47
Luna
I’ve been at this exact spot every night since Cade left, but tonight feels different. Darker. The kind of night that swallows everything whole.
Rain drums against the clubhouse windows, each drop an echo of passing time. It’s almost midnight, and most of the bikers have gone home or passed out—worn down from today’s charity run.
I sit alone on the velvet bench in the corner of the common room, swirling the melting ice in my glass. Pretending to drink is what’s keeping me here. But the truth is, I can’t face that empty room upstairs.
“When I finish,” he said.
That was eight days ago.
And here I am, waiting as if my patience could somehow pull him back.
The clink of glasses on the bar being cleaned up by a couple of sweetbutts barely registers—I’m that lost in the hum of my thoughts.
Suddenly, the gleaming double doors at the far end of the room leading to Phoenix’s quarters open. I look up, startled to see Phoenix walk in, still fully dressed in his cut. His presence is imposing, and, as usual, his mouth turned down in a frown. His eyes scan the room until they find me in the corner.
Shit. I groan inwardly. I’m at my lowest point right now and have zero energy to play the sunny grin-and-bear-your-grouchy-ass-in-hopes-that-you-deem-me-worthy-of-your-son role tonight.
My stomach truly drops when I see who steps in behind him. Nico Fucking Vitelli. His face also looks like he’s borrowed some of the thundercloud from outside. Not even his casual look with tailored pants and rolled-back sleeves takes away from his intimidating presence.
I straighten in my seat, my fingers tightening around the glass. Phoenix has been circling me like a wolf since Cade left, and now with Nico here . . . Something’s wrong. These men don’t make social calls.
They make a beeline for me and apart from Phoenix sending the sweetbutts off to their favorite bikers’ beds, they don’t waste time with pleasantries.
“Morning, Romano.” Nico sits across from me, his stare prickling at my skin. The faint yellow-green bruising around his nose and the fading shadow of a black eye make me wonder where he buried whoever did that to him.
Phoenix settles beside him, arms crossed, his gaze glued to the rosary wrapped around my wrist.
I wish, more than anything, for Cade’s solid warmth behind me, glowering right back at the se grouchy bastards.
“Don Vitelli. Prez.” I greet with a cheer I don’t feel. “Good to see you both.”
Phoenix begins without preamble. “Since the day Cade left, you’ve been your usual perfect Mary Poppins ray of sunshine, blowing fairy dust all over my clubhouse. Yet you sit here every night, mooning for hours on end, guzzling ice water. What’s your game plan?”
I blink, a little confused by his question. “I’m something of a night owl,” I shrug, trying for casual, though I can feel my pulse quicken. “But if you don’t want me staying up so late, I’ll stop.”
Phoenix leans forward, the movement subtle but predatory. “That’s not what I asked. I asked what your game plan is. Besides sitting here waiting for my son?”
His words hit hard. He’s implying I’m wasting my time. That I don’t belong—or I’m trying too hard to prove that I do. I resist the urge to snap back, but I’m not about to let him push me around, either.
Meeting his tawny gaze head-on, I state, “Phoenix, I am a Romano. I’m here as a guest of your son’s, and in need of your protection. My father might be ruthless, but he never forgets a favor.”
Nico’s lips curl into a blinding smile, deep grooves appearing on his cheeks. Almost as soon as it flashes, it’s gone. “You don’t need Phoenix’s protection anymore, Romano.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“It means Clemenza Brando is dead,” he says with the casual air of discussing the weather.
I stare at him in shock. “Dead?”
Nico’s expression doesn’t shift, and somehow, that makes it worse. “Your father killed him, along with those cousins who tried to sell you. You’re safe now. ”
He chose to believe me. Tears sting my eyes. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for him to execute his right-hand man. “Papa came through for me,” I whisper.
“No, he didn’t. Quinn made him an offer he couldn’t refuse,” Nico explains. “Promised to kill your father if he didn’t do exactly what he did.”
My mind whirs as I struggle to process it. “Papa doesn’t bend to threats.”
“Oh, you underestimate your boyfriend’s reputation, Romano. Not only did your father wipe out his own, he also came to see me.”
“He did! What did he want?” My brows arch in disbelief.
“He wanted protection from Quinn. And, of course, wanted his seat back.” Nico leans back in his chair, his tone almost amused.
Papa’s that terrified of Cade?
My emotions ping-pong between shock at the revelation and relief that Papa finally found his way back to Nico. “What did you tell Papa?”
Nico tilts his head slightly, studying me. “The question is, what did he offer in exchange?”
I huff out a breath. “Let me guess . . . Guilty Pleasures?”
Nico smiles. “I turned him down, of course.”
“What? But you can’t,” I blurt in panic. “Don Vitelli. Nico, please. You don’t understand . . . this is what I’ve been fighting for. I made the app for the family, for Papa—”
“I don’t want your father or any other Romano on that seat, Luna,” Nico cuts me off, his voice like a whip. “I want you.”
I rear back, and a nervous laugh bubbles out. “Me!”
“Yes, you. That said, you should know that the other Capos all have military-grade combat and weaponry skills and speak five languages—as a minimum.”
My mouth opens and closes, words sputtering out in a jumbled mess. “But, how . . . how could I possibly compete—I mean, I know some Krav Maga, and I can shoot cans, but that’s . . . it.”
Nico shrugs. “Sounds like you have some brushing up to do. Regardless, I intend to claim Guilty Pleasures, so give me your hand, Luna Romano.”
The words barely register before I instinctively extend my hand, palm up, like a rabbit hypnotized by the predator closing in.
My breath hitches as I see what Nico places into my open palm. A ring.
Black, sleek, and cold. Its gold band gleams, the onyx stone set into it catches the light. Unlike the bulkier version I’ve glimpsed on Uncle Pascal, this one is streamlined and reimagined into something feminine—yet no less sinister. This is no ordinary ring. It’s a mark of power. Or a noose.
It sears into my skin as I curl my fingers around it, and my throat tightens in panic.
“I can guarantee you’ll be treated as an equal,” Nico says, his merciless voice swelling the tide of panic in my chest. “You’ll be expected to rebuild your dynasty, keep your men in line, run Guilty pleasures, and pull your own weight as a Capo. Now, you can either suck royally or instruct someone who qualifies to act as your proxy.”
The ring feels like lead, dragging me down to the depths of something I’ll never escape. Bolts of terror shoot down my spine.
How is this not a cruel joke? Me? A Caporegime of the fucking Chicago Outfit?
I’m just a girl—one with too much courage and too little common sense, it would seem. I was stupid enough to dangle a priz e lamb in front of a predator, and now I’ve got my hand bitten clean off.
Desperate, my mind scrambles for an out, some way to claw my way out of this mess without sealing my fate. Nico wouldn’t give Guilty Pleasures back if I begged on my knees—of that, I’m sure. And at this point, I’d give it to him willingly if it meant escaping this goddamn Caporegime noose.
“Can I turn it down?” My voice trembles. “You can keep the app. I don’t care. Just . . . take back the offer.”
Nico tilts his head and smiles. “Sure.” He gestures at the ring. “Simply toss it.”
The silence grows heavy, pressing down on me until I’m suffocating. Toss the ring. That’s all it takes. Just throw it down on the table and let it clatter to the floor.
But I know— everyone knows—what happens when you throw your ring back at a Don.
Death.
But Nico wouldn’t hurt me. Would he?
My breath comes in shallow gulps, my chest tight, and it takes everything I have not to bolt from the table.
Where the hell are you, Cade? You brought me into Nico’s orbit, and you’re the only one who can get him off my back now.
And then it hits me like a freight train, freezing me in place. Cade is also the only person who can take this seat for my family. He’s just as commanding and ruthless. He more than ticks every one of Nico’s boxes.
But Cade would never agree to this. That is . . . if he ever returns.
My heart sinks, and I stare at the ring in my hand; its shadowy gleam mocks me. This isn’t an offer. It’s a trap, and I’ve walked straight into it.
“Well?” Nico prompts.
“ I—I can’t do it,” I stammer. “And I can’t think of anyone who—”
“I can,” Nico interrupts, his smile razor-edged. “Your boyfriend.”
“Cade?” The word catches in my throat, choking me. I force it out, trying to sound incredulous—pretending I didn’t just come to the same conclusion minutes ago. “He’d never agree to be part of the Mafia.”
Nico’s smile doesn’t falter. “He’ll do whatever you ask him to, Luna.”
I shake my head. “I can’t . . . I need to think about this. I need . . .” My voice cracks, and before I can stop myself, a sob escapes.
I need Cade.
“I’m sorry,” I cover my face with one hand—as if that might shield me from Nico’s gaze.
Phoenix glances at Nico, who gives him a small nod, then leans back in his chair, folding his arms as if passing the reins of my fate to Phoenix.
“Nico will leave you alone. He’ll even take his hands off your business—pretend like this whole deal never happened—but only if you agree to move here. Permanently.”
My head jerks up. “I’m sorry . . . you want me to move here?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“Yes.”
I blink, trying to process the sheer absurdity of the suggestion. “Let me get this straight. You’ve been treating me like a fucking leper since the day Cade brought me here, and now you want me to live here? Why?”
Phoenix shrugs, his expression slightly sheepish but still carrying that wolfish edge. “As a father and the Prez, it’s my job to vet anyone who gets close to my family. But,” he raises a hand to cut off my retort, “I can see you’ve found your feet. You’re making friends. The women are starting to look up to you.”
His voice softens, almost imperceptibly. “So you’re welcome to stay and run your business from here—there’s an abundant market on the West Coast, not to mention the support of the Reaper Druids.”
My eyes narrow as I try to suss out Phoenix’s ulterior motive. “I see. And what percentage of Guilty Pleasures do you want in exchange for allowing me to stay?”
Phoenix rears back then he glares at me. “I’m giving you a home because the man you claim to love is the President of this fucking club! Has been for the last five years.”
I freeze. “What?”
“He named me to stand in his place because he’s . . . busy.”
Busy on a revenge path.
“Listen. It is said that Druids have the blood of the homing pigeon. They always return home. When Caden is done, he will come home,” Phoenix says matter-of-factly—as if it’s already set in stone.
My emotions are in a jumble, but the knot of anger burns hottest. “So you want me to wait here for your son? Until he’s all burnt out of the rage and revenge, and he’s nothing but a husk. You want me to wait for that?”
Phoenix’s expression twists into something haunted, something that makes my chest ache. “No. I’m asking you to stay for you. Not him.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You say you love him. You may even believe it. But it’s not enough to love a Reaper Druid. You have to love this lifestyle too. That way, you won’t wake up one day and realize this life isn’t for you.”
For a moment, I can’t speak. He’s not just talking to me—he’s pulling from his own past, his own wounds, and somehow, that makes it worse.
“So,” Phoenix sits back. “You can stay as long as you like. And you should—if you love my son.”
Suddenly, it all makes sense. The Don of the Outfit is pushing me to become Capo despite being wildly unqualified. Phoenix is practically guilting me into making my home here and waiting for his son.
“You both want Cade. And you think you can get to him through me.” My chest tightens with anger far sharper than anything I’ve felt before.
That’s why he left. Because he can’t be had.
Nico’s lips curl into a smirk, and Phoenix’s face turns unreadable.
Neither denies it.
I let out a bitter laugh. Nico won’t—can’t do anything to me. He needs me too much. Which means I can call his bluff and walk away.
Phoenix is the first to break the silence, his gaze once again trained on my wrist. “Caden has an overwhelming protective instinct. Wherever you go, Luna, he’ll follow.”
I laugh harder, the sound brittle against the tightness in my chest. “Really? Because I’m right here, and he’s six thousand miles away. Your theory is a little flawed, Phoenix.”
Nico’s the one to speak this time; his voice is calm and controlled as if he’s stating a fact. “Cade’s reeling. He just found out his entire life is a lie. He’ll come around soon. And when he does, he’ll come for you.”
“Well, I’m done waiting around for that.” I stand abruptly, the sudden movement making my chair scrape loudly against the fl oor. I need air. I need to move, to breathe. “Both of you can sheath your claws and back the hell off me. I’m going home.”
They both ask at once, “Which is?”
“Paris.” The word spills out before I can stop it. Not because I want to go there but because I can’t let myself be a pawn in their game. Running is the only instinct I trust anymore.
Trust your family, Cade said. Even if they’re scheming bastards?
“Sorry, boys.” My voice drips with mockery as I step toward the door. “If you want Cade, you’ll have to get him yourselves.”
The rain hits me like a wall when I step outside, the cold drops soaking into my clothes and hitting my overheated skin like tiny shocks. My hair clings to my face, plastered by the downpour, but I don’t care. My thoughts spiral too fast, too wild.
Nico wants Cade as his Capo. The Reaper Druids want their President.
And somehow, I’m supposed to be the key to getting him.
They’re so wrong. Cade is chaos—a storm that tears through anything in his path. I’m just another piece caught in his whirlwind.
I’m not sure how long I stand on the porch, lost in the churn of my thoughts.
And then, a low rumble cuts through the hammering rain. At first, I think I’m imagining it. But then it comes again, louder—the unmistakable growl of a motorcycle engine.
My heart slams against my ribs.
No. It can’t be him. Must be a straggler from the charity run who got caught in the rain.
Through the chain-link fence, a single headlight pierces through the darkness, weaving up the beaten dirt road. The bike’s growl vibrates through the rain-soaked ground, and I feel it running through me.
The n, the bike skids to a halt. The rider swings his leg over with effortless grace, water dripping off his leather jacket as the engine cuts off.
I’d recognize that silhouette any fucking where.