The Cost of Corruption (Cold Blood Empire #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

CHASTITY

“ O h yeah! Take it off, baby! Let me see that body.”

The stripper’s white button-down shirt flew across the room. Arcing high, it suspended in the air at its zenith like a dove with outstretched wings for just a moment before gravity took hold and pulled it back down…right into my lap.

The material, weighed down by a layer of sweat, landed against my tightly pressed thighs with an audible thwap, causing the room to explode into a round of excited laughter and cheers.

I pinched the fabric and pulled it off my black wool skirt before it could leave a stain. Then, after gently folding it in half, I placed it on the empty spot next to me on the couch.

Apparently, that was the wrong move. The whoops quickly faded, turning to groans instead.

“Oh my God, Chastity. Loosen up. This is a party. My party!” my cousin Alessia shouted over the pounding music. The pink satin Bride To Be sash draped across her chest flapped as she bounced her rear against the half-naked dancer behind her. “Somebody get that girl another glass of champagne!”

“I’m fine,” I protested, even as another one of my cousins pressed an overflowing flute of bubbles into my hand. “I don’t need another drink.”

“Yeah, you do.” Yet another cousin insisted with a tipsy giggle. “You’re bringing the whole room down.”

“Sophia!” Someone gasped, but since the space was so crowded, I couldn’t tell who. All I knew was they had to be a relative. With a dozen of us Costa girls and three male strippers stuffed into this private room, it was amazing that there was enough air for us to breathe. “You can’t talk like that to a nun.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s a mortal sin,” another voice agreed.

“It’s not,” I assured everyone, softly shaking my head. It wasn’t even a minor one. And not just because, despite the simple black pinafore and white veil covering my head, I was only a novice, not an actual nun.

Not yet, at least.

I was still a few weeks away from taking my final vows. “You can still talk to me the same way you always have.”

“Great!” Alessia declared, still grinding her backside against the groin of the muscular stranger behind her. “Then drink up, bitch! Because this party is just getting started!”

Another round of deafening, hedonistic cheers filled the room.

Yeah, that was what I was afraid of.

Even before I stepped out of the house with the gaggle of my cousins, I knew it was a terrible idea. And when I spotted the hot pink party bus waiting to whisk us all off to a night of drunken debauchery, an uneasy feeling took root in my belly. I’d tensed up so tight that my ears started to ring.

I didn’t want to go, but there were just some obligations a person couldn’t get out of, no matter how ill-advised they might be…and attending my cousin’s bachelorette party was one of them.

Honestly, I’d been amazed that my father had allowed me out the door with only the female side of my family in the first place…and not just because he was a notoriously protective papa when it came to his only daughter. But also because, just like me, my father knew just how wild the Costa cousins could get when they went out together. Girls or boys—it didn’t matter.

Where there was a group of Costas, there was trouble.

Everyone in New York knew that.

But apparently, even my hard-as-nails father wasn’t above being sweet-talked by his favorite niece. Especially not a few days before her wedding. All it took was a couple of innocent bats of her eyelashes and a sugary voiced, “Please, Uncle Michael. I need all my cousins at my bachelorette party—even Chastity. It won’t be the same without her. We don’t do anything crazy. I promise,” and my father had caved.

I doubt he believed her claims of having a mellow night planned any more than I did. Alessia and crazy went together like communion wafers and sacramental wine. You couldn’t have one without the other.

No, I figured it was far more likely that now that I was back in his house for the first time in over a decade, he finally believed that his grand plan for my life had come to fruition.

I was finally the woman he’d vowed I’d be—pure, virginal, and devout. Untouched by man, uncorrupted by the world. In his eyes, my simple pinafore habit and veil were like shining armor against a sinful world.

And as the boss of the Costa crime family, my father was a leading expert on sin. You’d have to look long and hard to find a law he and my brothers hadn’t broken somewhere along their rise to power.

All that blood on his hands was why, on the day I was born, my father made a solemn oath to God. He would give his only daughter to the church. I would be his repentance. I would remain as pure as he was corrupt.

Hence my name—Chastity.

Apparently, there had been muffled laughter when it was announced at my christening. The idea of anything chaste coming out of this family was too ridiculous to be believed.

But just like with everything else in my father’s life, this was no joke. He was dead serious. He intended my life as an offering to even the divine scales of justice.

And now that I was only weeks away from making my final vows and fully joining a cloister of Carmelite nuns, my father must have considered his plan a success. For years, he’d held tight to the reins of my life, but apparently, tonight, he’d finally unafraid to loosen his grip and allow me out into the world. After all, there might be a couple of mooks stupid enough to mess around with Michael Costa’s only daughter, but there wasn’t a soul in all of the five families who would dare lay a finger on a nun.

At least, that’s what my father believed.

And tonight, he’d been brave enough to test that theory, letting my cousins swoop me up and parade me straight into the most corrupt and ungodly corners of New York.

But if Alessia and the rest of my cousins had hoped to scandalize me with their whirlwind tour of Manhattan’s most hedonistic clubs and bars, it didn’t work. I might’ve been innocent, but I was still a mafia boss’ daughter.

I knew how the world worked.

At least, I thought I did.

I’d overheard the stories my brothers told. I listened to the whispers of the women my convent served. I’d even seen a nude man before…though it had been during my time ministering with other sisters at a convalescent hospital for elderly veterans upstate. And even I had to admit that sight was nothing like the three virile young men dancing in front of me right now.

Even so, I was far from shocked, horrified, or even titillated by the sight of the dancers’ sweaty muscles. The only thing I felt was slightly embarrassed…for them.

It wasn’t a judgmental reaction. I had no issue with sex workers. After all, Jesus had spent time among them. He’d even called some of them friends. And if they were good enough company for the Lord, then I who was I to judge.

No, the truth is I would have pitied anyone who found themselves in the unfortunate position of having to entertain my cousins all night.

Still, it was clear that Alessia wouldn’t be happy until she’d dragged some kind of righteous reaction out of me.

Leaning back against the dancer behind her, she said in a voice loud enough for me to hear, “How much to give my penguin cousin a lap dance?”

At least the man had the grace to present me with an apologetic smile as he met my flat, expressionless gaze. “I don’t think the sister is interested.”

Alessia’s eyes narrowed, and for a second, she reminded me a little too much of her underboss father. The same rash and violent temper flashed in her eyes. “I didn’t ask what you thought . I asked how much?”

“Alessia, don’t talk to him that way,” I protested, doing my best impression of my current mother superior…though apparently, my attempt at an authoritative tone wasn’t as intimidating. The only reaction I got was an eye roll. “And he’s right. I’m absolutely not interested.”

“As if you have any idea what it means to be interested,” Alessia shot back with a laugh before turning back to the dancer. “My cousin might be the most repressed girl on the planet. You wanna know what happened the day we girls took her out to buy her first bra? The second her papa found out, he shipped her off to an all-girls Catholic boarding school. No kidding. That morning, we were browsing the racks at Victoria’s Secret, and that night, her bags were packed, and she was being loaded into the car.”

“Alessia, please stop. That’s not your story to tell,” I snapped. “Especially not to a stranger whose name you don’t even know.”

“Of course, I know his name,” she shouted over the thumping bass line. “It’s Kyle.”

“Kent,” the dancer corrected her.

“Whatever,” Alessia shrugged. “And whaddya mean I can’t tell that story? I was there, wasn’t I? I was the one who talked you into that lacy, red number that made Uncle Michael lose his damn mind. Why’d you want something so slutty anyway?”

“Don’t you remember?” Sophia shouted from across the room. “She had a crush on some boy at school—never did tell us who he was.”

“Too bad she never got a chance to wow him with that pushup,” another cousin cracked, joining in. “Though God knows, her tits were so small back then she needed all the help she could get.”

“Good thing she’s not looking to impress anyone now because she’s still tiny.” Alessia burst out laughing at her own cruel humor before turning her attention back to me. “So, who was that boy you had a crush on, anyway?”

I cupped my hands in my lap and swallowed down the lump of shame and humiliation that had formed in my throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The words were immediately followed by a silent prayer, begging forgiveness for the bald-faced lie.

Alessia rolled her eyes. “Like I said, the most repressed girl on the planet.”

Before my cousin could open her mouth again, the dancer cupped his hands suggestively around her hips and started to grind even harder into her backside. Even though I know I should have been morally appalled by the lascivious display, the only thing I felt was gratitude. His blatantly sexy moves successfully shifted all the attention in the room away from me.

And, judging by the kind and apologetic glance Kent shot me as all the girls in the room squealed in delight, it had been a calculated move. An unexpected kindness to help take the attention off me. And heaven knew I appreciated it.

I lifted up my glass of champagne and took a long drink. Longer than was wise. I’d already made my way to the bottom of the glass a couple of times this evening, and while alcohol wasn’t technically off limits—the Lord himself made miracles with wine, after all—stepping over the line into overindulgence could be considered sinful.

The only trouble was around my cousins, it was difficult to know exactly where that line was. They were so wild that they threw off the scales completely. It was nearly impossible to gauge where moderation ended when everyone you were surrounded by was an insatiable glutton.

The moment I hit the halfway mark on my champagne flute, someone was always there behind me, filling it to the top again. Somewhere along the way, I’d lost all track of just how many glasses I had. All I knew was that as Sophia appeared behind me again to top me off, I was already starting to feel more than a little tipsy.

“That’s more like it, girl,” like a cartoon devil on my shoulder, my cousin goaded me on. “Drink up. This might be your only chance to live a little. Besides, I have a feeling you’ll need a drink for what’s planned next.”

Oh, no. Despite the warm and floaty feeling rushing through my veins, warning bells rang out loud and clear in my mind.

I swiveled around in my seat to face my cousin. “Why? What’s happening?”

“You’ll see,” she said with a wide, wicked smile that was far from reassuring. “Every bachelorette party has strippers, but only those people looking to get really freaky come to La Sera.”

Her hand had been hovering over a red button on the table next to me, and when she pressed it, lights came up behind the mirrored wall in front of me, illuminating the space beyond. Apparently, it hadn’t been a wall at all but a cavernous room. One filled with more dancers. Men and women this time—all completely naked and writhing together.

A deafening roar of approval rose up among my cousins even as I ducked my head down on instinct and covered my face with my hands.

Clearly, I wasn’t as worldly as I’d thought.

“All right, boys,” Sophia, who, as Alessia’s maid of honor, had planned this bachelorette party, shouted above the din. “Now it’s really time to earn that cash.”

Wait. What was she talking about? The poor strippers were already down to the flimsiest-looking G-string. Nearly every bit of them was exposed. If they took off anymore, they’d be completely?—

Another flying piece of fabric thwacked against my arm.

Looking down at the strip of shiny black spandex, I slowly realized that Kent and the other men in the room were more than simply exotic dancers.

As tempted as my tipsy self was to take a quick peek to verify that theory, I managed to keep my head down. As it turned out, a decade of forced modesty was a hard habit to break.

So was the crushing sense of guilt and shame that washed over me for finding myself in this situation. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t planned or chosen any of this. My inner critic still screamed that I was somehow still to blame.

I knew what my cousins were like. I knew the trouble they liked to lead me into. I should have protested more. I should have refused to leave the house. I shouldn’t have let them lead me astray.

But fortunately, this time, someone was looking out for me.

Just as the first deep and rumbling carnal groan filled the room, I felt a hand gently grip my arm. I looked up to see Kent staring down at me with concern. “Come on, Sister. Let’s get you somewhere you’ll feel more comfortable.”

I’d never felt so grateful in my life. My chest was still so tight that I could barely draw in a deep breath, but in that moment, the stripper was like an angel, helping me up and guiding me through the crowd toward the door, all while ignoring my cousins’ disappointed groans and shielding me from the sinful sights all around me.

When we reached the door, he opened it for me, saying, “If you go to the right, the hallway will lead you down to the lounge. Tell them that Kent sent you there for ‘privacy.’ The hostess will know what that means and take care of you until your cousins are done for the night.”

Still clutching my champagne flute as if it were a life preserver, I rushed out into the hall, only daring to draw in a deep breath when I heard the door click closed behind me.

I didn’t take off right away.

Instead, I stood there with my eyes closed and settled into the first peaceful moment I’d had since arriving at my father’s house earlier in the week.

This club—La Sera—might be as sinful and debauched as Sodom, but at least it wasn’t flimsily constructed. Miraculously, the private party rooms were truly sound-proof, and once the door was closed, all the racket—the pounding music and my cousin’s squeals—disappeared.

The hallway was marvelously quiet and, as long as I kept my eyes closed, every bit as peaceful and serene as the stone-walled convent I currently called home.

Leaning back against the wall, I allowed myself to enjoy a few deep breaths. I knew that once I opened my eyes, reality would come crashing down. Because just like every other pleasure that could be found in this den of sin, this serenity was just an illusion.

Once I opened my eyes, I wouldn’t see trees or flowers or ivy-covered stone walls. Instead, I’d be faced with lush Burgundy curtains and carpet, expensive marble walls, and moody flickering candle glow—an aesthetic that dripped with overt sensuality.

But at least the silence was nice.

After what felt long enough to be a full minute, I pushed myself up off the wall and opened my eyes, ready to head down to the lounge and spend the rest of the night waiting for my cousins to either pass out or settle down enough to be poured back into the party bus and make our way back to my father’s house.

At least life in the convent had taught me patience.

But as I lifted my chin, the breath inside my lungs froze. Instantly, my chest tightened, and I fell back against the wall again.

It couldn’t be.

It wasn’t possible.

It couldn’t be him.

For a brief second, I feared Alessia’s questions about who I’d been buying that bra for all those years ago had summoned him out of thin air…but no.

Honestly, seeing him here made a lot of sense. Where else would you expect to find the devil if not wandering the halls of New York’s most notorious den of sin?

It had been more than a decade since I’d seen him last, but I recognized him in an instant. In less than the time it took my racing heart to finish a single beat, my blood was already starting to heat.

“ Matteo ,” I heard myself whisper.

Somehow, his name slipped out of me. I couldn’t help it. All the times I’d swallowed it down, I’d never been able to completely push him out of my head. The memory of his face had always been there—taunting me.

And now he was standing across the hallway, staring at me with those dark eyes that had been burned into my memory. The ones that I could never get out of my head. The ones that had never faded away.

He tilted his head, his dark hair falling rakishly over his brow. “I’m sorry, Sister. Do I know you?”

He didn’t remember me.

A stabbing pain entered my heart, piercing it deeply. Not a day had gone by in the last ten years that I didn’t think about him. Not a single day that I didn’t pray for God to remove the temptation of his memory from my mind and leave me in peace.

And Matteo D’Angelo didn’t even recognize me.

I shouldn’t have been surprised—but I couldn’t stop myself from feeling hurt.

“It doesn’t matter. I just…need to get to the lounge.”

He studied my face for a moment longer before finally nodding. “Sure. Just continue down this hall until?—”

The door behind me swung open—hard enough that I had to jump out of the way to keep it from slamming into me.

“Chastity, there you are!” My cousin’s head craned out from inside. “Get your ass back in here. You’ll never believe what that guy Kent is doing to Sophia! You won’t get a chance to see this at your convent.”

“I’m okay,” I said—even though she hadn’t asked. “I just need some air.”

“All right,” she huffed before heading back inside, the door automatically closing behind her. “But don’t take too long. I promised your papa I’d?—”

Whatever she said next was swallowed up when the door shut behind her.

I looked back over at Matteo and found him studying me with new eyes.

“Chastity…” he mused, stepping toward me, swallowing up all the space between us in a single stride. “Chastity Costa?”

So he did remember me.

I wasn’t sure whether to feel relief or fear. All I knew was that hearing him say my name brought up emotions I’d been trying most of my life to bury.

Emotions that, for his sake and mine, really needed to stay buried.

“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head and breaking eye contact. “I really need to get to the?—”

“—lounge,” he finished for me. “Of course. I’ll walk you there myself.”

“ No! ” The word burst from my lips so fast and loud that I even startled myself. To cover my embarrassment, I looked down at the hem of my habit. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. I’m just a little overwhelmed.”

“No apology needed. This entertainment here can be… overwhelming .” His voice was unexpectedly calm and understanding…and painfully familiar. How many times had the memory of his deep, rumbling tone echoed in my head late at night as I lay alone in my simple bed?

Far too many times.

“It’s nothing personal,” I said. “But I think I should be alone right now.”

A silent pause—one that felt much longer than the half-second it took up—and then, “Of course.”

Suddenly, he sounded serious. Almost formal.

That was good. Wasn’t it ? The more physical and emotional distance I could manage during this surprise reunion, the better. Never mind the heavy sense of disappointment slowly sinking into my chest.

“Thank you,” I said, already starting to scurry past him. But then, just like Lot’s wife, unable to resist the temptation of the past, I paused and glanced back to glimpse his face one last time. “It was good to see you, Mr. DeAngelo.”

My cloistered heart started hammering as a hint of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “You too, Miss Costa.”

“ Costa ?” A very loud and very slurred voice carried around the bend of the curved, circular hallway. “No fucking way. Which one of you dirty bastards is trying to crash my bachelor party?”

Oh no.

I knew that voice. Jimmy Santoro— Alessia’s fiancee. The man wasn’t exactly the quiet type, and I’d been forced to listen to his bellow through the halls of my father’s house all week.

There was no time to run. I’d barely managed to duck my head down and take a single step away before Jimmy and at least a dozen of his friends rounded the corner.

“ Chastity ?” My eyes closed as I heard my name. My head dropped down, sagging against my chest. It had been too much to hope he wouldn’t recognize me from behind. There was no hiding a nun in a sex club. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

It was a good question. One I’d been asking myself all night. I turned around, not sure what in the world I was going to say…but I didn’t have a chance to answer.

Not when the door to Alessia’s party flew open again, the sound of pounding dance music and carnal moans pouring out into the hallway as her head poked out.

“Chastity!” She shouted, her shirt now completely unbuttoned. Now, that tacky pink satin sash was the only thing holding the fabric together and keeping her from flashing the whole hallway. “Get your ass in here! Screw your vows; it’s time to?—”

“ Alessia !”

All attention dropped from me as Jimmy’s eyes went wide as hubcaps. For a brief moment, his face flashed pale, then, in the next second, burned bright red with rage.

“Jimmy?” my cousin gasped. Her hands flew to the front of her wide-open shirt, pulling it closed and preserving what little sense of modesty my cousin had left. “Oh shit! What are you doing here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” he fumed. “What the fuck were you thinking, having your bachelorette party at a place like this?”

Never one to back down from a fight, Alessia lifted her chin defiantly. “The same thing as you, apparently. What, it’s okay for you to fuck around before our wedding at La Sera, but not me?”

“That’s right,” he shot back, anger blazing out of his eyes. The tension in the hall wound even tighter. “I’m a man, after all. But you? You’re going to be my wife.”

At that, Alessia’s face grew just as red as Jimmy’s. The music inside the room quieted down, and a dozen female faces appeared at the door. Not one of them looked happy about the turn the night had taken.

“And what?” she demanded, stepping away from the door, coming out of her defensive position, and toward her fiancee, ready to confront him. “You think that means you own me? That you get to control me?”

“Fucking right I do,” Jimmy answered in a posturing tone that was clearly meant to save face with his friends.

I sucked in a breath between gritted teeth and reflexively took a step back.

He really shouldn’t have said that. It might have made him sound more “manly” in front of his crew, but Alessia was far from impressed. She might have been upset before, but now she was pissed .

In a flash, she pulled back her hand and slapped Jimmy so hard that even his friends winced.

For a second, the hallways went dead quiet. No one breathed.

Then, in the next instant, all hell broke loose.

Moving so fast, I could barely track the action, my cousins flooded out of the party room, rushing to Alessia’s defense in various stages of undress. There was more slapping and screaming, spitting and hair pulling. Hands and insults flew as the wedding party matched up in a drunken brawl.

One particularly inebriated groomsman even stepped up to me, looking ready to start something. But before he could even open his mouth, Matteo was there, wrapping his arm around my waist and positioning me behind him.

“Don’t even think about it, asshole,” he growled, his low tone dark enough to frighten all the color out of the man’s face in an instant.

Then, turning around, Matteo grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hall and away from the fray. We hadn’t even made it to the front of the club before a line of black-suited security rushed past us, ready to break up the fight.

Even though I had my issues with the morality of this club, there was no denying how well-run the place was.

“I’m supposed to wait in the lounge,” I protested when the bar area appeared in front of us. But Matteo kept walking, leading me through a swinging door behind the hostess station and up a flight of polished, dark wood stairs. “Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere safer,” he answered without looking back.

“Where?”

“My office,” he said as we reached the top of the stairs.

As he poked numbers and pressed his thumb against a keypad at the side of the heavy metal door, I read the nameplate fixed to the center.

Matteo D’Angelo

Proprietor

Of course. I should have known.

The devil didn’t just roam the halls of this sin palace. He owned the place.