44
Cade
A loud buzz jolts me awake.
On instinct, my arm tightens around Luna’s warm body sprawled on top of me, and I roll over to shield her. Then I realize it’s just my phone vibrating on the nightstand.
I reach for it, careful not to wake her, and instantly bite back a curse at the caller’s name.
Dante Vitelli. Nico’s brother and second in command.
What the fuck does this gangster want at three in the morning?
My thumb hovers over the disconnect button, but unease stops me.
If something’s wrong with Sophie or the twins . . .
“What?” I snap.
“Morning to you too, sunshine. Heard you’re pooping hearts these days.” His light tone tells me Sophie and her kids are fine.
“Dumber, if you don’t fuck off—”
“There’s a situation,” he interrupts, his voice hardening.
“ Let me guess, you need my help?”
“Actually, this time, it’s your ass that needs saving. Lucky for you, we’ve come to do just that.”
“We?”
“Nico and I.”
Nico is back in Harmony? “I’ll take my chances in Hades,” I scoff, although alarm bells are starting to peal in the back of my head.
“Listen.” Dante’s tone loses all playfulness. “You’re the reason I haven’t slept in eighteen hours, and I’m cranky as hell. So unless you want bullets in your ass, you’ll haul it. Now.”
A wry smirk tugs at my lips despite my annoyance. If we had a weapon for every death threat between us, we’d outgun Russia. “Where?”
“Motel on Down Street. Room 3.”
“Classy. Dragging me out of bed for fleas.”
“I’m sure you’ll find it’s worth it. Twenty minutes, Quinn.” The line clicks dead.
I exhale, letting the tension drain before glancing down at Luna. For a moment, I drink her in—silky hair fanning across the pillow, her gorgeous face relaxed in sleep. Her lips, soft and pouty, call to me.
Carefully, I ease my arm out from under her and sit up. She stirs as the bed shifts under my weight.
“Cade?” she murmurs sleepily.
“Shh.” I press a kiss on her forehead. “Need to take care of something. Go back to sleep.”
Her eyes snap open. “Is everything okay?”
I force a reassuring smile, brushing my thumb over her cheek. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
I dress quickly, strapping on my holster and checking my gun safety. As much as I can’t stand those brothers, I know they o perate on a code of honor—which makes them unable to betray someone they consider as family.
Still, I’m not stupid enough to go unarmed.
When I glance back, Luna is sitting up. The sheet pools at her waist, her full breasts like beacons, while the silver piercings glint in the moonlight.
I close the distance between us in two strides and catch her lips in a kiss that starts gentle but deepens as we give in to it. Her fingers curl into my shirt, and before I know it, I’m tugging on her nipple, relishing the shudder that runs through her.
“Fuck, Luciana,” I murmur, my hand slipping lower. She’s wet, hot, ready.
“I want you,” she whispers, her voice a breathy plea.
“Good.” I step back reluctantly, a smirk curling my lips. “Hold that thought.”
I lift my fingers to my mouth, and her eyes track the movement like a magnet, her cheeks flushing in a way that makes leaving her in this state feel like a mortal sin.
As if suddenly needing the distraction, she forces her gaze away, then lifts her wrist, showing off the multiple rows of tungsten beads I wrapped around it a couple of hours ago.
“I take it you won’t be needing your rosary where you’re headed?”
“Nah,” I claim her lips in one last lingering kiss, then make myself leave.
The clubhouse is quiet, and most of the brothers have retired to their rooms. About a dozen stragglers linger in the common room, hunched over beers at the bar or gathered around the pool table, their laughter subdued.
They sit straighter as I pass, throwing gruff greetings my way. I nod back absently, my mind already spinning on possibilities ahead.
Gra bbing Phoenix’s keys off the wall, I step into the cool night air, heading straight for his Harley.
As I peel out of the clubhouse lot, I narrowed my thoughts down to a simple fact: whatever has the two most-feared men in Chicago dragging me out of bed at three a.m., it’s bad.
Very bad.
The motel on Down Street lives down to expectations. The two-story building is a study in neglect. The doors are marked with faded numbers that barely cling to their frames.
A sleek Escalade sits in the farthest corner of the lot, its armored, bulletproof frame absurdly out of place—like a wolf slumming it in a junkyard.
I kill the Harley’s engine and dismount. The heavy crunch of my boots over scattered gravel is the only sound as I approach Room 3.
I don’t bother knocking.
The stale smell hits me first. Cigarettes, old carpet, and something metallic that sets my teeth on edge. A single lamp casts yellow shadows across the brothers’ faces.
Nico sprawls in a chair like a king. Dante, an eerie replica except for his long hair, perches on the desk’s edge, his fingers drumming against the stained wood.
Both are in suits. At three in the morning.
“You didn’t have to dress up, ladies,” I drawl, leaning on the doorframe.
“It’s a special occasion,” Dante replies smoothly, but there’s something in his gray eyes that makes my trigger finger itch.
I kick the door shut and lean against it, crossing my arms. “Alright. What’s this about?”
“You’re gonna want to sit down for this, Quinn,” Nico states.
The words chill me to the bone, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. I grab a chair, turn it backward, and straddle it, resting my arms on the back. “Spit it out.”
Nico nods at Dante, who slides a thick folder across the desk and toward me. “Special Agent Quinn,” he begins, his tone dripping with mockery. “You’re not who you think you are. You never have been.”
My hand tightens on the folder as I flip it open. Pages blur in front of me—dates, reports, redactions. My life in ink.
“That’s a copy of your file,” Dante says. “The one you thought you were building all these years. The one that defined your existence.”
I glance up at him. “Okay. And?”
Dante doesn’t blink. “It belongs to a man who no longer exists.”
“Congratulations,” I snort, snapping the file shut and tossing it back onto the desk. “You cracked the big mystery. Can we dismiss class now?”
“That’s always been your problem, Quinn,” Nico’s voice cuts through the tension. “You’re too busy being an insolent prick to pay attention.”
He leans forward. “Your federal profile was erased today. The directive came from a single phone call. Made in a dark room in the belly of New York.”
The words sink into the silence like stones.
I keep my face blank, but my gut churns. Hawkins lives in New York. I always knew this day would come. I’d made my peace with it.
Until I found a reason to live longer.
A clever, bossy, and brave reason with sloe eyes and a wicked tongue.
“Hawkins is ghosting me,” I state flatly.
“ Not Hawkins,” Dante’s voice is laced with something darker. “The order came from the very top. And here’s a hint—they’re not with the government.”
“What are you talking about?”
Nico flashes Dante one of his rare smiles. “ Fratellino, he still doesn’t get it. Tell him who his boss is. Actually, that would be me. Tell him who the order came from.”
The unease crawling under my skin becomes a full-blown warning siren. I brace myself, knowing whatever Dante’s about to say will flip my world on its head.
“You ever heard of Giovanni Di Stefano?”
The name hits like a sledgehammer, and my mind instantly combs through years of memories. I never forget names, and this one stands out. I remember thinking it was far too strong for the snot-nosed investment banker I dragged out of that perfumed penthouse in Zurich.
Dante’s voice cuts through my spinning thoughts. “You may know him better as the ‘Beast of New York’.”
“Impossible!” The word tears out of me as blood roars in my ears. Getting blindsided is one of the few things I truly hate, and right now, it feels like someone’s yanked the rug out from under me. “They can’t be the same person.”
The Beast of New York—the monster who has the entire Cosa Nostra in a chokehold—simply cannot be the same blubbering wreck I crammed into a crate that freezing night.
“I’m afraid they are, Quinn,” Dante says. “I was in a meeting with him this morning.”
“And?” I arch an eyebrow, my disbelief a brittle shield against the storm building inside me.
Dante’s gray eyes gleam like a predator’s. “Giovanni got a call. A few buzzwords caught my attention: a rogue FBI agent. Pascal Romano’s niece. A botched Middle East deal.” He leans forwar d, his smirk curving into something deadly. “Guess the common denominator?”
“Giovanni Di Stefano is the Beast of New York?“ My mind stubbornly latches onto the thought.
“Focus, Quinn.” Dante snaps his fingers. “The issue here isn’t who the Beast is—it’s what he controls.”
“Which is?” I demand.
“A staggering number of shell government agencies, including the subdivision you work in.”
Dante lets the weight of his words land before delivering the killing blow.
“All these years, you thought you were working for the government? You weren’t. You worked first for Luca Moretti and then Giovanni Di Stefano—after he crushed the Moretti empire and took its throne.”
The idea is so absurd I almost laugh—but there’s nothing funny about sitting in a dingy motel room with the Vitelli brothers at four in the goddamn morning, watching the last decade of my life get shredded to fucking bits.
I’ve been nothing but another weapon in the Mafia’s arsenal. The knowledge burns. Makes me want to break something. Kill something.
I curl my fists so tight my knuckles ache. “And Hawkins? Does he know about this?”
Something dark flickers in Dante’s eyes. “My guess is he didn’t. Not that it matters. He’s dead.”
I suck in a slow breath and release it through my teeth. “How?”
“Executed on the same order today. For failing to keep you on a leash.”
Gui lt twists my gut. I had no love and little respect for Marcus Hawkins. Still, I’d rather kill a man with my own hands or not at all.
I blink away the red haze of rage in my field of vision. All these years, I never missed a hit, never botched a mission. And yet the Beast executed my handler because I was having a bad week?
A bitter chuckle escapes me. “That son of a bitch remembers me.”
Dante leans forward, and his voice drops. “You’re right, Quinn. Giovanni remembers you. Question is—why?”
I take a breath, then let it out slowly. “I had orders to kill him six years ago.”
Dante whistles, his eyes brimming with intrigue. “Well, why didn’t you do it?”
Because he was an innocent man that the government sentenced to die at my hand.
Instead of killing him, I dragged Giovanni across Europe and dumped him on my former handler’s porch. Only now do I realize it wasn’t the government who wanted Giovanni dead. It was Luca Moretti, and I delivered him right into the hands of a man who may have turned him into the monster he is today.
“It would seem you’ve never been great at taking orders, Quinn,” Dante taunts.
“It’s not too late to rectify that error,” I retort.
Nico, who had been silent through our exchange, finally speaks. “You will do nothing of the sort. Going after the Beast is an act of war. One the Outfit cannot afford.”
I turn my glare on him. “What the fuck have my hits got to do with the Outfit?”
“Good question.” Nico steeples his fingers, his signet ring catching the dim light like a silent reminder of his authority. “Dante had to talk fast to stop your execution. He told Giovan ni that as my soldier, you kidnapped Luna Romano on my orders.”
Nico pauses for effect, letting the weight of his next words sink in. “I backed his story up, of course, on my honor as your Don. And by surrendering half the Outfit’s assets as ‘damages’ for the inconvenience you caused.”
“Your soldier. Acting on your orders.” I repeat flatly, looking from one brother to the other. “You two must be smoking some high-grade shit.”
“Let me make something clear, Quinn.” Nico’s voice drops to a register I imagine makes his men shit themselves. “I’m the only reason you’re breathing. You owe me your life and half an empire. And I plan to collect—starting now.”
I arch a mocking eyebrow. “Alright, humor me. What do you want?”
“I thought I already made it clear.” Nico’s cold blue eyes lock on mine. “You were loyal to Giovanni once. Now, as my soldier, I expect nothing less.”
The room spins as his meaning becomes clear. This asshole isn’t bluffing. He wants me under his thumb.
“Now, in case you’re struggling to grasp my terms, let me spell it out for you.” He leans closer. “Either you come work for me, or Giovanni and I will have you buried in a grave so deep, the Reaper Druids will need a fucking radar to find your corpse. Your choice.”
Your choice.
The words echo in my skull, a taunt, an ultimatum that sets every nerve ending on fire.
One second, I’m seated. The next, I’m on my feet, and my chair is smashing down on Nico’s head.
Except it doesn’t land.
Dan te is faster than I anticipate, kicking the chair out of my grip with a precision that sends wood splinters scattering across the room.
My hand drops instinctively to my holster, fingers curling around my Glock. This time, Nico moves, rolling across the table in a blur of speed. He crashes into my side just as my finger finds the trigger. His iron grip clamps onto my wrist, wrenching it upward. Bullets punch into the ceiling, sending a shower of plaster dust raining down over us.
Nico twists my arm behind my back while Dante sweeps my legs out from under me. I hit the filthy carpet face-first, and Dante’s weight pins me down. Through the grit and dust, I see Nico’s leather shoes retreating, putting space between us with the same fluid grace that evaded the bullet.
“Calm the fuck down, or I’ll put you down.” Dante’s knee digs into my shoulder blades as he pries the Glock from my grip. I let him take it.
Only when I go pliant does he ease off.
But I’m far from done. The urge to kill still churns inside me, boiling hotter with every second.
I spring to my feet and lunge at Nico, who has already shrugged out of his jacket. He’s been waiting for this.
My first swing cracks against his jaw. He takes it with a grunt, his head snapping sideways. His return strike is immediate, grazing me by inches as I feint left.
My second punch lands clean on his temple, but Nico’s aim improves. His fist connects with my face.
Fuck!
Pain detonates across my cheek as blood floods my mouth. The bastard hits like a hammer wrapped in concrete.
I s pit blood and pivot, then throw a vicious hook that connects with his nose. Cartilage shifts beneath my knuckles with a satisfying crunch.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Dante lounging against the wall, my Glock dangling loosely from his fingers. He doesn’t break us up. He just watches with cold calculation. Like a referee waiting for the right moment to call the match—or take out the less favorite opponent.
Which is why I should end it now. All I need is to get close enough to Nico for all of two seconds and he’d be dead before Dante can react. I won’t survive killing him, but at least I’ll take him down.
Then where would that leave Sophie? And Luna? She needs this asshole. Luna’s face flashes through my mind—those sloe eyes, that dimpled smile—and the murderous rage starts to dissolve.
“I should kill you, you son of a bitch,” I spit, but there’s no venom in my tone.
“Give it your best shot, soldier.” Nico’s hands curve in a come-hither gesture, blood streaming from his nose.
Shit. Sophie’s going to flip when she finds out I broke her precious husband’s nose.
The fight drains from me as I gesture at his face. “That’s going to swell like a bitch.”
“And you might be sucking through a straw for a while yet, Quinn.”
I probe my back molars with my tongue, and pain shoots through my jaw. “Fair point.”
The moment Nico’s fists drop, Dante uncoils from the wall. “Great, you’ve worked things out.” His eyes flash with deadly intent as he faces me. “Now listen, Quinn. You can beat up your brother-in-law anytime. But if you ever raise your hand against your D on in front of the other Capos, I’ll be forced to put a bullet in your head.”
The other Capos. I collapse into the chair in a sudden fit of laughter.
“Wanna share the joke with the rest of the class?” Dante drawls.
“It’s fucking hilarious that you think I’d put on a suit and sit at a table with a bunch of pretentious bastards, talking guns and whores. You stand better odds of carving up my balls and serving them to me.”
Dante says nothing. Instead, he moves to the mini-fridge, pulls out two bags of frozen peas, and tosses one to me, the other to Nico, then perches on the table. “I think our odds are stacked pretty nicely.”
“Meaning?”
“You knew the consequences of going rogue, but you did it anyway. For Luna. If you’re willing to die for her, then you’re damn well going to live for her.”
Every nerve ending snaps to attention. Something tells me this conversation is about to get worse. “What the hell does this have to do with Luna?”
“Everything.” Nico puts the frozen peas away and straightens. “Luna is getting the Romano seat.”
“You’re making her a Capo?”
“She’s Romano blood. She has the brains, guts, and the billion-dollar business to back it up. All she needs is a proxy.”
“Let me guess, that person is me?”
Nico shrugs. “Could be. If you refuse, she’ll have no choice but to find someone else who will do it.”
The unspoken implication hangs heavy. Someone else—stepping into my woman’s life. Protecting her. Advising her. Falling for her.
“ Bottom line, Quinn,” Nico twists the knife. “You’re in the Outfit now, whether you like it or not. So you can either do it as a Capo for the woman you love . . . or stay a foot soldier and watch her get swept away by another man.”
The words ring in my head like a death knell. I clench my fists, my blood boiling as my world starts to close in around me.
God, I wish I could kill this guy.
Dante’s hand falls heavily on my shoulder, presumably before I can take another lunge at Nico. “Mull it over.” He glances at his Rolex. “Exactly one week from today, we’ll expect you to report at the Fortress in Chicago. At five a.m.”
I force myself to breathe, to think. But nothing makes sense anymore. Somehow, they’ve got me pinned. They’ve got Luna pinned.
The Vitelli brothers may have banned trafficking—the only reason they didn’t end up on my list—but they’re the most ruthlessly calculating bastards to ever walk the earth.
There’s only one compass in this sudden spiral. It’s leather with gold bars and bears the only things that have anchored me when everything else spun out of control.
My kill list. My revenge.
And Luna? She’s strong, I know that. Stronger than anyone gives her credit for. But to let her get dragged into this blood-soaked life with no one she loves by her side? Unthinkable.
I can’t fucking do this.
I push to my feet and head to the door, suddenly weary. “Start digging that grave, Vitelli.”
Nico’s brows arch in surprise and his voice becomes unusually soft. “You’re telling me you can’t or won’t do it?”
“I can’t,” I say, not turning.
“Not even for Luna?” Dante presses.
The question twists something deep inside me, but I force the words out anyway. “Not even for Luna. Now, if that’s everything, there’s somewhere I need to be.”
“Moscow?” Nico asks, and I spin on my heel, my teeth grinding as rage surges through me.
Phoenix. Damn him.
“Phoenix told you,” I bite out.
“No. Luna talked to Sophie.”
For a moment, it feels like the ground is crumbling beneath my feet. Luna would never talk about that to anyone . . . would she?
“Did Luciana also say what I’m going to do there?” I ask, keeping my voice even.
“No.” Nico leans back, studying me with those sharp, calculating eyes. “But since you’ve just lost your job and chose to die rather than sail into the dark with your woman, I have a feeling you’re not going there for the scenery . . .”
I meet his gaze, letting him see nothing but ice. If my death warrant’s already signed, might as well make it count. “I happen to like the cold.”
Nico smirks like he knows something I don’t. “Just make it clean.”
I manage to hide my surprise in a scoff. “You think I’m doing it for you?”
“No, Quinn. But I’m giving you seven days to get your shit together. During this time, whatever you do is insured by me. I’m generous like that. Now, if you’re not sitting across from me at the fortress by the end of the week, I’ll hunt you like a dog.”
I don’t respond. There’s nothing left to say.
I step out into the crisp dawn air. The first light of morning breaks across the horizon, casting the world in a strange, surreal glow.
The Vitelli brothers think they’re offering me a choice between life and death.
They don’t understand—I made that choice a long time ago.
The day I started my list.
Death comes for everyone.
Moscow’s just the beginning of the end.