Chapter 4
MARA
ONE MONTH LATER
It’s midday when Emiliano and Matteo show up, just the two of them. The silence stretches as they sit across me in Pop’s old office. My teeth grind against each other.
What could they possibly want?
Eli clears his throat. “We know this is too soon, but we’ve decided it will be safer to send you away with Nicolo.”
I go still.
NO.
My chest heaves as I try to calm my erratic breathing. “Safer for who, exactly? Fo you and your wife? For Matteo? For me? For the Camorra? Tell me, Emiliano.”
My brother’s expression darkens at my tone. “Obviously safer for you.”
My face twists into a grotesque scowl. “Don’t lie to me! All you and Matteo have ever done for the past couple of weeks—hell, the last couple of months—is lie.”
“Mara—” Matteo tries to speak, but I cut him off.
“No! You don’t get to do this. You can’t control my life. This is my life. Not yours. I’m not leaving!”
Emiliano slams his hand on the desk, the sound echoing in the room. My heart beats against my chest with vengeance, vision blurring as I try to push the nausea down.
This is a disaster.
“That’s enough, Mara! You are leaving, tomorrow. This matter isn’t up for debate. I tried to send you and Ma away before, but she refused. Now look where that got us.”
Why is this happening? Why?
As I sit in front of my vanity, the light from the oval mirror casting a soft glow on my face, everything around me feels suffocatingly pristine.
The cream velvet chair beneath me is too plush, too still—like everything else in this cursed house.
My fingers toy with my hairbrush, running it through my hair without much intention.
The brush glides through too easily, and I find myself wishing it would snag just so I could feel something real.
I try to ignore the annoying presence of Eli. For the past month, everyone has been tiptoeing around me as if I’m made of glass.
“I’m not going anywhere, Eli. So close the door on your way out, and don’t be annoying about it.”
My brother stands by my bedroom door, waiting for me to get up and pack my stuff. As if. I look up to see him still standing in my room, as if he has any right.
“Get out. I’m serious, I don’t need your Michael Myers-looking ass in my room.”
“What? I don’t even look like Michael Myers. Get a grip.”
There’s something so annoying about my brothers that makes me want to hurl sharp objects their way. My precious older brother doesn’t seem to get the memo, because he continues with his hideous rant.
“Either start packing and be down in thirty minutes or I’ll have Nicolo drag you out of here kicking and screaming with the clothes on your back.”
I turn to look at him and narrow my eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me, sis,” he says before turning his back and leaving my room.
Of course, he leaves my bedroom door open. Men only respect one kind of power. I learned that at a young age.
Eli’s voice still echoes in my head, full of steel and warning. I glance at the half-packed black bag on the floor next to my vanity.
I’m not going to Italy. That’s not happening. This is my space. Mine.
My eyes drift to the soft cascading curtains that veil the large window behind me. The light filters through like a dream: deceptive, almost sinister in its quiet. There’s a trellis placed right under my window, flowers snaking their way upward.
I push myself up, ignoring the ache building in my chest. I can’t cry again. Not now.
When I get to the door that Eli so conveniently left open, I slam it shut, but not before shouting, “I told you to shut the door!”
I lock it with a twist so tight, I can hear the key snap into place, but I know it won’t stop Nicolo if Eli sends him up to take me.
I don’t want to leave New York. I just lost Ma, and now I’m on the verge of losing whatever “freedom” I have here. This can’t happen. I refuse to let it to happen.
Run.
Yes, I should run. Go to Lucio’s apartment. No one will be there. Not after Lucio left for Vegas with that girl. All of this is her fault. I can’t believe he betrayed us for some reckless girl who got our Ma killed. As if love justifies betraying your own blood.
I have less than thirty minutes to get out of here. This is the only chance I’ll get. Once I’m in Nicolo’s grasp, I won’t be able to escape him. I don’t want to lose my freedom. I’ve already lost too much.
I cross the length of my bedroom. The ceiling is high and decadent, framed in elegant moldings I used to admire. Now they feel like gilded bars.
I move past the bed, the heavy pink blanket catching around my ankle like it’s trying to pull me back.
No.
I keep going, stepping onto the herringbone floors that always seem too polished, too perfect.
Everything here is curated. The world of the Folonaris isn’t lived in, it’s maintained.
If Emiliano thinks Nicolo Esposito can control me, he’s dumber than he looks.
Men like him crumble when you pull at the right thread.
Opening the window quietly, I scan the yard. No one in sight.
I take a breath. Then I climb.
Sticking out one foot on the thick edge of the second floor, I make sure to hold on to the thin metal rod that lines the entire house as I hang over the edge just outside my bedroom window. I slide over to the trellis.
This is terrifying.
I can’t believe I’m even doing this. I climb down as slowly as I can, and when I get more than half the way down, I try to hurry.
My foot slips on some of the flowers that are wrapped around the trellis and I slip off the entire thing. I slam my eyes shut.
Is this how I die?
My heart slams against my ribcage. But instead of landing on hard concrete, I land against what feels like a hard chest, and big arms catch me.
“Going somewhere, nixie?”
Nicolo Esposito.
My eyes fly open to meet his dark forest-green ones—intense, unreadable, impossibly sharp.
There’s a cigarette between his lips, the tip glowing, smoke curling around his face like it’s scared to touch him without permission.
Of course it’s him catching me midfall from my bedroom window like some hero in a movie.
He’s more of an antihero.
He sets me down like I weigh nothing. And then I look at him.
He’s in a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his tattooed forearms, crisp and unwrinkled like he didn’t just catch a full-grown woman falling from the second story.
The shirt stretches across his broad chest, clinging just enough to the muscle beneath it that I catch the faint outline of his abs every time he moves.
The buttons are fastened all the way up, but the way the fabric strains against his frame makes it feel obscene anyway.
His body is…impossible. Towering. At least six-seven, built like something carved from stone and bad intentions.
Broad chest, narrow waist, the thick curve of muscle visible even beneath the starched fabric of his shirt.
His forearms are corded with strength—tattoos peeking from beneath the rolled cuffs, black ink crawling across his skin like whispers I’ll never be allowed to hear.
And then there’s his face. Sharp jaw. Straight Roman nose.
Eyes a deep forest green—brutal and ancient-looking, like they’ve seen war.
His black hair is slightly tousled, like he ran a hand through it in frustration or rage, and the stubble on his jaw looks like it could scrape skin clean off if given the chance.
I’ve had a crush on this man for years. Ever since I first saw him walking out of my pop’s office after a meeting, his dark gaze sweeping over me like the warm sunrays.
Nicolo’s mouth, full and frustrating, wraps around the cigarette with quiet focus. And those eyes. Those goddamn eyes—cold green, wild forest in a storm—pin me in place, and suddenly I forget why I ever wanted to run.
He doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t need to.
Not when my brother rounds the corner, eyes narrowing the second he sees me. “What are you doing out here? I just left you in your room.”
I glance at Nicolo, fully expecting him to throw me to the wolves and rat me out on the spot. But he doesn’t. He just raises a single brow like this isn’t his business—like catching mafia princesses falling from their second-story windows is just part of his Thursday routine.
Looking back at Eli, I say, “I might have tried to leave through the window.”
“You what?”
“Are you hard of hearing? I know you’re a dad now, but you’re not that old, Eli.”
My brother glares at me before turning to the man that I so badly want to forget is standing beside me. “Seems like she doesn’t want to take anything with her to Italy. You can take her.”
“What the—no! You said I have thirty minutes to pack,” I try to argue.
Eli holds up his hand as if he’s done talking with me. “You had thirty minutes. That was before you tried to run off to God knows where. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to bring her back.” He says the last part to Nicolo before turning on his heel and walking away.
Why do I have assholes for brothers?
“Come on.” Nicolo’s gruff voice interrupts my train of thought.
He walks ahead of me, expecting me to follow him like I’m some sort of lapdog.
I cross my arms, standing my ground. “I’m not your dog.”
He stops before turning to look at me. “I’m not your brother or one of his men. I have no qualms about manhandling you to get you into my car. Either follow me on your own two feet, or I can throw you over my shoulder. Your choice.”
“Oh, how chivalrous. Giving me a choice. Not much of a choice when one of them is a threat.” I grind my teeth, trying to release the tension building up in my shoulders.
“Five seconds, nixie.”
My stomach flips, unsure whether it’s annoyance or anxiety.
“My name is not Nixie. My name is Mara!” I snap, and I swear his eyes go darker than they already are.
“Four.” He starts his countdown as if that will show me he’s serious. “Three,” he continues, throwing the cigarette butt on the ground and stepping over it as he makes his way toward me.
“Two.” I taunt.
Nicolo comes to a stop in front of me, his gaze holding my own. His eyes don’t soften even a fraction, harsh and unyielding, as if we’re in a staring contest.
“One.” This time, his voice is more of growl as he utters the word.
And before I even comprehend what is going on, he throws me over his shoulder.
“Put me down, you barbaric—”
His hand digs into my flesh as he makes his way to what I assume to be his car. “Don’t push me. I’m not going to take your shit. You’re not someone I want to be around, but I’ve made a deal with your brother. So make this easier for the both of us and behave yourself.”
He sets me down, and if I wasn’t pissed, I’d take my chance and kiss him.
God, why does he have to be such an asshole?
Nicolo steps back, as if being too close to me will burn him.
Crossing my arms, I give him a scowl. “I have no reason to make this easier on you. I don’t want to leave New York. My brothers want me to.”
Nicolo ignores me, opening the back door with one hand while keeping the other in the pocket of his suit pants. This man is infuriatingly attractive, and I don’t even think he knows it.
I brush past him and get in the car. The brute will probably throw me in there if I don’t get in on my own accord.
I watch him round the car’s hood and slide into the passenger seat beside me.
His tattooed hands slide over the middle cushion as if he’s greeting his lover and not his car as he signals for the driver to start the car.
“Is there something you want to say, or are you just staring for the sake of staring?” His gruff voice startles me, and my gaze snaps to meet his.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was teasing me.
“Don’t be so cocky. I’m not staring, I was just thinking of a way to get rid of you.” I turn to look out the window as we pull out of my family’s townhouse parking.
We’re stuck at a traffic light when he mutters, “Big mistake.”
“What is?” I ask, turning to look at him.
“Showing your hand so early.”
Men like Nicolo always want something: power, control, obedience. And men like him always crack when you give them exactly what they pretend not to want.
Fine.
I’ll do whatever it takes to gain my freedom. I will play the part of the problem he thinks I am, even if it means I have to step on my pride to get what I want.