CHAPTER TWO
francesca
AGE 18
The bass thumped so hard it felt like my heart had shifted from my chest to my feet, syncing with the relentless beat of the music. Lights danced in kaleidoscopic patterns, bathing the room in neon pinks, electric blues, and vibrant greens. It was sensory overload, but in the best way—a whirlwind of sound and light that made you feel alive. I could barely hear myself think over the pulsing rhythm, but that was okay. Tonight was supposed to be about letting go.
Eighteen. Finally. My friends had been hyping up my birthday for weeks, and now that it had arrived, it felt surreal. Angelo—my older brother, protector, and mafia don—had outdone himself. He had closed his nightclub, Mirage, for the night, just for me and my friends. It was glamorous and wild, a far cry from the quiet family dinners I was accustomed to. Normally, I wasn’t allowed here — it was too dangerous, and I was too young. Tonight, it was nearly empty. The staff was limited to just a skeleton crew, and areas were cordoned off to restrict access for underage guests.
Angelo hugged me tightly and kissed my cheek before leaving me with my friends. “Ti amo, sorellina. Have a good time.”
“I love you too, fratello.”
He’d sauntered off to join the men he had invited for the evening, his small circle of trusted friends. They sat off to the side in their dark, tailored suits, drinking expensive liquor and plotting world domination, looking like something out of an action movie screencasting set.
Angelo took over the family after my father died, stepping into his place following his murder after leaving a meeting with a rival family. Our mother had disappeared years earlier, leaving our father and the three of us like we were trash. She’d been brittle and mean, prone to scathing remarks about my weight and appearance, so I hadn’t been sorry to see her leave. As far as I was concerned, she could stay gone.
Stefano Santelli hadn’t been a good man, and I felt guilty standing by his coffin when the priest asked us to pray for his soul. The only prayers I had were that I hoped he was rotting somewhere in hell. If God were listening, he would probably strike me down then and there for wishing that.
Since that day, Angelo has ruled the Santellis. He raised my younger brother Remo and me, and I did my best to be a good sister.
A good person.
I leaned against the bar, sipping something fruity and non-alcoholic. Angelo had made sure the staff understood the rules: no booze for the birthday girl. Typical big brother move, but I didn’t mind. I wasn’t interested in drinking anyway. The pulse of the music, the laughter of my friends, and the dazzling atmosphere were intoxicating enough. I could have had some friends hand me one of their drinks, but that wasn’t worth disappointing Angelo.
“Frankie!”
Theo, my best friend since forever, grabbed my arm and spun me around. Her glittery jacket sparkled under the strobe lights. “I’ve got an idea. A brilliant one.”
I narrowed my eyes, already suspicious. “What kind of idea?”
Theo’s ideas rarely were good ones.
Theodosia Anthakos was my best friend, but she was lightning in the middle of a tornado, even during the best of times. The girl was a disaster. I loved her anyway, but it was wise to approach her (and all her hare-brained schemes) with caution.
“Let’s take Angelo’s car for a spin,”
Theo said, leaning forward and flashing a grin reminiscent of the Cheshire cat.
“Have you lost your mind?”
I sputtered on my drink. “He’ll kill me. No, he’ll kill you because he’ll know it was your idea. Then he’ll kill me for going along with it.”
This was a terrible idea. One thing that was guaranteed to annoy my brother more than anything else — was touching one of his precious cars. He was a car geek to the extreme. I didn’t understand the interest or where he’d gotten it from, but he loved them. They were his one true love, and you didn’t mess with his cars. He taught me to drive in a beat-up old Honda even though he had five supercars in the garage. He’d said it would be foolish to let me practice driving in an expensive car. I mean … he wasn’t wrong.
“Come on, Frankie,”
Theo whined. “You’re eighteen now! Live a little. Besides, he’s busy schmoozing. He’ll never know. He can’t kill me anyway.”
She tossed her hair. “He’s friends with my brother. Ilias would never let him hurt me.”
That was true. Her brother and mine were friends, but I wasn't sure that friendship would protect her if we took Angelo’s car. I wasn't even certain I’d be spared from Angelo’s anger. Even so, it was tempting.
The others chimed in, their voices blending into a chorus of encouragement. “Go for it, Frankie! It’ll be fun!”
“Just a quick joyride around the block. Nothing crazy.”
They couldn’t understand. Touching his cars was insane. I shook my head, reason creeping in. “No way. That’s ridiculous. It would also be stealing. And… just no.”
My brothers taught me how to drive, taking turns teaching me. Angelo and Remo doted on me, driving me to school, dance lessons, sleepovers, and movies with my friends — all supervised, of course. They made me pancakes on Sundays and watched cartoons with me. I was their principessa — their princess. I tried to repay them by being as good of a sister as I could.
“You’re scared,”
Theo said with a smirk, crossing her arms. “Little Miss Perfect is too chicken,”
she teased. “Come on, just around the block.”
I understood that Theo didn’t mean it, but the words hit home.
“I am not scared,”
I retorted, bristling. But I was. Not just of Angelo finding out but of disappointing him. He was… complicated. I knew his business dealings weren’t exactly above board, but he loved me fiercely, so I didn’t care that he was a mafioso.
“Of course, you’re not,”
she soothed.
Still, the taunts stung, and the thought of proving them wrong was undeniably tempting. Theo had many of the qualities I wished I had. She was brave and interesting, and she drew people into her orbit and made things happen.
“I dare you,”
Theo sang, her eyes sparkling almost as brightly as the sequins on her jacket.
“Fine,”
I said, the word escaping before I could stop it. “But just to grab the keys. If I get caught, you’re dead to me.”
I didn’t mean any of it, and Theo knew it.
She squealed and hugged me, almost spilling her drink on my dress. “Agreed! I’ll be deader than dead. Come on, let’s do this.”
The others lingered behind, giggling and cheering us on as we crept toward Angelo’s office. The hallway felt quieter, muffled by the thick walls, but my heels clicked against the polished floor, each step echoing more loudly in my ears.
My brother was busy at the bar with his friends—Ilias, Theo’s older brother; Maxim Volkov, with his unsettling, dead-eyed stare; and Conall O’Kelly. Maxim didn’t visit often, and I appreciated that. He spent most of his time out West in California, keeping his ominous presence far from my life. My other brother, Remo, was over with his own group of friends who were closer in age, surrounded by a bunch of girls with short skirts and tops that almost showed their nipples.
But Conall O’Kelly? He was something else entirely. An Irish mobster and, as far as I could tell, the ringleader of my brother’s close-knit circle of influential friends.
Conall wasn’t just commanding. He was magnetic. With his reddish-blond hair always styled carefully, almost meticulously, and a broad, muscular build, he looked like he belonged in a different time—a warrior leading his clan. His brown eyes held a sharpness that suggested he missed nothing, even in the haze of music and lights. My eyes ran over him while he wasn’t looking — the biceps that strained his tailored suit and the way the others turned to him for direction.
He caught me watching him and raised his glass in my direction. I looked away quickly, my cheeks burning, but not before noticing Theo’s knowing smirk.
“Frankie, you need to stop staring,”
she said, tugging at my arm. “People will start to think you have a crush on him. Besides, Conall is too old for you anyway.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m just looking, that’s all. There’s no harm in looking. He’s out of my league; he’s really… intense. I know he’s too old, and he’s Angelo’s friend.”
Angelo would completely flip out if I made a move on Conall O’Kelly. Not that I’d be that gutsy. Conall was everything I wasn’t—sophisticated, dangerous, and experienced. He wouldn’t be interested in someone like me. I had hardly ever said more than three words to him at a time. Still, whenever we were in the same room, my eyes inevitably drifted toward him.
“That’s one way to put it,”
Theo said, nudging me. “But let’s focus. Are we doing this, or are you going to chicken out?
“This is a bad idea,”
I whispered, but Theo barely acknowledged me, her confidence unwavering. “Fine. We’re doing it.”
Sneaking upstairs was a breeze. There was just one private bathroom, and it was located upstairs, so my brother’s men easily allowed the little principessa to waltz past them with her best friend after I flashed them a smile. I even gave them a playful wink.
“You shouldn’t do that, Frankie,”
Theo warned as we climbed the stairs. “If one of them flirts back, Angelo might kill him.”
“I know.”
She was right. It wasn’t smart. Theo still cast me a look that suggested she didn’t believe I was aware. Somehow, Theo always seemed far too knowledgeable about such things, even though she was only a year older than me.
We reached the door that screamed, “Do Not Enter.”
Theo turned to me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Okay, birthday girl. Go ahead. I’ll be the lookout.”
“What? Me? This was your idea. I thought you were going to get the keys.”
Nerves unfurled in my stomach. My brother would never hurt me, but he would be angry if we got caught.
“Of course. It’s your birthday, your brother, your heist,”
she said as if it were completely logical. She flicked her hair back and batted her eyelashes. “A little rebellion is good for your soul.”
I groaned, but my hands were already reaching for the doorknob. It was locked with a passcode. After entering my birthdate, I paused for a heartbeat until it disengaged, almost chuckling to myself at his lack of imagination. I had apparently been his favorite sibling. Probably not after this.
The office was just as I expected: dark leather furniture, a massive mahogany desk, and walls lined with books and files. It carried a faint scent of Angelo’s cologne—a mix of cedarwood and something sharp and citrusy. My heart raced as I stepped inside, with Theo right behind me.
“Hurry up,”
she urged, gesturing toward the desk.
I opened one drawer after another, my hands shaking. Papers, a gun—I quickly shut that drawer—and finally, a set of keys bearing the unmistakable Ferrari logo.
A file in one drawer caught my eye as I reached for the keys. It lay on top: Santelli Documents. What was this? I opened it and rifled through its contents. Birth certificates? And a piece of paper that looked aged and important. My breath caught when I saw names I recognized scrawled in an elegant but unmistakable script. Beneath the signatures were fingerprints pressed in crimson ink—or at least, what I initially thought was ink. A closer look made my stomach churn.
It wasn’t ink. It was blood.
Theo leaned over my shoulder. “What the hell is that?”
she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of awe and fear.
“A blood oath,”
I said, the words feeling foreign and heavy on my tongue. My mind raced, piecing together what I had gathered from whispered conversations and half-heard warnings. This wasn’t just a contract; it was a pact, binding people—some of whom I recognized— to Angelo’s world in a way I hadn’t fully understood until now.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I pulled out my phone and took a picture. The flash was off, but my hands trembled so much that I nearly dropped the phone. I captured images of every document in the file before I closed the drawer.
“Should we be doing that?”
Theo hissed. “We’re only here for the car keys.”
“A little rebellion is good for the soul,”
I mumbled, slipping my phone back into my pocket. “Let’s go.”
My heart pounded with the implications of the words I’d seen, the blood rushing in my ears as I spied the keys.
“Got ‘em,”
I whispered, holding them up.
Hunched over my phone in the dark, Theo and I examined the image, enlarging the words and names it contained—alliance, blood oath, ‘The Commission,’ trafficking. Theo gulped beside me as she turned to face me, her eyes wide as she connected the dots. We had tucked ourselves into an empty booth, as far away from everyone as possible, while we tried to process everything.
The document was signed by Alexei Volkov, Cormac O’Kelly, Yianni Anthakos, and Stefano Santelli—my father. Angelo, Ilias, Maxim, and Conall added their signatures at the bottom; however, it was dated fifteen years ago, when Angelo was only eleven years old…
“Look at this part,”
Theo said, running a fingernail over the screen. “They agreed. The boys would marry into the other families, and so would their daughters. That’s what this agreement was about.”
“What? They sold us off? Like cattle? My brother would never!”
I glanced at the men gathered, drinking their whiskey and scotch as if they were celebrating.
A wave of red-hot anger coursed through me.
“Well,”
Theo hedged. “I’m not sure they had any choice in the matter. This is old. Ilias was ten years old. What could he have done?”
Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “There are two girls in my family. I wonder which one of us has to do it.”
She ran her fingers over the screen and then glanced at the group of men who were unaware of the explosive knowledge we’d uncovered. “I’ll make sure it isn’t Polina.”
Her mouth set in a firm line.
Her sister was still a baby, and I couldn’t understand how this was real. She was taking it better than I was.
“You don’t think we still have to do it? Our fathers are dead.”
I didn’t want to get married. Ever. The idea of having children and raising kids filled me with anxiety. I’d seen what kind of mother my own had been. It hadn’t inspired me to pursue the roles of wife or mother. Perhaps she passed on some kind of gene to me. Perhaps I’d end up like her —awful and mean. The thought brought tears to my eyes.
Then I stopped.
They were all dead. All the men on that list.
“Do you think?”
My fingers gripped hers so tightly that I was sure I was hurting her, but she didn’t complain.
“Yes.”
Her voice was cold, like Manhattan in winter. She knew exactly what I was asking.“Don’t speak about it.”
Her eyes suddenly seemed flat, and I wondered how I had missed it.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I agreed, “Fine. Let’s take Angelo’s car for that ride.”
I felt unmoored and reckless, my life spinning out of control as Theo and I slipped away.