CHAPTER ONE
Tierney
Present Day
Chiesa di San Pietro Martire, Naples, Italy
“Fuck. Where is it?” I plopped onto the first pew of the church, rummaging in my Chanel bag for my pack of cigarettes.
I didn’t normally smoke. Then again, I wasn’t normally thousands of miles away from home, in close quarters with the most powerful Mafia family in the world.
Oh, and did I mention half its members wanted me dead? Fun times.
As if on cue, a large figure slid onto the pew behind me. An unlit cigarette materialized in the hand of an arm stretching across my shoulder. I plucked it from its owner with a scoff.
I didn’t need to look to know who it was.
As clichéd as it sounded, I always felt his presence before I saw him. He’d been my shadow since we were fourteen.
I recognized the rhythm of his breathing in the dark, the temperature of his gaze on my skin, the pulse of his footsteps inside my own chest. He’d become an integral part of me. Something so deeply entrenched in my existence, it was another facet of my identity now.
Achilles Ferrante.
My enemy. My rival. My impending demise.
“Do you always curse like a drunken sailor in church?” His dry burr reverberated in the pit of my stomach.
“Only when I have to share it with you.” I slipped the cigarette between my scarlet-painted lips, dunking my hand back into my purse to hunt for a lighter.
Achilles leaned forward, his lips skimming the shell of my ear. “Wanna know something?”
Goose bumps pebbled the back of my neck. Fifteen years later, and he still smelled of firewood, leather, and spice. “No.”
“You look like a whore in that dress,” he rasped, his voice dripping so much venom, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the floor was slippery.
“One you can never afford.” I flipped my hair in his face.
Despite my careless facade, his words landed like a bullet right in the center of my chest.
I wasn’t a sex worker, but I had slept around with the wrong kind of men in the past. Men who were cruel to me. Men who had hurt me. It was the only way I could accept any form of affection.
But that was before the asshole had put me on surveillance two years ago. Now, I had to walk around everywhere with one of his soldiers. No more sex life for me. God forbid a girl enjoyed her favorite cardio.
“Sweetheart, if I wanted you, you’d be screaming my name so loud God’s ears would ring.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but even ladies of the night have standards.”
“So you admit to being a whore?” The wooden pew creaked beneath the weight of his carved muscles as he edged closer. “Do you offer group discounts?”
“Why, are you planning to bring every facet of your disgusting personality?”
Finally, my fingers wrapped around the silver Zippo in my purse. Bingo. I stood up, careening on my too-high heels toward the atrium before he delivered his lethal comeback. I zipped past stained-glass windows and marble columns through the double doors, pouring into the sunshine.
Outside, the stairway teemed with guests.
I searched for Mount Vesuvius beyond yellow and golden buildings surrounding the church but couldn’t find it.
I slouched against the wall, lighting up the cigarette and scanning the crowd.
My heart was in my throat. I was tired of the stupid organ never staying where it was supposed to whenever Achilles Ferrante was around.
He wasn’t wrong. My outfit for my nephew Gennaro’s baptism was inappropriate.
It was a red minidress, far too short for anything that wasn’t a nightclub. But you know what else wasn’t appropriate? Baptizing a not-quite six-month-old baby in some dead criminal’s blood. Yet that was exactly what the Ferrantes were about to do.
They were ruthlessly sadistic. Unfortunately, so was my idiot brother whose baby was being christened.
Tiernan said he didn’t mind Gennaro continuing his wife’s family’s tradition as long as the blood he was dipped in was of someone who deserved to die.
Apparently, that someone was a rival clan’s underboss and a child molester.
Tiernan was an atheist. Where we came from, we knew there was no God.
We’d prayed to Him every night when we were kids, and He never answered.
This would be the first time Tiernan set foot in a church.
But I knew better than to argue logic with my brother when it came to his wife.
What Lila wanted, he delivered. No questions asked.
I felt no resentment or anger at the special treatment he gave my sister-in-law.
I’d do anything for Lila, too. She was just that kind of person.
Kind. Wholesome. Perfect.
Speak of the devil, my brother was heading right in my direction.
“What the fuck do you think you’re wearing?” He greeted me in his usual sociopathic fashion, barging into my line of vision and casting a large shadow over my frame.
Tiernan looked flawless in his Savile Row suit and slicked-back hair. He wore an eye patch after Achilles had scooped out his eye. But that was before he had married Lila. These days, they’d take a bullet for one another.
I shrugged, taking a drag of my cigarette. “A dress.”
“Bullshit. People are staring.”
“People always stare. The least I can do is give them a good reason to.”
“Today’s not about you, Tier.”
I said nothing because he was right. But if I told him the real reason I dressed this way, we’d get into a fight, and I didn’t want to ruin today for him.
“Isn’t it time you act your age?”
“That’s a rather philosophical question.” I took a deep drag of my cigarette, letting the smoke hit the bottom of my lungs before fanning it sideways. “I find that you’re only as mature as your responsibilities. I happen to have none. No family. No kids. No job.”
No future, either, but I never let myself think about it too much.
“You can have a husband and a job in no time. Just say the word and I’ll get it done.”
I snorted at the offer. “I’m good, thanks.”
“You need to cover yourself up.”
“You wound me, brother.” I pouted. “These legs are meant for flaunting.”
“You know, there’s more to life than pissing people off.”
“I didn’t wear this to piss people off.”
I wore it to warn people off. I was the harlot, the jezebel, the Delilah of the family.
Not wife material and definitely unfit for an arranged marriage.
See, a couple of years ago, Achilles had convinced Tiernan that if my brother allowed him to pick a groom for me, this would somehow tame my feminine rage—that if I got hitched, I’d be happy and normal.
So now my mission was to make myself as desirable to Camorrista men as a prostate examination by Captain Hook. Because no matter what, I’d never ever let anyone take away my liberty. Never again.
“Where’s my nephew, anyway?” I changed the subject.
Tiernan jerked his chin to his right. I followed his gaze. His wife, Lila, stood at the foot of the church’s stairs, a circle of women fawning over her. She was holding Gennaro—Nero for short—close to her chest.
Lila was a true beauty. Delicate features, pale blue eyes, and flaxen locks, all wrapped in a flowery pink chiffon dress.
Nero, however, was the spitting image of us Callaghans.
Same burgundy hair. Same green, shrewd eyes.
A chubby-cheeked version of his father, swathed in a white christening robe.
It was funny how the sweet little angel found solace in the devil and even managed to domesticate him.
Because for the first time in his life, my brother looked… happy.
Nero gurgled and reached for his mother’s loose curls, fisting a golden ringlet and twisting it between pudgy fingers. Lila giggled, kissing the tip of his nose.
I’d held Gennaro thousands of times. Bathed him.
Changed his diapers. Sniffed him. Lila was generous about sharing her son with me, knowing how much joy he brought into my life.
And yet, every time I saw them together, it felt like someone speared a rusty nail straight into my heart and twisted slowly.
It was a reminder of everything I’d never have.
I yawned, my gaze shifting back to my brother. “Did you choose his godparents yet?”
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
“Luca and Sofia.” He cleared his throat, avoiding my eyes. “They chose us to be Ciro’s godparents. It was only appropriate that we reciprocate.”
“Right.” I forced out a smile. “Etiquette is so important in the underworld.”
Luca and Sofia were Lila’s brother and sister-in-law. They were married, with a son close to Nero’s age, so it made sense. But that didn’t soften the blow. They didn’t see me fit to be the godmother. And why would they? I was a mess. A hot mess, granted, but still a mess.
“Listen, Lila’s nervous as it is. I need you on your best behavior,” Tiernan growled.
I rolled my eyes so hard I saw suppressed memories. Like I’d ever do anything to hurt Lila.
“I mean it, Tier. No funny business.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be a vision of elegance and propriety. Don’t worry.”
The clucking sound of wood hitting concrete entered my ears, and we both turned in its direction. Don Vello Ferrante slapped his walking cane over the stairs up to the church. My father walked by his side.
“It took them almost six months to baptize the baby,” Vello growled. “This is unheard of.”
“Lila didn’t want to put Nero on a plane before he got his vaccinations,” Tyrone replied.
“Who cares what Lila wants? Per l’amor di Dio,” Vello spat out. “She’s just a woman!”
“What’s killing him?” I asked Tiernan, still watching the don.
“Not sure. But it better hurry the fuck up. Now if you’ll excuse me”—Tiernan brushed past me—“I need to go bite off my father-in-law’s head before he upsets my wife.”
I flicked the remainder of the cigarette to a nearby bush, tugging the hem of my dress down. People shuffled into the church, pushing past Camorra soldiers who stood on guard.
Since procrastinating was my favorite hobby, I plucked my phone out of my purse and checked my messages.