Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
TIFFANY
" O h, bloody hell!"
The banging on my apartment door wakes me up from a deep sleep. I groan and roll over, facing away from the door, hoping whoever is making all that racket will go away. Don't "they" know I'm trying to sleep off last evening girl’s night out.
I groan as the relentless pounding continues.
The blinding sunlight pours through the expansive industrial-style windows, flooding my loft with a harsh light that reveals the chaos of my surroundings. In my desperate attempt to cling to the last remnants of sleep, I shove my head deeper into my pillow, seeking refuge and hoping against hope that whoever takes the hint will retreat.
"Go away!" I shout, a dull throbbing at my temples as my body protests the noise the pounding is making.
With a groan, I reach for my phone, squinting at the screen when it flickers to life. Its nine o'clock in the morning. Are they serious? "Go the FUCK away!" I shouted again. All I want to do is return to sleep's blissful darkness.
"Tiffany, open this damn door now, or I will break it down!" The muffled voice came through loud and clear, sending a jolt of anxiety down my spine. Franco?! What the hell is he doing here?
"Tiffany Alicia! Don't make me repeat myself. Open this fucking door now, or your ass will pay the price!" Franco's voice boomed through the barrier, loud and unmistakable.
"Shit," I muttered under my breath, realizing just how urgent this was. I was well aware of my heart racing with anxiety. When Franco made a threat, he meant it. His tone didn’t allow for any argument.
"Alright! Give me a minute!" I shout back, failing to keep the irritation out of my tone. "And don't you dare break down my door. If you do, I’ll murder you.
As I scrambled out of bed, the sheets tangled around my foot, sending me crashing to the floor with a resounding thud. I could sense Franco's amused chuckle reverberating from the other side.
Disgusted, I turned away from the mess on my floor.
Fuck, just what I need now, him laughing at me as I limp toward the door.
My heart races faster with each step as I approach the door. My mind is full of questions, chief among them: What is Franco doing here? He rarely visits and only when I invite him.
I hold my breath as I look through the peephole. The world outside reduces to a slender circle. Franco stands closest to the door; his tall and imposing figure is dark against the bright backdrop of the hallway. He wears a perfectly tailored black suit that clings to his muscular frame, giving off an air of authority. His stern expression, eyes piercing and intense, show he was not here for pleasantries. There's an impatient intensity in his gaze as he sweeps the corridor, a palpable energy that sends a jolt of unease through me.
Beside Franco is Giovanni leaning casually against the wall. This has to be bad if both of them are here. Gio’s suit is lighter than Franco's, making him more approachable despite the lingering predatory air. His lips curl into a mischievous smirk that hints at trouble and plays at the edges of my mind. He catches my gaze through the peephole, his dark eyes glinting with an unspoken challenge, as if he knows how much this moment rattles me.
I take a moment to search for any sign of Nico. Normally wherever these two are Nico is right beside them.
This is not good. A shiver runs up and down my spine; something is wrong.
“Tiffany!” Franco's impatience radiates through the door as I make them wait, while Giovanni's playful energy seems almost inviting.
I sighed heavily.
I take a moment to collect myself, shaking off sleep. Pulling my shoulders back, I plaster a broad smile, ready to put on my best cheerful self. There’s no escaping, I begin to unlock my door. The clinking of each lock sounds like a gunshot to my ears.
As I swing the door open, the sunlight in my loft streams out into the hall illuminating them in a warm, golden glow. I can't help but notice how the light dances across their features—Giovanni's sharp jawline, mischievous smile, and Franco's warm eyes that seem to hold secrets.
It's really disarming how handsome they both are, making my knees weak. Too bad they are off limits. I would really love to run my hands along their fit bodies. I sense a flutter in my chest, recognizing that having such feelings toward them is out of the question. Yet even as I battle the feelings swirling within me, I can't deny the pulse of attraction that tingles beneath the surface.
"Good morning, boys," I greet them, leaning against the doorframe with a welcoming gesture of my hand. “What brings you here on this gorgeous Sunday morning?”
Giovanni and Franco push past me as they step into my apartment.
The playful banter in Giovanni's eyes contrasts Franco's more serious demeanor. They briefly survey my space, perhaps noticing the dishes in the sink or the laundry not in the hamper. A twinge of embarrassment flushes my cheeks, but I shake it off; I now have bigger concerns.
Franco's expression shifts, his brow furrowing further. "Tiffany, you need to get dressed. What in the hell were you thinking opening the door like that?" he demands. His eyes scan my body, and he points out that there is more skin than clothing.
"What? You don't like it?" I twirl in a small circle, aware that I'm provoking him. "You're lucky I left on my t-shirt and underwear when I went to bed," I say with a smirk. I know I shouldn't push him, but it's just too easy, sometimes. And hell! They weren't invited to be here, this early. And they are the one who woke me up.
"Tiffany, I need you to get dressed now," Franco said through his clenched teeth. His tone, let me know I might have gone a little too far in pushing him. "Mr. Sansone wants to see you this morning. Now go get dressed and do it quickly,” he continued.
“Me?” I whispered as I chew on my lower lip. Both men nod.
All in out circle know, when the Don "requests" your presence, it is not just a simple ask but a command that requires immediate obedience. A sinking sensation in my stomach. Whatever is brewing today isn't casual chatter over coffee. This is serious business, and I can already sense the wheels of my fate are turning off the course I had set out for myself.
"Of course," I reply, trying to mask the unease in my voice, my heart races at the disturbing thoughts running through my mind. "Should I shower quickly or just wear something more suitable?"
"Please take a shower," Giovanni replies before Franco can speak. Mr. Sansone doesn't need to smell the bar on you from last night.
I can't help but mutter, "Thanks, Gio. I wouldn't want to offend anyone by smelling of an actual good time," as I head into my bathroom.
I've never showered so quickly in my life, my nerves pushing me to move faster than I thought possible.
The limo ride to the Sansone residence was oppressive. Silence engulfed us as Gio and Franco positioned themselves on either side of me, their impassive expressions offering no reassurance.
"Come on, please tell me what is going on. I pleaded. Franco and Gio were tight-lipped, staring out the window, watching the city pass us by.
As we arrived at the mansion, a grand old structure looming on the west side of Manhattan, a wave of anxiety washed over me. This place meant more than just a home. I could sense the weight of history in its walls, the air heavy with unspoken tension—a reminder of whose territory we were in.
Lorenzo Sansone. The Don of the Bruno family. I've known him all my life. My father is one of his captains. Unlike my father, Mr. Sansone was always excellent to me, offering me a piece of candy when I was younger or a smile during our "family" gatherings.
I stepped inside the dimly lit office, overwhelmed by the intimidating atmosphere. The lavish decor contrasted with the dull ache in my chest: mahogany furniture polished to a mirror finish, elegant artwork adorning the walls, and the sharp scent of expensive cigars mingling with something spicier and unsettling. Each piece gave impressive authority and dominance, and I couldn't shake the notion that I was intruding in a domain controlled by fear and respect.
My father sat at the far side of the room, making him seem so small and frail. His injuries drew my gaze. His black eye looked like a dark bruise against a backdrop of dried blood, remnants clinging to his mouth where most likely teeth had once been. He, once confident, was now a disheveled figure, a mere shadow.
I could feel his anger simmering beneath the surface and his resignation to his current state. Surprisingly, I felt no compassion for him. He deserved whatever, or shall I say, whoever happened to him.
As our eyes met, his expression unfolded—a conjuration of pleading and defiance. I could almost taste the manipulative undertones in his voice as he tried to engage me to evoke sympathy for him. However, I experienced only contempt. "Tiffany," he started, his voice strained and brittle like old paper. "Tiffany, please," he croaked, trying to summon some semblance of fatherly affection, but it came out as a weak plea. "You have to help me, figlia mia. You're my blood, my daughter."
I scoffed, the sound echoing around the room like a gunshot. "Your daughter?" I repeated, venom dripping from each syllable. "Since when did that matter to you, Father?"
The room was still, and tension was thickening. I stood straight, ready to confront the man who brought me into this world but never acted like a father. I sensed the gaze of these men on me as I observed this drama unfold, but I didn't mind. This was between me and him.
"You've never been a father to me," I said, my voice calm and steady. "You were always too busy with your 'business,' too busy cheating on Mom, too busy treating women like they were disposable."
I thought back to the times I'd seen him with other women, the countless affairs he never hid. Each memory seemed like a dagger piercing through the facade he maintained. I could still picture the way he'd speak to Mom, as if she were a possession rather than a person, reducing her to something he owned rather than someone he loved.
Some of my childhood memories replay—the hollow birthday parties filled with his absence. At these recitals, I looked out to the crowd, hoping for his familiar face but finding only disappointment instead.
I stood there, heart thundering, refusing to let his pathetic attempt at the connection draw me in. The anger I experienced toward him hardened in my chest. I hated him for what he had done—not just to me but to my mother and for all the ways he had twisted our family's legacy into something unrecognizable.
My father reminded me of everything I despised in this world. I diverted my attention from him to the head of the family, Lorenzo Sansone, and expressed my respect with a discreet yet deliberate nod.
"Ah, Tiffany. The Don's voice dripped with sarcasm as he commented on your joining. "It seems your dear father has once again tested my patience. As you can see, your father is in somewhat of a difficult position," Mr. Sansone states with no anger. Based on my experience, something terrible happened. For Lorenzo, not to have any emotion while he speaks means only one thing.
He is furious that someone is about to die or wishes they were dead.
I glance at my father for the briefest of a second, then turn my attention back to Lorenzo. Before I can say anything, he continues.
"Please sit down; we must discuss a proposition that concerns you." I lower myself onto the edge of the chair, the plush cushion registering beneath me. The coffee I gulped on the way here is swirling in my stomach, threatening to rise.
I draw in a shaky breath. "How may I assist you, sir?" I inject as much confidence as possible into my voice, but it wavers slightly.
Lorenzo leans over and places his folded hands on the top of his desk, his expression grave, as he speaks about my father as if he isn't sitting on Nico's right.
"Tiffany," he said, his voice steady, "your father was convinced he could outsmart me. He thought he could pocket significant money and walk away, thinking I wouldn't do anything. But he was dead wrong."
My heart raced as I listened, picturing my father's slick smile and the misplaced confidence he wore like armor. Lorenzo continued, his tone darkening. "When Nico confronted him, it wasn't just a scuffle. It was brutal—a stark reminder that the mob demands respect. Betrayal is met with harsh punishment."
I took a deep breath, aware of his words. I faced reality, my father's choices, and my place in this chaotic world. Lorenzo's gaze bore into me, making me grasp just how severe the consequences could be. "You need to understand, Tiffany. Your father's hubris led him down this path, and now he'll reap what he has sown."
I sat frozen, my mind racing as Lorenzo's words pierced my thoughts.
"Tiffany," he began, his voice steady but heavy with something like pity. Your father—he's decided that will change everything for you."
A knot twisted in my stomach as I braced for what was coming. "What do you mean?"
"In his desperation, Salvatore has offered you up to the highest bidder, so to speak."
I have known all my life to my father that I am nothing more than a pawn in a twisted game. He would sacrifice my future or even my life if it meant his survival.
Lorenzo's gaze was unwavering. "He believes that selling his daughter will somehow grant him a reprieve."
I nod at his words. This is not news to me. To my father, women are just tools—traded for favors, used for gain, or discarded when the stakes get too high. My heart sank deeper, creasing my chest with icy dread. Glancing at the men in the room, I inquire as the bargaining chip.
"Yes," Lorenzo replied. "In his eyes, you're a means to assure his continued breath in this brutal world."
"So, basically, this plea he set up - is his life for mine? You will kill me to save his life?"
"No, you stupid girl," my father sneers. My freedom for your enslavement. You will be theirs to do what they wish. Your life to save mine. That is the way it should be.
I gaze upon this man I once referred to as my father, and in recent years, I understand his true nature - the lowest form of human being on this planet. A surge of defiance rose within me. "You think you can use me as a bargaining chip now?" I continued, my voice steady. "You think you can sell me off to save your own skin? You're mistaken, Father. I'm not yours to sell."
His face contorted with anger and desperation. "You ungrateful little bitch," he spat. "After everything I've done for you?—"
"Everything you've done for me?" I interrupted, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "You mean like making my life a living hell? Teaching me that love is a lie people tell to get what they want? Showing me men cannot be trusted?"
I looked around the room, meeting Nico, Franco, and Giovanni's gazes. I saw something in their eyes—respect, understanding, maybe even a hint of admiration. They understood my father's true nature and the world he hailed from. And they knew I differed from him.
Turning back to my father, I said, "I will not be your sacrificial lamb. I will not let you use me to save yourself."
He sneered, "You think you're so much better than me, right? Do you believe you can leave this life? Tiffany, you are mistaken. Regardless of your feelings, you are still connected to this world.
I shook my head, "No, Father. Your world is not a part of mine. I never was. And I never will be."
I looked at Lorenzo Sansone. "Sir, I understand the gravity of the situation. And I understand that my father's actions have consequences. I refuse to be a pawn. I will not be sold to the highest bidder like a property."
Lorenzo nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I see you have your mother's spirit, Tiffany. Very well. We will not force you into anything. But understand this: your father's debt must be paid. If not by you, then by him."
I nodded, understanding the unspoken words. My father would pay the ultimate price if I disagreed with their terms. But wasn't that what he deserved? After all the pain he'd caused and the lives he'd ruined, wasn't it time for him to face the consequences of his actions?
I looked at Nico, Franco, and Giovanni. I saw the hunger in their eyes. They wanted me—that much was clear—but there was something more, something more profound. They viewed me as an equal, not merely an object. They saw my strength, my fire, and they respected it.
At that moment, I made my decision. My motivation was desire, not coercion. I saw a chance for freedom, power, and life on my terms.
"I'll accept the debt payment terms," I assured confidently. "But on one condition. That as of this moment, I am no longer Salvatore Garzelli's daughter. From then on, I am dead to him, his crew, and his associates. No one in his circle is authorized to approach me. And Salvatore Garzelli is dead to me."
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise in his eyes. Then he smiled a broad, genuine smile. "Well played, Tiffany. Yes, we have a deal."
I turned to my father one last time. "Goodbye. May you rot in hell."