Chapter 1
Luciano
Sitting in the office at the Carlisi Mansion, I’m half aware of my brothers arguing back and forth. It’s been a year since Caterina—our Queen, our Donna—left, leaving me in charge as the interim Don of the Cosa Nostra.
“Luciano, mi stai ascoltando?” Are you listening to me? Stefano leans over, questioning me. “We have a situation,” he adds, his native tongue slipping out with his annoyance.
“Well, fucking deal with it.” I slam my fists on the large mahogany desk in front of me. I’m not in the mood today to be questioned.
“She made you Don, not me,” he bites back, his energy matching mine.
I’m quick to respond, “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, brother.”
Stefano is the oldest by four months, out of me and my four brothers, but I was trained to be Caterina’s underboss from a teenager. Caterina took me in first, and for a couple of years it was just the two of us. We aren’t Carlisi blood, but Caterina raised us as a family.
Stefano stares at me, biting back the words he desperately wants to say. “What’s the problem?” I demand before gulping the rest of my whiskey, and wait for his reply.
“Our men want to know who the next Don will be,” Stefano responds from his seat in front of me.
I can’t help the noise that escapes my lips as I run my hand through my hair, a mix of a grunt and sarcastic laugh.
“Why is he laughing?” Gabriele, my youngest brother, asks. He may be the smartest man in this room, especially when it comes to electronics and hacking, but reading social cues is not his forte. He’s more of a behind-the-scenes guy than down and dirty like the rest of us.
“See, that is the problem…” I walk over to the bar in the corner of my office and pour myself another drink. My brothers are all watching me curiously from their usual seats around the room.
“Why?” Carlo grunts. Carlo is a couple years younger than us, and was only brought into the family when he was in his early twenties.
He’s our enforcer: when you need someone killed, he can make them disappear without a trace, and he loves nothing more than torturing information out of people, piece by piece, the sadistic fuck he is.
“Because she—” I pause. The irony in having another female leader, the other families must think we’ve gone crazy. “She doesn’t have a clue… that she’s the next Donna!” I chuckle to myself.
“She? She who?” Mattia pipes up a bit too excitedly.
I give him a glare as if to say calm the fuck down…
He’s second youngest. We heard the soldiers talking one day about how a lowlife Italian family was killed and their son went on a killing rampage, shooting anyone who tried to take him into the system, which of course landed him in juvenile detention.
So, Caterina made a deal: come live and work with us and his records will disappear.
He is now our best assassin and trains all our soldiers.
“Charlotte O’Reilly… La figlia di Caterina.” Caterina’s daughter.
My brothers’ faces all drop, seeming equally as shocked as I was when Caterina told me. The only people who knew about Charlotte were Caterina, her late father Marco, and our trusted lawyer, Joseph Milano. The memory of Caterina telling me five years ago floods my mind.
Strolling into the mansion after our successful shipment, I’m grinning ear to ear knowing my idea has worked.
Caterina was skeptical at first to undermine our previous supplier, but if we can have the same firearms delivered for two-thirds of the price, it would be stupid not to accept.
The deal may have involved some manipulation from our side, but you don’t become one of the largest mafia families by staying clean, much to Caterina’s dismay sometimes.
I’m halfway up the stairs when a crashing noise sounds from the office.
I immediately run towards it, my pistol out in front of me ready to shoot.
I barge through the door on high alert, but the sight before my eyes was not what I was expecting.
Caterina, our fierce Donna, the woman who could stand before any man and make them quiver on the spot from fear, sits crumbled on the floor next to her desk, wine spilling over the edge from the knocked over bottle.
“Caterina.” I kneel in front of her, speaking softly, unsure how to handle the situation before my eyes. Caterina eventually looks up at me, her eyes red from crying, her face streaked with tears. “What’s wrong?”
She lifts her hand at me, trying to shoo me out of the room. “It’s nothing, Luciano. Go to bed.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing. You can tell me.”
“Today is her birthday,” she says, barely above a whisper. Her eyes look back down at her lap.
“Whose birthday, Caterina?” I urge her to continue, to open up about whatever is causing her this much grief.
“My sweet Charlotte.” She holds up a picture of a little baby girl, no more than six months old. My eyes widen in shock by her confession, and I’m momentarily speechless. For all the years I’ve lived with Caterina, being raised like a son to her, she has never mentioned having children.
“Where is she?” I ask, wondering if she’ll talk more about her daughter.
“Safe with her father.” She gently strokes the photo, the curled corners looking like they’ve seen better days. “Today is her twenty-first birthday.”
“She has your eyes.” I smile as Caterina nods in agreement.
I sit in silence beside Caterina for what feels like an eternity until she silently stands and walks out the room, leaving me sitting there alone, shock still written all over my face.
Curiosity clings to me as I pick up the photo Caterina left on the floor.
How do I find out more about her secret daughter, our Principessa?
Or should I let it be and hope that Caterina will tell me more soon?
“Why did she never tell us?” and “A secret daughter?” they say in unison, breaking me away from my memory.
“Charlotte’s father didn’t want her around the Cosa Nostra,” I answer.
“Why now?” Stefano asks as he starts to anxiously pace the room.
“Her father died a month before Caterina,” I say, causing Stefano to halt in his tracks.
“Isn’t that a bit of a coincidence?” Carlo asks, rubbing his bald head.
I ignore his remark, opening the safe under my desk and chuck a folder towards them.
Photos of Charlotte spill across the table.
Photos I’ve been staring at constantly for the last couple of months, trying to decide if I should follow Caterina’s wishes or try and move on without Charlotte ever knowing.
They all reach out and grab different parts of the information from within the folder, all eager to know about the secret Principessa, Charlotte O’Reilly.
“Mattia, follow her 24/7 for the next two weeks. I want to know everything,” I order. “Where she works, who she visits, what she does in her spare time, what she eats and drinks. I want everything!”
“Si.” Yes. A grin forms at the corner of his mouth while he looks at the photo. My chest starts to rumble with a hint of jealousy, but I push it back beneath the surface and continue with our meeting.
“Joseph has orders to deliver her an envelope from Caterina,” I tell them, trying not to stare at the photos of Charlotte. I shouldn’t be interested in her.
Gabriele tilts his head. “What’s in the envelope?”
“A letter from Caterina. How she responds will tell us if she decides to come willingly to the mansion or if we have to kidnap her,” I state.
They stare at me, showing mixed emotions. The thought of kidnapping Charlotte sends a chilling thrill down my neck, and I secretly hope she says no and puts up a fight.
Over the last week, Mattia’s intel has been subpar. Charlotte’s life is basic, boring, and she does the same four things every day: home to her apartment, work at a dodgy diner, hang out with her blonde friend and party at nights. Wasting her life away is an understatement.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I already know it’s Mattia without looking. It’s time for his usual check-in.
Brace yourself, Luciano. She just stormed into Pulse with her blonde sidekick.
I’m currently sitting in the back office of Pulse—one of our many businesses—going through the numbers with Gabriele. Irritation grows within me. Out of all the nights, she decides to come here.
“Summarize it for me, Gabe. I have other businesses to attend,” I say, pushing my chair out.
“Si, brother. I’ll have the notes on your desk tomorrow.” I give him a nod, grabbing my phone off the desk and respond to Mattia. The last thing I need is him to be noticed.
I’ll take over.
Go home.
Si.
Stepping onto the main floor of Pulse, the smell is intoxicating: perfume mixed with sweat and liquor.
The neon lights flickering over the crowded room cause shadows to dance along the walls.
Business has been booming since Mattia dragged me into his insane idea of installing cages suspended above the dance floor.
He thought of the idea of letting the patrons climb inside and feel that raw, exposed submission for themselves.
If you feed them enough alcohol, they stop holding back, revealing a primal side that has been lining our pockets thicker.
It has inflated Mattia’s already huge ego and now he won’t stop offering us his ‘business ideas’—much to mine and Stefano’s dismay.
Roger spots me striding across the floor and immediately drops the rope to our booth.
Outside, the eager girls hover near the edge, their eyes begging for a ticket inside, but there’s no room for distractions tonight.
My focus is purely on the brunette at the bar, her dress too damn revealing for someone tied to the Carlisi name.
She tosses her head back in laughter at something the bartender said, and fire starts to ignite within my chest. I undo my top shirt buttons to try and cool myself down.
Sara, my usual waitress, slides over with my favorite whiskey and pours me a drink. “Hey Luciano, how’s your night?”
“Can’t complain. Business is good,” I reply without breaking my gaze from Charlotte. I’ve seen her photo a million times, but nothing compares to her in real life. She is fucking stunning. The thoughts crossing my mind right now would have most people hiding with shame.
Sara’s eyes follow my gaze. “She’s been coming around a lot with her friend.” She points towards Charlotte.
My head whips back to Sara, her words grabbing my attention. “How often?” I ask, furious that Mattia left that detail out of his intel.
“Two, three times a week for the last couple of months. You know her?” She tilts her head, a hint of jealousy showing. Women. I don’t know what her issue is—I only fucked her once, and it was one of the worst fucks I’ve had in my life.
“Not yet,” I say, downing the whiskey and slamming it on the table. Sara’s quick to refill my glass. “But I will.” I let the words linger, and I can see Sara’s eyes trying to cipher my words, trying to work out exactly my intent with the brunette at the bar.
I pull out my phone and text Mattia.
Your intel is slipping, Mattia. Don’t fuck up again.
Sara takes the hint, leaving the bottle of whiskey on the table and walks away. I keep staring, watching how oblivious Charlotte is to the fact she’s our Principessa and how soon I will be claiming what is rightfully ours.