Forbidden Fate (The Omertà Brotherhood #1)

Chapter 1

LENA

Ishould be dead.

Live footage of a fire fills my tiny computer screen. I go completely numb as I stare at an online broadcast of the local news.

“A house fire continues to rage tonight in the suburbs of Chicago.” The reporter’s somber voice fills the tiny room. “Firefighters have been on the scene since this afternoon but, as you can see behind me, they have not been able to fully extinguish the fire.”

I was halfway down the block when the news alert flashed on my phone. The headline sent me running back to my apartment. I didn’t stop to turn on the lights or take off my coat, I just attacked my computer until I found a livestream of the local news.

On the screen, flames lick out of the side of the house where I know the kitchen used to be.

I lose my grip on my keys and violin, barely registering the sick twang that comes from inside the instrument case when it hits the ground.

I have to call her.

My hands are shaking so badly it takes me three tries before I find the right buttons on my phone. “Please, Aunt Mable, pick up. Pick up.”

There’s a click and I hold my breath, waiting—praying—to hear her voice. Instead, the call goes straight to voicemail. “No, no, no.” I hang up and try again.

Again, straight to voicemail.

Cold sweat breaks across my skin as I repeat the process. Call, pray, hang up, try again.

The lights of an ambulance flash on the screen, forcing a tiny red glow into the darkness around me.

With numb fingers I tap the computer volume to max as the reporter continues, “An explosion rocked the quiet suburban neighborhood of Cortland at approximately four o’clock this afternoon, multiple neighbors calling 911 as a fire raged in the house belonging to an older woman.

Police are not releasing her name to the public, but according to neighbors, she lived alone. ”

I watch, shaking, as paramedics gather on the scene. They’re in the background, too blurry for me to see clearly, but I can tell that the firefighters are holding them back. It isn’t safe for them to go anywhere near the house. And the firemen haven’t brought out any survivors.

Helpless, the paramedics are forced to stand by as the house—and the woman presumed to be inside—burn.

I’m supposed to be in that house. With Aunt Mable. I should be in that house, except I canceled my visit this afternoon.

Oh, God.

Four o’clock. That’s when the news anchor said the fire started, ignited by some sort of explosion.

At four o’clock Aunt Mable and I would’ve been in the kitchen.

There wouldn’t have been a lot of conversation.

There never really is between us. But we would’ve been laying out ingredients in companionable silence, preparing to make her famous Shepard’s pie.

She loves to make it this time of year. The perfect food to shake off the January chill, she always says.

When I called to cancel, she’d pointed out that she’d already bought all the ingredients, that it would be a shame to let them go to waste.

I’d apologized, told her I couldn’t miss this audition. The spot had opened up so last minute, I explained. I’ve been waiting three years for the chance to audition for this orchestra, I couldn’t possibly miss it.

The last thing I heard before we said goodbye was her resigned sigh, the one she uses for the adopted niece she’s never really understood. I don’t even know if she heard my promise to make it up to her, to visit next weekend.

The news camera zooms in on the fire. Heat seems to pulse off the computer screen as I watch Aunt Mable’s house burn from miles and miles away.

It isn’t until a commercial breaks through the roaring in my ears that I realize I need to do something. Anything.

I need to call the police, try to get information about what’s happening. I click my computer off, the screen going dark, and I’m reaching for my phone when I see it.

No, not an it.

A him. A man’s reflection is on the screen.

He’s a looming shadow, completely silent and so close behind me the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

For a breathless moment, neither of us moves. He is little more than a black, ominous shape on my blank screen, but I swear our eyes lock in the reflection and the temperature in my already cold apartment drops another twenty degrees.

Frozen in place, I open my mouth, am about to scream and—

Boom!

My laptop explodes, electrical sparks and chunks of metal flying in all directions.

The intruder grabs me and drags me to the ground, knocking the wind out of me.

Two hundred pounds of solid muscle flattens me to floor. My scream comes out as a gasp, the sound dying against the heavy curve of his shoulder.

Somewhere above us there’s another pop, another explosion in my kitchen. I’m vaguely aware of glass flying all around us.

“No! NO! Let me go!” I writhe beneath my attacker, trying to free my hands from where they are pinned beneath his bulk. “Please, please let me go.”

I have to get out of here, away from him. Away from whatever is happening above our heads.

The urgency beats in my blood, but I can’t escape. My legs are manacled between his. I can barely feel my feet let alone use them in self-defense.

The giant on top of me is silent, motionless except the steady pressure of his chest against mine every time he inhales. The closeness, the darkness, the weight of him—it’s crushing. I tip my head back, gasping for oxygen.

The move shifts my hips up slightly and I feel something hard against his waist. Something that digs sharply into my pelvis. It’s got to be a gun. Or a knife. Something that will kill me.

I’ve escaped death once today. There’s no fucking way I’m letting it catch up to me now.

My fight instinct fully triggered, I attack my captor in the only vulnerable spot within reach. With our bodies this close together I can just make out a patch of exposed skin on his neck. With an awkward lurch of my head, I bite him there.

He grunts, curses. The metallic taste of blood hits my tongue just before he yanks away.

I barely catch my breath before a large, leather-clad hand clamps down on my mouth.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

” The low growl reverberates through my skull, his lips burning the fragile skin of my ear.

There’s no mistaking the malice in his question.

Or the fact he doesn’t expect an answer. “Stay. Fucking. Still.”

“Ple—” Whatever plea for mercy I’m about to make is cut off by another round of pop, pop, pops, all of them dying in a rapid succession of dull thuds. Dust falls down around my face. Dust and pieces of my apartment.

The man on top of me mutters something angry under his breath. His hand tightens across my mouth, and I go lightheaded, dizzy.

This is it. I can’t breathe. I’m going to die.

Suddenly, the stars clear from my vision and I gasp, dragging in a breath that burns my lungs. The man’s hand is gone, his weight on my chest lighter.

I start to wriggle, attempting to escape. The man on top of me says something. I ignore him, wiggling harder.

“Lena.”

I swear this stranger says my name, but I’m only focused on getting free.

That’s when his hand returns, this time circling my neck. One squeeze and I freeze. “Do I have your attention, Lena?” That raspy voice is inches above my face. “Nod so I know you’re listening.”

Oh, I’m listening. I nod.

“Good. Now don’t move and keep listening.” His hand leaves my neck. I stay perfectly still. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

“Wha—” Apparently, I’m not allowed to answer because that palm slams across my mouth again.

“Lena.” He uses my name a third time and a chill washes through me. “Someone is shooting up your apartment. Someone with a clear line of sight through your windows, a long-range rifle, and a hard-on to have you dead.”

I blink blindly up at the shadowed face, speechless.

“We’re running out of time to get out of here, understand?”

To illustrate his point, the mystery man draws up to his knees, his torso coming off the ground for the first time since a bullet killed my computer.

The movement catches the shooter’s attention and the man in my apartment drops back down to his elbows just as another bullet lodges in the wall above our heads. “Time to fucking go.”

With him?!

The creepy guy dressed all in black who broke into my apartment and has been watching me for who knows how long, planning to do God knows what?!

I swallow once, twice, and manage to press words between lips smudged with his blood. “What happens if I don’t go with you? What happens if I stay?”

I can’t make out his eyes, but I know he’s staring at me. Dark energy pours off him, heat and staggering strength shielding me as I lay beneath him. Just a few inches above his back, the red dot of a sniper sight sweeps the sad walls of my student apartment.

“You stay, you die. You want to live, you leave with me.”