Vows of Power (Petrelli Mafia #1)

Chapter 1

AMALIA

I RUN MY HAND ALONG the armrest of my father’s chair, over the leather where his fingers used to dig in when he was angry, and now it’s mine.

All of it is mine. The desk, the territory, the men who used to flinch when he raised his voice.

I lean back and let myself smile, because no one is here to see it and tell me a daughter shouldn’t look so pleased about a funeral.

He’s dead. My father is finally dead, and I’m the one who gets to take everything he built.

I should feel something heavier than this, I guess.

People keep telling me how sorry they are, and I keep nodding like it costs me something to hear it.

But the truth is, I’ve waited for this for as long as I can remember.

He’s the kind of man who’d grab me by the back of the neck if I spoke out of turn at the dinner table, so I’m not about to cry into my wine over him.

I glance at the ledgers stacked on the corner of the desk. Everything is here. The shipping routes, the men who owe us, the politicians in our pocket. It’s a whole empire, and it belongs to me now, even if half the men out there would rather choke than say it out loud.

That’s the problem, isn’t it? They look at me and they see a woman. Not the heir. Not the one who studied every number in those ledgers since I was old enough to read. Just a woman who happened to be born to the wrong family and got handed something she’s supposed to be too soft to hold.

I lean forward and rest my arms on the desk.

They’ll come for me. Maybe not today, and maybe not all at once, but they’ll come.

Some of them are probably already whispering in corners about which one of them should step up and take what my father left behind.

As if it’s a piece of meat and I’m just the woman standing in front of it.

So what do I do?

There has to be a smarter way to do this.

I could try to be twice as ruthless as any of them.

Shoot the first man who looks at me wrong and let the rest learn the lesson.

But that only works for so long, and I’d spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, waiting for the bullet I didn’t see coming.

My father ruled through fear, and look where that got him.

A knock comes at the door, and Bruno pokes his head in. He’s one of the few men my father trusted, which means I trust him about as far as I can throw him.

“We’ve got the prisoner downstairs,” he says. “The one from the Gaviani business.”

I frown. “What Gaviani business?”

“The old loan, ma’am. Your father gave Gennaro Gaviani money, years back, before you were born. Big amount. And Gennaro couldn’t pay it all back in cash, so the rest of the deal was blood. One of his children. That’s the price they agreed on. Matteo’s the one Gennaro handed over.”

I lean back again as I take this in. A loan repaid with a son. Of course my father would set up something like that. He never threw away a piece of leverage in his life.

“And he’s here now?”

“In the dungeon. Your father sent men to collect him, and the deal covered all of it, so there’s a clause that makes him ours free and clear. Gennaro can’t touch us for it. Your father had him brought in and locked up so he’d be ready whenever you wanted to deal with him.”

“Show me.”

Bruno’s brow furrows, but he knows better than to argue with me.

I follow him down the stairs, past the kitchens, down to the cold stone level where my father used to keep the people who disappointed him.

The smell of damp gets stronger with every step, and I keep my chin up so none of the guards see anything other than a woman who’s already in charge.

The man in the cell turns toward me as the door opens, and I stop. Whoa. I wasn’t expecting that.

He’s tall, with dark hair and a face that would make most women forget their own names.

Even with his hands cuffed and a bruise blooming on his cheek, he looks at me like I’m the one who should be nervous.

There’s a glint in his eyes, almost amused, like the chains are a minor inconvenience he’s choosing not to take seriously.

“And here I was starting to think no one in this place could talk,” he says. His lips curve up into a lazy grin. “You don’t look much like the guards. Are you the one I’m supposed to be afraid of?”

I don’t bother answering that. I glance at Bruno. “Name?”

“Matteo Gaviani.”

Matteo. The son who got handed over to settle a debt. I take my time looking him over, and he stares right back, tilting his head as if he’s flattered.

So this is what Gennaro Gaviani gave away to clear his account with my father. I almost feel like laughing. The man is wasted down here in a cell, and I’m pretty sure he knows it too, watching me figure out what to do with him.

“Leave us,” I say.

He shifts on his feet. “Ma’am, I don’t think—”

“Did I ask what you think?”

His mouth presses into a line, but he steps out, and the door stays cracked behind him. I’m sure he’ll be hovering close enough to hear me scream if it comes to that. Good. Let him stay paranoid on my behalf.

Matteo watches me the whole time, the grin never quite leaving his lips. “So what happens now? You here to tell me what I’m worth?”

“Something like that.”

And just like that, an idea starts to form, and I can’t get rid of it.

A man like this, standing next to me, with his looks and his name and that Gaviani blood.

Everyone out there expects a man at the head of the table.

They want someone to bow to, someone whose orders they can follow without their pride getting in the way.

Fine. Let them have one. Let them think this beautiful, dangerous man is the one calling the shots.

While I run everything from behind him.

It would solve so much at once. The men who’d never take orders from a woman would happily take them from her husband.

Our enemies would back off, because going after a married couple looks different than going after a lone woman they assume is weak.

And if Matteo turns out to be a problem, well, husbands have accidents.

A husband. I’d have to marry him. The thought should bother me more than it does, but I’ve never had romantic notions about any of this. My father saw marriage as a transaction, and for once in my life, he and I agree on something.

I study Matteo a little longer. He’s leaning against the wall now, watching me think, and I bet he’d take the deal in a heartbeat if it got him out of these chains.

A man rotting in a cell to pay off his father’s debt has nothing to lose, and a crown handed to him, even a hollow one, has to beat this.

But I can’t let him see how much I want it. I’ve learned that much. Never let anyone know what you’re really after, because the moment they do, the price goes up.

“You’re quiet,” he says. “Are you deciding whether to keep me or shoot me?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Take your time.” His grin widens. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I’m glad I had the schooling for this. Most of the men upstairs can barely count past their own fingers, but I can look at a situation like this and see five moves ahead. And I owe most of that to one person, who isn’t here anymore.

Tomasso. My father’s second in command, and the closest thing I ever had to a real father.

He’s the one who sat me down and taught me the things my own father never would, because my father thought a daughter only needed to know how to smile and stay out of the way.

Tomasso saw something in me. He drilled the numbers into my head and showed me how the family really worked, all the quiet machinery underneath the threats and the blood.

And then Dominic put a bullet in him. Of course, he thinks no one knows it was him, but I do.

My jaw tightens at the thought. Dominic, my father’s oldest enemy, who’d been circling us for years.

He took Tomasso from me, and I never even got to tell him how much he meant to me.

I cried more at his funeral than I ever will at my father’s, and I had to do it in the bathroom, where no one could see and use it against me.

I miss him. More than I’ll miss the man whose chair I’m sitting in upstairs, that’s for sure.

Matteo shifts in his cuffs, and the sound brings me back to the cold little room and the problem in front of me. “You’ve got plans for me,” he says. “I can see it on your face.”

I let my lips curve into something close to a smile. “Maybe I do.”

Then I turn toward the door, because I’ve decided I’m not telling him anything tonight. Let him sit in here and wonder. Let him sweat a little. A man who thinks he has the upper hand is easier to handle than one who knows exactly where he stands, and right now, I need every advantage I can get.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” I say over my shoulder.

“Looking forward to it, boss.”

I head up the stairs, leaving him in the dark with his chains and his charming smile, and for the first time since my father died, I feel like maybe I can do this.

Maybe I can hold on to everything he built and turn it into something he never imagined.

A woman at the top, with a beautiful puppet to point at when the men get restless.

All I have to do is convince Matteo Gaviani to marry me.

And honestly? I don’t think that’s going to be the hard part.