT. Oh, wait, you have that in common.”

“IT? Him? Are you sure?” I ask, surprised as my eyes narrow on the man.

Nothing, other than those sexy glasses on him, screams nerd.

At least not any nerd I’ve met before. Everyone I’ve known in IT comes in a package of band T-shirts, hoodies, and way too skinny jeans.

None of them is built like Lorenzo Rossi.

Not a single one makes my stomach flutter with butterflies like he does.

Even now, as I watch him turn his attention from his brothers to his phone, I can't help but wonder what else about the man will surprise me.

His phone or computer must hold the secrets that none of these people know about him.

Him being into tech means he probably protects his devices, but I've always loved a challenge.

“Maybe you should go talk to him,” Elena says, nudging me again because, of course, that's what normal people do. They talk and ask questions instead of hacking into other people’s devices. “I think you two would get along. To be fair, Lorenzo gets along with everyone.”

I hum, watching the man for a moment longer before my phone vibrates on the table, pulling my focus away. I glance down at it, and my heart leaps to my throat, my lips stretching into a wide grin when I see the name flashing on the screen.

Raziel.

If Lorenzo Rossi gives me butterflies, it’s nothing compared to the swarm of buzzing bees my online hacker friend spurs in my stomach.

A man the stars aligned for me to meet in an encrypted messaging site used by hackers.

Unlike the others, he didn’t dismiss me once he found out that I was a girl.

His name intrigued me the first time I came across it.

Raziel, the archangel who was the gatekeeper of information and secrets.

Even more interesting was the fact that he knew my hacker name, Var, and understood what it stood for—a Norse goddess of oaths and seeking truth.

For three years, I’ve chatted with this stranger and shared parts of me that no one else knows.

I thought ours was a friendship that would fade with time, but it never has.

I’ve met someone who sees and understands me in ways my family never has.

There’s a safety in anonymity—a freedom to be completely honest without fear of judgment.

Maybe that’s why neither of us has ever suggested meeting.

What if seeing each other shatters the connection we’ve built?

What if reality can’t compete with the version of him, I’ve created in my mind?

We started voice chatting a few months ago, though we both run our calls through an encrypted app with light voice modulation—just enough to obscure the details while keeping conversation natural. It’s not that we don’t trust each other. It’s that trust, in our world, is built in layers.

Heck, we even worked together on some white hat hacking jobs, and it was a thing of beauty witnessing his brilliant mind at play.

Is it a wonder that I’ve fallen in love with this faceless stranger?

At night, I lie in bed dreaming of what he looks like. Smells like. Christ, anyone would call me crazy if they found out I’m in love with a virtual person, but that’s because they haven’t interacted with Raziel or seen the diamond that is his mind.

My heart races as I open his message, biting into my lower lip as my eyes move over the words several times.

He wants to work together on a project, so I quickly type back a message.

Since I became the primary tech expert of my family's private security firm, I haven't had time to indulge in much reckless play. But it hasn’t stopped me from daydreaming about working with him side by side—though I’m not bold enough to ask to meet up.

Heck, the thought of asking his name and scaring him off is the stuff of nightmares.

The only thing I have to go by is his age. And I suspect even that much was said by accident. Perhaps an eleven-year age gap would turn people away, and yet, that only adds to his appeal.

“Fiona, don't start with that phone again.” My mother's voice is a distant echo as I shoot off a text, biting my nails as I wait for Raziel’s reply. When it comes, it’s impossible to hide the joy.

His messages always leave me feeling giddy.

Heck, we could be talking about running a Metasploit module or discussing what he had for lunch, and my heart would race the same.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!”

The words come before the phone is snatched from my busy fingers. My head whips up in surprise to find my mother’s sharp eyes on mine. “Mom, c’mon,” I whine, reaching for my phone, but she moves it beyond my reach. “You can’t just ban me from using my phone. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Oh really, you could have fooled me,” she says, and I watch sorrowfully as she slides the phone into her purse. “We’re at a party, Fiona. It’s rude to have your head buried in your phone the entire time. Can’t have these people thinking my daughter is antisocial.”

I bite back the urge to say that antisocial wouldn’t be the worst thing to be in here, especially when we’re surrounded by the literal mafia. I turn to my father and brothers for support, but they all seem to have developed a sudden interest in the pastries on our table.

“Cowards,” I mutter under my breath, falling back against my seat with a sigh. It never seems to matter to my mother that I am twenty-two and not twelve.

“Don’t pout, dear, it's unattractive.”

I turn away from our table and glance at the Rossis’ table, noting for the first time that Lorenzo's seat is empty. He must have left while I was texting Raziel.

Raziel.

Just thinking of the name makes my heart race and a flush creep up my neck. And now, I can’t stop thinking about that first message he sent me.

Wanna play a game with me?