Chapter One
Valentina
A year and a half later
I f you want something said, ask a man.
If you want something done, ask a woman.
I’m not sure who I’m quoting, but I do know two things. One, it was definitely a woman who said it.
Two, she was right.
My sports bag digs into my stiff shoulder as I look up at Firenze . I haven’t been back to the club since the night Adriana was kidnapped and killed. If I saw any other way, I wouldn’t be here now, but I’ve officially run out of patience waiting for Thiago to make a miracle happen.
Blinking away the memories of my last night with Adri, of how normal it’d been, of how I had no idea nothing would be normal again once we stepped out of our apartment, I swipe angrily at the bitter tear that falls down my cheek.
The guilt eats at me, my constant, unwavering companion. It’s my fault that Adri died.
Entirely my fault.
I’m the one who suggested we go to London for our graduation trip. I organized and then heavily influenced her to go to Firenze that night. I dressed her in a dress that no doubt acted as a beacon for her killer’s attention.
And once we were at the club, I… got distracted.
I abandoned her when she needed me the most.
After I almost died trying to get justice for her in the initial months after her murder, I let Thiago talk me into taking a backseat in the search for her body and her killer. He didn’t want me involved, both because it would put my safety at risk, but also because I knew the search was gruesome.
As proof of her death, her murderers had sent Adriana’s finger to our Papá . He knew it was hers because it was delivered to him still wearing our Mama’s engagement ring.
I let the guilt sideline me. I joined the cartel and focused on training, letting my brother lead the charge to find her and bring her home.
But things have changed.
My brother is the one who’s distracted now, obsessed with chasing his runaway fiancée across Europe. He would never admit it, but the search for justice is secondary to him now, even if temporarily.
He’s trying to move on with his life, and I get it.
I do.
But I can’t .
Not while she’s still out there somewhere, probably buried in a shallow grave, cold and abandoned. Not until she’s home in Colombia and Papá has somewhere to visit when he wants to grieve his daughter.
A terrifying shiver rakes down my spine as I stare at the structure before me. I had a lucky escape that night compared to Adriana’s fate, but I didn’t walk away unharmed psychologically.
I vacillate between feeling tense and on edge to feeling completely numb and empty, like Adriana took my heart with her when she died and left my empty shell behind to go through life pretending like I’m not broken.
The back of my neck itches like I’m being watched, but I know I’m alone in this dark alley. I chalk it up to the maelstrom of physical reactions that are constantly churning through me in the wake of the trauma, and focus once more on Firenze .
It’s not just a club, it’s also headquarters for the Leones, one of the most dangerous families in the Underworld and the rulers of the Italian Mafia.
I was a naive, uneducated fool a year ago. I didn’t know Firenze was the social headquarters for the Mafia when I pranced through the front doors, but I certainly know now.
And I know that if I want answers, that’s where I need to go back to.
To where it all started and ended.
I’m running out of time.
When I last spoke to Thiago, he mentioned finding me a husband soon to take me off his hands. As the head of our family, it’s his decision who I marry. I’ve always known that.
The old me might have fought him harder, might have given him hell for whoever he dared to engage me to, who knows.
This version of me hardly cares. If anything, I feel bad for my future husband—he’s going to get a wife with a beautiful exterior and a resoundingly hollow interior.
Once I’m married, the near unlimited freedom I enjoy now will come to an end. I’ll have to answer to a husband, I’ll have to share my whereabouts, and I’ll definitely have to come home at night.
This is my one and final opportunity to get justice for Adriana and I can’t afford to fuck it up.
There’s a physical mass weighing on my lungs at what I’m about to do. It feels like I’m drowning inside my own body, struggling to catch my breath when outwardly I look fine.
I’m nothing like the innocent, sheltered girl I was back then. I left my heart and my soul in that building. I’ve been hardened by loss and trauma, sharpened and honed by a year spent in the cartel, and toughened by a cold-blooded and unfaltering need for vengeance.
Who knows what my path would have been if none of this had happened.
It doesn’t matter.
This is my reality. I don’t care about the cost or the consequences—I will find Adriana’s body, I will identify her killer and I will get bloody revenge for her and our family.
“I’m enjoying watching you wrestle with what is clearly a very difficult decision for you,” a teasing voice drawls from behind me. “But I’m a little impatient. Do you think you’re going to go in?”
Seems I was being watched after all, but I don’t jerk in surprise. I simply look over my shoulder and stare straight into the shadows.
What is surprising is the heat that crawls under my skin at his voice. Sparks of electricity whisper across my flesh, arousing every part of my body to this stranger’s attention. This is a completely foreign reaction, one I haven’t felt in a long time, and it instantly has me on guard.
A figure separates from the shadows, tall and looming, moving with the grace and precision of a panther.
A violent shudder runs through me, and I just manage to hide it from him. Everything in my body is screaming at me to be careful, although I don’t sense danger of the physical kind.
Not yet at least.
His face is still purposefully hidden in the shadows. Now that he has my attention, he takes one final step, walking out of the darkness and into the ray of light cast from the lone bulb in the alley.
Whoever he is, he doesn’t look like he belongs. The alley is wet from the earlier rain. The smell of trash permeates, offending my olfactory receptors. The stream of light reflects off puddles of oil leaked from passing cars. If I sharpen my hearing, I swear I can pick up the faint scurrying of rats from one dumpster to the next.
We’re standing near the back entrance of the club, surrounded by a tapestry of the dirtiest things the city has to offer and he’s… clean.
No, he’s pretty.
Too pretty.
Perfect cheekbones. Soft, gorgeous, full lips. God, his lips . If I can internally gasp at them from where I’m standing, then they must be something to behold up close.
He has a full head of dark, slightly curly hair that’s perfectly coiffed except for a couple of rebellious locks resting on his forehead. Tan skin that hints at months spent on the coast, soaking in the sun by the sea. I can almost imagine the ocean breeze ruffling his hair, making him look just that little bit less perfect. And yet something tells me he’d look just as pretty a little rumpled.
Oh fuck, now I’m imagining him in a bed.
It’s the lack of sex. It must be.
It’s been years. My sex drive was amongst the parts of me that died that night and I haven’t had even the faintest yearning or interest in a man since.
Thirty seconds in a dirty alley with a stranger who could very likely turn out to be a mentally deranged psycho and my stunted libido comes roaring back to life from her vegetative state.
Unbelievable.
I tell myself to focus, but then a fresh smell wafts over to me. The mix of salt and citrus — lemon, no grapefruit — dazes me. All of a sudden, I can’t smell the rain or the trash or even the oil. My senses have been kidnapped on a voyage to Italy, and they’ve taken my clear-headed thinking with them.
He’s tall, very tall, with wide shoulders wrapped in a perfectly fitting smoky gray suit. He’s pristine in a Tom Ford model kind of way. It’s only when I finally peer into his startling green eyes that I see the first bit of edge to him. As model-like as he may seem on the outside, his shrewd gaze sends a telling shiver down my spine.
Unlike every other man I know, danger doesn’t immediately ooze off him. He’s more contained, more controlled. Too pretty to be mucking around in the dirt of this world. But the ease with which he blends in with, then separates from the shadows belies my assumptions. His outward exterior may appear more welcoming than that of others in the Underworld, but he’s just as dangerous, if not more so than the men I grew up around whose bodies sing their bloodlust. His ability to merge seamlessly, bending the darkness to his command, reveals that he does in fact belong.
His exterior lies as much as mine does. He’s nowhere near as harmless as he sets out to appear.
He seems caught up in his own equally in-depth study of me, his eyes trailing slowly down the length of my body as he takes in my hoodie, leggings, and sneakers. His gaze moves just as unhurriedly, just as deliberately, back up my body as it did on the way down, his eyes shadowing as he takes in my open throat, my slightly parted lips, my own steadfast gaze back at him.
I swear I see the flash of something in his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, leaving me to think I imagined it. He takes a step towards me, then another, the tension growing as he draws closer until less than ten feet separate us.
This close, I can feel dangerous undertones rolling off him in crashing waves that say ‘don't get caught in a dark alley alone with me’, and yet, here I am.
“Who are you?” he asks in a low voice that speaks intimately to the darkest, most corrupt parts of me.
But I’m not so easily swayed, and I’m certainly no longer distractible. I learned my lesson.
As much as my body reacts to him, my mind shuts that shit down just as quickly.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Someone you don’t need to worry about, pretty boy.”
His eyes linger on my lips even as his own stretch into a slow, languid smile. “I disagree. But by all means, keep your name from me.” An anticipatory tremor runs through me at the resolved look in his eye. “I’ll figure it out soon enough.”
Deciding that I’ve let him take up enough of my time already, I turn away from him. All I can hope for is that he’ll go away with as much swiftness as he initially appeared.
I stare up at Firenze once more. This is where I was told to go. I’m supposed to walk in and say that I’m here to see Guido. They’ll inform him that I’ve arrived and he’ll come get me for my audition.
A pointed yawn sounds from behind me. I glare at the obnoxious stranger.
“Why the hell are you still here?”
“Do you intend to be out here all night?” he asks with another affected yawn.
I note the hint of a foreign accent in his voice, but I’m too busy stiffening at his words to spend a moment thinking about it.
“Look, I have absolutely no desire to spend any more time thinking about your existence. No one asked you to wait, let alone speak to me, so do us both a favor and continue on with your life, forgetting that you ever stopped to bother me. I know I will.”
“I’d like nothing more, but I’ve watched you toy with the decision of whether or not to go in for the last thirty minutes.” He takes another step towards me, clearly enjoying needling me. “At this point, I’m convinced you’re going to chicken out and walk away. I’m not about to miss the moment you finally give up when I’ve already waited this long, but I would love to know a rough ETA. Any guesses?”
I feel my temper rise dangerously at his taunts. Instantly, he has my back up, my shoulders stiffened painfully in anger. It quickly snuffs out my fear.
I may not be a Da Silva by birth, but I am by education, and pride beats more potently in our blood than just about anything else.
I’m standing in front of Firenze for Adriana, but in the end I go in to prove to this stupidly handsome stranger that I’m brave enough to do so.
Wrapping my palm around the door handle, I pull it open. Without a backward glance at him, without acknowledging him in any way, and without taking one last moment to second guess my decision, I strut into Firenze and close the door behind me, resolved to never see him again.