1. Chapter 1 - Cole
18 YEARS OLD
T he silence is deafening as I wait in the warehouse with my soldiers for the shipment of coke to come in. They’re late, and I don’t tolerate tardiness. Matteo stands next to me in the shadows, passing me his cigarette, and I take a deep pull. The smoke fills my lungs, and I instantly relax.
Emiliano has me taking care of this. He usually alternates between Matteo and I, but he said I should have backup just in case something happens. I wonder if he’s fucking psychic, because they’ve never been this late before. A shiver runs down my spine as a vehicle comes into view, and my soldiers shift from one foot to the other.
“Those aren’t our people, boss,” they tell me, and I narrow my eyes on the vehicle, trying to make out who the fuck it could be through the tinted windows. “Fuck, get down!”
In our confusion, we failed to see the other vehicles pulling up behind the blacked-out SUV. Now, shots are being fired, and we’re dropping to the ground like flies. I look around at the five men on the ground—my men— dead . Anger boils my blood as I try to step away from the shadows, but Matteo grabs my arm.
“No,” he growls. I look at him as he shakes his head. His dark gaze finds mine, and I hold it. “We aren’t dying tonight.”
“So we stay in the shadows like fucking cowards?” I snap. “I think the fuck not.”
Matteo sighs, getting his gun out, and so do I. Our men shoot down multiple Russians across from us, but they continue to go down. Until it’s just Matteo and I, with our weapons drawn, pointed right at Andrey Sokolov.
Andrey is the Russian Mafia heir, and he’ll be Pakhan one day. I’d love to kill him, but I know I need the go-ahead from Emiliano before I put his entire empire at risk. Me killing Andrey would be an act of war, much deserved, but an act of war, nonetheless. I wonder if that’s what he’s doing though, declaring it for both of us. He is on our turf, after all. Killing our men.
“Are you two pussies going to shoot, or what?” Andrey grins, blond hair shining as he gets closer. “Italian scum.” His accent is thick as he speaks, and he spits on the ground as he walks right toward us.
Matteo places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes, but I keep my eyes trained ahead, looking right at the motherfucker headed our way.
“No, Cole,” he whispers. “You’re—” Matteo says in Italian.
“English, fuckers.” Andrey grins as he gets close enough that my weapon is pressed against his chest. “I want to understand your last words.”
“Last words?” I scoff. “We are Made Men.”
“You can’t kill us without starting a war,” Matteo says, and Andrey falters for a moment, stepping away from my gun. “And you know that.”
Andrey nods, taking steps back with his gun trained on Matteo. A shiver runs down my spine as I see him pull the trigger, and the sound of the weapon going off makes my ears ring. I turn toward Matteo, who hits the ground immediately, and I feel the blood draining from my face. Dropping to my knees, I immediately press my hand to the gunshot wound, making him cry out.
Looking back, I see Andrey retreating with a grin on his face. I know that if I take my hand off Matteo’s chest, he’ll bleed out.
I put pressure on the wound with one hand, using the other to take my cell phone out of my back pocket. Then I dial Emiliano. He picks up on the very first ring, and I hear his heavy breathing in my ear. I close my eyes momentarily, trying not to look at Matteo.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Why?” he asks slowly. “Why the fuck are you sorry, Cole?”
“I need the doc,” I say in a rush, looking down at Matteo’s pale and sweaty face. I press the phone to my ear with my shoulder and slap him as he begins to close his eyes. The blood coming out of his wound seeps through my fingers, and I almost gag. I don’t have a weak stomach, but this is my best friend in the entire world. If he dies… I’ll burn the fucking world down. “Matteo has been shot.”
“Fuck!” Emiliano growls, the sound of a car starting in the background almost as loud as his shout. “Where the hell are you?”
“Warehouse five.”
“Be there in ten with the doc.”
“He doesn’t have ten minutes, Emiliano,” I say through gritted teeth, and more blood rushes out of Matteo’s wound. “You’re tired, aren’t you? Open your fucking eyes!” I yell at Matteo, and his eyes roll to the back of his head. “ Shit .”
“I don’t give a fuck how tired he is!” Em yells, and I can hear tires screeching. “Keep him awake.”
“Hurry the fuck up,” I snap. “That fucking Russian is going to pay.”
“Who?”
“Andrey Sokolov.” And mark my words, he’s going to die. Even if it’s the last thing I ever do. “He’s the one who shot Matteo.”
“This is war,” he growls, then hangs up.
I drop my phone to the ground, taking off my shirt one-handed and pressing it to Matteo’s chest. His face is white as a sheet, his dark brown eyes looking up at the ceiling, a grimace on his face. But then his eyes connect with mine, and my heart begins to pound in my ears just as I feel his slow down.
“Cole…” Matteo whispers, and I shake my head rapidly. His hand wraps around my wrist, and he squeezes me roughly. “I love you, baby..”
I love you.
My heart trips and skips three beats, and my jaw drops. “Matteo?—”
“No, let me fucking say it,” he growls, and I hear a car pulling up. Probably Emiliano and the doctor, but I don’t dare take my eyes off Matteo. “If I’m gonna die, I’m going to tell you how I fucking feel.”
I gulp but nod.
“I love you,” he whispers, as if his voice is suddenly giving out. “Since the moment I met you. I’ve loved you. And if I make it out of this?—”
“You will,” I growl.
“—I want to be together.”
I gulp. “Matteo.”
“Fuck that,” he snaps. “If I’m going to die, the least you can do is lie to my face.”
“I don’t have to lie,” I whisper. “I do love you.”
Just not as much as you love me.
I look over at Emiliano as he runs over to us, and our eyes connect. My stomach flutters, and a fire rages in my chest. It’s fucking scary what being in his vicinity does to me.
His deep brown gaze falters between Matteo and me, but his face is blank, devoid of any emotion. He doesn’t want to scare my best friend. Or maybe it’s both of us. He’s always protecting us.
And I’m sick of it.
I don’t need protection. I just need him .
But even I know he would never give me a chance.
* * *
It’s freezing outside as I douse the Russians’ auction house in gasoline. My breaths come out in pants by the time I’m done, little puffs of white that remind me to get some fucking gloves next time. I can barely feel my fingertips. It’s December in New York, after all. I don’t even know how I was able to take off my sweatshirt a few days ago when Matteo was shot. I guess the adrenaline kept me from feeling cold.
Matteo is thankfully alright now, but it was a close call. Our doctor was able to patch him up enough to get him to a hospital, and now he’s still there with guards watching him around the clock. I haven’t been able to bring myself to go see him. After his fucking love confession, I don’t even know how to act around him. He said it in the heat of the moment—on the brink of death. Surely he didn’t mean it. At least that’s what I keep telling myself in order to survive because the alternative—breaking his heart—is too painful to even think about.
The only problem is that my heart belongs to Emiliano Colombo, no matter how many times I try to convince myself that it will never happen. That he will never see me the way I see him. But my mind is just as delusional as my heart, constantly whispering, what if ?
What if it did happen?
What if he suddenly sees me for who I am?
For what I can offer him?
He’s not the kind of man who falls in love. Hasn’t been in love probably ever—or maybe since he was with Matteo’s piece of shit mother. Over the years, he’s had one night stands. That much I do know, considering he brought someone to the penthouse a couple of months ago. I was staying with Matteo, which isn’t out of the ordinary for us, and I went to the kitchen to get a drink. I heard them fucking, and that’s when I realized I’m in love with him. The rage I felt in my chest as I listened to the sounds he was making stunned me. I couldn’t believe he was making those sounds for anyone but me, even if that’s the most delusional thing I’ve ever thought. Gay marriage is no longer frowned upon in the mafia, yet I doubt Emiliano would ever want me. But he already has an heir, so why does it matter who he’s with? It doesn’t. Still, it doesn’t make a difference.
I’m completely fucked. Pining after a man who will never be mine. I don’t know if I’ll ever be brave enough to tell him how I feel, anyway. His rejection might kill me. He’s completely in the dark about my feelings since I’m all business as usual, never letting my guard down or losing my composure. The last thing I need is for him to figure it out and treat me differently. Or talk to me like I’m still a child. Even though he’s only fifteen years older than me, which isn’t that much in my opinion. He’s in his mid-thirties.
I light the match, throwing it on the ground on top of the gasoline, and take a step back as flames roar to life. It brings a grin to my face, but just as I turn around, there’s a man in a suit drawing his weapon at me. My nostrils flare in my attempt to keep my composure. But my hands begin to shake and sweat. No matter what, I can’t tell him why I’m trying to burn this place down—that much I know. I won’t die a traitor. That’s probably my fate in prison. The inmates will be chomping at the bit to get to me.
Fuck .
“Hands behind your head,” the man says softly, and suddenly, the guys in the house begin to scream. Probably from being burned alive. “Hurry the fuck up.”
I do as I’m told, placing my hands behind my head.
“Turn around.”
I do it too, turning slowly toward the house. At least if I go down, they go down too. It’s revenge for Matteo. “I need a phone call.”
“Oh, you know your rights?” I hear the smirk in his voice. “Who are you going to call, Cole?”
Wait, how the fuck does he know my name? I frown, my lips tipping down. “Can you just tell me my rights like you’re supposed to?”
“Gladly.”
The agent proceeds to tell me my rights, cuffing me and shoving me into his undercover vehicle. The firefighters and ambulance show up immediately, and I tense. Motherfucker probably called them as I was pouring the gasoline. Just how long did he watch me for? How long was I unaware?
The ride to the station is short, and after being processed and put in a cell, I spend some time contemplating my life choices. What the fuck have I done? Arson is probably a few years in prison, right? Fucking hell, I messed up. Well, that’s putting it lightly. If no one else kills me first, Emiliano sure will. But I can’t think about it. I did what had to be done.
“Time for that phone call,” a cop says, and I nod. “You have five minutes.”
I get up and follow him out of the holding cell, hurrying toward the phone. I dial Emiliano’s number—which I shouldn’t be doing—and he answers on the second ring. He knows something is wrong.
“Hey,” I say softly. “It’s me.” I pause at the silence on his side. “I’m booked.”
“Fuck no,” Emiliano growls. “What the fuck did you do?”
“Arson.”
“What the fuck were you thinking?” he snaps, and I flinch. “You’re going to prison, you know that right?”
“I did it for us,” I tell him through gritted teeth. “Take care of Matteo.”
“Cole—”
“Don’t Cole me,” I reply, taking a deep breath. “I did what had to be done.”
“You’re right,” he whispers. “I’ll get the best lawyer.”
“Thanks, Em.”
He sucks in a sharp breath. I’ve never called him that before, though I’ve wanted to. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will,” I reassure him. “Gotta go.”
“Talk soon,” Emiliano grunts, and I hang up without another word.
At the end of the day, I know I did what needed to be done. No matter the consequences, I avenged Matteo. An eye for an eye. I know Andrey didn’t die, considering the firefighters got there quickly, but hopefully, he’s at least badly burned. Hurt. Fucked up. Beyond recognizable.
It’s the least he deserves for fucking with my best friend.