Chapter 4
Chapter Four
The day I met her, I wanted to kill my father.
Not figuratively. Not in some abstract "I hate you" son-versus-father bullshit way.
I mean I literally stood in his office with my hand on my gun, safety off, finger on the trigger, and the only thing stopping me from putting a bullet between Don Salvatore Accardi's eyes was Marco's slight headshake from across the room.
Not yet.
Not yet because we didn't have enough evidence compiled. Not yet because the Council wouldn't sanction it without proof. Not yet because killing him without the proper backing would mean they'd come for Lia next, and I'd burn the entire fucking world down before I let anyone touch my sister.
So I stood there like a good little soldier while my father—the man who'd murdered my mother and made it look like suicide—informed me that he was selling Lia off like a piece of meat to some captain in the DeLuca family.
"She's eighteen now. Perfect age for marriage. The DeLuca captain needs a wife, we need stronger ties to their shipping routes. Simple transaction."
Simple transaction. Like Lia wasn't a person. Like she was just another asset in his portfolio to be traded and leveraged.
"No." The word came out flat. Cold. "Lia isn't going anywhere."
My father's backhand caught me across the face before I could blink. The ring he wore—his father's ring, the one with the family crest—split my lip. I tasted copper and rage.
"You don't make decisions in this family, boy.
" His voice was conversational. Pleasant, even.
Like he was discussing the weather instead of selling his daughter.
"Lia is an asset. You're an asset. You both exist to serve this family's interests.
I've been far too lenient with you, letting you think you have a say. Time you remembered your place."
My hand went to my gun again. Pure instinct. Pure fury.
Marco coughed. Not even subtle about it. Just a loud, deliberate sound that snapped my attention to him for half a second.
His eyes said everything: Not like this. Not without proof. Think of Lia.
I forced my hand away from the weapon. Forced my face into something resembling neutral. Forced words out through clenched teeth.
"Of course, Father. My apologies."
"Better." Salvatore smiled like he'd just won. Like he always won. "Now get out. I have work to do."
I left before I did something we'd both regret. Well, something I wouldn't regret but couldn't afford.
Twenty minutes later, I was in the gym beating the absolute shit out of a punching bag. My knuckles were bleeding. My lip was still split. And all I could see was my father's face superimposed on that bag.
Lia was eighteen. Same age I was when I'd figured out what kind of monster we were living with. When I'd started gathering evidence, building a case, planning his downfall. She deserved better than this life. Better than being sold off to strengthen some bullshit alliance.
I hit the bag harder. Blood from my knuckles splattered across the leather.
"You planning to murder that thing, or are you working up to the real target?"
Marco's voice came from the doorway. I didn't stop hitting.
"If I was planning murder, you'd already know about it."
"Would I?" He walked closer, staying out of range in case I decided to redirect my rage. Smart man. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're about five seconds from going back upstairs and finishing what you started."
"I should have." Another hit. The chain holding the bag rattled. "I should have put a bullet in him the second he said Lia's name."
"And then what? The Council would've sanctioned you. They'd have gone after Lia to eliminate the bloodline completely. You'd have gotten her killed trying to save her."
I knew he was right. Didn't mean I had to like it.
"How much longer?" My voice came out raw. "How much more evidence do we need before we can move?"
"Father Benedetto is almost convinced. We get him on our side, we have the Council's blessing. Another month, maybe two." Marco's hand landed on my shoulder. Hard. Grounding. "But you need to hold it together until then. Which means you need to get out of this house before you do something stupid."
"I'm not leaving Lia—"
"Lia is having dinner with Mrs. Rossi. Supervised.
She's safe for tonight." He squeezed harder.
"You, on the other hand, look like you're going to stroke out from rage.
So take my advice: get the fuck out of here.
Go to that club downtown, blow off some steam.
Do whatever you need to do that doesn't involve homicide. "
I wanted to argue. But he wasn't wrong. If I stayed here, I'd end up back in my father's office. And this time Marco might not be able to stop me.
"Fine. I'll go. But if anything happens to Lia while I'm gone—"
"I'll call you immediately. I'm staying here tonight anyway. She'll be fine." He stepped back. "Now go. Find some girl to fuck the anger out of your system. Get drunk. Start a fight with someone who isn't family. Just... breathe for a few hours."
So I went.
The club was exactly the kind of place I needed—too loud to think, too crowded to be alone with my murderous thoughts, too dark to see clearly. I grabbed a drink and found a spot against the wall where I could watch the chaos without being part of it.
People dancing, drinking, laughing like they didn't have a care in the world. Like they weren't living in a world where fathers sold their daughters and sons had to compile evidence before killing their own blood.
Must be nice.
I was halfway through my second whiskey when I saw her.
She was on the dance floor, but she wasn't really dancing. Not like everyone else. She moved like someone who'd never let herself move freely before. Tentative. Testing boundaries. Like she was trying to figure out what freedom felt like.
Dark hair that caught the strobe lights. Big brown eyes that seemed to take in everything. A body that made my mouth go dry. But it was more than physical attraction.
There was something about her. An innocence that didn't belong in a place like this. A vulnerability that made every predatory instinct I had sit up and take notice.
I should have looked away. Should have found someone else, someone harder, someone who could handle what I was.
I couldn't stop staring.
She was beautiful, sure. But I'd seen beautiful women before. Fucked plenty of them. This was different. This girl looked like she was discovering herself in real-time. Like tonight was her first taste of rebellion and it was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
Something in my chest tightened. Something possessive and protective and completely fucking inappropriate given that I didn't know her name.
I told myself I'd just watch. Appreciate the view. Finish my drink and leave.
That lasted about twenty minutes before I found myself pushing through the crowd toward her.
Up close, she was even more devastating. Those eyes looked up at me and I felt it—that click. That sense of recognition that didn't make sense because I'd never seen her before in my life.
But I knew her. On some fundamental level, I knew her.
She was trying to look confident, but I could see right through it. Could see how nervous she was, how out of her depth. Could see that she wanted to run and stay in equal measure.
I should have walked away. Given her space. Let her have her night without some asshole like me ruining it.
Instead, I moved closer.
Her body fit against mine like it was designed for it. When I felt her heart racing against my chest, I knew I was taking her home. Not maybe. Not if things went well. I was taking her to a hotel room and I was keeping her there until I'd memorized every sound she could make.
The kiss in the alley sealed it. She tasted like tequila and innocence and something addictive I couldn't name. When I told her exactly what would happen if she got in my car—that I was taking her to a hotel, that I was going to spend all night taking her apart—I expected her to run.
She said yes instead.
That was it. She was mine. Whether she knew it yet or not.
The sex was... fuck. The sex was everything.
I'd been with plenty of women. Knew my way around a woman's body.
But this was different. She was responsive in a way that drove me insane.
Every touch made her gasp. Every kiss made her moan.
She gave herself over completely, trusting me to lead her through something she'd never experienced.
And then I found out she was a virgin.
Something primal locked into place in my chest. She was mine. First. Only. I'd marked her in the most fundamental way possible. Claimed her. She belonged to me now.
I wanted everything. Her name, her number, her history, her future. But she was holding back. I could tell. There were secrets in those brown eyes.
Part of me wanted to push. Demand answers. The other part—the part that was dangerously close to obsessed after just a few hours—decided to let her have her mysteries. For now.
I'd find her after. Track her down. Make her mine for real this time.
I woke up to an empty bed.
She was gone. No note. No number. No trace except the lingering scent of her on the sheets and the marks my fingers had left on her hips.
For a solid minute, I just lay there, staring at the empty space beside me. Girls didn't walk away from me. Ever. I was the one who left. I set the terms. I controlled the narrative.
But she'd just... disappeared.
I was pissed. And impressed. And absolutely determined to find her.
I called Marco while I was getting dressed. Had him start digging. Find the girl from last night. There couldn't be that many beautiful, virginal brunettes who'd been at that specific club. Someone would know her.