THE VILLAIN

WAR OF HEARTS

BOOK ONE

NATASHA KNIGHT

Copyright © 2025 by Natasha Knight

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

Cover by Coverluv

This is for all the dark romance lovers who know love hurts. Who crave that ache deep inside.

Some love belongs in the dark. May you find yours in the shadows.

ABOUT THIS BOOK

My life changed the moment I saw Cassian Trevino standing in the shadows of my father’s study.

A ruthless villain in a suit, he’s the head of a rival mafia family.

I should have been safe.

Instead, I was trapped by the man my brother betrayed.

Cassian came for blood.

But he took me instead.

Now I’m his possession.

His obsession.

He demands my surrender. He wants my body, my heart and soul.

And the most dangerous part? My heart has already betrayed me.

But the truce between our families is fracturing. We stand on the brink of a mafia war.

Loving my enemy isn’t only forbidden. It could be the deadliest betrayal of all.

The Villain is Book 1 of the War of Hearts Duet.

1

ALLEGRA

“Just keep a smile on that pretty face of yours and it’ll be over before you know it.”

My brother pats my cheek, but I think what he’d really like to do is slap it if he could. If two hundred of our relatives, including members of the inner circle and business associates, weren’t clustered in our living room, drinks in hand, watching us, some openly, some from the corners of their eyes.

Watching and waiting for a crack to show, a weakness to exploit.

“It hasn’t even been six months since his death, Michael. It’s not right.”

The family trusted our father to lead them. I’m not sure my brother realizes they don’t exactly look at him with the same respect.

Michael turns to nod a greeting to one of the guests, his lips moving into what on the outside looks like a warm smile as he sips his whiskey.

“The contract’s been delayed long enough. And besides, right won’t keep us fed, will it? Won’t keep this roof over our heads. It certainly won’t put us back at the top of the food chain.”

That last part he says under his breath. He scans the crowd before turning to me once more and I see his true face. The one beneath the mask.

“Besides, it’s my birthday, sis. Consider this my birthday gift, you actually doing what you’re told for once. I’m head of this family now and I’m working my ass off to fix the mess our father left behind. Hell, he should have married you off the day you turned eighteen, but you always did have him wrapped around your little finger, didn’t you?”

“He wouldn’t make me do something I didn’t want to do.”

“Bullshit,” he says with a snort. “Don’t make a saint of him. He wasn’t one, Allegra. You of all people should know that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grits his teeth and narrows his eyes, and I get the feeling it’s taking all he has to hold back.

“You really need to ask?” Michael taunts. He wraps his hand around mine, weaving our fingers together and giving a little squeeze. To all those watching, I’m sure it looks like a comforting gesture, big brother taking care of his younger sister. It’s not, though, and I wince when his fingernail presses into the nub where the pinkie finger of my left hand used to be. “Speaking of little fingers, tuck this hand into your pocket. We don’t need to parade that around, do we?”

When he releases my hand, I push it into my pocket.

With a jerk of his chin, he gestures to two men standing across the room, William and Richard Moore. Governor Richard Moore. Father and son. I wonder if they feel out of place considering the rest of the guest list.

Over the years, Dad had many meetings with the Moores. Richard and I were officially introduced on my eighteenth birthday with the understanding that after my college graduation, we’d be married and our families would be aligned.

“I’m not sure why you’re whining anyway. He’s not completely hideous and his wallet is thick,” Michael says.

I clench my jaw to bite back my words as he finishes his drink and sets the glass aside before adjusting the butterfly mask covering the top half of my face. He mutters his disappointment at my lack of costume. It is Halloween, after all.

“And don’t think I won’t punish you for this,” he says.

One look in his hard eyes and I have no doubt he will.

Someone calls his name and after giving me one more pointed look, he finally moves on.

Taking a flute of champagne from one of the serving staff hired with money we don’t have, I ignore my fiancé to be and sip from my glass. My gaze moves around the room. I recognize many of the faces behind the masks, family members and business associates of my father’s. Malek Lombardi, my father’s consigliere, now my brother’s, is among them. He catches my eye over the shoulder of the woman he’s talking to. His mask is pushed to the top of his head. He’s barely bothered with a costume himself. He gives a quick wink that makes my skin crawl. It’s to let me know he’s watched the whole interaction. He’s always watching. Even when Dad was alive, Malek was always on the sidelines, never missing a thing. The only difference is he’s less on the sidelines now.

I turn my back to him and swallow the remainder of my champagne, the bubbles tickling my throat. In my periphery I see Richard Moore begin to approach. I guess he’s finished waiting. I need to get out of here. I set my empty glass on a side table and head in the opposite direction, weaving through the crowd and down the hallway that will lead to my father’s study.

The corridor is dimly lit. This part of the house is off limits, just like the upper floors, and everyone knows it. Sconces along the paneled walls light the way and I swear that, even now, months after his death, the faint scent of cigars and cologne linger here. It’s not quite comfort I feel, though. It’s something else. A safety in boundaries. Lines that can’t be crossed. Maybe I’m imagining the familiar scents. Probably I am. But I breathe in deeply, a contradictory mix of sadness and nausea filling me from my center outwards.

Allowing myself one moment there, I hurry before Michael realizes I’ve left the party and comes to drag me back. I open the door, finding the usual lights on, one on Dad’s desk and the other the lamp over his favorite armchair. They’re dim and he always kept them on. Since his death, Michael and I have both continued to do so.

I slip inside and close the door, leaning against it and looking at the empty space behind the desk. My brother’s mess is on top. My father would never have tolerated such sloppiness when he was alive. That or the half-drunk glass of whiskey that’s also Michael’s. Michael is himself now that there is no reckoning to be had. I think it’s a sort of postmortem rebellion.

Muttering a curse, I walk over to pick it up before it leaves a ring when movement at the far end of the room catches my eye.

Gasping, I whirl around, my hand flying to my heart, panicked when I see the form there. A man half hidden in shadow turned toward me.

He doesn’t move, not even when he knows I’ve seen him. He doesn’t even try to hide. Instead, he stands still and watches me. He’s probably been watching me since I walked in here.

I can’t see his face, but I see the sheer size of him. He has one hand in his pocket and in the other he’s holding a tumbler of whiskey. He’s wearing a suit. Black on black on black. Everyone out there is in costume. This man didn’t bother.

Our family photos hang in a collage of matching frames on the wall behind him. I remember putting them up with Dad. Was this man, this stranger, studying them? It feels like a violation.

“What—” I croak, my voice not quite making it. I clear my throat. “What are you doing in here?”

He steps forward so the lamp by the chair casts its light over his face. My breath catches in my throat when I see his eyes. They’re a cobalt blue so pure they’re almost electric. Against his deep olive skin and dark hair, they’re almost out of place, and for one idiotic moment all I can think is how beautiful they are. How beautiful he is.

He raises one eyebrow, a corner of his mouth lifting like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Like he’s used to it. He cocks his head and very openly studies me.

I’m suddenly aware of the complete silence in the room. Dad soundproofed it years ago. The only noise is that of blood pounding against my ears as my heart thuds at the surprise of finding someone in here.

Finding him in here.

A word takes form in my mind.

Danger.

No. It doesn’t take form. It’s a feeling. And it’s not in my mind. It’s a sensation that begins in my belly and moves outward to spread down every limb.

I don’t know this man. I’ve never seen him before. But I do know he shouldn’t be in here. I know he’s no friend. Although, is anyone in that other room a friend?

The man’s eyes move over me slowly, purposefully, taking in every inch of me. My ‘costume’ was last minute. Black palazzo pants and a black, off-the-shoulder top with feathers along the bust line, a pair of too-small wings I found among old toys from when we were little, some leftover Halloween costume, strapped to my arms. Ballet slippers. The mask.

His cobalt eyes return to mine. “Moth?” he asks, his voice hard as gravel.

“Excuse me?”

He gestures to my clothes. “Your costume?”

I look down, feeling exposed. Seen. More so than I was in that room with two-hundred sets of eyes watching.

“Butterfly,” I hear myself say.

“Hm.” That utterance breaks the spell. I guess that to mean my costume is a flop.

I raise my eyebrows, although he can’t see that under my mask. I take one step toward him, but something tells me to stop. Tells me not to proceed. “No one’s supposed to be in here,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t betray the pounding of my heart.

“No?”

“You should know that. Everyone knows that. This is my father’s study.”

“Your father’s dead,” he says flatly the words landing hard, a punch to my gut that leaves me breathless and stunned.

He turns back to the wall of photographs, peers closer at the one in the center. It’s a photo from two summers ago. We’re all in it, Michael, Dad and I along with Malek and his kids, Amal and Daniel. We’re all wearing white and we’re all smiling but I remember that day. How forced it all felt except for Daniel, who is laughing outright, but he was three at the time.

The man returns his intent gaze to me. “Allegra.”

How does he know my name? “You’re not supposed to be in here,” I repeat with more force.

“So you’ve said.” He finishes his whiskey, sets his glass down. It’s my father’s glass. My father’s whiskey. “A bit soon after Daddy’s death for a party, isn’t it?” he says with an air of arrogant assholery. I don’t like the way he says Daddy or the way he says Daddy’s death. My gaze narrows and I look closer at this stranger who has invaded this private place.

“Who the hell are you?” How do you know us I want to ask but don’t. “What are you doing in here?”

One corner of his mouth curves upward into a smirk like this just got interesting. In three long strides, he crosses the room too fast for me to move, to give myself space. Room to breathe.

“Little Moth,” he says. “Let me see your eyes.”

Without waiting, and without my permission, he reaches to push the butterfly mask to the top of my head and when skin touches skin, there’s a spark. I gasp and he stops. Did he feel that? It was electric.

“Better,” he says casually, making me doubt whether he felt anything at all.

I have to crane my neck to look up at him. In my ballet flats, the top of my head barely comes to his chin. He’s maybe in his late twenties, but he speaks with the same authority my father used to. The same confidence of a much older man. He manages to pin me utterly to the spot with just his gaze. His dark hair is pushed back from his face. Stubble shadows the carved line of his jaw. And those cobalt eyes, they don’t belong. They’re too beautiful. Too distracting.

Too deceptive.

This man is as brutal as he is beautiful. He’s dangerous. I have no doubt of that. Hell, I feel it in my bones.

As if reading my mind, his eyes narrow and he smiles. His gaze moves from my eyes to my lips, lower to the swell of my breasts and I’m very aware of how ragged my breaths are, how my heart is racing.

As if to show me he, too, knows, he brushes his knuckles over that racing pulse on my neck.

Again, I feel that electricity. A surge of it. My mouth goes dry as a desert and I want to move, to get away. To run out of this room. But I can’t. I don’t have command of my legs.

“Pretty Little Moth.”

“Butterfly,” I correct, my voice betraying my fear.

“Are you afraid of me, Little Moth?”

I shake my head slowly.

He smirks. He knows I’m lying. “Do you know who I am?” he asks, those knuckles moving along my collarbone, making me shudder.

Over his shoulder, I catch a glimpse of a photo of dad and I in the backyard standing in the snow barbecuing. He never cared how cold it was. If my father were alive, this man would not be in here. If my father were alive, he’d have this man dragged out of the house and beaten for daring to come so close to me. To touch me.

If my father were alive, he’d have his man brutally killed.

I remind myself of those things. I remind myself of who I am, and I steel my spine. I force my legs to move and step backward.

“I asked you a question. What the hell are you doing in here?” I ask with an authority that would make my father proud.

His mouth moves into a wide, satisfied smile now. He checks his watch, then casually slides his hand into his pocket. He’s so relaxed. So unconcerned. The movement pushes his jacket back and I glimpse the holster of a gun, the glint of metal. I wonder if he did it to show me. To let me know he’s armed.

This man, this stranger, has come into our home armed.

If my father were here, my mind starts again, but I stop the narrative.

My father isn’t here. He will never be here again.

“Get out,” I command him.

Again, the raising of an eyebrow, this time in clear amusement. He has no intention of leaving.

“As enjoyable as you are, Little Moth, I have business with your brother.”

I’m about to ask what the hell he’s talking about but before I can say anything, the door opens, and I turn to find two men I don’t know walking inside. They, too, are big, but have a different air about them than my stranger. These two are soldiers. Men who do what they’re told.

The one with the cobalt eyes? He’s the man who does the telling.

Behind these two, my brother enters and my heart thuds when I see his face looking paler than usual, sweat lining his hairline. Two more soldiers follow him in, and before they close the door behind them, I see more in the corridor.

This man managed to get his soldiers past our guards. I’m not sure if that says more about him or us.

Michael glances over his shoulder at the closed door before facing the stranger who I know instantly is no stranger to him. When Michael’s eyes land on me, he appears confused, but he masks it quickly.

Someone flips the light switch, and the ceiling lamp comes on. The sudden brightness jolts me, making me jump.

“There you are,” the stranger says in that casual tone. We all know there’s nothing casual about him, though. His every word is calculated. Purposeful. He only wants to appear casual. “I don’t like being made to wait. Luckily your sister kept me entertained,” the stranger says, and I feel his eyes on the side of my face even as I refuse to look at him. To look away from my brother who is calculating now. Taking in the two of us here together.

One of the soldiers shoves my brother hard and he stumbles forward, almost falling.

I go to him, instinct. “Michael!”

Michael’s gaze jumps to me. He looks caught and I realize that’s exactly it. He’s done something and he’s been caught. That’s why this man is here. Because my brother fucked up.

“What the fuck are you doing in here, Allegra?” he snaps, taking me roughly by the arm.

“Ow!” I try to tug free, but he doesn’t let go. I’m very aware the stranger is watching and when I glance his way, I see how his eyes are locked on my brother’s hand, which is clamped vice-like around my arm. I see how his eyes narrow, that electric blue darkening dangerously.

“Let go,” I say to Michael, trying not to struggle because something tells me this man seeing this is worse than the bruises Michael will leave. Those I can survive.

My brother ignores me, though. I’m not sure he realizes how tightly he’s gripping my arm. He addresses the stranger instead. “Trevino.”

Trevino? It’s familiar.

I look at the stranger as I work through all the names I’ve heard to place his.

Trevino. Samuel Trevino has had meetings with my father. He’s been in this house. They’re a mafia family but our territories are separated by a wide stretch of land. We never cross paths. At least we didn’t while Dad was alive.

But this isn’t Samuel Trevino. Samuel is an old man. I recall my father talking about how he wouldn’t be around much longer. How whether or not the next generation would keep to the truce or if something would need to be done, an example made, to set things straight before the old man died. He never got the chance though because he died.

I look to the stranger again. This one, he’s not going anywhere. And I remember his name. I remember my father’s expression when he mentioned it.

This stranger is Cassian Trevino, heir to the Trevino family. Did his father die then? Has he assumed the throne? It hardly matters. He’s not here paying a social call. He said himself he has business with Michael.

Michael did something and whatever it is, it’s bad.

“What are you doing here? I don’t recall putting your name on the guest list.” Michael says. He’s trying to appear casual too, but his voice is an octave higher than usual.

“Oh, I’ve never let a lack of invitation stand in my way, Mikey,” Cassian says. The way he says Mikey is a clear taunt. A belittling.

Michael juts his chin upward, but he knows as well as I do that we’re outnumbered. We have soldiers in the house, but if this man got in here with his own, he’s already taken care of that. They’re of no use to us. What Michael said earlier about being at the top of the food chain? The Moretti family hasn’t been at the top since my father’s death.

Cassian Trevino crosses the room and casually picks up the still open bottle of whiskey to pour himself another. “Whiskey?” he asks Michael. “No, never mind. You look like you’ve had enough.”

“You weren’t invited, you can’t barge in here,” my brother says sounding like a petulant little boy. I can imagine his heart is pounding. I know he’s terrified, which means Cassian Trevino is well aware and relishing the moment.

At twenty-eight, my brother is eight years older than me. After our father’s death, he took his place as head of our family. As the only son, he was always expected to take over, but he’s not a natural fit. Michael enjoys the fruits of other people’s labor. The glory. Not the work. His hands may be bloody, but he’ll only fight when the odds are in his favor or once soldiers have done the heavy lifting.

Ultimately, my brother is a coward.

I’ve wondered how long the fact that he’s our father’s son would serve him before his trusted consigliere took the reins. Before those who served my father decided blood or not, they would not serve his son. Turns out, not long.

Michael releases my arm and turns to the closed door. “Rami!” he barks. Rami was one of my father’s soldiers. He works for Michael now. He’s a mercenary. He won’t come. Even I know he won’t come.

“Michael, what the hell is going on?” I ask, very aware Cassian is watching our interaction closely.

Michael glances at me. “Nothing. Stay out of it.”

“No, Michael,” Cassian starts. “I think you should tell your sister what you did. It impacts her too, after all.”

Michael ignores him. He draws a deep breath in, and I see him straighten, steeling his spine. “Go get Rami and Malek, Allegra. Now.”

“No, Allegra,” Cassian says, and I turn to him. He appears entertained. It’s better than annoyed, right? “Stay,” he says, and I know I won’t be walking out the door without his permission. No one will.

“I said go!” Michael grabs my arm once more and is about to shove me toward the door when Cassian’s hand closes over his wrist.

I look at the two of them, not sure how Cassian got to us without my noticing. I take in the expression on his face, his eyes more hard steel than beautiful blue now, nothing about him casual anymore.

He’s not playing, but he never was. What I see clear as day is his fury, his utter rage.

Michael’s grip on me tightens momentarily then it’s gone and Cassian steps between me and my brother, shielding me from Michael’s view.

“Aren’t you the big man raising a hand to your sister? What is she, half your size?” Cassian asks.

Michael’s face contorts with pain, and I realize what Cassian is doing.

“Stop!” I call out, because he’s bending Michael’s wrist backward. When I grip Cassian’s forearm, a soldier’s pulls me away. “Stop! You’re going to break his wrist!”

I watch, stunned at this violence, although I shouldn’t be. All my life I’ve lived with violence. As much as my father tried to shield me from it, ultimately, I wasn’t safe. I’ve always known what we are, and I know first-hand what we and our enemies are capable of. I am confronted with the evidence of it every time I look at my hand.

My brother is driven to his knees and a moment later, I hear the strange, sickening snap of bone followed by Michael’s wail of pain.

When Cassian drops Michael’s wrist, I know it’s broken. Michael cradles it with his other hand. Cassian leans his face close to my brother’s. “Daddy teach you that?” he asks darkly, voice low and controlled.

Cassian Trevino shifts his gaze to me. When he sees the soldier’s grip on my arms, all it takes is a narrowing of his eyes for the man to release me. I rush toward Michael, but Cassian extends his arm and blocks my path without touching me. He’s all quiet authority.

“Leave him,” he says, cobalt eyes locking with mine.

“He’s hurt!”

“No worse than he deserves.”

I try to get past him, but he wraps his arm around my middle, big hand closing around my waist. It’s warm, his grip strong but not painful. He’s so close I smell his aftershave, and I know it’s a scent I will always associate with this strange, new sensation deep in my belly.

His eyes search my face before moving to the spot Michael grabbed me.

I close my hand over it and step backward, out of reach, the heat of his touch burning. I look away from him to my brother, to the men gathered, soldiers watching the one who just broke my brother’s wrist, waiting for instruction. This man who brought my brother to his knees. I see how big he is, bigger than Michael. Commanding. And more powerful in every way.

I clear my throat. “My father did not teach him that,” I say quietly. It’s all I can say.

Cassian watches me. He’s taking in every emotion that crosses my face.

“No?” he asks. I shake my head, feeling defensive of my father. “Then you didn’t know Alaric Moretti very well. Sit.” He points to the chair closest to me and turns to one of his men. “Enzo, get Lombardi in here, will you?”

Enzo nods and leaves to do as he’s told.

Cassian turns back to me. “I told you to sit, Moth.”

I swallow, slide into the chair because I’m not sure my legs won’t buckle under his gaze. My heart’s frantic pounding slows to a thudding, the only other sound that of my brother’s whimpers.

Cassian crosses the room to pick up his whiskey and swallows the contents of the glass. The casual elegance of earlier is gone. He’s furious and he’s barely able to cloak his rage. He broke Michael’s wrist to punish him for hurting me, but he’s no knight in shining armor. Cassian Trevino is a brutal man and I know what brutal men are capable of.

Michael’s face is flushed and sweat dots his hairline. When the door opens, I realize the music in the outer room has stopped. It’s silent. Too silent for the number of people out there unless Cassian has cleared the house. I guess he wouldn’t want witnesses.

Panic has me gripping the armrests. Amal and Daniel are upstairs, asleep in their beds. Malek moved into the house with his children after dad died claiming it was at Michael’s request. What will they wake to in the morning? A bloodbath? Will they wake at all?

Cassian walks to the wall of photos again.

“Where are Lombardi’s children?” he asks as if having read my mind. “They live here now, I believe?”

When neither of us answers, he looks over his shoulder at me, eyebrows raised.

“They’re not part of this,” I say, knowing how far this can go.

He faces me fully. “Not the question I asked. Where are they?”

I look to Michael but he’s too focused on his hand.

“Allegra,” Cassian calls. “Eyes on me.”

I turn back to him. “Please,” I say.

“Where are they?”

I wipe the tears that fall from my eyes. “Asleep.”

“I doubt that,” he mutters.

“Whatever is going on, they’re not⁠—”

“Upstairs then,” he says, tilting his head toward the door.

A soldier moves and I leap to my feet, ready to blockade the door with my body, but the look in Cassian’s eyes glues my feet to the carpet.

“Daniel is five!” I call out.

“Sit down, Allegra. I’m not going to tell you again.”

“Whatever you’re going to do⁠—”

“You’re not helping them.” He gestures to the chair behind me.

I drop onto the edge of the seat, gripping the armrests to anchor myself.

“Better.” He looks at one of the soldiers. “Make sure they stay up there.”

The man nods.

“They’ll be scared,” I plead. Cassian turns to me, watching me intently. “Please.”

“Wait at the top of the stairs,” he tells the man, then turns to me. “Try not to scare them,” he adds, but it feels more like he’s taunting me than anything else.

The soldier walks out and a moment later, Malek strides in. He’s not being forced. When he sees us, he appears surprised. It’s an act. I know it. But if he’s panicked, he’s not showing it. He’s better at concealing his true self than Michael ever was. He smiles, even, as if Cassian were an old friend.

He takes in the room, Michael on his knees, me in the chair with my fingernails digging half-moon shapes into the leather.

When Malek faces Cassian, I understand something. This is not necessarily bad for Malek. Whatever my brother did, this will pave the way for him to take control of what’s left of this family. Isn’t that what he’s always wanted? Isn’t that why dad took more and more distance from him over the last year?

A soldier closes the door.

“Cassian. What brings you here?” Malek asks.

Cassian’s eyebrows rise, surprised but bored, as if Malek’s reaction isn’t wholly unexpected. “Don’t play me for a fool, Malek.”

Malek’s lips pull into a tight line, and he draws a deep breath in. He knows exactly what’s brought Cassian Trevino into our home.

“Here’s what going to happen,” Cassian says, hands in his pockets, the glint of metal just visible where his jacket is pushed back. “You,” he says, turning pointedly to Michael. He’s got that rage under control again, his brutality hidden beneath a very thin layer of control. “Cost me four million dollars.”

My mouth falls open, my heart thudding so hard I’m not sure I’m hearing right over the blood pumping in my ears.

“You’re going to pay it back. With interest that will double it. By the end of next week.”

Michael’s jaw tightens.

“Now, Cassian, you know that won’t be possible,” Malek says, moving to the armchair across from mine and taking a seat, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. “We don’t have access to that kind of money. When Alaric died⁠—”

“No?” Cassian asks, cutting him off. He takes in Malek’s casual stance. He doesn’t like it. Not one bit. “That’s a problem you’ll need to solve then, isn’t it? You are the brains behind the family now that Alaric’s gone, aren’t you? Michael here is lucky it’s just his wrist I broke. It’s a preview of what will come if I don’t have my money by the end of next week.” He glances at Michael when he says this, disdain in his tone.

“Cassian, be reasonable,” Malek says.

“Reasonable? Maybe Michael is too stupid to know, but you certainly aren’t, Malek. We’ve danced this dance before. It didn’t end well for the Moretti family then. It won’t end well for you now.” I wonder what he’s talking about when he steps toward Malek and kicks his foot. “Get the fuck up.”

Malek’s face darkens, but he’s no fool. He’s in dangerous territory and he knows it.

He gets up. He’s about four inches shorter than Cassian. He’s always the shortest man in the room and he’s always hated the fact. Cassian steps even closer, towering over him as if he knows it.

“You disrespect me,” Cassian says.

“Unintentional,” Malek says through clenched teeth.

“Can you do the math, Malek, or do you need a fucking calculator?” Cassian asks.

“Michael is inexperienced.”

“And that’s why you’re to guide him. Isn’t that the way of things? End of next week. Understood?”

Malek clenches his jaw. Cassian raises an eyebrow and Malek nods tightly once.

“Good.” Cassian steps toward the door and I think he’s going to leave. I can almost breathe again. But he stops and turns to look at me. Something in the way his eyes narrow and darken sends a strange, unfamiliar flush of heat through me. There’s fear. That I recognize. But there’s something else. Something different beneath that fear. My hands grow clammy and sweat pools under my arms. I swear I can hear the thudding of my heart against my chest.

“I’ll need collateral in the meantime,” he says, both hands in his pockets now, jacket pushed back over that too-broad chest, a tattoo I hadn’t noticed earlier creeping up from beneath the collar of his shirt, ink along the side of his neck.

“Collateral?” Malek asks. I feel his and Michael’s eyes on me, but I can’t look away from Cassian. He’s got me trapped with those electric eyes.

“Collateral,” he says, and gestures to the soldier closest to me who understands his meaning and closes his hands over my arms. “Gently,” Cassian reprimands.

“Sir,” the soldier responds, his grip no gentler, and I’m pulled to my feet.

“What?” I ask, although I know, don’t I? I know what he means. What sort of collateral he’ll take. The place where my little finger used to be throbs. Panic washes through me. I force a deep breath in and tell myself to stay calm. This isn’t like that. It’s nothing like that.

“Put her in the room adjacent to mine.”

“Yes sir.”

“Cassian, be reasonable,” Malek starts, but Cassian isn’t reasonable. “I hardly think you need to take Allegra.”

“Wait!” I cry out but no one is listening to me. “You can’t!” I struggle to get free of the soldier but it’s no use. “Wait!”

Cassian comes to stand inches from me.

I crane my neck to look over his shoulder at my brother on his knees, Malek watching. Calculating.

Cassian takes hold of my jaw and makes me look at him. “They can’t help you, Little Moth.”

“Let me go!”

“Are you going to give me trouble?”

“You can’t just take me!”

“No? Do you prefer I take the little one sleeping upstairs? I wouldn’t want to scare him,” he says mockingly.

“You can’t do this!”

“Dignity, Allegra. It’s something your father had but your brother sadly did not inherit.” At the mention of my father I begin to wonder again at the accident that was too unbelievable. Was he killed? Was it this man, Cassian, who killed him? He had enemies. Many enemies. I know.

Cassian must feel the shift in me and softens his grip. “Better. I’ll ask you again, although I’m getting tired of repeating myself with you. One way or another, you’re coming with me. Are you going to give me trouble or are you going to walk out of here with your dignity intact?”

I shake my head then nod.

He raises his eyebrows as if he doesn’t understand my response.

“You’ll leave Amal and Daniel alone?” I ask.

“Are you bargaining with me?” He cocks his head. “Because you’re in no position⁠—”

“I’ll go with you! Just leave them alone!”

His eyes gleam with amusement. He’s enjoying this. But when he raises a hand, I flinch. Instinct. He doesn’t miss it. He takes a moment, turning his palm to me as if to say he won’t hurt me, but he will. I’ve danced this dance before too.

But then he does something strange. He brushes a lock of hair behind my ear, carefully, almost reverently. He leans close to me and is he inhaling my scent?

“I like a little fight, a little fire,” he starts, and that gentle hand at the back of my head morphs into something else. Fingers weave into my hair turning into a fist and my head is tugged backward. Tears sting the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to look away as he takes in my features. “Just know that I will always win, Moth.”

I open my mouth to retort, to say something, I’m not sure what, but he tugs, and I shut it again.

“If she gives you any trouble,” he starts, and although he’s looking at me, he’s very clearly talking to a soldier. “Put her in the crypt.”

The crypt? Where the hell are we going?

“Yes, sir.”

He leans toward me, his face so close I feel the scratch of stubble along my cheek as he brings his mouth to my ear. “I wouldn’t give them an excuse,” he whispers darkly. He straightens, releasing my hair, my scalp tingling. I stare up at him, hating him, hating his dominance, his power over me, but knowing to keep my mouth shut. But before we go, before I’m taken out of that room, he does something strange. He wraps his arms around me.

I’m confused, but then, a moment later, I realize what he’s doing when I feel a tugging, a snapping.

The wings. He’s broken them off.

He looks down at the delicate vellum wings in his hands then back at me. The grin he gives me sends ice down my spine and when I wrap my arms around myself at the sudden cold, he seems satisfied.

“Take her,” he commands.

2

CASSIAN

Idon’t linger after she’s gone. I’ve said all I came to say. Every set of eyes is on me as I walk out of what was once Alaric Moretti’s house, the crowd parting like the sea parted for Moses. The silence is heavy, our footfalls loud on hardwood and echoing off the vaulted ceilings. It’s as if they’re all holding their breath.

Angelo and Enzo fall in line beside me. “Unexpected twist,” Angelo says. Angelo is my uncle, my father’s brother. Enzo, his son, glances at his father but remains quiet. My cousin has always been the strong, silent type.

“I’m full of surprises, Uncle.”

Once outside, I watch the taillights of the SUV carrying Allegra Moretti disappear. Something shifts the moment the vehicle is out of sight. It’s subtle but it’s there, a nameless thing.

I came here tonight to deliver my message to Michael Moretti. I didn’t intend on taking his sister. I’d never given Allegra Moretti a thought before she walked into her father’s study. Before the moment she laid her full weight against that door and exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for hours.

“You going to see your father?” my uncle asks.

I nod once, turn to face him.

“Let me know how he’s doing.”

“I will. Find out what you can about Malek Lombardi, will you?”

“Of course.”

“Boss,” Enzo says, opening the back door to my SUV.

“Thanks, Enzo.” I climb in, then turn to face him. “Go to the house, will you? I can handle this. I don’t want anyone mishandling her.”

He raises his eyebrows, chuckles. “Sure thing.” He closes the door.

“Blackstone’s,” I tell the driver. Blackstone’s is the club where I’ll be meeting my stepbrothers, Jethro and Severin Blackstone, and Sybil, my stepmother. My father was supposed to attend, which was the only reason I agreed to dinner, but when I was informed at the last minute that he didn’t feel well enough, I didn’t see the point.

I take my phone out of my pocket and settle into the seat to check my messages. Three snarky texts from Sybil, a gif of someone smashing his head repeatedly against a wall from Jet, and radio silence from Severin. I can just imagine his sour face as he sits there nursing the single whiskey he’ll drink all night long.

A message from Vivi comes in before I put the phone away. I click on it. It’s a picture of Gage, my nephew, in his Halloween costume. Spiderman, muscles built in. I smile.

Vivi is my almost sister-in-law. She’d have married my brother, Seth, if things hadn’t gone south like they did. I’m the only member of our family that she will have anything to do with now.

Me: He’s spending too much time at the gym to get those muscles

Vivi: He went to sleep in it.

She sends a follow up text with Gage in his bed, hand clutching the handle of a plastic pumpkin which is loaded with candy.

Me: Pick out the Snickers for me.

Vivi: You get the coconut ones. They’re gross. Happy Halloween.

She goes offline and I tuck the phone into my pocket as we approach Blackstone’s.

“I don’t plan on staying long, so stick around,” I tell the driver. I’m just going to run up and check in on my father. I want to get home. I’m anxious to see the Little Moth.

I walk toward the entrance of the Blackstone’s, the private club my stepfamily owns. Well, the club my father and I now own forty-nine percent of. The clientele are the elite of Devil’s Peak and it’s what brought my father to this town. It’s where he met my stepmother, Sybil, the Blackstone heiress. Or at least she was one before they lost all their money. Now she’s Sybil Blackstone-Trevino and Severin and Jet manage Blackstone Holdings.

The club, which had been in her family for generations, was nearly bankrupt when she met Dad. In addition, during her brief time at the helm of Blackstone Holdings, Sybil had purchased several casinos in Atlantic City of which only one remains. By the time she met my father, the club and the casino the family was clinging on to were in desperate need of a lifeline. They were hemorrhaging money and given that Devil’s Peak is just a few hours north of New York City and a lot of wealthy, influential people, some even legitimate, have second homes here, saving the club made for a good investment for us. Although we do not have any holdings in the casino itself, we own the building that houses it and the hotel.

“Good evening, Mr. Trevino,” the doorman says.

“Mitch. How was your granddaughter’s field trip?” I ask.

“She loved it. Thanks again for fronting the money, Mr. Trevino. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” I tell him. Mitch is a good guy. He works hard for me. An ex-convict who struggled for years before I hired him as the doorman here, much to my stepmother’s dismay because he’s also an extra set of eyes for me. He’s supporting his twelve-year-old granddaughter on his own. I make sure she has the extras she needs to have a better shot at life than he or his family has had.

I walk inside, take off my coat and hand it to the girl at the coat check.

“Shall I take it to your office, sir?”

“No, keep it here. I won’t be staying long,” I tell her and head toward the elevator.

She clears her throat. “Um, Mr. Trevino?” she starts, and I turn to her. “Your family asked that you stop in to see them when you get here. They’re still in the dining room.”

I’m tempted to correct her. Remind her they’re not my family, but I don’t. “Fine.”

I paste a smile on my face and stroll toward the dining room which takes up most of the ground floor. It’s a large, beautifully appointed space with polished marble floors, mirrors along all the walls and enough chandeliers that you’d be able to see it from fucking space if they were lit to their full potential. The tables are set at enough distance from each other to offer privacy to the patrons. I spot the three of them in their usual place at the far end, the round table set before the bullet-proof floor-to-ceiling windows, dad’s doing, overlooking the pristine golf course.

Jet sees me first just before I reach the table. He’s leaning back in his seat looking bored and I’m glad to see empty dinner plates all around.

Severin and Sybil stop their conversation at my approach, Severin’s eyes narrowing as he picks up his nearly empty glass.

“Dinner was at eight,” Sybil chastises as if she wanted me here.

The waitress brings me a tumbler of whiskey. “I’m sure you missed me.”

Severin snorts.

“We have a problem, Cassian,” Sybil says.

“And I handled it, Sybil.”

She leans back in her seat and takes a cigarette out of a gold box like she’s a fucking movie star. “How exactly did you handle it?”

“The less you know the better, isn’t that right, Sev?” I ask, shifting my attention to the older Blackstone brother. His jaw ticks. He hates when I use the shortened form of his name. Severin is now head of Blackstone Holdings. Sybil doesn’t have a head for business as much as she may delude herself into thinking she does.

“Go outside and have your cigarette, mother,” Severin tells her. “I’ll handle this.”

She draws in a tight breath, and I wonder for the millionth time what my father saw in her. I mean, she’s beautiful, obviously, but it’s fake. Her face is so full of injectables it doesn’t move. Her hair comes from hours at the hairdresser every three weeks, and the rest of her time she’s either with her personal trainer or shopping. She is a woman who contributes nothing to the world. A waste of space. He certainly didn’t have to marry her to fuck her, and yet he did, and she’s been a thorn in my side for the last seven years.

Severin waits until she’s out of earshot before turning to me. He’s a few months shy of thirty. Our birthdays are only a few weeks apart. Jet is two years younger. I often wonder if he was an accident. Sybil doesn’t hide the fact that her affections for her sons varies.

“Feds came by the casino this week, Cassian.”

I know this. “And?” I sip my whiskey.

“I don’t have to tell you it doesn’t look good for a casino to have Federal investigators poking around.”

“No, I can see that, but it’s handled. Problem solved. They won’t be back.”

“Not good enough. It should never have been a problem to begin with.”

“Well, shit happens, and if I recall, I own the building that houses the casino, so it impacts me as much as it does you.”

“No, your father owns it,” Jet says.

I turn to study him. He gives me an entertained smirk and swallows the last of his whiskey. When Jethro stirs the shit, it usually means he’s bored.

“Stay out of it, Jet,” Severin tells him.

Jet doesn’t bother to acknowledge his older brother. He’s unreadable as ever but he’s been a friend as often as he’s been a foe, and he has his uses. “Your business at the Moretti house? That how you handled it?” he asks me. He’s always been too curious about Trevino business for my liking although if it irritates Severin, that’s a win.

I don’t answer. I won’t need to. I watch the brothers.

“Jet, I told you to fucking stay out of it,” Severin snaps.

“Yeah, Jet, stay out of it.” I lean toward him. “Keep your hands clean. Oh wait, too late.” I shift my gaze to Severin. “They got dirty the minute you took our money to save your necks.”

Severin’s gaze shifts from me to Jet. He pushes his chair back loudly and stands. “I’m here to tell you I don’t want fucking Feds near the casino so handle your shit however you fucking need to handle it or else⁠—”

“Or else what?” I ask with a smirk. He wants a fight. Severin always wants a fucking fight. And sometimes I really want to give it to him. He’s not stupid though. I can read his hate in his glare, his fisted hands.

“Jethro. Let’s go,” he barks as he turns to leave.

“I’ll catch up,” Jet says casually. He enjoys watching Severin get all riled up.

Severin pauses, opens his mouth to say something to his younger brother but Jet raises his hand to stop him.

I know what Severin was about to say. I’ve heard it a hundred times before. Jet’s curiosity in the Trevino family business makes him nervous. I get it. We are mafia, after all. Severin doesn’t want his kid brother to be a part of our dirty, blood-soaked world, but he’s fine to take our money. To wash it clean and shave off a little for himself. Hell, they all are. Fucking hypocrites. All but Jet, I suppose, to some extent at least.

Jet raises his hand to signal the waitress who refills our glasses.

“Was he surprised?” he asks. He’s referring to Michael Moretti.

“Your brother doesn’t want you involved.”

“Well, I’m old enough to make my own decisions, aren’t I? Besides, I’m entitled to know, considering.”

“I suppose you are,” I say because he was the one who brought me the identity of the caller who tipped off the Feds. Jet has an informant on the inside. “You sure it was Michael and not Malek Lombardi?” I ask because I know about Malek Lombardi. I’ve known about him for a long time. He was Alaric Moretti’s consigliere, but there was tension. I wonder if Alaric kept him close more to keep his enemy close than as trusted advisor. Alaric was smart and he was as careful as he was brutal. I’m still not sure if the car accident that killed him was an accident at all. It wouldn’t be the first time the knife in your back came from someone you trusted. Malek Lombardi was quick to move himself and his family into the Moretti house just weeks after Alaric’s death. He's close to Michael. Always has been. Michael is easier to manipulate than his father was.

Jet’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m sure. Why? Lombardi’s not involved outside of the role of advisor as far as I know.”

“That may have been the case when Alaric was alive. I’m not convinced it still is.” I take another sip of my drink and check my watch, anxious to get home. Anxious to get to her. “How is my father?” I ask Jet because that’s the only reason I stopped at the club at all.

“Same,” Jet says, watching me.

My father is only sixty years old, but over the last few years, he’s been declining. Early onset dementia. It started when he was about fifty-three. It was small things at first, something I could blame on a busy life or middle age, but as it progressed, it became harder to deny it. My grandfather had the same, so it runs in the family.

I finish my drink and stand. “I’m going up. Have your contact do a little more digging, will you? I have a gut feeling.”

He nods once.

“Goodnight,” I say and walk back out of the restaurant. I see Severin and Sybil commiserating just beyond the glass doors of the entrance as she puffs away at her cigarette. She’s pissed. It should give me some joy, but it doesn’t. Hell, not much gives me joy these days. That’s maybe why I took Allegra. It’s the first time in a long, long time, I’ve felt anything at all. Any excitement. Any anticipation.

Any want.

Used to be when I saw something I wanted, I took it. It was my mantra once upon a time. Before Seth. Before my father. When life was simpler. When life was good. But with her, I feel something stirring again. A glimpse of the old me. It’s inconvenient she happens to be a Moretti, but I’ll take it.

I ride the elevator up to the top floor where my father lives with Sybil. Severin and Jet have their own apartments here in the building. I keep an office I don’t use, but that’s it.

A soldier greets me just as Dad’s nurse, Maria, walks out of his bedroom.

“Cassian,” she says, noting something on her iPad.

“How is he? Heard he wasn’t well enough to go to dinner.”

“Bad night. He’s asleep now. I gave him an injection.”

“What happened?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing particular. These things just happen, Cassian, and they’ll happen more as he declines. You need to be prepared.”

I nod once, but this is a bitter pill. “I’ll go in. Just look in on him.”

“Of course,” she says and steps aside.

I walk down the hall and into my father’s bedroom. Sybil has taken the primary suite and moved him to one of the other rooms. There’s nothing wrong with the room, but it just doesn’t feel right to me. Whatever happened to in sickness and in health?

The lamp on the nightstand is on. It’s dim enough that it’ll stay on the whole night. I walk to the bed to see my father’s diminished form. He used to be a giant of a man, but that was so many years ago it feels like another lifetime. Hell, like it wasn’t my life at all.

He doesn’t stir as I bend down to kiss his forehead and tuck the blankets higher. There’s not much I can do. Even if he were awake, I don’t know where his head would be. It could be clear, but those moments are less and less frequent.

On the nightstand is a photo of my mother, dad and Seth. I put it here because I know that’s what he’d want even if it breaks me a little to see it. I pick it up. Seth was a kid here and if you look close, you can almost see my mother’s bump, but only if you know. Dad’s got his arm on Seth’s shoulder and the other draped over my mom’s. Seth is smiling a huge, toothy smile at the camera. They all are smiling wide and looking right at the photographer. I never got to be a part of this family. My family. She died when I was born. I don’t even know if she held me. All I feel when I see this photo is guilt.

I touch my thumb to my brother’s face. He grew up to look like dad, exactly. I take after mom. Looking at her eyes is like looking into a mirror and I guess that’s what dad saw every time he looked at me. I can’t blame him, can I? I set the photograph down and open the nightstand drawer to take out dad’s rosary and tuck the cross into his palm. The beads rest on the bedspread.

“Sleep tight, Dad,” I tell him. He doesn’t stir. If it were Seth, would he smile, say something, give a squeeze of his hand? I close my eyes and say a little prayer, not that I believe it will do anything. Then, I turn to go. I want to get out of here.

The drive home takes about half an hour. My property is on the edge of town, an old church with a large parcel of land butting right up to the edge of the cliffs. Granted, that land is mostly filled with dead bodies. No, not my doing. It’s the old cemetery, but it’s mine and, well, the dead are quiet.

I was born in the city, grew up in the city. My father began to spend more and more time in Devil’s Peak when he married Sybil. I hadn’t planned on buying property here, but when I saw the dilapidated old church and the grounds that the city was trying to unload, it felt right. It’s the only time I’ve felt this way about a physical place in my life. I tell myself it’s because it’s the perfect retreat from the city, offering the privacy I need and the solitude I crave more and more, but I admit the fact that it is consecrated ground draws me. I’m not sure what I seek. Redemption? No. Answers? Maybe. A miracle? Ridiculous.

I was raised to believe in a God, but I am who I am. My family is what it is. I don’t now and have never shied away from that.

Besides, I know what happened on this land. How it’s tainted.

The church, which is dedicated to St. Anastasia stands tall, a foreboding gothic structure on the edge of town. The road leading up to it is dark and quiet. There’s no reason for anyone to be on it unless they’re headed to the church. It is modeled at least in part after St. Anastasia in Verona, Italy, although it’s nowhere near as old. I like to say I’ve kept to the wishes of the original architects in maintaining and restoring what I could. It is beautiful, although the residents of Devil’s Peak were less than thrilled when they learned who it was sold to. But here in Devil’s Peak, just like anywhere else, money talks, dirty or not.

Clouds drift and the moon casts its cool light over the stone walls encircling the property. They were crumbling when I bought the place. I kept what I could of the original wall and grew the barrier into a twelve-foot-tall perimeter around the house. The SUV slows as regal iron gates slide open at our approach. The church with its two imposing steeples is lit softly from the outside, dark stone and arched, stained glass restored, reinforced. Made better than it was. Soldiers stand sentry in what used to be the rectory, but what now functions as a gate house. We drive past the guards and as we circle the drive to the carved, wooden doors, one opens, and Enzo waits to greet me.

I climb out of the SUV, walk inside and slip off my coat. Hanging it on the rack, I stand inside the entrance, and I breathe in the lingering scent of incense that I still burn even though it’s been more than two decades since Mass was celebrated here. The ancient stone floors are still in place, the bones of the wealthy devoted, those who could afford it, buried beneath, the carved names worn down by the feet of several hundred years of worshippers. I wonder if money brought them any closer to their god in the end. If it was worth it.

“The girl?” I ask Enzo.

“She’s in the room adjoining yours, as you requested.”

“She didn’t give you any trouble?”

“Not a peep.”

“Good.” I guess the mention of the crypt kept her docile. “Did you eat something?”

“Not yet. You hungry?”

I glance over his shoulder at my closed bedroom door. “I’ll eat later. You go ahead.”

My cousin follows my glance to the bedroom and grins. “Guess you’re anxious.” He pats my back, and I smile. Enzo is my most trusted man, more than a soldier and my cousin. More importantly, though, he is my childhood friend. We grew up together. After what happened with my mother, I spent as much time at my uncle’s house as I did my own. Although Enzo’s always been good about respecting our positions. He may be my cousin, but he works for me, ultimately. “I’ll make a sandwich and head out,” he says. Enzo has a house deeper in the woods of the property, a smaller chapel he converted into his home himself.

I loosen my tie and undo the top buttons of my shirt, our footsteps echoing off the walls as we cross the massive space, Enzo to the kitchen and me toward my bedroom which was once the Baptistry.

Six imposing stone pillars support the massive structure, disappearing into the vaulted ceilings which are three stories high. Murals paint mesmerizing scenes over our heads and along the walls, most violent, many divine. I find I can study them all day and never see enough. There’s always some nuance to be discovered. Although the work on the ceilings is complete, the murals in some of the devotional chapels are still in the process of being restored. Time did its damage, of course, but the decay makes it somehow more beautiful.

The pews have been removed, replaced by comfortable furnishings, living and dining areas on one side, a more casual and slightly more private spaces to relax set in the most beautiful of several smaller chapels off the main room. I kept the original gates leading into each of them, although all stand open. Fires burn all day long throughout the winter in the two large wood-burning fireplaces I had built while preserving as much marble as I could. The sanctuary at the very front of the house is now a generous kitchen with the best equipment, the altar itself serving as one of two dining tables with chairs custom made to accommodate for its height and to befit it’s beauty.

The only rooms I’ve closed off in here are the space I use for my office and the two larger chapels converted into bedrooms. Enzo lived in one while he built his house. After he moved out, I passed it on to Jet. But that was when things were different between us. He rarely uses it anymore.

The scent of incense is stronger as I walk past the thurible, and I breathe it in on my way to the corridors that will lead to my private rooms. There are two doors here, one to my bedroom and the second to the smaller bedroom that adjoins mine. I pause outside her door to listen, hearing some sound inside, a quiet scraping. I raise my eyebrows to the man standing just outside her door to ask about it, but he shrugs his shoulders and it’s gone before I even get the chance to ask.

“Anything?” I ask instead.

“No sir. She’s been pretty quiet.”

“Good. Go ahead. I’ll take it from here.”

He nods and walks away. I head to my bedroom and enter, closing the door behind me. My bedroom, which is circular, is the room that contains the baptismal font. It’s my favorite space, the place I feel most centered. Most myself. The entire church is quiet as the dead, but this room has something else to it. A complete stillness that’s almost impossible to find in the noise of life.

It’s where I come to think.

Tonight, though, I glance at the door that leads to her room. My Little Moth.

Setting my phone on the dresser, I slip off my suit jacket and toss it onto the bed, sling my holster holding the Glock over the back of a chair and pull my tie and shirt off. I drop those on the bed as well and make my way into the bathroom. Everything is stone and marble here too, the style of the church preserved as I updated what needed modernizing. I switch on the glass-walled shower and strip off the last of my clothes as the water heats. A moment later, I step beneath the flow and close my eyes.

Michael Moretti is probably at the hospital now getting his wrist set. I hope it fucking hurts. I wonder what Malek Lombardi is up to. No matter what Jet’s source uncovered, I have a gut feeling about him. Michael’s too inexperienced and far too stupid to have figured out when that shipment of arms was coming in. He’s too fucking lazy to bother with a plan that would have taken time and subtlety.

Malek on the other hand is a patient man. He’d worked at Alaric Moretti’s side for decades. In the last year or so of Alaric’s life, though, there had been rumors about a falling out. Although I normally wouldn’t bother with the internal goings on of another family, I make a mental note to look into Malek’s history, to understand him, because I think he masterminded this. I think he set Michael up to take the fall. Michael Moretti is a weak, lazy man. He’s not his father and it’s no secret, not within his own family, not outside of it. He’d want the glory of taking something from me. Did he really think I wouldn’t find out? Maybe. Was he set up to take the fall? Probably. Seeing him today, interacting with him, only solidifies my thinking. Malek, though, he’s been flying under the radar. He isn’t in it for the glory, the recognition, at least not yet. That’s too simple, although all human beings are vain. But what he truly wants is power.

I also know there’s a snitch on my end. No way anyone should have known anything about that shipment. I’m looking into that now, but quietly. I, too, am patient.

Once I’m finished, I switch off the shower and grab a towel to dry off before wrapping it low around my hips and returning to the bedroom. Bare stone is smooth, but cold against my bare feet, a carpet only placed around the bed. I make my way to the walk-in closet and pull on a pair of sweatpants and a white V-neck T-shirt. I push my hair back with my fingers, it’s pretty much uncombable, and check my phone. No messages. I type out a text to Angelo. Growing up, he was like a father to me and when I took over the family, I kept him on as my consigliere. I trust him like I trust few people.

I type out a text

Me: Saw dad but he was asleep.

Angelo: Good you got to see him. I’ll go over tomorrow during the day. Visit with him.

Me: Thanks. I’d appreciate that. Probably prefers to see you anyway.

The three little dots on his end start their dance, but disappear for a moment. Then they’re back.

Angelo: That’s the disease, Cassian. You know that.

It’s not wholly the disease, but I let it go. I appreciate my uncle’s thoughtfulness.

Me: You’re right. Let me know how it goes tomorrow.

Angelo: Will do. Night.

I cross the room to the door that adjoins my bedroom with the smaller one and reach up to run my fingers over the frame for the key. Quietly, I slip it into the lock and turn it. The door opens without a sound. This room is cooler than mine. It hasn’t been used in a while and takes a while to heat up. No one stays over. Vivi did for a few weeks, but that was more than two years ago when Seth disappeared. She was still pregnant then.

I push the thoughts of my brother and his family away and step into the small bedroom with its queen size bed, its neutral furnishings. But when I see my Little Moth kneeling on the floor by the door, her back to me, I realize what that scraping sound was. I almost chuckle, but not yet. I watch her for a moment instead.

She’s tiny in this old room with its vaulted ceilings and high arched door. Seeing her like that makes me remember how her brother grabbed her. Makes me realize just how vulnerable she is.

I shake my head to clear the thought, though. She’s not here to be another problem for me to solve. She’s here for reasons I can’t quite explain. Collateral, officially, but unofficially? Perhaps to entertain me while I wait for her brother to return my money? Definitely to keep my bed warm.

And watching her unobserved as she tries her jail break? She’s definitely going to be entertaining.

I grin.

She’s so intent on her work that she doesn’t hear me as I cross the room in my bare feet.

“Shit,” she mutters to herself, and I watch as she sits back on her heels and studies the lock for a moment. A hairpin is sticking out of it. Stuck. Well, what did I expect? A good little victim? She’s the Moretti Mafia princess, after all.

I take the last few steps soundlessly as she struggles to get the jammed pin out of the lock. She must feel me at the last moment because she stiffens. I reach over her and close my hand over hers.

The instant I do, she gasps audibly.

I lean down, inhale the scent of jasmine in her shampoo.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t turn her head. Doesn’t even try to pull away, not yet. She just stares straight ahead at the hand covering hers and I can imagine the pounding of her heart at being caught.

“Going somewhere, Little Moth?”

3

ALLEGRA

Ilook at the huge hand that’s covering mine. Cassian Trevino’s hand. Cassian Trevino who has somehow materialized out of thin air. How did he get in here without my hearing him?

His skin is warm, but calloused and although he’s not hurting me, I remember what he did to Michael. How he snapped his wrist and brought him to his knees with these very hands.

I need to keep that visual front and center. Remember that for all his beauty—because he is beautiful—this man is brutal.

“Well, Moth?”

I glance over my shoulder to see the door that was locked when I tried it earlier now standing open. Of course. He’d told the guard to put me in the room adjacent to his. That must be his bedroom.

“My name isn’t Moth,” I say, not looking at him just yet. Not quite ready for that.

“Your name is what I say it is. Stand up.” He speaks calmly, his voice low and controlled.

I don’t move. Instead, I try to pull my hand free, but he doesn’t let me. My heart is pounding so hard against my chest there’s no way he doesn’t hear it.

“What did I say about repeating myself?” he warns.

I have to get up. I have to face him. To show him I’m not afraid.

Except that I am. I know what men like Cassian Trevino are capable of. As if I need a reminder, my thumb moves to the nub of my pinkie. It’s subconscious. Memory telling me to tread lightly. This man is dangerous.

I draw a deep breath in, and it takes all I have for me to rise to my feet. I keep my back to him. One step at a time. I can’t face him just yet. I’m looking down and I notice his feet are bare which for some reason is strange to see. Like it’s too human, too normal.

He pulls his hand away giving me just enough room to turn and face him, but I remain as I am, still holding onto the doorknob while I concentrate on breathing. He’s so close I feel the heat of his body at my back. Feel how much bigger than me he is.

I remind myself that I am collateral. He took me until my brother pays him back. I’ll be safe. He can’t hurt me.

But even as I think it, I know it’s bullshit. This man can do whatever he wants. He strolled into our house soldiers in tow. He didn’t sneak in. He stood in my father’s study like he owned the place. He drank his whiskey.

And besides, the little voice inside my head starts, what do you think will happen when Michael can’t pay him four million plus interest by the end of next week?

I ignore it. I can’t think about that now. Now, it’s me and him and I just need to survive this moment.

But I’m not defenseless, I remind myself. I am a Moretti. And I decided five years ago that I would not, would never, be a good little victim again.

Steeling my spine and setting my jaw, I turn to face my enemy.

I look up. My heart races. He must be almost a foot taller than me. He’s wearing a T-shirt and that tattoo I’d glimpsed earlier is more visible now. I don’t concentrate on that just yet. I make myself keep going, taking in the chiseled line of his jaw, a sharp contrast to full, soft lips. It helps that they’re set in a smirk. When I get to his eyes, I find they’re gleaming with amusement. If he was hideous, a beast, this would be so much easier. This though, how fucking beautiful he is? It’s just wrong.

I clear my throat, take in the wet, messy hair, the scent of soap similar to the aftershave I’d picked up from him earlier.

He took the time to shower before coming in here to get me. He’s relaxed, I guess.

My gaze shifts to his tattoo, I’d only glimpsed a small portion on the side of his neck earlier. Now, through the V-neck T-shirt, I see the head of a hooded man and what I can make out of the face peering out from beneath that hood is a skull.

The Grim Reaper.

Reaper.

That’s right. That’s what his nickname is. My father commented on it once and I must have cataloged it somewhere.

From the ink I can see, the tattoo must span both his chest and back.

He looks around me to the door. He tugs that hairpin I managed to jam in the lock out and holds it in the palm of his hand.

I stare down at it.

“What is this, the movies?” he asks.

I look up at him, but don’t bother answering. I think it’s rhetorical anyway.

“What was your plan? Break out of this room with a hairpin,” he starts, emphasizing that last part like it was possibly the dumbest thing anyone’s ever done. “And what, Allegra? Take on my men? Are you some sort of secret ninja warrior? Should I be worried, Little Moth?”

I clear my throat and decide to ignore that last bit. “What did you expect me to do? Sit here and play good little victim?” I ask instead.

“Actually, I’m hoping you’ll fight. Good little victim is no fun. I just didn’t know you were stupid.”

“I’m not stupid. And I’m no victim.”

“You’ve got to admit, it’s not exactly a smart move.”

“Get out of my way,” I snap. I try to scoot around him, but he sets his hand on the wall. When I try to go the other way, he cages me in, arms on either side of my head, his big body blocking me.

“I clipped your wings, Little Moth. You won’t fly away, not from me.”

“Stop calling me a moth.” I shove at his chest, but he doesn’t budge.

“I’ll call you whatever I like.” He leans his face close and, keeping eye contact, inhales deeply and makes a satisfied sound. “Do you know what you smell of, Moth?” I don’t answer, but again, he’s not waiting for me to. “You smell of fear.”

He straightens, a smirk on his face, a challenge. I glare up at him. I have no comeback. He has a keen sense of smell. I am scared. I’m fucking terrified. I have reason to be.

“Any more tricks up your sleeve?” he asks, wholly satisfied with himself.

Prick.

I narrow my gaze and grin. “Just this one,” I say, because I know if you don’t fight, they don’t go any easier on you. The opposite. So, I slide my hand into the pocket of my pants and wrap it around the bejeweled letter opener I’d found in the desk in the room. It’s quite pretty, actually. I draw it out and before he can register what I’m doing and before I can change my mind, I stab it into his side.

For a moment, we both freeze. Me with my hand wrapped around the hilt of the letter opener, him, with a look of surprise and then pain on his face.

He grunts or growls or something. His eyes narrow even more. He presses his right hand to my shoulder and pushes me against the door as we both look at where the would-be dagger is sticking out of his side, lodged low, between his ribs.

Warm blood trickles onto my hand and I pull it away, almost trying to hide it behind my back.

“That was,” he starts closing his hand over the hilt. He’s in pain. I hear it in his voice. “A mistake,” he finishes.

Blood seeps around his fingers, but he doesn’t pull the blade out. I think if he pulled it out, it’d be worse.

I stare up at him. Shit. Did I hit an important organ?

He draws a tight breath in, and I know each second of it hurts. He loosens his hand on my shoulder and the instant he does, I run. I sprint fast toward that open door and almost reach it. So close. I scream when he grabs me by the arm and spins me around, but he’s hurt and in pain and I slam my fist into the back of the hand that’s still closed over the wound. When I do, he lets out a grunt and falls back a step.

It’s enough. I turn and again, I run. I get through the door into what I thought was his bedroom, but stop because there, in the middle is a large stone structure, a baptismal font, carved and beautiful and what the fuck is it doing in the middle of a bedroom?

“You’d better run faster than that, Moth,” he bellows behind me, and I turn to look, to watch him coming.

I take hold of the door to slam it shut, then scream when it stops abruptly as he catches it. I jump backward, meet his eyes which are raging. My back hits the font and I turn once more, look for the door in this dark, strange room. It’s at the far end and I take off for it, but there are too many obstacles blocking my path, slowing me down.

“I said faster!” he orders.

I make the mistake of looking back. He’s faster than I expect him to be considering his injury. He’s not even really running, more stalking with one hand over his wound to keep the letter opener in place. When I take my next step, my foot catches the upturned corner of the rug, and I yelp as I go down.

He catches me. I make claws of my hands and scream as I scratch at his chest and in our struggle, I take him down with me. He grabs a wrist. I shove against him, try to wriggle out from under him. My hand is slippery with his blood. Something rips as I try to get away. I’m panting, we both are. There’s blood everywhere, and I’m exhausted, but he’s not. Not yet. Even wounded he has more stamina than me. He’s a fighter. A killer. He’s the fucking Grim Reaper.

“Enough!” he roars.

His weight is on me now, the carpet barely providing any cushion from the hard stone.

My lungs struggle to expand against his weight. “Get away from me. I can’t breathe!” I cry out, slapping at his chest, his face. It’s all I can do. He’s got me pinned.

He lifts his weight off my chest and, even injured, manages to collect my wrists in one hand, the other back on his side, his shirt drenched in blood now. He gets to his knees, takes a labored breath in, then stands, very clearly in pain.

“I already told you. You won’t fly away from me,” he says and hauls me to my feet. He drags me toward the bed, and from the nightstand retrieves a pair of leather cuffs.

“What are you doing?” I demand, struggling to get free.

He sits on the edge of the bed, takes a moment, muttering a curse against the pain. He tugs me close. “Enzo!” he calls out.

“What?” I ask.

He looks at me, eyes narrowed and cuffs my right wrist. I tug my left arm away when he tries to cuff it. I don’t get free, though.

He stops as soon as he has hold of it. I knew he would, didn’t I? I don’t look at him. I keep my gaze on the floor. I don’t want to see his face because I know what he’s looking at and can imagine what he’s thinking.

He brushes the tip of his finger over the nub of my pinkie. I yank to get it free, but he holds tight. When I shift my gaze to his, I find those eyes locked on me, eyebrows furrowed, waiting.

Guess he didn’t expect a missing finger.

Heat burns my face. Why this shames me I have never understood. It’s not like I had any control over what happened. I wait for his reaction. But he doesn’t react. Instead, he cuffs my wrist then stands to his full height and glowers down at me.

The door opens.

“Cassian?” a man asks, Enzo I guess. Then he gets a look at the blood. “Holy shit! What the fuck…” he trails off and I don’t even look over at him because I can’t drag my eyes from Cassian’s. From the insane, crazed look inside them.

“I’m fine. Get some bandages,” Cassian says without looking away from me. “You took that to heart, didn’t you?” he asks, but I don’t know what he’s talking about. He drags me toward the post at the foot of the bed and draws my arms over my head to hook the cuffs before he releases me.

“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to pull free when he steps away.

“That whole I like a little fight,” he says more quietly, properly looking down at his wound now as Enzo returns. He flips a switch and lights go on. Cassian drops heavily into a chair and glares at me. Enzo rushes to his side.

“I don’t think she hit anything vital,” Cassian says.

Enzo rips Cassian’s bloody shirt to look at the wound. Cassian reaches back to tug the tatters of it over his head, and I watch the muscles work, his stomach tensing as he braces against the pain of the wound, chest and biceps rippling with the movement. He tosses the shirt to the floor, and I stare because this is not what normal men look like. He’s all hard muscle, scarred, inked skin. And that ink? I was right. A huge Grim Reaper holding not a sickle, but a clock in his hand. His skull face is partially hidden beneath the hood, and those black, bottomless eyes should be because I shudder to see them. When I lift my gaze to Cassian’s, I find him watching me, his expression curious, intent.

I jut my chin and look away. Is he thinking up my punishment? I may be safe for the moment, but when Enzo puts him back together, there’s going to be payback. I know that much.

“I’m going to pull it out,” Enzo says, wrapping his hand around the hilt of the letter opener. “Ready?”

“Do it.” Cassian grits his teeth. Enzo blocks my vision when he shifts his position to pull the makeshift dagger out. I see the moment he does it on Cassian’s face and there’s a part of me, the stupid part, that winces, feeling guilty or sorry or some bullshit he doesn’t deserve.

“Okay?” Enzo asks.

“Fine,” Cassian groans. He’s not fine.

“I need to clean it, but I’ll be able to glue it shut. Not gonna lie though, it’s going to hurt.”

Enzo begins to gather supplies. Cassian glances down at the spot and I follow his gaze. The letter opener wasn’t long, just about two inches maybe and half an inch wide, but it did some damage. Slowed him down a little. Hurt him.

Mostly, though, it pissed him off.

“Good,” Cassian tells Enzo, then shifts his gaze to meet mine. “It’ll be a good reminder. Do what you need to do.”

My heart begins to slow, my breath calmer now. My arms are falling asleep, though, as blood drains. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a huge antique mirror leaning against the far wall and see what that ripping sound was, my blouse. It’s hanging open, only the two bottom buttons somehow still in place. My pants are fine, but my shoes are gone. Lost in battle. My hair is a wild, dark mess around my head, but I raise my chin and I smile.

Looking at myself, it’s not a scared little girl I see. It’s not a good little victim. It’s the face of a fighter. A survivor. And that’s what I hold on to when I return my gaze to Cassian’s and lock eyes as Enzo cleans his wound. I hold his gaze and watch him grit his teeth and clench his jaw against the pain and in his eyes, I read his promise. His payback. It’s coming. He’ll make me pay for my rebellion. Will I lose another finger tonight? I feel a familiar panic building, but I force myself to breathe. To stay calm. I tell myself if I had the chance, I’d do it again, exactly the same. I’ll fight him every step of the way. If it’s a fighter he wanted, well, then lucky him, because I meant what I said. I will never again play good little victim.

4

CASSIAN

Twenty minutes later, Allegra is still bound to one of the posts at the foot of my bed as I walk out of the closet, pulling a fresh shirt on over my jeans. The sweats and T-shirt are ruined.

Her eyes follow me, jaw jutted out stubbornly as I make my way to where my phone still lies on the dresser. I pick it up, glancing at her hands, seeing where the missing finger should be. I text Angelo:

Me: I want to know everything about Allegra Moretti.

Angelo sends me a thumbs up emoji, and I set my phone aside before moving to stand before her, just close enough to make it uncomfortable.

Enzo comes back in after washing his hands. He glances at us.

I raise my eyebrows.

“Want me to take her to the crypt?” he asks.

Her face betrays her panic. She shifts wide eyes to Enzo momentarily before returning them to me.

I grin, turn to my cousin. He knows I don’t, but he’s fucking with her too. “Not yet. But maybe later.” That last part I say to her.

“You want something for the pain?” Enzo asks.

“No. I told you, it’s good for me to remember.” I brush a lock of hair behind her ear, and she jerks her face away. I wonder if she’s aware she’s biting her lower lip, a giveaway of her anxiety. She’s not as tough as she wants to appear. Understandable, considering.

“What about this?” he asks, tossing the letter opener up and catching it. He’s cleaned it at least.

“Leave it. I may need it,” I say with a pointed look to Allegra. “Lock that door though,” I tell him, gesturing to the door that adjoins mine. I won’t be putting her back there tonight.

He does. “All right. I’m going home. Call if you need me. I’ll check in on you in the morning,” Enzo says, setting the letter opener on the table across the room before he leaves.

“Cute little stunt,” I tell her once he’s gone.

She faces me. She’s tiny barefoot like this. “I’d say effective is the word you want to use.”

I grin. She’s tough. Good. This is going to be fun. “Effective if earning a punishment was your goal, sure.”

She tries to look defiant, but I hear her swallow.

I brush my hand over her hair. It’s a wild mass of dark waves and I can imagine what she’d look like on her hands and knees before me, all that wild hair in my fist tugging back her head as I take her from behind.

I’d let her come even after this transgression. Not for her pleasure, but for mine. For me to see her face when her body betrays her.

I wonder how she’d look at me then. After coming on my dick.

Careful. Not yet. Don’t lose control.

“Moth,” I say.

“Reaper,” she responds.

I raise my eyebrows.

She gestures toward my chest. “It’s what they call you. The Grim Reaper. Bringer of death.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know what you are. What your family is.”

“Same as yours.”

“Not the same.”

“Yet you’re not afraid to attack me.”

“I already told you that I’m not going to play good little victim. I will never be that.”

“Been that before?” I ask, gesturing with a glance to her hand.

She narrows her eyes. “No,” she denies. “Now take me down from here.”

I snort, walk to the table against the wall where I keep a bottle of whiskey. It’s where Enzo left the letter opener. I pick it up, study it. It was stupid not to check the desk before putting her in there, but no one uses that room, so I guess the soldier didn’t think to. I’m lucky the thing was small, but fuck it was sharp. I tuck it into my back pocket and pour myself a glass of whiskey. Capping the bottle, I take the glass back over to her and offer her a sip.

She turns her head away, but licks her lips. She’s thirsty, but she’s also stubborn. I sip my drink and look her over. Her blouse is torn, hanging open, beneath I can see a black lace bra. Pants are intact. She’s up on tip toe and her toes peeking out from beneath the wide pant legs are painted a deep purple.

“My arms hurt. Take me down.”

“What happened to your finger?”

“None of your business.”

“I’m curious all the same.”

“Well, too bad for you. Take me down.”

I snort, meet her eyes. Amber. A shade of fire. I knew she’d be like this, didn’t I? From the moment I laid eyes on her in her father’s study. “How should I punish you, Moth?”

Her expression changes then. She’s trying to hide her fear.

“Tell me. Should I beat you?”

“You would, wouldn’t you? Was that all talk when you broke my brother’s wrist for hurting me? Hypocritical, don’t you think?”

I swallow my drink, study her. “Maybe I should take another finger?”

She freezes, no comeback. I set the glass aside and move close enough to reach behind her. I cup her skull before gripping a handful of that thick hair and tugging.

She grunts, but doesn’t ask me to release her. She won’t give me the satisfaction.

“How old are you now? Nineteen, twenty?”

“Twenty.”

“Well, you’re young and I’m sure daddy kept you shielded, living in a bubble.”

“You don’t get to talk about my father.”

“I get to talk about whoever I want. I’m going to give you some advice⁠—”

“Save it.”

“Be careful. My patience only goes so far, Allegra.”

“Allegra? Not Moth?”

“I’m getting bored of this game. You’re owed a punishment. And I always pay what I owe. So, take care with that smart mouth of yours,” I look down at that pretty, albeit big, mouth. I drag my gaze back to hers. “There are many wonderful ways to use it, and it would be a shame to have to cut out your tongue.”

Her breath trembles, her eyes betraying her yet again. I release my hold on her hair.

“What? No comeback? No smartass comment?” I ask, stepping backward.

“Go to hell.”

“I’m already there, sweetheart.” I look her over. “Let’s get these off. See what I’m dealing with here.”

I reach into my back pocket to take out the letter opener. Her eyes grow wide, and she presses her back to the post, tensing her entire body as if readying herself for an attack. She’s not new to violence. Maybe her father didn’t keep her as sheltered and protected as I thought. I slide the flat of the blade carefully over her chest, down her belly. I don’t want to hurt her. The two remaining buttons pop.

She sucks in a sharp breath as if having expected pain. I’m curious about her reaction.

Next, I slip the sharp edge beneath one shirt sleeve, the expensive material easily coming apart, so I barely have to tug. I’m careful not to break skin as I do the same with the second sleeve and soon, the blouse is in tatters at her feet. Next come the pants. It’ll be a shame to ruin them. They’re nice. But I do all the same and moments later, she’s standing before me naked, but for a strapless bra and panties. Matching set. Pretty.

“Better,” I say, making a point of looking her over. She’s petite, her breasts small, but her hips are nicely rounded. They’ll give me something to hold on to. Her arms and legs are lean with muscle. Not a runner, no gym for her, but yoga maybe.

“Get enough of an eyeful?” she asks, a tremor in her voice I don’t miss even for her bluster.

“Not yet,” I say with a grin before slipping the blade between her breasts and tugging, the lace of her bra snapping and dropping to the floor along with the rest of her things leaving her small, pert little breasts exposed. Her nipples tighten beneath my gaze, and she tugs her restraints, curling in on herself in an effort to shield herself from me.

“Get away from me!”

“Oh, sweetheart,” I start, laughing, which infuriates her. Good. “We’re just getting started.” I close my hands over her shoulders and force her to stand upright. “Now show me those lovely little tits of yours. Show me what’s all mine for the taking.”

She twists this way and that and if her arms weren’t fully numb, I have a feeling she’d try for some acrobatic move and swing her legs at my face, but after the night she’s had, I’m sure she’s exhausted.

“Stay still. I wouldn’t want to stab this into your side by accident,” I say, holding the letter opener up for her to see.

She looks at it, then up at me, fear clear in her eyes. Her father did her a disservice shielding her from life. If I had a daughter, I’d teach her how to fight. I wouldn’t allow her to become a victim. But no need to ponder that. I’ll never have a child.

“Last little bit,” I say and slide the blade into the side of her panties and snip the tiny bit of lace to strip her fully.

I give a cursory glance, appreciating the patch of dark hair. Nothing to tug on when a woman is shaved bare. I pick up my glass and cross the room to refill it, setting the letter opener down and turning to study my lovely little captive.

She keeps her gaze averted, clenching and unclenching her hands. I lean back and cross my ankle over the opposite knee and watch her for long minutes until she finally turns to me.

“What the hell do you want with me?”

“For starters, an apology for stabbing me.”

“You kidnapped me!”

“Now, that’s an exaggeration. Your family knows exactly where you are and how they can get you back. Although, honestly, I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.” I finish my drink and set the glass down to walk back toward her.

“What does that mean?”

I brush her hair over her narrow shoulders, take in the deep pink points of her hard nipples. When I brush a knuckle over one, she catches her breath. I look at her, watch her lick her lips, and I grin.

“Allegra,” I start, bringing my nose to her cheek, her throat, crouching as I go lower, letting the scruff of my jaw scrape along all that soft, smooth skin until I’m at eye level with her hairy pussy. I draw in a deep, audible breath and she whimpers.

I grin, straighten to my full height and search her face.

“If I’m not mistaken, I’m picking up a scent alongside that fear now,” I say, looking into those fire eyes which have gone a dark, rich amber. “You curious what that is?”

“No. Fuck you.”

“I’ll tell you anyway.” I bring my mouth to her ear. “What I smell is pussy. Wet pussy. Don’t tell me you’re turned on, Little Moth,” I whisper before taking the lobe of her ear between my teeth.

She pulls back. “I’m not.” She’s sputtering. “I’d never. No way. You…”

“Shh, Moth. Nothing to be ashamed of. We’re all deviants when it comes to sex. For some girls it’s natural. When they’re tied up, they cream their panties.”

“I hate you,” she hisses. “I’m going to kill you!”

“You can try. I’m not so easy to kill, as you’ve noticed. And as for hating me, well, you know what? I believe you. But the important thing is your pussy doesn’t hate me. Not even a little.”

She’s furious, her face going red and I draw back just in time when she attempts to bite me. Feral, this one. I chuckle, place my hands on her hips and turn her so she’s facing the post. I stand close enough that she’ll feel my erection through my jeans. “Don’t worry, Little Moth. I’m in no way immune.”

“Get away from me.”

“Now, let’s have a look at that ass of yours,” I say, cupping her ass, digging my fingers into the plump, soft mounds.

She clenches and I give a little slap.

“Leave them loose. When I spank you, I want to watch them bounce,” I punctuate by spanking a cheek lightly as I gather her hair and set it over one shoulder. I bring my nose to the curve of her neck and inhale her scent before biting that tender skin. “Now hold on to the post,” I whisper and wrap one arm around her middle to draw her hips back lifting her a little so she’s on her tip toes. She can’t be more than five-feet-four-inches. But it’s enough and I hold her against me, liking the feel of her, liking how her ass jiggles as she wriggles to get free when I spank her sweet, bouncy little butt.

“What are you doing?” she calls out, trying to get away.

“This is your punishment, Moth. Be grateful. It’s a light one. Now be still and take it and if you’re good, I’ll see how wet you are when I’m done. And if you’re very good, maybe I’ll even make you come.”

“I hate you! I fucking hate you!”

“Good. You should,” I say more seriously, holding her tight and spanking her properly until her ass and the tops of her thighs are red with my handprint and she’s panting and whimpering, and my dick feels like it’s going to rip right through my jeans.

When I release her, she stands with her forehead against the post, sniffling, her shoulders shaking with her breaths.

“Why would you do that?” she says into the post.

“Really? You fucking stabbed me, remember?” I take hold of her hips and press myself against her. Her entire body goes rigid when she feels me and the only sound in the room is that of her breathing. “Now apologize.”

Crickets. Did I expect anything else?

“Moth,” I say, drawing out the nickname I’ve given her. “Say you’re sorry and it’ll be over. Unless you’d like more?” I say and spank her ass.

She yelps. “Sorry! Asshole.”

I chuckle. “Good girl.”

I turn her to face me, keeping my hands on her hips. Her cheeks are stained with tears, but her pupils are still dilated and I see the gold in her amber eyes. I tilt my head, studying her, and slowly crouch down in front of her.

She has her legs pressed together, but I take hold of her thighs and draw them apart to find her inner thighs are slick with arousal.

I grin, look up at her, slide my hands along the backs of her legs to cup her ass before licking the length of her pussy.

Her gasp is an audible breath of surprise followed by a cry, but she doesn’t get to come tonight. Not after what she did.

I straighten, reach up to undo her bonds. I slide her arms which I’m sure are numb to her sides and lift her, carrying her to my bed. I draw the blanket back and lay her down, our eyes locked all the while, hers accusing, even as her face is flushed pink. The moment I release her, she tugs the blanket up to cover herself.

“I fucking hate you, Cassian Trevino.”

“Like I said earlier, that may be true, but your pussy does not.”

“Fuck you!” She turns abruptly away. Her hair falls over her shoulder exposing the back of her neck and I’m about to say something just to irritate her, to fuck with her a little more, when I see something that stops me.

I brush her hair farther off her neck.

“Don’t touch me!”

I grab her arm to stop her. “Be still.”

Her entire body goes rigid. She must realize what I see because she reaches back to cover her neck. I stop her.

“I said be still,” I say, all the playfulness gone from my tone.

I’m surprised when she does as I say. I release her arm and push the hair away to take in the marks on the back of her neck. Little circles. Dozens of them. Some old some new.

Cigarette burns. I know how they look.

Reaching out, I touch one.

She gasps, jerking away, turning to me. She’s holding tight to the blanket, her eyes soft like whiskey again, the skin around them wet.

“Don’t touch me!”

I study her, those pretty eyes. Vulnerable eyes. “Who put those marks on you?” I ask, tone serious.

She doesn’t answer. I’m not sure she can.

“Same person who cut off your finger?” I take a guess.

Panic fills her eyes, and she just stares up at me like a tiny deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming freight train. She shifts her gaze to a spot over my shoulder.

I reach out, tilt her chin so she looks at me. “Someone hurt you, Allegra. Who was it?”

She jerks free of my grip. “You did. Just now. Remember?” she snaps.

I recall her father smoked cigars. I could smell the stale residue of them in his office. Did he hurt her? That could explain the old scars, but the fresh ones? No. But then there’s her finger. He wouldn’t have done that, no way. Even if he hated his daughter, he wouldn’t maim her. It would cost him too much.

I think back about the Moretti family, what I know about them. Not much. They kept to their territory, and we kept to ours, each of us honoring the centuries old truce. I recall a rumor of a kidnapping. But that was her mother, Alaric’s wife. Although I don’t know the details and I’m not even sure it was more than a rumor.

“I’ll ask you once more. These are fresh. Who did this to you?”

She doesn’t respond.

“Allegra.”

“I’m tired. Please leave me alone,” she says, and I can hear she’s crying. “I’m asking you. Please.”

I nod, although she has her back to me so she can’t see me. I straighten. “Fine. But I will know who hurt you. As for tonight, there’s nowhere to go. The house is locked up tight and guarded. You’ll stay in this room until I give you permission to leave it. And if you try to use a weapon against me again, you’ll understand what real punishment is, am I clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Good,” I move to the door, glance back once. “Goodnight,” I say, unsurprised when all I get for a response is a show of her middle finger. I should punish the act, but I don’t. She’s tired. I’m tired. So I close the door and lock it behind me.

5

ALLEGRA

Only when he’s gone can I finally breathe. I sag against the pillows and pull the duvet closer, needing the warmth and weight of it. I hold it to my chest as my eyes adjust to the dark room. Moonlight streams through the stained-glass windows casting soft purple and red light into the strange space with its dark opulence and its vaulted ceilings.

I turn my face to the pillow beside mine, but it’s a mistake. His scent lingers here, aged leather with a dark, woodsy undertone, a scent that leaves a trace of raw masculinity in the air and I hate the fact that I’m breathing it in.

Fuck. Something is seriously wrong with me. Cassian Trevino is a brutal man. He is the villain. I should not be attracted to him. The opposite. I should be repelled.

And yet, as I lay on my back and stare up at the ceiling, my mind revisits the feel of his hands on me. His eyes.

His mouth.

Fuck. His mouth.

He put me in his bed, not the one in the adjoining room. I know what that means, don’t I?

I reach to switch on the lamp on the nightstand. The light is warm and just bright enough for me to make out that a mural paints this ceiling too. I noticed it all when they brought me in. He lives in a church. Old St. Anastasia’s. It’s part of the history of Devil’s Peak. We studied it in school, how it was built in homage to the church in Verona. This one is not as old, obviously, but I pored over the photos in our textbooks when I was younger. My class, when I used to attend them before I was home-schooled, had even taken a field trip here. It wasn’t used for worship anymore by then, it was more of a monument going to ground. A near-ruin.

I also recall the darker history of it, how people disappeared in the catacombs. How the priests of St. Anastasia wielded their power in those dark days. But no secret rooms were ever found. There were no hidden dungeons. So maybe they were just rumors. Tall tales that took on a life of their own over the centuries.

I recall talk of the church being sold to some secret buyer and the ridiculous amount of money he was pouring into it. There was so much speculation as to who it was. I remember the whispers that it was sold to a crime family but, like everything else, the next story came and this one was forgotten and the town moved on.

I push the duvet back and get out of the bed. Soft carpet cushions my feet as I wrap the throw that was at the foot of the bed over my shoulders. I cross the room to the oversized, eight-sided baptismal font. It’s big enough for an adult to sit inside. The stone is cold to the touch. I circle it, taking in the worn carvings. I recall from my lessons that this was imported from a ruined cathedral in Italy, I don’t remember which. The building is about four hundred years old, but this is even older. I wonder how many others have touched it like I am now. How many babies were baptized inside it. How many adults drowned in it. Because that, too, is part of the church’s history.

I shiver with a sudden chill that has nothing to do with the temperature in the room. I hug the blanket closer. My clothes are tatters on the floor. I pick them up and put them in the trash can where his bloody shirt is and walk over to his closet. I open the door and switch on the light. It’s not what I expect. Not at all. The interior is a modern, huge closet without a single empty shelf.

I touch the edge of a jacket sleeve. Cassian Trevino apparently likes clothes. A lot of them. Definitely not something I’d have guessed. I walk through, read the designer labels, some I don’t even recognize, most Italian. He’s vain. Well, someone as beautiful as he is, I get it.

Looking through several drawers, I take out cufflinks to study them before putting them back into their organized little cubbies, rolling my eyes at the T-shirts folded with precision and sorted by color until I find a worn wool sweater. I take it and pull it on. It’s like a dress on me and I try not to notice the faint scent of his aftershave.

My mind instantly conjures up the image of him crouched before me, hands on my hips, eyes at the level of my pussy. That’s followed by the sensation of his tongue on me, licking me. It wasn’t a small taste, either. It was full on. It was him putting his stamp on me. Him letting me know he could do whatever he wanted to do to me.

I strip off the sweater and toss it on the floor. I want something that doesn’t smell like him, so I take a button-down shirt out of a plastic dry cleaner’s bag instead and wonder if he sends everything out to be cleaned or if he does his own laundry. I recall his bare feet. How strange it had looked to see them. How common place. Like he’s human.

No, Allegra. Cassian Trevino is not human. He’s a monster.

I walk out of the closet and into the bathroom. The door has a lock. I’m grateful for that. It’s beautiful, modern, just as the closet was, but in keeping with the building with the same stone and marble I’d glimpsed in the main church. There’s a large glass-walled shower with old fashioned brass fixtures and a separate tub. Needing to wash his touch off me, I decide to have a shower. I slip the shirt back off and step under the flow of water. As soon as I take the lid off his body wash and sniff it, though, I know it’s in vain. His scent is everywhere.

I don’t shampoo my hair, but scrub my body, trying to ignore the ache in my pussy when my fingers move over it. I’m not going to do it. I’m not going to touch myself in his house, in his shower, with him on my mind. Hell, he’s probably got cameras in here and is watching me now. I scan the corners of the room, paranoid, but don’t see anything. Still, I hurry and dry off, then put his shirt back on, rolling up the sleeves until my hands are free, and buttoning the top buttons. Since I only see his toothbrush on the edge of the sink, I rinse my mouth with the mouthwash and forego brushing my teeth. I braid my damp hair and walk back into the bedroom half-expecting him to be back, but he’s not. I glance at the door, but decide it’s smart to heed his warning, at least tonight. I don’t want to confront him again, not yet. I’m too tired. I go back to bed, switch out the light and lay down, looking at the huge stained-glass window on the opposite wall, taking in the scene of St. John baptizing Jesus. It's beautiful. And I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but I smell incense. No, it can’t be. No mass has been held here for decades. And Cassian Trevino is certainly not the church-going type. Hell, he converted this beautiful part of our town’s history into his private home. I can only imagine the things that have taken place here. In this bed, even. I mean, who has leather restraints in his nightstand drawer?

I’m curious to look inside that drawer and see what else he has, but I shake my head and tell myself I shouldn’t want to know. I turn onto my side and reach back to make sure my hair covers the back of my neck, my fingers brushing the marks. They almost feel like normal skin, not raised or anything, at least not the old ones. They heal over time. It’s barely been a week since the last ones, though. It’s a spot chosen with care so no one would see.

But someone did see.

I think about Amal and Daniel. Although we’re not related by blood, they’re like brother and sister to me. I’ve known them all my life. Malek worked with my father for as long as I can remember. Even though I don’t trust him, at least I know he’ll keep his own kids safe. He won’t let Cassian get to them.

My mind wanders to my brother. How long will it take Michael to pay Cassian back? What did he do exactly anyway? And what did Cassian say? Not to get my hopes up? What did that mean?

Although I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep, somehow, I feel myself drifting and I don’t fight it. I welcome the oblivion of sleep.

6

CASSIAN

Allegra Moretti is missing a finger. That’s unusual and unusual is an understatement even in our world. I need to dig deeper into her family’s history. And on top of that, some of the marks on her neck are fresh. Only days old given how red they are.

I shouldn’t care. I mean, I don’t care. But I don’t like it. I saw how her brother handled her. Is it him? Is he putting his cigars out on his sister’s neck? Some sort of punishment?

The light over the Aga stove is on in the kitchen. I should eat, but I’m not hungry. I need to burn off energy. I cross the front of the church, sconces that stay on day and night casting a warm glow and guiding my way. On moonless nights it would be pitch black in here without them. A soldier standing near one of the side exits greets me.

“I’m going for a run. The girl stays in my room. No one goes in.”

“Yes sir.”

I walk to what is essentially a mudroom. Connected to it is the laundry room. Modern convenience was considered when I redesigned the place into my home. I don’t want to go back into my bedroom to change clothes, so I rummage through the folded laundry and find a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I pull those on along with a pair of running shoes and step out into the brisk night. I zip my phone into a pocket of my shorts and start my run. No music. I like to hear sounds of the night. Of the dead. It usually clears my head, but tonight everything feels different.

I can still taste her on my tongue.

I can still see the look on her face after.

I run harder despite the pain in my side because if I don’t, I’m going to need to take care of myself here and now. It’d be inappropriate, considering it’s a fucking graveyard.

The night is cold, but I warm up fast. It takes me almost half an hour to get to the edge of the property where a sheer cliff drops into the angry waters of the Atlantic. Only when I reach it do I stop, sweating now, and listen to the sound of waves crashing. A freezing wind blows. Even in summer, it’s never warm, not here.

Devil’s Peak. It’s where the town got its name.

There’s a secret underground path that leads here from the crypt, rock carved roughly centuries ago. Closed off centuries ago, too, and uncovered during the renovation. When I first saw the derelict church, something about it drew me. I couldn’t figure out what or why. I’m not drawn by any god and besides, the discovery was more sinister than salvation. I understood what it was only after that opening was unsealed.

Wind whistles around me. Ghosts of the dead. The murdered. How many bodies were disposed of here, thrown off this very peak? How many lives ended?

Sweat grows cold on my skin, and I turn back, pick up my run. By the time I’m back, I’m sweating, and my breath is short. The soldier nods his greeting. I pass him and make my way to my office, which was one of the chapels I converted, glad I’d decided to add on the bathroom now because I don’t want to go back into the bedroom while she’s sleeping and I’m not remotely tired. The run seems to have done the opposite of what I hoped. I’m more energized than before.

I strip off my clothes and step into the shower, standing beneath the flow, eyes closed, a picture of Allegra Moretti bound to the bed post, hip pressed to my side while I held her. While I spanked her. I grip my cock. It’s either my hand or I’m going to go back into my bedroom and fuck her, and I can’t do that just yet. I need to make sure certain things are in place. I don’t know if she’s protected, and I can’t risk pregnancy. I can never risk pregnancy.

So, I keep the image of her in my mind and recall the musky scent of her arousal, the soft mound of hair, the sweet taste of her pussy. I jerk myself off, imagining it’s her hand, her mouth, the tight sheath of her pussy and when I come, I press my forehead to the wall, my cock throbbing in my fist, come painting the shower walls.

When it’s over, I shudder, tiring now. All that energy slipping from me. I switch off the water and towel off. From the small closet that contains just a few suits and some casual wear, I pull on a pair of boxers and sweats. I don’t bother with a shirt because maybe I’ll sleep tonight after all.

I consider the couch in my office. Hard, cold leather.

I consider the woman in my bed. Soft, warm flesh.

It’s an easy choice and now that I’ve taken care of myself, it should be fine. No issue, I tell myself. She’ll be safe from me.

I open my bedroom door and, in the dim, purple light of the moon filtering in through the stained glass, I see her. She’s still, and her breathing is soft and even.

Walking in, I close the door behind me. She may be a little thing, but she’s spread herself out, one arm splayed across my side of the bed, her cheek resting half on my pillow. I draw the duvet back and see she’s wearing one of my shirts. It’s huge on her and I smile because I like the thought of it on her. Carefully, I lift her arm to slip into the bed.

Her face is close to mine, her expression sweet when she’s asleep. She showered. Her hair is a damp, unraveling braid.

I turn my face up to the ceiling, set her hand on my stomach and close my eyes, glad I’m exhausted because I’m wrong. It’s not easy to be this close to her, to feel her warmth and not touch her, but I don’t. I won’t.

I close my eyes.

Sleep is ever-elusive. It comes in fragments throughout the night. Exhaustion is my constant companion. I’ve learned to thrive on it. But tonight, sleep comes. It is a soft wave washing over me, no tugging undertow no riptide carrying me out to sea, drowning me.

Tonight, here, with her tucked warmly into my side, I sleep, a dreamless sleep.

7

ALLEGRA

An amber glow warms my face, makes the darkness a little less complete. It’s quiet, not a single bird to be heard, not Daniel in the next room playing with his toy train set. Not the sound of a vacuum cleaner running. I’m snug under a mountain of soft blankets and there’s something smooth, solid and warm beneath my hand.

I lay in a satisfied half-sleep until the light shifts, hitting my closed eyelids.

I stir.

Someone moves beside me.

Someone. Moves. Beside. Me.

Like a tsunami, memory comes crashing back knocking the sleep right out of me. My eyelids fly open, and I’m horrified to find a pair of eyes the color of a Mediterranean sea just inches from mine, watching me, a gleam of amusement inside them.

“What the hell?” I pull away, noting what was warm and smooth and fucking solid beneath my hand.

Cassian smiles wide, sets his hands behind his head and turns his face into the amber light. He gives a satisfied sigh. That light is the sun filtered by the stained glass of the window across the room.

He closes his eyes momentarily.

“I’ll never tire of this,” he says.

“Of what? Kidnapping women, beating them then sneaking into bed with them?”

He chuckles. “The light,” he clarifies.

“What are you doing here?”

I tug a greedy chunk of the duvet to myself. Without opening his eyes, he catches a corner and pulls it back over his naked body.

Shit. Is he naked? Am I?

No. I’m still wearing his shirt, but I’m naked apart from that.

“It’s my bed. And for the record, I did not kidnap you, you’re being held as collateral. Like I explained last night, your family knows exactly where you are, and they are welcome to collect you as soon as they’ve paid me back the money they owe me.”

“The money you’re extorting⁠—”

“The money they cost me plus a little extra for my trouble. As for beating you, a spanking is hardly a beating, especially when you’re wet at the end.”

“I wasn’t wet!”

“Then you have a very selective memory. And this is my bedroom and my bed. I wasn’t sneaking. Where do you expect me to sleep?”

“The other room. There’s a perfectly good bed in there,” I say, pointing to the door of the adjoining room.

“I don’t think so, Moth,” he pushes the blanket back and sits up. I’m glad to see he’s not completely naked. I take in the part of the Grim Reaper that spans his back. It’s mostly his cloak and a graveyard littered with clocks. It’s weird. “I’m going to shower, then I’ll make you breakfast,” he says, reading a message on his cell phone.

“You were touching me,” I tell him.

He turns to me. “I slept on one third of the bed. If you’ll notice, you took up the other two-thirds even though you’re half my size. Maybe thank me for not shoving you aside and waking you.”

“Right. You’re very generous.”

“And just to be clear, if anyone was molesting anyone, it was your hand on my dick.” He stands, faces me and my gaze goes to that part of his anatomy which is currently a steel rod in his briefs.

“I wasn’t touching your dick,” I say quickly, averting my gaze, sure I’m beet red.

“Close enough. But don’t flatter yourself. This is just how I wake up. Although, I am amenable if you need⁠—”

“No! I do not need that!” I snap, pointing. “And if I did it wouldn’t be your… that!”

He laughs outright as he walks toward the bathroom. I’m furious at myself because he was taunting me, and I walked right into his trap. He closes the door, and a moment later, the shower goes on.

“I need clothes!” I yell. “You destroyed mine.”

If he hears me, he doesn’t bother answering. But I notice he’s left his phone behind, so I pick it up to do what I am not sure, call my brother? Malek? Call Amal? She and Daniel must be terrified. But the phone is obviously locked, so I just set it back down.

A few minutes later, the shower switches off. I gather all the blankets like a shield around myself. The bathroom door opens to a fog of steam that Cassian materializes out of. I hate myself for looking. For letting him see me freaking ogle him. But I swear, this man is not human. He’s built of marble, all sculpted, hard muscle, scarred olive skin, and that tattoo which as terrifying as it is, is also beautiful. Like him.

Fuck. I close my eyes and shake my head and remind myself that I hate him. When I open them again, I note the red line and bruised skin where I’d stabbed him last night.

“I’m feeling violated,” he mocks.

I look up to meet his gaze. “If anyone should feel violated it’s me. I need clothes.”

“I prefer you naked when you’re in my bed, but for practical purposes, I agree. Don’t need soldiers distracted by a naked woman in their midst.” He mutters that last part as he walks into his closet. Returning a few moments later, he tosses me a pair of leggings and a sweater that are definitely not his. “Those should just about fit.”

I pick them up. They’re simple, black leggings and a navy sweater that look to be right around my size. “Whose are they? Your last victim?”

“My sister-in-law,” he says. He’s wearing a pair of slacks and pulls on a shirt that he begins to button up.

“You have a sister-in-law, and she leaves her clothes in your bedroom?” I don’t know anything about this man. Nothing apart from his name. “What does your brother, her husband think about that?”

His face grows dark. I’ve hit on something. But then his phone rings and he walks over to the nightstand, checks the display and answers. “Yes?” He presses his ear to his shoulder to keep the phone in place as he tucks his shirt into his slacks.

I take the opportunity to grab the leggings and sweater and slip into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I pee then wash my hands at the sink as I take in my reflection. I look weirdly rested although the remnants of the mascara I had on for the party that somehow survived my tears is smeared under my eyes. I open the medicine cabinet to see what he has for skincare, expecting to find a plethora considering his closet, but all I see is shaving cream, a razor, and aftershave. I pick up the aftershave, a nameless, expensive looking bottle. I open it because I’m an idiot and am instantly irritated at myself for having done it because it’s his signature scent and I hate him. I slam the cabinet closed and wash my face with water, then rinse my mouth with mouthwash again. If he plans on keeping me here for a few days, I’ll need a toothbrush and clothes.

I quickly get dressed, trying not to think about the lack of underthings and undo what’s left of the braid. I finger-comb the still-damp waves and consider using his comb, but the teeth are too close. They’ll just rip my hair out, so I don’t bother. I set my hand on the doorknob, take a deep breath in and brace myself to face him again. But when I open the door, the bedroom is empty.

I notice, though, that he’s left the door open, and I can smell coffee so I take that as my cue and head in. Last night his soldier marched me straight back to his bedroom, so I’d only seen a little of the interior of the church. Now, I’m stunned to see what he’s done, how much he’s restored and what he’s made of it.

The stained-glass windows filter in sunlight. Ornate crystal chandeliers hang by long chains every few feet and several are on, their light dimmed. The stained glass must never fully allow bright light in.

I’m not sure what I expected. That he’d have gutted it? He hasn’t. The murals along the walls and ceiling are preserved and I can see where restoration is still being done in several places. I walk down the side aisle. The pews have been removed, but the confessionals still stand along the walls. Two fireplaces stand at opposite ends each large enough to fit five full-grown adults. Both are crackling with warm fire. I wonder if he keeps those going all day to heat the place. Considering the height of the ceilings and the sheer size, he might have to. It’s not winter yet, but from now until the end of March, Devil’s Peak will be frigid. Even if he’s had a heating system installed, the fires are likely a necessary not only cosmetic addition.

A few of the chapels have been converted, doors added for privacy. A huge, plush sofa in creamy white is facing the fireplace on the opposite end. The living area, I guess. A huge, Medieval looking wooden door with iron embellishments is covered by a slab of glass and serves as the dining table. At quick count, it seats a dozen comfortably. It’s aptly placed beneath a fresco of the last supper. I walk by, running my fingers over the back of one of the leather chairs as I take in Jesus and his disciples.

The table is incredibly beautiful, the frescoes on the walls restored with care. He must have spent a fortune to get it this way.

“Moth,” he says.

I startle to find him watching me from what was once the sanctuary. It’s separated by three stone stairs leading up to the apse with an intricately painted fresco around the glass peak, something he must have done because I recall that part of the church had been ruined in a storm. It’s a clear, natural light and when he steps forward, that light falls over him in a way that has me stopping. Stealing my breath. It must be the setting, the church, that has me thinking how strange, almost beatific he looks in that light.

I shake my head and remind myself that he’s no saint. He’s a mafia boss who bought a church and made it into his home. It’s arrogant and wrong, like he’s taunting God himself.

“Cassian,” I say, walking toward what is now the fully functioning, beautiful kitchen with a stunning Aga stove at the heart. The counters are a sleek marble with what must be custom modern appliances. The windows along the back wall are arched and wrought with iron, the glass stained with scenes I could study all day and not get enough of. I notice below those tall windows shorter ones have been installed, these only made to look old. He has opened two to let in the bright sunshine in spite of the freezing air.

“Wow,” I say, as he pours coffee and holds the mug out to me.

“I know,” he says. His mouth stretches into a wide smile. I take it in, my lip curling into a sneer. He’s too smug.

“It is impressive,” I continue, taking the mug, watching that satisfied smile widen. “If you don’t mind a graveyard for your backyard I mean,” I add, enjoying how his face falls.

“Cream and sugar are there.” He points.

“I take it black.”

He turns back to the stove where a pan is warming. “You eat bacon and eggs?” he asks, glancing at me. I nod, my stomach growling loud enough for him to hear.

“I didn’t have dinner,” I say, feeling embarrassed.

“You should have told me you were hungry last night.”

“When? Before or after you stripped and beat me?”

He glances at me over his shoulder, amused. “I didn’t beat you. I spanked you. Which you and I both enjoyed.”

“Fuck off.”

He chuckles. “Well, I don’t plan on starving you. Sit.”

“Since you brought it up, what do you plan to do with me?” I ask. Since our casual interaction this morning, since that banter, I’ve nearly forgotten that I’m his prisoner and to do that would be a mistake.

He won’t hurt me, I tell myself. If he was going to hurt me, he wouldn’t have me sitting in his kitchen while he cooked for me. I’d be in some damp, dark basement, freezing, starving. Losing all hope.

No. Stop it.

I shake my head to stop my brain from continuing down that road. This isn’t that. This is different. This is nothing like that.

I slide into a seat at the counter which would once have been the altar. It feels weird. Like it shouldn’t be allowed or something.

“Scrambled okay?” he asks.

“It’s fine.”

He cracks four eggs into the pan then breaks the yokes. I watch him cook. It’s weird, like it was weird to see his bare feet. This is so domestic.

“You don’t have someone cooking for you?” I ask taking in his broad back, noting how the muscles work beneath the white button down.

“I enjoy it. It relaxes me.” He plates breakfast and carries both dishes over along with two forks and one knife. I guess he’s not taking any chances. I pick up a fork and eat some eggs. I’m starving.

He sits across from me and watches me eat for a minute while just sipping his coffee like he’s considering something.

“Why aren’t you eating? Is it going to make me sick or something?”

He smiles, eats a strip of bacon. “Nope.”

“Are you going to answer me?”

“You’ll be safe.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just what I said.”

I push some of the eggs around with my fork. “How long will I be safe?”

“Well, for starters, I won’t put cigarettes out on your neck or cut off a finger.”

My heart races and my appetite vanishes. I’m sure my face has gone white. Is he trying to be funny?

His eyes narrow. His gaze moves to where my finger should be. I set my fork down and place my hands in my lap to hide them from him.

“No one hurt me,” I say quickly even though he hasn’t asked. “I lost my finger in an accident.”

“Really?”

I nod. It’s what I’ve always said to the few people who have seen it. Who have dared to ask.

“The marks on your neck? Those an accident too?”

I swallow, my throat suddenly too dry to speak. “You misunderstand,” I say, setting my hands on the edge of the counter to push my chair back. Before I can, though, he covers my left one with his right. The tip of his finger caresses the nub where my missing finger is.

It’s a strange sensation and I look down at his hand so big around mine. I don’t try to pull away.

“Even if you’re not lying and this was an accident, which I don’t believe, the marks on your neck are not and there aren’t too many options as far as who could have done that to you.”

“You don’t know anything and besides, it’s none of your business.” I try to pull my hand out from under his, but he shifts his grip, taking my wrist, not letting me go. This is more what I’d expect from someone like him, after all. It’s more fitting for a mafia boss.

“But I made it my business. Who hurt you?”

“Why do you care? You who apparently sleeps with his brother’s wife⁠—”

“What? Where the hell did you get that idea?”

I shrug a shoulder. “I don’t know, her clothes in your closet maybe?”

“That’s quite the conclusion to jump to.”

“Well, it’s none of my business if you’re fucking your brother’s wife so I’ll keep my nose out of it just like you should keep your nose out of my business.”

His grip goes from tight to hurting. “I am not fucking my brother’s wife,” he says, tone different. Dark. Scary, actually.

“I don’t care if you are,” I say, but as I speak the words, I note how the turquoise of his eyes has changed, that sea blue turned stormy. There’s an infinitesimal shift in the muscles of his face, too. I’ve triggered him. But as I watch, I see he’s trying to keep control of himself. It feels like his grip on my wrist is some sort of anchor for him to do that, something solid to keep hold of. But he must be aware of how much bigger than me he is. How much stronger. How much damage he can do and how quickly.

“Let me go,” I say, hearing how my voice betrays my panic. I’ve seen what he’s capable of. I watched him break Michael’s wrist with one hand and I’m sure that’s just a tiny sliver of what he can and will do.

“My brother is gone,” he says, grip hurting now. “And she wasn’t his wife yet. She was his fiancée, and she is the mother of my nephew and a good friend. I won’t have you disrespect my brother or her or me.”

I snatch up my fork and press the prongs against the back of his hand. “I said let me go.”

“You do that, sweetheart, and you will be in a world of hurt.”

Before I decide how to respond, what to do, footsteps echo behind me.

“Am I interrupting breakfast?” a man asks.

I turn to look. The man, who is maybe a couple of years younger than Cassian, walks up the steps to the kitchen. His steps are confident, his expression relaxed although I see him quickly take in the scene.

He’s dressed in a dark suit with a navy button down and tie. He’s built like Cassian, big, but they don’t look alike so I don’t think they’re related. This man has dark hair that’s combed back from his face and green eyes, and his skin isn’t olive, like Cassian’s.

He gives off a similar energy though. Asshole.

“Jet,” Cassian says, releasing me and standing. I rub my wrist. Cassian turns his back to us and walks stiffly away. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t I drop in on my brother?”

So, they are brothers?

“Didn’t realize you’d be having breakfast with, what is she? Your houseguest?” Jet asks, looking me over. From his expression, I think he must recognize the clothes, but he doesn’t comment.

“Don’t get too close. She’s feral,” Cassian warns him before turning to me. “Go to your room.”

“I don’t have a room,” I say, slipping off the stool.

He grits his jaw. “Go to my room then. Now.”

My gaze moves from Cassian to Jet, who picks a strip of bacon off Cassian’s plate and bites down on it, grinning, watching our interaction with keen interest.

“Now Allegra,” Cassian says.

I look back at Cassian whose eyes have narrowed to slits.

“Fine. Asshole.” That last part I mutter under my breath as I walk away, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. Cassian is on me in a second, tugging me to him by my hair, his other arm banding over my ribs so my back is flush with his front, my head tilting upward, his face right there.

“What did I tell you about that smart mouth of yours?” he asks, the spikey short hairs along the hard line of his jaw scratching my skin.

“You’re hurting me,” I say, trying to pull his arm off. The weight of it is making it hard to breathe. All the same, I hate the fact that my mind makes a note of his aftershave. Of how his body feels against mine. How big he is. I hate that when I look at his mouth, all I can think about is how his tongue felt on me.

“Am I?” he asks, not loosening his grip. He leans his face closer, makes a point of inhaling. “I’m starting to think you like it,” he whispers so only I can hear.

“You’re mistaken,” I say, nudging my elbow against his injured side in warning.

“Be careful, Little Moth. Be very careful.”

I turn my face a little. “Just let me go.”

“Answer my question. What did I tell you about your smart mouth?”

“That you would put it to good use,” I say, answering his question.

“And you remember what I’d hate to do?”

My heart pounds, sweat pooling under my arms, panic rising in my belly. “Let me go. Please!”

“No, that’s not it. Although I do like the polite way you asked.”

“Cassian,” Jet says, coming toward us and placing a hand on Cassian’s shoulder.

“Do you remember or do I need to remind you?” Cassian asks, ignoring his brother. My breaths are coming in gasps, but it’s not the restriction of his arm across my chest. It’s panic.

“Hard to forget a threat like that,” I tell him, reminding myself that playing good little victim doesn’t help. It only makes them want to hurt you more.

“Cassian,” Jet snaps. “Let her go.”

“Then don’t taunt me,” Cassian says.

“Hey. You’re hurting her,” Jet says.

That gets Cassian’s attention. He looks down at his arm as I claw at it, then at my face as I try to calm my breathing. He loosens his grip, but it’s a minute before he releases me. The instant he does, I stumble out of his reach drawing in a lungful of air. I see how his forehead is furrowed, his eyes narrowed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I yell.

“Go to your room!”

“I don’t have a room!” I tell him again.

Cassian takes a step toward me. Jet rushes to block him, his back to me.

“Be smart. Get the fuck out of here. Now,” he tells me without looking at me.

Cassian’s jaw is set, eyes locked on me over his brother’s shoulder. I decide not to stick around. I hurry back to his bedroom, slam the door, then go into the bathroom where I can lock myself in. I lean my back against it and listen to my panicked breaths, trying to calm myself, not sure how that all just went so completely sideways.

8

CASSIAN

“Is she the reason you left so quickly last night?” Jet asks.

I watch Jet watch Allegra disappear. When the door slams shut, he looks at me, raising his eyebrows, waiting for my answer.

“My reasons are none of your business,” I say, not liking him surprising me here like this. Not liking him looking at her. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Talked to my contact this morning and thought you might be interested in what she had to say.”

His contact is the woman who tipped him off that the call that led to the raid and seizure of my shipment came from Moretti.

I take a deep breath in and exhale. “I am,” I say, and turn back to the kitchen where I pour Jet a cup of coffee, top mine off then lead the way to my study. Once we’re inside, I close the door. “Sit,” I tell Jet, but remain standing, leaning against my desk and sipping my coffee. The Little Moth is still taking up too much space in my mind and I need to focus.

“I can come back. You seem… distracted.”

“I’m not. Sit.”

He shrugs and takes a seat on the couch. “They found something in that shipment that’s apparently got them looking in a different direction. A group out of Russia.”

“What?” I ask, surprised. I safeguard shipments so they can’t be linked to me should they be seized. It’s happened before. Ultimately, it’s an odd game, even if there’s no snitch, it can happen. In this case, the Feds managed to link it to me. That’d be Moretti’s doing because I know for a fact they wouldn’t have found evidence in the shipment. Them showing up at the casino was a flex. My stepbrothers aren’t involved in mafia business. They wouldn’t know anything to give anything away. That was the Feds sending me a message.

“Russians,” he repeats. “It’s a small group.” He opens his jacket to take out an envelope he has tucked into his breast pocket and sets it on the coffee table. He leans back and crosses his ankle over the opposite knee and sips his coffee. “Malek Lombardi provided this new evidence just this morning.”

“Lombardi?”

He nods.

“What the fuck is he doing?”

Jet shrugs a shoulder. I study my stepbrother. Ever since his mother married my father, he’s been curious about mafia business. Where Severin has made a point of steering very clear of my family, Jet’s not queasy. Not that Severin’s queasy. Money like we have doesn’t go hand in hand with queasy. Severin’s made it very clear he wants his little brother out of this side of things, but thing is, Jet’s not a kid anymore. He’s a grown man and although I don’t include him in Trevino business, given his name, he has contacts I do not and can be valuable. After my shipment was seized, he’s the one who got me Moretti’s name. But I’ll only allow him so far. Jethro and I are not related by blood and at the end of the day, blood matters. We may be stepbrothers, but our two worlds will remain separated. That’s the one thing Severin and I agree on.

After a too long silence, I take the seat across from Jet. I set my coffee down and pick up the envelope to read what’s inside. The Russian group is one I vaguely remember hearing about years ago. They’re not important, not here.

“Malek Lombardi sent them barking up the wrong tree?”

Jet nods. “Maybe he wants the girl back. I heard she had a marriage contract in place that would be politically advantageous.”

“And where did you hear that?” I ask. I’d heard rumors about a marriage contract, but there’s no reason Jet should know.

“Can’t remember. Why did you take her? That’s not how you operate.”

“You know how I operate?” I raise my eyebrows.

He shrugs a shoulder. “I know you. You don’t involve the women. Isn’t that a rule of yours?”

I toss the sheet of paper onto the coffee table and pick up my mug. “What do you know about my rules, Jet?”

“Take it easy, Cassian. I’m on your side. Things just looked a little heated out there and it’s not like you.”

“She’s collateral, that’s all.”

“It didn’t look like that to me.”

“I’ll take care of Allegra. You don’t need to worry about her. In fact, I don’t even want you thinking about her.” I stand up. “What do you want for this?”

He finishes the last of his coffee, sets the mug on the table, stands and buttons his jacket. “What do I want?” he asks, eyebrows raised. “Nothing. It would be bad for Blackstone business if our stepbrother were to be connected with a seized arms shipment, don’t you think?” he asks testily. “Besides, since when do I have to want something to help you out?”

I’m being an asshole. I know. I push a hand through my hair. “Then I’ll thank you for bringing me the information.”

“You’re welcome.” He checks his watch. “Better go. One word of advice. Watch out with her. She’s under your skin. It took me a split second to see it. They’ll see it.”

By they he means her family. Jethro isn’t stupid. I’m sure the same thought that crossed my mind has crossed his. Now that her father is gone, I could expand my territory. Michael isn’t his father and Malek isn’t blood. Any truce we had in place they broke when they tipped off the Feds. Allegra could be the bridge. If I want that.

When I went over there last night, it was not with that in mind. When she walked into that office and I laid eyes on her, that wasn’t my first thought. She may be more useful than I realized at first, but that’s not why I took her.

I see.

I want.

I take.

I am a man. And when I saw Allegra, I wanted her. So, I took her. Simple as that.

I nod to Jet. It’s not that I don’t trust him. Out of the three of them, Sybil, Severin and Jet, he’s the only one I’d come close to trusting. But I wouldn’t give him my back.

Once Jet is gone, I go into my bedroom to find Allegra sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the door. No, glaring at the door.

“I want to see Amal and Daniel,” she demands. “They’ll be worried.”

I pause for a moment, thinking, then walk into the closet to grab my suit jacket. I pull that on and walk back out.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

“Wait. What?”

“Fine, we’ll go see them.”

It’s clear from the furrow between her brows that she’s surprised and suspicious. “Why?”

“You’re concerned for them. Or am I mistaken?”

She narrows her eyes, but stands. I notice she’s wearing the ballet slippers she had on last night. She will need a proper pair of shoes and a coat. It’s freezing out there. The shoes she’ll have to wait on. The coat I can provide.

“So, you’re just going to take me because I’m concerned for them?”

“No, I’m going to take you because you asked so nicely,” I say with a wide, sarcastic smile. I open the door and gesture for her to walk out ahead of me.

She studies me, obviously not trusting me, but is smart enough not to push it. She walks out of the bedroom.

I follow her out, sliding one hand beneath the mass of long, dark hair and wrapping it around the back of her neck. She stiffens and I wonder if it’s my touch or the reminder that we have unfinished business regarding those scars.

“Where’s your brother?” she asks once we reach the door.

I take one of my coats and drape it over her shoulders. It hangs all the way to the floor. I pull another one on myself. The soldier at the door opens it. The air is bracing, sun bright on the freshly fallen snow. A path to the SUV has been cleared, but Allegra’s ballet slippers look like just that, slippers. “Stepbrother,” I say, and scoop her up.

She yelps, hands closing on my shoulders, surprised, then, when she realizes she’s holding on to me, she fights to get free. “What are you doing?”

“Be still.” I look down at her upturned face, her fire eyes, the oval of her angry little mouth. I tighten my hold and carry her to the waiting SUV. Enzo opens the back door, and I slide Allegra in then follow. She quickly scoots to the opposite side, tugging my coat tighter around herself.

“What the hell was that?” she demands.

The soldier closes my door and climbs into the passenger seat. “You’re wearing ballet slippers. Didn’t think you’d want to land on your ass first thing this morning.”

I reach across her and she grips my forearm, pressing her back into the seat. I note the flush of her cheeks and grin as I draw the seatbelt across her chest and click it into place before sitting back myself.

“Do I make you nervous, Moth? Or do you like me being so close?”

She clears her throat, shakes her head. I imagine she hasn’t had much experience with men, but surely some. “I am capable of walking, and I can certainly buckle my own seatbelt.”

She looks down at her feet clad in those ridiculous shoes. Are they even considered shoes? Why does women’s footwear make no sense?

“We’re not blood,” I say, sitting back and buckling my seatbelt as we pull out, one SUV ahead of us and one behind.

“What?”

“Jethro. My father is married to his mother, but we’re not blood.” I’m not sure why I’m explaining this to her.

“Oh. Is your father alive then?”

I nod once.

“Did he send you last night?”

“Excuse me?”

Her forehead furrows and I can tell she’s considering whether or not to continue. “My father had mentioned once that he was sick, so I thought he’d died since it was you who came to our house, but you said he is married to Jethro’s mother. Not was.”

“He’s alive.”

“He can’t be that old.”

“He’s not.”

“What’s your background anyway?”

“Pardon?”

“Your coloring and your eyes.”

I raise my eyebrows as I watch that flush creep up her neck. She’s embarrassed to have asked. I grin. I’ll exploit that.

“Little Moth, do you find me pretty to look at?” I taunt.

She turns away, face bright red now. “The combination is unusual. That’s all. If you’re going to be a jerk, then never mind. Forget I asked.”

I chuckle, reach out to lift a lock of wavy hair.

She slaps my hand away. I lean closer, pick up the smell of my bodywash on her. I like it. I smile. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, Little Moth,” I whisper. “Your wet pussy gave you away last night.”

She turns to shove me, and I laugh outright. “You’re such an asshole, you know that?” she asks.

“I do so I’m going to let that one go,” I say, smiling wide. “Don’t worry, I find you pretty to look at too.” I wink.

“That’s not why… I mean…” She’s clearly flustered. Unused to compliments, I guess. “I wouldn’t care if you thought I was a hag.” She turns away again, clearly uncomfortable and unsure how to handle me. I feel a small pang of guilt. I know how sheltered her father kept her. She’s unused to men.

“My father is Italian, and my mother was Syrian. She passed away a very long time ago,” I give her, sitting back in my seat. I don’t tell her I never got to meet my mother. Never got to hear her voice or see her face. I don’t tell her I’m the reason she’s dead.

The way she looks at me shifts. I turn my gaze out the window as the vehicles pull off the property. I’m about to tell her I don’t need her pity when she speaks.

“How long?” she asks, surprising me and I recall how she lost her mother five years ago. I suppose we have that in common.

I shift my gaze back to her ready to tell her I’m not interested in discussing our pasts, but I stop because I see something I don’t expect. An openness on her face. A vulnerability. It catches me off guard and I hear myself speak before I even think about how to answer.

“Twenty-nine years.”

She looks confused. She doesn’t know my exact age. I’m afraid she’s going to tell me she’s sorry for my loss, but then she speaks, surprising me again. “I was fifteen,” she volunteers. “I’m afraid I’m forgetting her face. Her voice. I’m scared I’m going to forget her.”

I don’t speak. I can’t. I can’t fucking breathe. I just sit there watching her.

“Sorry. Never mind.” She shakes her head, clears her throat and although her eyes are damp, she doesn’t cry. “I feel like the president,” she says, gesturing to the SUVs ahead and behind ours.

I’m glad for this change in topic. I’m ill equipped to respond to whatever that was.

“Your father traveled with a motorcade larger than this if I recall. I suppose Michael and Malek have slimmed down given budgeting issues.” I know the finances of the Moretti family have dwindled since her father’s death. Payments haven’t been coming in like they would when Alaric was at the helm. There’s a lack of respect for Michael. The tide for the Moretti family was changing even before I stepped in. Does Allegra realize that?

She’s quiet for a few minutes. “I’ve been here on a school field trip,” she says as we pull out of the gates.

“Excuse me?”

“St. Anastasia. Before you bought it. It’s a replica of a church in Verona.”

“You know that?” I ask. She nods. “Have you been to the original?”

“I’ve never left the country,” she says.

“That’s too bad.”

“It was rumored something like the Spanish Inquisition was held here by some bad priests, but nothing was ever found.”

“Is that so?” I don’t offer any details on what was uncovered during my rebuild.

She shrugs a shoulder. “What you said about my dad last night, you’re wrong.”

“Does your brain always work like this?”

“Like what?”

“Jumping from one topic to another? It’s exhausting.”

“Am I going too fast for you?”

I snort. “I’m more worried about you tiring yourself out.”

“Well, don’t worry about me and I’ll try to speak more slowly so I don’t overtax your brain,” she says, doing just that.

I raise an eyebrow.

She smirks.

“Your father wasn’t a good man if that’s what you’re trying to tell me,” I say.

“He never hit us.”

“Well, he hurt plenty of people, Allegra. And no matter how you feel about him, you’d have been a pawn to him.”

“You don’t know anything about him.”

“A daughter is always a pawn.”

“Speak for your own family, not mine.”

“I have no sister. No daughter. I never will.”

“What, you’ll only have male offspring? You do know how that works, right?” She snorts.

“I meant I won’t have any offspring,” I say and immediately wonder why I said it. Why I’d tell her that.

She looks puzzled, but curious. I expect her to ask what I’m talking about and I’m not sure if I’m grateful or disappointed when she doesn’t.

“You said something to Malek,” she says instead. “You’ve danced this dance, and it didn’t end well for us. What did you mean?”

“You caught that?”

She nods.

“I mean Moretti and Trevino families have a truce in place because things have gotten ugly before. Territories crossed, borders not respected. And every time that’s happened, our family has come out on top. Every single time. More than once an example has been made.”

“You mean soldiers were killed?”

“No, that’s expected when there’s a war between mafia families. I mean an example.”

“You’re being cryptic.”

“You sure you want to know?”

Her eyes search mine for a moment, but she nods.

“A woman.”

“What?”

“A woman is made an example of. A daughter, or, if there’s no daughter, a wife or a sister.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“He really did keep you in the dark. You should ask your brother. Or Malek.”

“I’m asking you.”

“Take care. Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss.”

“I’d rather face what’s coming eyes wide open.”

“A Moretti with a backbone. Who knew?”

“I want to know, Cassian. I want to know when I can get back to my life.”

The way she says it makes me pause because she is just so far off the mark. Did she really think Michael would just pay what he owed, and I’d drive her home, no harm, no fowl?

“No, you don’t, Allegra. Drop it,” I tell her.

“What did my brother do anyway?”

My phone pings with a notification. I take it out of my pocket and unlock it. “Doesn’t matter, not where you’re concerned,” I say, reading the text from Angelo letting me know he’s sent a file on Allegra.

Me: That was fast.

Angelo: Not much to look into. She’s pretty much been kept behind closed doors since she was fifteen.

I glance at her before clicking to open the folder. Jet’s right. She’s under my skin.

“What did he do?” she pushes. “Because I think it does matter, because if he can’t pay it back, won’t you make an example and put the Moretti’s back in their place? A woman, you said. Won’t you make an example of me then? That’s why you took me, after all.”

I merely glance at her, but don’t respond, grinding my teeth together to keep my mouth shut as I scan the file. I’ll read it properly later.

She reaches out to close her hand over the screen of my phone and I see the space where the missing finger should be. She’s been subjected to violence she should not have been subjected to. I know it in my gut. I know this was no accident.

“Sorry to interrupt your very important scrolling, but this very much concerns me,” she says.

I close the file. “Be smart, Allegra. Do as I say and drop it.”

“Tell me what happens to me if he can’t pay,” she insists.

I shift my gaze from her hand to her face, take in those amber eyes, counting the gold rings circling each iris.

“There is no if, Moth. And there is no your life. There never was.”

“What does that mean?” she asks after a beat.

“Did you hear what I said? About daughters and the role you play?” She watches me, waiting for me to continue. I’m sure this is not what she wants to hear, but she’s only fooling herself if she believes anything else. “You’re a pawn. However you claim your father felt about you, you were a pawn to him and you’re a pawn to your brother. I know about the marriage contract that was being negotiated before he passed. The one Michael finalized.”

“That wasn’t…”

“But all of that is beside the point. There will be no marriage, not anymore,” I say, surprising myself with the declaration because I suppose I just decided it. “And Michael won’t be able to repay his debt.”

Her forehead furrows, she shakes her head. “He has a week. You said, he has a week.”

I snort. “If he had a lifetime he couldn’t pay it back.”

“But you⁠—”

“And even if, by some miracle, he did, that wouldn’t matter, not anymore.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, sweetheart.”

“You can’t just change the rules at will."

“Don’t be naïve, Little Moth.” I tuck a lock of wild hair behind her ear.

She slaps my hand away. “I’m not naïve and stop calling me that,” she says as the SUV comes to a stop in front of the Moretti house and the solider in the passenger seat opens my door.

“But you are naïve, Little Moth.” I lean closer, my gaze sweeping her features, noting the smooth skin, the slight flush that creeps over it whenever I’m near. I pull her to me, press my cheek to hers and bring my mouth to her ear. “Because you don’t yet understand that you already belong to me.”

9

ALLEGRA

“What?” I hear myself ask when he draws away, looking down at me. My heart is racing, my stomach in knots.

Cassian steps out of the SUV, eyes locked on me. He extends his hand, palm up, to help me out.

“Legra!” Daniel calls out, running up behind Cassian.

“Smile for the little one, Moth,” Cassian says, never shifting his gaze, his own eyes unsmiling.

I fix my expression. Steel myself.

“Daniel,” I say, forcing the smile on my face. I slide Cassian’s coat off my shoulders and ignore his offered hand as I climb out of the SUV. I scoop Daniel up before Cassian can think of picking me up to carry me to the front door. I’d be mortified.

At five, Daniel is still easy to lift. He’s skinny with long arms and legs. “I missed you,” I tell him, burying my nose in his messy, curly blond hair. He got that from his mom. That and her sky-blue eyes. Amal has the same eyes and curls, but her hair is a deep blue black inherited from Malek. She’s striking.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Amal says as I engulf her, too.

“Me too. You okay?” I whisper in her ear.

She holds me tight, and I feel her nod. “You?” she asks, pulling back far enough I can see her looking over my shoulder at Cassian.

“I’m fine.”

I meet Malek’s gaze as I set Daniel down. He comes down the hall and doesn’t look surprised to see us. It makes me wonder what Cassian’s true motive is for bringing me here. I’m very sure it’s not so I can see Amal and Daniel.

“Allegra, good morning. You look well,” Malek says after looking me over.

“All things considered,” I say.

“Cassian.” Malek extends a hand that Cassian only looks at. “Well,” Malek says, awkwardly tucking his hand into pocket. “Come in.”

He steps aside and we enter, along with two soldiers. Two more stand outside.

“Where’s Michael?” I ask.

Malek shifts his gaze to me. “At the doctor for his wrist. But it’s good you came now. It’ll be easier to talk.”

“Get your things and visit. We won’t be staying long,” Cassian tells me then turns to the man who cleaned and glued his wound last night, Enzo, I think. He’s dressed in a suit like they all are, but I know he’s different from the other soldiers. From what I can see, Cassian trusts him more than the others. He tells Enzo to follow me up. Does he think I’ll climb out the window and run for it?

I look between Cassian and Malek. There’s tension, obviously, but I find it coincidental my brother isn’t here. I wonder if Malek timed this on purpose.

“Come on,” Amal says.

I take one step away before Cassian stops me. He looks down at me with those eyes I should hate. Eyes that seem to see right through me.

“Don’t be stupid,” he warns in a low voice.

“I won’t pack any letter openers,” I tell him with a sneer.

He exhales, one corner of his mouth curving upward, and heads off with Malek, one soldier with him, Enzo hovering close to me.

“What was that?” Amal whispers as the three of us go up the stairs, Daniel telling me about some cartoon he saw this morning, oblivious to tensions all around.

“I don’t know,” I tell her.

“Why don’t you get some toys and come into Allegra’s room,” Amal tells Daniel who nods happily. Amal gives me a pointed look before taking my hand and walking into my room with me. I’m grateful when Enzo waits outside, but when we try to close the door, he stops us. I leave it.

“What happened after I left?” I ask Amal once we’re out of earshot.

“What you’d expect. Malek cleared out the house and called in a doctor to see about Michael’s wrist.” She hasn’t called Malek dad in years and although he seems to try with her, she iced him out a long time ago. She glances at the door outside which Enzo is standing, hands clasped in front of him, face as if carved from stone. “Let’s get some of your things packed.”

I could care less about packing, but Amal takes my hand and pulls me into the walk-in closet.

“I heard Michael and Malek talking once the doctor left,” she whispers. “Malek was pissed. I guess Michael made a call and tipped someone off about a shipment.”

“Shit. Stupid. Malek didn’t know about it?”

“I couldn’t tell. I didn’t think so. This morning, Malek sent Michael away. I realize why now.”

“Malek sent Michael away? How did he do that?”

“He instructed soldiers to take him to the doctor rather than having the doctor make a house call. Michael argued, but, in the end, he gave in.”

“And the soldiers took instruction from Malek, not Michael?”

Amal nods.

“He’s in control, Allegra. I think he has been for a while. It’s just he’s not hiding it anymore and I think you need to be careful.”

10

CASSIAN

“Coffee?” Malek Lombardi asks after closing the door to the office.

“What are you playing at?” I ask as he pours himself a cup and turns to me. I notice the half-smoked cigar in an ashtray on the corner of the desk.

“Sit down,” he says, taking a seat on the sofa. “We’ll talk.”

I sit.

“Michael made a mistake, Cassian. He’s young⁠—”

“He’s not young.”

“Inexperienced, then. Either way, I admit what he did wasn’t very smart.”

That I can agree with, but I don’t say it. “Did you know about it?”

“Of course not. Had I known what he was up to, I wouldn’t have allowed it to happen.”

“You sent the Feds after the Russians. Why?”

“A show of good faith. There’s no way we can pay back that amount of money. Just no way.”

“And you expect what exactly? My forgiveness? Gratitude, maybe?” I almost laugh.

His expression hardens and I get the feeling he was expecting something like that. “Well, I was hoping for something. I understand if you need to punish Michael. It won’t look good if you don’t. But I ask you to be lenient.”

“Why would I be lenient? You may have sent the Feds barking up the wrong tree for the time being, but I still lose my shipment.”

“We don’t have the money. The Moretti family simply does not have that kind of cash, and you know this.”

“I’m not forgiving the debt.”

“No, obviously. But we can perhaps negotiate.” I don’t speak. Instead, I wait for him to continue. “Allegra is contracted to marry Governor Moore.”

My jaw tenses, but I wait.

“Once that marriage takes place, we will have access to⁠—”

“That marriage won’t be taking place. Next.”

“What do you mean⁠—”

“Next,” I repeat, my tone louder.

He draws a deep breath in, studying me. He cocks his head. “Perhaps you’ve already considered a contract negotiation yourself then, Cassian,” he says. “An alliance between our families could be mutually beneficial.”

“How would it be beneficial to me?” I don’t like Malek Lombardi, but he’s not stupid. “Unless of course you’re stepping aside. Assuming you’re the man in charge. Michael simply hand you the crown?”

His eyes narrow, lips tighten into a hard line. There’s a twitch at his right eye. “Michael has proven himself incapable. I’ve been overseeing things since Alaric’s passing.”

“I thought you told me Michael made the call. Now you’re saying you’ve been overseeing things?”

He closes his eyes, sighs. “As much as I could. It isn’t easy to tell the crown prince that he’s not cut out for the job, as I’m sure you can understand.”

“Why would I understand?” I ask too quickly.

Malek’s eyes narrow infinitesimally. “I simply meant within your own family dynamics. Having an older brother who’d have been next in line rather than you.” A long moment of silence settles heavily in the room. He’s watching me. I sit like a marble statue, giving him nothing. “Of course, then he disappeared, and I suppose that solved that.”

I digest his words, his suggestion that I made Seth disappear. He’s fishing. But it confirms something I am coming to understand. I have underestimated Malek Lombardi.

“How is your father, Cassian?” he continues when I do not.

I blink, let one corner of my mouth curve upward as I study him.

“My father is none of your concern just as the inner workings of the Moretti family aren’t mine,” I tell him finally reminding myself he doesn’t know a damn thing about my brother. The fact of my father’s decline is, sadly, public knowledge because it all happened so wrenchingly publicly. But that’s where any knowledge he thinks he has about my family ends. I have guarded our secrets. I have guarded them well.

I sit up, shift the conversation. “Let me make sure I’m understanding this, though. Are you offering me Allegra’s hand in marriage and, as her dowry, the family territory? Because that would make this interesting.”

“An equal joining of forces. It would benefit both families, don’t you think?” A small smile plays along his lips.

“Hm. I suppose it would benefit you, considering your starting position, but I want it all, Malek.”

His lips thin and there’s a twitch at his right eye. I don’t allow my expression to change. I don’t allow him to know that I am watching and that I see.

“That’s a bit much, don’t you think? I’m talking about a merger, not a takeover,” he says, more urgency in his tone.

I stand. “Sadly, you’re not in a position to negotiate either. I came here to let you know I’m not in the mood for games. I want my money, and I want it by the end of the week. If I don’t have it, well, then I’ll be forced to act. The way I see it, our territories are too close for my comfort. Things may have worked out in the past, but so much has changed and, quite frankly, I’m already struggling to see how we’ll be able to coexist.” I walk to the door.

“What about Allegra?”

“What about her?” I ask, turning.

“I want her returned… intact.”

“Intact?” I feign ignorance.

“You know what I mean.”

I snort. “She’s twenty years old. Intact is a stretch, don’t you think?” I shake my head then see that cigar again. “You smoke, Malek?”

He follows my gaze. “Alaric did, and Michael likes to pretend he does,” he says with distaste, but I note how he doesn’t actually answer my question.

I study him. Is he lying? Does he know about the marks on Allegra’s neck? And what does he know about her missing finger? I’m sure he’d lie if I asked outright. Anyone would.

Just then, the study door opens, and a furious Michael stands in the frame. I notice the cast on the lower part of his arm. His eyes land on me before moving to Malek.

“What the hell is going on?” he barks.

“Cassian dropped by while you were out,” Malek says with a casual shrug of one shoulder.

Michael studies Malek and I watch the two of them for a minute, but decide I’m not interested in their family dynamics. I’m only interested in one member of the Moretti family.

I walk out of the study.

“Enzo,” I call up.

A moment later, Enzo appears at the top of the stairs. “Boss.”

“I’m done here. Get Allegra. Let’s go.”

Enzo nods and heads back down the hall. Michael hisses something at Malek and the two of them follow me. I wait at the bottom of the stairs as Allegra appears with a backpack over one shoulder and a duffel over the other. She stops when the little boy, Malek’s son, tugs at her hand.

She sets her bags on the floor and crouches down so she’s at eye level with him. “I’ll be back soon,” she tells him then hugs him tight. Amal, Malek’s daughter, takes his hand when Allegra stands and gathers her bags. Amal is shooting daggers at me with her eyes, but I notice she looks at her father in the same way.

Allegra descends the stairs. She’s wearing combat boots. Appropriate and very different to the little ballet slippers. Once she gets downstairs, I take the duffel and hand it to the soldier. When I reach for the backpack, she stops me.

“I’m fine.”

I take it anyway and raise my eyebrow at the weight of it. “Bricks?”

“Books. If they’re too heavy for you, I can carry them,” she says with a smirk.

“Books better be all I find in here,” I say low enough so only she can hear. “Take this,” I hand the backpack to another soldier. She is irritated, but lets it go. She has to know I’m going to search what she packed. I wrap a hand around the back of her neck and take a step toward the door.

“Cassian,” Malek says. “Be reasonable. The world has changed.”

I stop, turn to face him.

“I am reasonable, Malek. Giving you a week is reasonable.” I look to Michael. “One fucking week.”

“Or what?” Michael asks, tone taunting. I ignore it and keep walking. “You’ll do to my sister what you did to your brother? Reaper?”

Allegra must feel me stiffen at her side. Or maybe she feels the tightening of my hand around the back of her neck.

“We all know, Cassian. We all know what you did,” Michael calls out.

I know I should keep walking. I know he’s baiting me. I know. And yet, I bite.

I’m aware everyone thinks I had something to do with Seth’s disappearance. He’s assumed dead. It’s why they call me Reaper. It’s why I hate the name.

I release Allegra and turn to face Michael.

He grins. He knows he’s hit his mark.

“Take Allegra to the house,” I hand Allegra off to the nearest soldier while keeping my eyes on Michael. “Enzo, you’re with me.”

“What?” Allegra asks as the man walks her out. “Wait!”

Michael’s grin falters when I take a step toward him. He must finally see what he’s unleashed. But it’s the look on his face when I wrap my hand around his throat and slam him against the wall that’s priceless.

“Cassian stop!” Allegra cries out, sounding farther away.

“You want me to break your other arm or just go ahead and snap your neck?” I ask him, noticing in my periphery Malek’s subtle gesture for the soldier who takes a step toward us to stand down.

“Stop! Let me go!” Allegra calls before a car door is slammed shut and I hear the SUV drive her away.

I squeeze, watching Michael’s face redden, his eyes bulge as he claws at my forearm with his one good hand.

“You aren’t your father, Mikey,” I say, leaning in close. Only when his arm falls away and his body begins to sag do I release him. I toss him aside and watch him land on all fours, choking, gasping for air. Malek simply steps backward, watching too.

I shove Micheal’s side with my foot, so he falls over. He looks up at me.

“Tread very lightly going forward or the next time, I won’t stop.”

A cry comes from the top of the stairs, and I turn to find Amal watching, holding her little brother who is crying in her arms now.

“Amal! Get him out of here for Christ’s sake!” Malek barks at his daughter.

She drags her gaze from me to him, then turns to walk away with the boy. I don’t look back at anyone else. Instead, I stalk out of that house and climb into the waiting SUV.

My phone rings as I close the door. I reach into my pocket to take it out and feel a brick drop heavy in my gut. My heart which was calm throughout that interaction with Michael, begins to thud and sweat collects under my arms.

There can only be one meaning when I see this number on my phone.

I slide the bar to answer, trying to prepare myself, feeling so completely powerless. I don’t even say hello before the person on the other end speaks.

“Cassian. It’s Dr. Wade’s office.”

I clear my throat. I can’t form words.

There’s a sigh. “You need to come. Now.”

That’s when the real hell breaks loose.

11

ALLEGRA

Cassian doesn’t return that day. By nighttime, though, Enzo is back. He speaks with several soldiers, only sparing me a glance. Once he’s finished with them, he turns his attention to me. He walks down the center aisle, boots loud, his step confident. His eyes are on me where I stand in the kitchen making myself a cup of tea, trying to keep busy.

I’ve been allowed out of Cassian’s bedroom where they’d made me stay for the first part of the day. They wouldn’t even give me the bags I’d packed so I’d have something to do, and no one will tell me what the hell is going on. For all I know, Cassian could have murdered my brother.

By dinnertime, they finally let me into the kitchen to eat something with a soldier hovering nearby. I guess they’re not taking a chance I’ll grab a butcher knife or something. The hours have crawled by and it’s ten at night.

Enzo quickly scans the kitchen and dismisses the soldier nearby with a jerk of his head.

“Where is he?” I ask, unsure where I stand without Cassian here. I am the enemy, after all.

“He had some business to handle. Have you eaten?”

“What happened to my brother?”

“I suppose he’s fine,” he says.

“Fine apart from being choked?”

He just exhales, expression hard and unyielding. This man is loyal to Cassian. He won’t give me anything.

“Have you eaten?” he repeats.

“I’m fine. When will he be back?”

“When his business is finished. In the meantime, if you’ve eaten, I’ll escort you back to Cassian’s room.”

“Is he coming back tonight?”

“No.” That’s not the answer I expect. He clears his throat and gestures for me to go ahead of him. “Cassian has made sure you’ll be safe,” he adds.

By safe he means locked in, I guess, considering the number of soldiers stationed in the church-house.

“Can I at least have my backpack? It’s just books and an iPad in there. And some toiletries. You can search it. No letter openers. I swear.”

“Where is it?”

I point to where the soldier had dumped my things and follow Enzo who picks up the backpack, raising an eyebrow at the weight. I packed several art history books containing details on churches in Verona as well as my high school textbook which has several chapters devoted to the history of this church. I also have a sketch pad and some pencils. Although I’m not great at it, I do like drawing.

Enzo sets the backpack on the counter and unzips it.

“Which book do you want?”

“That one and the notebook. My pencil case, there. And toiletries.”

He takes everything out, searching through the pencil case and the toiletry bag. He removes a small manicure set and drops it back in the backpack, but hands me the rest.

“My iPad?”

“When Cassian’s back. Go to bed, Allegra.”

“How about clothes?” I raise my eyebrows. “Or you think I’ll smother someone with a sweater? Maybe choke one of you with a scarf?”

“When Cassian’s back. He gave clear instruction you’re to eat and go to bed. You’ll be free to roam the house tomorrow, if you do as you’re told tonight.”

“If I do as I’m told? Of course. Fine. If you’re in communication with him, deliver a message for me, will you?” I wait until he raises his eyebrows, which I guess is his go ahead. I flip him my middle finger then pick up the things he allowed me and carry them into Cassian’s bedroom. I know I don’t have much choice and he’s not going to give me more than this. If I had my iPad, at least I could get online and figure out what the hell happened to Cassian’s brother. Hadn’t he told me he was dead? And was my brother suggesting Cassian had killed him?

But I don’t have it, and I won’t get it. I look around the bedroom, then at the adjoining door to the other room where he’d first put me. I’d like to set up there, cold as it was, rather than Cassian’s bedroom, but the door is still locked so, with a sigh, I take out my textbook, sit on the comfortable armchair and find the page that contains information on the baptismal font. I begin reading the history as much as I can focus, which isn’t much.

I have no idea when Cassian will return. I guess morning, but I’m wrong. Another night passes, then one more. No one will tell me anything. I feel like I’m just waiting and nothing is in my control. At least I’m allowed to wander around the house, but I’m only allowed outside for brief periods with Enzo hovering nearby. He’s the only one of the soldiers who must be allowed to speak to me. He did finally go through the duffel when I threatened to walk around naked which I wouldn’t actually have the balls to do, so at least I’m dressed in my own things.

I spend what feel like endless hours going through the various chapels and finding my favorite one. It’s near one of the fireplaces so it’s warm and in this massive church-home, it’s cozy and feels lived-in. There’s a mural of Azazel chained up as fire licks up the walls around him. A thousand angels watch him burn, his punishment for the role he played in the corrupting of man. It’s gruesome, but so much of what is depicted on church walls is. There are very few scenes without some horrible thing being done to someone.

There’s a comfortable oversized loveseat in here where I can curl up. It’s one of the few chapels that has seating, and I wonder if Cassian spends time in here. I wonder if it’s for this mural. I feel like every time I look at it, I find something new to see. I’m copying it into my notebook piece by piece. It’s good practice. I’m working on an Art History degree although I’ve always known I wouldn’t do anything with it. Maybe Cassian was right about me being a pawn all along. A piece to be played to the greatest advantage. Marriage, a union that would benefit the Moretti family. I used to think my parents’ marriage was for love. Or maybe I believed that when I was little. After her death, though, I saw things differently even starting to remember the past differently.

My father was very possessive of my mother, and I thought for a long time that that was just how love worked. He wasn’t unkind to her. Never raised a hand to her. She was a lot younger than him, though, and he was a very domineering man. My mother was a pianist, a very good one, and with that gift came a melancholy know was real. Her music was always dark, even when we were little.

Thinking of her makes me remember how much I miss her.

Sometimes I can’t tell if a memory is a memory or something I made up. It’s been five years since her death and the one part I wish I could forget, the last time I saw her alive, that seems to be the one face of my mother my mind won’t let go of. She’d been terrified. Terrified for herself. For me.

I lit the dozen candles on the altar earlier and I watch how the light of the moon changes how everything looks in here. I tuck the throw I’d found in the living room closer and burrow deeper into the oversized seat resting my head on the arm while I take in the half-face of Azazel.

Was he angel or demon or both?

I only realize I must have dozed off when the sound of something scraping loudly followed by a curse startles me awake. I gasp, heart racing, upright in an instant. I rub my face, and it takes me a minute to remember where I am, for my eyes to adjust in this half-light, the candles still burning on the altar, wax melting into the stone, dripping onto the floor.

I sit up, turn to where the sound came from and watch as Cassian comes into view. He must have knocked his shin into the coffee table in the dark. I’ve done it. It hurts. He looks at me, pauses as if surprised to see me there. I wonder if he was looking for me or just coming to sit in here on his own.

He climbs the three stairs that lead into the chapel, and I straighten, the notebook in my lap sliding to the floor.

“Moth,” he says, coming to stand before me.

I push the blanket off to get to my feet, touching the corners of my mouth to make sure I wasn’t drooling. I’m wearing a pair of leggings and a sweater with thick wool socks. Even through them, the church floor is freezing. It’d be tough to add under-floor heating considering what is under the floors of this and many ancient churches.

I take him in, this giant of a man. He’s disheveled, and that’s being kind. He’s wearing the same shirt and slacks he had on when I last saw him, but everything is crumpled and I’m not sure where his tie or his jacket went. He also has three days of growth along the lower half of his face. Another couple of days and he’d have a full-on beard. Right now, he looks outright savage.

“You weren’t in my bed,” he says, stepping toward me, wild eyes taking in every inch of me.

“No, I’m not your whore,” I force myself to say even though the way he’s looking at me has warning bells going off in my head.

“I have no whore.” His mood darkens. I guess he was expecting a warmer welcome. Too bad.

“Where were you?” I ask. “Just disappeared and just left me here.”

He pushes a hand through his messy hair that’s unruly on a good day. “I had business,” he mutters, his mood darkening.

“Business? What business kept you away for three days and three nights?”

He looks me over and his eyes narrow, something shifting between us, the air itself charged.

“What’s the matter, Little Moth? Did you miss me?” he asks, his words slower than usual. He comes closer, wraps a possessive arm around my middle and tugs me toward himself.

I set my hands against his chest. “You smell like a bottle of whiskey.” Which maybe explains the wild look in his eyes.

“Tell me. Did you miss me?” he asks, ignoring my comment, eyes searching mine. “I might like it if someone missed me,” he continues making me wonder where his head is. “I might like it if you missed me, Moth.”

Danger. Warnings ring loud in my head, and I push against him, intending to scoot past him, but he has no intention of allowing that to happen.

“You’re drunk. Let me go,” I say.

“Answer me. Tell me if you missed me.”

“No, Cassian. I didn’t miss you.” It’s true, I think. Maybe I missed him, but not for any reason other than that, without him, I’m pretty much ignored here among his guards. Ignored and preferably locked away. “You’ve been gone, just vanished, after what happened. After you almost killed my brother. Did you kill him? Oh my God, did you? Is that why you’ve stayed away?”

He looks confused, slow to process. He blinks and I see the moment he recalls what I’m talking about because he gets an irritated look on his face. At least he releases me. “That piece of shit is alive. Or he was when I left him. I’m not sure why you care though.”

“I care because he’s my brother.”

“I don’t think it’s him.”

“You don’t think what’s him?”

“Those marks. I think you’d kill him if he did that to you.”

Instinctively, my hand rises to touch the back of my neck, but I catch myself. Why is he so focused on this? “You’re completely drunk. I’m going to bed.”

“Not yet.”

I try to scoot past him, but he blocks my path.

“Get out of my way,” I say, sidestepping him.

He blocks me again planting the flat of his hand against my stomach and walking me backward until my back hits the altar. “Why are you angry?”

“Why am I angry? Really? I’m angry because I haven’t known what the hell is going on. I’m angry because this is three days of my week, and it might be the last week of my life, and you were just gone and⁠—”

“Last week of your life? What the hell are you talking about?” He shakes his head. “I had business that did not concern you. Don’t be fucking dramatic.”

“Well, I’m your prisoner so everything you do concerns me and it’s my life we’re talking about, so you’ll have to excuse the drama.”

“Don’t fight me, Allegra, not tonight. I’m fucking tired.”

“Well, send me back home and your problem is solved.”

He pushes his hand through his hair again and I see just how exhausted he is. How dark the shadows under his eyes. “It’s been a very long three days,” he says as if to confirm what I’m thinking. He slides his hand up my back and grips a handful of hair, tugging my head backward. There’s a rawness in his eyes, a weariness that runs deep like he hasn’t slept in years, not days, and it’s hard to look at him without feeling a tug, a strange need to lean close, to burrow into his chest and have his arms around me as if we could give each other comfort. As if that’s remotely possible when it’s completely ridiculous.

But the way he’s looking at me, it’s like he’s looking for the same in me. Searching for it in earnest. Like he needs it.

“I never really knew mine,” he finally says, voice different, uncharacteristically vulnerable. “My mother,” he clarifies because he must realize I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about. “I never knew her face apart from photos. Never heard her voice.”

That’s not what I expected. Not at all. I stare up at him, see the strange look in his eyes and I’m unsure how to respond. Why is he telling me this? We are enemies, he and I. When I made that comment about forgetting my mom the other day, I don’t know where it came from. I don’t know why I said it and why I said it to him of all people when I haven’t told anyone ever. I’m not even sure I’ve ever consciously thought about it. Why did I tell him and why is he telling me this now? I should never have given him that little bit of me because this? What he’s doing now? The way he looks so lost? It just confuses things, and I’m already confused when it comes to Cassian Trevino.

After my mother’s death, after what happened, I’ve learned how to hide myself, how to remain unseen. How to survive. I’ve learned to trust only myself because I know what those you trust can do to you and I refuse to give anyone that power over me ever again. I won’t be that vulnerable ever again.

“It’s what happens when someone dies,” he says like he read it somewhere.

“Why are you telling me that? I don’t need you to tell me that.”

His eyebrows furrow and I swear what I see in his eyes is hurt. Like he did not expect that rebuttal. Like it’s somehow a refusal of him and I guess it is. We can’t become each other’s confidantes. That’s not what we are. It’s not what this is, and I need to make sure he knows it. I need him to know that I don’t need him, and I don’t want anything from him and he shouldn’t expect anything from me.

He and I are enemies. We will remain enemies.

“You’re drunk,” I say again, forcing steel into my voice.

“I’m not drunk. I was, but I’m not⁠—”

“And I don’t know what you think telling me that will get you, but whatever it is, you’re wrong because I don’t care about it. I don’t care about you,” I add, that last part making me feel like such an asshole. “All I want is to be free of you, Cassian Trevino.”

“Free of me?”

“I want to go back to my life, and I don’t want you or your problems or your little confidences.”

His eyes harden, his jaw tensing as he sets his hands on either side of me on the altar, trapping me there. “My little confidences?” he asks, eyebrows high. “You would rather go back to a brother who would sell you off? A consigliere who has overstepped. Who has his own plans for you and your family?”

“And what plans do you have for me?”

“I wouldn’t sell you to the highest bidder, for starters.”

“No? Isn’t that what women are for? Isn’t that what you told me? Let me go, Cassian.” I shove against him, but trying to move Cassian Trevino is like trying to move a freight train.

He grips my waist and tugs me to him, bending down so his face is an inch from mine. “You want to be my enemy, Allegra?”

I push again, but again, he doesn’t budge. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I am your enemy, Cassian. Or did you forget?”

Something in that makes him stop. There’s a shift in his eyes, a shadow falling across his face, something dark shrouding us. Cassian Trevino may be the most dangerous man I know. He may walk around like he rules the fucking world. But he’s also broken. Broken and unpredictable.

I’m walking on a field of land mines with him, and I never know when one will go off.

Correction.

One is about to blow.

He takes a deep breath in and straightens to his full height to look down at me, eyes cold as steel now.

My heart pounds against my ribs, blood roaring in my ears.

“No, Moth, I did not forget,” he says calmly before spinning me around so fast that my arms shoot out and my hands land on the altar. Cassian sets his overtop of mine. “Keep them there,” he whispers into my ear before I hear the ripping of material and cry out as my sweater slips away.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re my enemy. You said so yourself. So, I’m punishing you,” he says, hands in the waistband of my leggings pushing them down and off.

My panties are next to go and when I pull my arms from the altar, he slaps my ass hard.

“You listen like shit,” he says, and unclasps my bra, pulls it off my arms and tosses it aside.

“What the hell are you doing?” I cry out when he sets his big hand between my shoulder blades and pushes me forward so I’m bending over the altar, the stone freezing against my bare skin.

“When I tell you to stay, you stay,” he starts, then leans over me. “I’m just making sure you remember that,” he whispers that last part, his breath hot against my cheek, my ear. I crane my neck to look back at him, seeing how dark his eyes have gone as he takes in my bare flesh before tipping his nose into the crook of my neck and inhaling deeply. “But don’t worry, I’m going to teach you, Little Moth,” he says, meeting my eyes before reaching over me to pick up a candle, the wax that has melted and hardened again snapping. “Now be still.”

He tips the candle and hot wax drops onto my lower back. I suck in a breath with the instant burn. I try to pull away, but that hand at my back keeps me down and it doesn’t matter that I wriggle this way and that, he pours hot wax over my back, my ass, down my thighs.

“It hurts!” I call out, and although it does hurt, the pain is gone as soon as the wax cools and solidifies, stiff on my body, cracking with every move. I press my chest into the altar and realize he’s not holding me down anymore as I stare straight ahead, trying to control my breathing.

“Had enough?” he finally asks.

I turn my head. “I hate you.”

“But have you had enough?”

“Yes!”

“Let’s see. Don’t move.” He sets the candle down and backs away. I don’t move, but watch from the corner of my eye and even in the dim light, I see how his eyes are fixed on me, how dark they are, no longer cold or hard, but molten. Like lava.

He meets my eyes and begins to unbutton the top buttons of his shirt before pulling it off over his head, sending the rest of the buttons popping to the stone floor.

“I like you like this, Moth.”

“Cassian,” I start, having to clear my throat because once again, the air has shifted, that electrical charge back.

“Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

I swallow, the look of him so different than I’ve seen it. That first night he was taunting me. This? Now? There’s only one thing he wants now. And the sight of him like this and the way he’s looking at me like he’ll eat me whole makes me feel like I’ve swallowed a hundred moths.

“Good little enemy,” he says, meeting my eyes as he cups my ass before crouching down behind me and drawing my cheeks apart, the wax breaking as he exposes me.

I know he sees what I can’t deny. I’m turned on.

I should be raging. Humiliated. Hating him. But all I am is wet.

My face burns hot, and I don’t know why I’m not fighting him. When he closes his mouth over my pussy, my hands turn to claws on the stone and I tremble. His breath is hot, his tongue wet and all I can do is make some pathetic, whimpering sound because I’m feeling things I’ve never felt before. Things I shouldn’t feel with him.

“Cassian,” I start when he runs his tongue over the length of me, from my pussy to my ass, circling there before dipping his tongue inside my pussy. “Jesus. God. Cassian.”

He snorts, stands up, one hand cupping my breast, pinching a nipple while the other finds my clit.

“You taste good, Moth,” he whispers darkly. “You taste so damn good I’m going to eat you alive,” he says, biting down on my shoulder as his fingers find my clit and it’s not long before I’m panting, pressing my ass against his erection, riding it, my hands still somehow obediently plastered to the altar, palms flat, my knees shaking.

“Oh god…”

I’m so close to coming and he must know it because he’s taunting me, bringing me to the edge with his fingers. His breath is hot against my neck, and I don’t want this to end, all these sensations like smoke, like everything and nothing, like a thousand moths fluttering their papery wings inside my belly, it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before and everything I want to hold onto.

“Good Little Moth,” he says, pulling me upright, turning me to face him. I hear the unzipping of his slacks, and he brings his forehead to mine. “I need to feel you,” he says, his breathing ragged now. “Just a little.” He kisses me and I find my hands on his shoulders, fingernails digging into flesh as I kiss him back. “Look at me, Allegra.” I look at him, his face so close, molten eyes searching mine as he lifts me up, sets me on the edge of the altar and then he’s at my entrance and he’s big. Too big.

“Cassian,” I start, but he pushes into me, stretching me. It burns, and I cry out, but he goes slowly, his moan is a rumble, a vibration from his chest into mine.

“Just a little more,” he says, I’m not sure it’s to me or to himself.

“Cassian,” I say again, feeling him at my barrier. I should tell him to stop, but I don’t want him to stop. I don’t want this to stop.

He pauses forehead furrowing momentarily as he meets my eyes. Does he feel it? Does he know? He groans like he’s in pain, like he’s pulling back or wanting to, but I reach for him, kiss him, even if it’s the stupidest thing I can do.

“Cassian,” I say against his mouth because this closeness, it’s something I need. Something I can’t explain, but need like I need air to breathe.

“Allegra,” he mutters against my mouth, his voice an agony.

“I—”

The next words never come because he thrusts into me hard and I cry out, the pain sharp, the sensation warm and wet.

Blood. Virgin blood.

“Fuck, Allegra,” he mutters, his unshaven face scratching the skin around my mouth when he kisses me, lifting me from the altar and pulling me to him, holding me so close as he thrusts deep and hard, that agony warring with ecstasy clear on his beautiful face. “Fuck. Allegra.”

I cling to him as pain turns to something else, as my clit rubs against him and we’re so close. So fucking close. I arch my back for more, my hand a fist pulling at his tangled hair. “I’m going to come,” I pant. “Oh God. I’m going to come.”

He tugs my head backward. “Look at me.” His thrusts come deeper, faster, harder and I can’t tell if it hurts or feels good, so good. “Fuck. Look at me,” he demands, and I do and when I see that pure blue ringing the blackest of pupils, ecstasy washes over me, blurring my vision, making everything sensation, pure sensation. I think I call his name. I think I do. And the sound echoes through the walls of the great church. I throw my head back, pulling at his hair with my fists, fingernails digging into his scalp and soon he’s throbbing his release inside me, cursing, cursing until those curses turn into a deep, guttural moan and he stills, holding me so close and so tight that we are one and it’s him and me and this and us and only us.

When my vision begins to clear, we’re both left panting. He’s holding me, sagging into me, the altar holding us both up. He fits his forehead into the curve of my neck, breath hot and ragged, the shift in the air palpable. He mutters a curse, and I hear the zipping of his slacks as I untangle my fingers from his hair and he pulls out of me, holding me to him as he takes two steps backward. Come is warm on my thighs and when I look at him, I see the furrow of his forehead, the intensity of his gaze on me, the confusion there.

The horror.

“Fuck,” he mutters, looking away from me and the moment he does it’s like a cold breeze blows, ice crystals forming around us, coating my skin. I see my clothes on the floor, and it feels wrong. Dirty. Me naked here in this once-holy place. I think he feels it too because he snatches up the throw to cover my nakedness. He shifts me in his arms, carrying me with purpose, footsteps echoing in this vast, empty space. I cling to him because I have to, and he won’t look at me as he takes me back to his bedroom, throwing the door open. The only light is that of the moon filtered by stained glass. He pulls the thick duvet back and he still won’t look at me until he sets me down and when his gaze meets mine, it’s so distant, so cold that it ices me out.

“What—” I start, but stop.

He pushes a hand through his hair. He turns his head and he’s far, far away. He may as well be in another room, another world. Another fucking continent. He shakes his head once and turns to the door and without a word, he’s gone, slamming that door so hard behind him that I swear I feel the ancient stone walls tremble with the force of his rage and I’m left collecting the blankets around me, trying to stop shivering, trying to get warm as come and blood and shame stain the sheets beneath me.

12

CASSIAN

“Fuck!” I slam my fist into the steering wheel. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

I have never denied myself a woman, but I have a rule. A single fucking rule.

And after what I just went through. What I just saw? Wasn’t that enough to deter me forever? “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

On top of everything, as if what I did wasn’t enough, she was a virgin.

The road is a blur before me, winding, snow falling thick and heavy. I should not be driving the old Ferrari in this.

Just a little, I’d said. Just a little. Because I’m a fucking idiot. I couldn’t stop. I knew I wouldn’t be able to, didn’t I? Some part of me knew. I wanted Allegra from the moment I saw her that first night. From the instant she walked into her father’s study and pressed her back to the door, and I heard her exhale as she shut everyone out.

I wanted. And I took. Took more than I should have taken and now I’ll pay the price.

Well, not me.

I punch the steering wheel once more, the engine screaming as I press my foot to the accelerator and take a blind corner too fast. Headlights come out of nowhere. Someone lays on their horn and I swerve, tires screeching. I miss the truck by centimeters.

My heart races as the sound of his horn fades. I pull off to the side of the road and stop, my breath hard, my heart thudding against my ribcage.

Get a grip, Cassian. Get a fucking grip. I’m tired. I’m fucking exhausted. I haven’t slept more than a few hours in the last three nights. I couldn’t.

I open the car door and step out. The night is freezing and I’m in a half-buttoned dress shirt. The other half of the buttons are scattered all over the chapel floor. Leaving the door open, I walk to the barrier, step over it to get to the end. Snow is settling here, crunching beneath my shoes, a blanket over the crushed beer cans, broken glass of emptied liquor bottles and cigarette butts. I walk to the very edge and look out into the raging ocean. Wind howls here. It sounds like I’d imagine Satan sounds.

Furious. Ferocious. Unforgiving.

From here, I can see the nose of Devil’s Peak on my property.

Just a little, I told her. The warmth of her body, the heat of her tight, virgin—fucking virgin—pussy was too much, too powerful a pull and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stop at a taste. One taste. Hell, I knew I wouldn’t. There is something about this woman. Never before have I felt it. Never before have I wanted someone as badly as I want Allegra fucking Moretti. And it’s not just sex. Sex would be easy. A simple, human need satisfied. No, this is something far more dangerous. This is possession. A whole other level of need.

But fuck, to come inside her? What was I thinking? I wasn’t.

I push a hand into my hair and shake my head.

A sound breaks through the wind, familiar and persistent. It takes me a minute to realize it’s my phone. I look back at the car, the open door, the light. The ringing stops, but starts again immediately. If it was any other ringtone, I’d ignore it, but this one, I can’t.

I walk back to the car, feeling the freezing night air now. I may as well be naked out here the way I’m dressed. I find my phone on the driver’s seat. It must have slipped out of my pocket. I pick it up and answer.

“Hello,” I say, hearing how insane I sound.

“Cassian?” It’s Vivi.

I lean against the car and look up at the sky, watch the endless fall of snow coat the chaos of my life.

“How was he?” she asks, and I can hear the hope in her voice. Doesn’t she know there is no hope. No fucking hope. There will be no reversal. And if I hoped before, if I thought there might be anything to hold on to, the last three days erased that. Fucking obliterated anything as obscene as hope.

Which makes what I did so much more stupid.

So much more dangerous.

“Cassian?” she asks.

Does she hear my ragged intake of breath? I clear my throat. Get a fucking grip, I tell myself.

“Not good,” I say. There’s no way around it. Better to be out with it. I can’t shield her from this.

Her breath catches and I can almost see her covering her mouth as her lip trembles and tears pour.

“You need to get Gage tested,” I tell her again for the hundredth time.

“What’s the point?” she asks, her voice breaking. “What could I do if he has it?”

Nothing. That’s what. Nothing, but live in an alternate version of hell, but it’s hell either way.

“I think,” I start, pushing my hand through my hair. “The hardest thing is there’s that moment when he recognizes you. When you see it in his eyes. I think that’s the worst part of this. Maybe if you take Gage. Maybe if he sees his son⁠—”

“No.” I can see her shaking her head vigorously, pulling herself together. That’s what sobers me, too. “No, Cassian.”

“No,” I say. “Of course not. That was…” Deep breath. “No, Vivi.” Because she and I both know well what the next years of Seth’s life will look like. The Seth we knew is gone. Sometimes I think he’d be better off dead because this disease, it’s cut his life short even if he’s still breathing, still alive. It’s taken him from us, but left a shell of the man we recognize behind. It is the cruelest thing. Huntington’s disease. Early onset dementia is just one of the ways it destroys a life, the lives of those around you. It’s hell. And it fucking terrifies me.

“I sometimes wish he’d died,” she says quietly. “Isn’t that terrible? That I would wish Seth died instead of this.”

I drop into the driver’s seat and close the door, turn up the heating. My feet are wet from the snow, and I recall Allegra’s ballet slippers. The combat boots she changed into as if readying for battle.

“No, it’s not terrible. It would be better for him, too.”

“Mommy,” I hear my nephew’s small, sleepy voice.

“I have to go,” Vivi says quickly, and I imagine her wiping her eyes, mustering up a smile.

“Okay. I’ll come by soon. We need to make a few decisions.”

“Cassian where are you?” she asks as I start the engine again. “Are you out? Tonight?”

“I’m almost back.” It’s sort of true.

“You shouldn’t be driving. The roads are slick.”

“I’ll be fine,” I tell her. “Give Gage a hug from me. And don’t worry. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Okay. Go home. And thank you.”

“Goodnight, Vivi.”

I disconnect the call and set my hands on the steering wheel, my mind shifting to Allegra again, conjuring the feel of her, the heat of her. The way she held on to me when I took her.

And then her face when I walked out. Her confusion. Her hurt. What she’d said about wanting to be free of me, about my forgetting, triggered me. Although I should be honest with myself. This is not her fault. It’s mine. I took. Me. I fucking took. It’s not as though she was offering.

I pull out onto the road and I’m more careful now as I drive into town to the twenty-four-hour pharmacy to get what I need. What she may need. Because I can’t risk passing on the gene that could cause this disease. I can’t ever risk having children. I decided that when my brother was diagnosed. I don’t have the mutation. I’ve been tested. But it’s in our family. My father started showing signs of dementia in his mid-fifties. That was bad enough. But Seth? He wasn’t even thirty-five. It’s why he ‘disappeared.’ Better that people think he’s dead than living like he is. Better even that they think I’m monster enough to kill my own brother.

That was the call when I left the Moretti house. My brother had taken a turn for the worse. It’s time to decide what’s next. Seth did have a plan in place. When he was diagnosed and still lucid, mostly, he made a plan.

And I made a promise.

I just can’t bring myself to do it. Me, the Reaper. Bringer of death. I can’t bring death to him, not even if it’s a mercy. Not even if it’s what he wanted. Not yet.

But I know one thing for sure. No matter what. The Trevino line will end with me.

13

ALLEGRA

When I wake up after a restless sleep, Cassian’s side of the bed is empty and untouched. I know I shouldn’t care, but something twists in my belly at the thought of his not being here. He regrets what he did. What we did. And maybe I do too. Hell, I should.

Being with him, what we did, it felt like everything and nothing at once. Like it was so fragile that it could vanish in an instant. Evaporate like smoke. And I guess it has, but the problem is not quite that, but the fact that I care. That I am upset by it.

I hate this man. I am nothing to him, but collateral, a thing to hold on to until my brother repays a debt. Of course, Cassian made an assumption in taking me. He assumed I’m valuable to Michael. I’m not so sure of that. And if he can’t or won’t repay what he owes, which according to Cassian he won’t be able to, I’ll be the one to pay. I only have two currencies. My skin and my life.

We’ve danced this dance before.

The memory of him telling Malek that makes me shiver. A sacrifice was made. An innocent punished.

I will be that innocent.

I feel the soreness between my legs when I push the covers off and sit up. I look down at the blood staining the sheets, the blood that’s dried on my thighs. I get out of the bed and strip the sheet off. I don’t know why I do it or what I’m going to do with the bloody evidence of what we did, but I can’t just leave them on the bed, so I carry them into the bathroom and shove them in the hamper.

After locking the door, I switch on the shower. With the temperature as hot as possible, I step beneath the flow. I use his shampoo and soap. I didn’t bring mine with me since I won’t be staying more than a week. That’s when this deal is done, I guess, and either I go home or… Nope. Not thinking about that. But when I smell his scent in those bottles, I wish I’d brought my own because that smell conjures up all kinds of memories I don’t want. So, I hurry and when I’m finished, I dry off and listen at the bathroom door to make sure he’s not back before slipping back into the bedroom. I put on my clothes and brush out my hair. I open my makeup bag to moisturize and I see the compact which contains my birth control pills. I take it out and open it, trying to think of what day it is.

I am, no, I was a virgin. I’ve never had boyfriends. Crushes and minor flirtations, maybe, but it’s just never been a part of my life. I’ve been taking the pill regularly for years to manage painful periods, not because there’s any possibility I might have sex.

Although I attended a private school in town through middle school, at fifteen, my dad pulled me out. After what happened, the kidnapping, my mom, he decided it’d be best if I was homeschooled, and I didn’t disagree. After what I witnessed, what I fell victim to, I was afraid of my own shadow for a long, long time. I didn’t want to leave the house then. Some days, I couldn’t leave my room. It was my mom who’d insisted on us having normal lives. Who pushed until my father relented and allowed us to go to a normal school with normal kids. I know now it was naïve of her to think we could be anything resembling normal.

I was home-schooled through high school and closely guarded when I started college. Most of my classes I was able to take online, but there were several that required me to be in class. My father had a driver as well as two soldiers who brought me to and from school, waiting on site in case anything went wrong or if I panicked. I’m not great in public settings especially outside my house.

Since my father’s death, I haven’t attended any classes that aren’t offered online. Michael doesn’t allow me to, and I don’t fight him. There’s a part of me that will always be afraid of what’s out there. Hell, I’m reminded every time I look down at my hand and as much as I hate to admit it, I’m scared.

A daughter is always a pawn.

Cassian’s words repeat. Was I that to my father? I know the truth, don’t I? The real truth. Was I only that to him, though? No. He loved me. I know he did.

My thoughts wander to Amal. She hates her father. That I understand. Malek is an opportunistic and selfish man. My father didn’t trust him, not at the end. I don’t know how Michael does, but he’s got this strange hold over my brother. He is clever though. Cleverer than he lets on. He’s one to watch.

I pop four pills out of their little pockets to make up for my missed days and swallow them with a handful of water. Better safe than sorry. Then, I draw a deep breath in and head to the bedroom door, but stop, double back to the bathroom to take the bloody sheet out of the hamper. I know where the laundry room is so I decide I’m going to put the bedding into the washing machine and wash away any evidence of last night. Like it didn’t happen at all. Cassian probably won’t be here anyway.

But the minute I’m out of the bedroom I know I’m wrong. Cassian is here. He’s in the kitchen. I can observe him from behind the pillars. He’s wearing jeans and a charcoal sweater, his uncombable hair is damp. He must have showered. I wonder where he slept. Once again, I note that he’s barefoot.

He has his phone pressed to his ear. For one stupid moment, I consider quietly sneaking back into the bedroom and hiding out there until he leaves, but before I even complete the thought, he turns and his eyes land on me. This man must have superhuman hearing.

“Fine. I’ll be there,” he says into the phone before disconnecting, sliding it into his pocket. “Moth,” he says, leaning against the counter and sipping his coffee. He looks me over, eyebrows furrowing in question at the bundle I’m holding.

My face goes red. He must know why I have the sheets. I clear my throat. “I need to do laundry.”

“I have someone for that.”

“No. It’s fine.” I head toward the laundry room. I have to cross all the way to the opposite end from where his bedroom is situated, and I feel his eyes on me the whole way. Once inside the laundry room, I close the door and exhale, then get to work setting the sheet in the washer. In the cabinet I find a stain remover and pour a bunch of that in along with detergent and set it to as hot as I can, then turn back to the door, steeling myself to face him.

He's acting cool. Relaxed. I can do that too. Last night didn’t matter. It was nothing, not to him and not to me. I’ll just act like it never happen.

When I get back to the kitchen, I notice my backpack is on the floor by the counter and my books and iPad are on top. He’s also picked up my sketch pad from last night which I must have dropped in the chapel.

“Is there coffee?” I ask, hoping he doesn’t notice that I don’t quite meet his eyes.

He sips his mug and gestures with a glance to the pot percolating beside him.

Last night never happened, I tell myself, and walk over, keeping as far from him as possible as I take the mug he has already set by the machine. I pour myself a cup. My stomach growls at the smell of bacon and I squeeze my belly muscles to muffle the sound.

“I’ll make you a plate,” he says, voice deep, aftershave potent. “Sit down.”

“I’m not hungry,” I lie.

“I can hear your stomach growling.”

“And you care?”

“Sit.”

I open my mouth to argue, but I need to eat and what am I going to do? Hide out in the bedroom until this is over? And what does over look like exactly?

He takes a dish out of a cupboard and plates a generous serving of bacon and eggs, then turns to me, waiting.

I look up at him. This is awkward. There’s a giant elephant in the room.

“Sit, Moth.”

His use of the nickname Moth snaps me out of my stupor. A moth is an annoying, ugly wannabe butterfly. I should remember that that’s what he thinks of me.

Not that I care. Why would I?

Narrowing my eyes, I reach out to take the plate. He holds onto it and for a second, I wonder if he’s going to say something, to mention last night, and I don’t know what I want, but then he releases it. Feeling stupid, I cross the room and sit at the table where my things are laid out. He follows me with utensils and a glass of freshly squeezed juice. I try to picture him standing there barefoot, hair wet from a shower, drinking coffee and juicing oranges.

“Why do you call me Moth?”

“Do you know the symbolism?” he asks, surprising me.

I look up from my plate to find his eyes on me. “Ugly, stupid things that burn themselves up.”

One eyebrow rises in that way of his and I hate how shallow I am for falling for his easy beauty.

“Life is a matter of perspective, Allegra. Have you ever wanted something so badly, even knowing how bad it is for you, that you’d be willing to die for it? Think of the moth wanting so badly to be a part of the flame she’s unable to resist even knowing it will burn her up. Consume her. That’s neither ugly nor stupid. The symbolism, well, that’s beautiful.”

I pick up my coffee, unsure how to respond. His answer is not what I expected. “I don’t think they think all that through.”

“No, you’re probably right,” he says, one corner of his mouth curved upward. I can’t tell if he’s laughing at me or what. “But don’t get a big head over it. It was the small wings,” he says with a disarming wink, and I have to tell myself he’s just insulting me. Definitely not flirting.

“Cassian means hollow and vain,” I blurt out.

He smiles and although that smile makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, there’s a shadow in them, under them. He’s got something on his mind. Whatever this is, this casual almost-flirtation, it’s an act. “Did you have to look that up?”

I roll my eyes. “How would I do that? You’ve cut me off from the world, remember?”

“What would life be like to simply be hollow and vain, Moth?” he asks, clearly unbothered by my attempt to insult him. Those shadows deepen as he considers his own question making me think I see something else in his eyes. Sadness. Like last night. I saw this last night too, briefly, beneath whatever else was going on. “Easier, I think,” he says.

“What?” I ask, having lost the thread of our conversation.

“Life would be easier if we were simply hollow and vain.”

I think he’s right about that. But again, I’m left uncertain, confused.

“What’s your password?” he asks, snapping out of it, back to asshole Cassian again as he picks up my iPad.

Well, asshole Cassian I can handle better than this deeper, more profound, sad version. “That’s none of your business.” I eat a bite of eggs, then another, famished.

“Tell it to me all the same.”

I look up at him, forgetting the impact those eyes have on me. He shaved this morning. I’m used to him with a five o’clock shadow and seeing him clean-shaven after the overgrown beard of last night is kind of like seeing him barefoot. It makes him appear weirdly vulnerable.

He’s not though. His nickname is Reaper. He earned that name. I remember what my brother said that triggered him. I want to ask him what Michael meant, but can guess. Did Cassian kill his brother?

“Password,” he repeats.

“0505.”

He glances at me like he knows it’s the date my father died. I don’t know why I used it. The new iPad came a few days after the accident. It was the first thing I thought of as I was setting it up. He punches in the code and starts to look through my apps.

“What do you expect to find?”

“One never knows.” He swipes through a few things before opening WhatsApp. As soon as he does, I see the slew of messages as the app catches up. “Who’s Jared?” he asks.

“Give me that!” I try to snatch it from him, but he holds it out of reach and scans the messages.

“Boyfriend?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

I stand on the footrest of the stool to try to grab the iPad. “He’s in my class. Give it to me!”

“He’s asking how you’ve been. I guess he missed you. He wants to know if you want to get coffee, and he’ll catch you up on what you missed.” He grins. “I’ll let him know you’re neither interested nor available.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Unless you’re interested, of course?” he asks, looking at Jared’s profile picture. “Not that it matters. You’re not available.” He gives me a grin then returns his attention to the iPad. “Someone should tell him you’re out of his league.”

My mouth is open to respond, but that last part makes me stop. Does he think I’m pretty?

No, Dummy. He thinks you look like a moth.

He switches the iPad off and sets it aside. I realize he’s waiting for me to say something smart probably, but he’s managed to unbalance me yet again.

“You’re such an asshole,” is all I come up with, which is poor, I know.

“So you’ve said.” He lifts out my sketchbook. “You draw?”

“That’s private.” I take it. That he lets me have.

“They’re actually good, Moth.”

“If only I cared what you think, Reaper,” I tell him.

When he raises his eyes from the notebook to me, I see the tick in his jaw. He doesn’t like being called Reaper which is surprising. I guess I wouldn’t think he’d care.

I hold my breath and wait for his reaction, but a moment later, it’s gone. He’s schooled himself to give nothing away. It’s the opposite of me. I feel my face burn up because I remember how he looked at me last night. How he held me. How he felt inside me.

Shit. I need to not think about any of those things.

I try to focus on eating although it’s hard to get food down.

“Is Michael right?” I ask, needing to get back on solid ground and that means me on one side, Cassian on the other.

“About what?” he asks, but I know he knows what I’m asking.

I swallow, but force myself to continue. At least it’ll stop him looking at me that way. “Did you kill your brother?”

He clenches his jaw so hard, it must hurt. “Tread lightly, Moth. Remember what I told you. My patience only goes so far.”

Tread lightly. I should heed his warning, but I’ve never been known to do what I should do so we have a staring contest which I lose. It’s a relief, though, to look away.

“Finished?” he asks the instant I do.

“Yes.” I slip off my stool without looking at him.

“You’re not dismissed.”

At that, I turn my glare on him and watch as he reaches into his pocket and takes something out. He sets it in front of me. It’s a single pill in unnecessarily large, pink packaging and it makes my heartbeats slow to thuds against my ribs. I drag my gaze up to his.

“Morning after pill,” he says.

So, he is acknowledging last night. I look down at that pill annoyed with myself for allowing him to get the upper hand again and again.

“Swallow it,” he says.

“I’m on birth control,” I say automatically although considering my screw up with days, it’s not a bad idea.

He takes the package, pops the pill out and holds it out to me. “Swallow it anyway. It won’t do any harm.”

I look at it, then at him. I reach for it, pop it into my mouth and swallow it dry. “Satisfied?”

“Open.”

“What?”

“Open. I want to be sure.”

“Why? Because you think I secretly want to have your baby? When hell freezes over, Cassian. When hell freezes over.” I walk away, but stop, turn back to face him. “In fact, why don’t you just go straight to hell where you obviously came from!” I stalk back toward the bedroom because I have no idea where to go, but I need to be away from him.

He doesn’t just let me walk away though. Of course he doesn’t. He follows me, grabbing my arm, spinning me to face him. “You must not have heard me, Moth. I told you to open your mouth.”

“No, it’s you who didn’t hear me so let me put it another way. Go fuck yourself, Cassian Trevino.”

I tug free and walk away, but he mutters a curse and when I glance back to find him stalking after me, I run into the bedroom, yelping when I go to slam the door, but it bounces off his foot. It must hurt his bare foot because he grabs it and mutters a curse, glaring at me all along. I make it to the bathroom, slam that door, push the button lock not sure why I think that might keep him out. If it slows him down for a second, it’ll definitely piss him off which I don’t think I want.

“Open the door!” he demands, but doesn’t give me a chance to act. Instead, he must slam his full weight against the door because it shudders and I back up, and when he does it again, the wood splinters, then goes crashing against the wall and Cassian stands there all huge and angry as hell and exactly what I thought when I first laid eyes on him.

Brutal.

I scream as he grabs my arm, hauls me out into the bedroom and tosses me onto the bed then straddles me.

He forces my mouth open, fingers digging into my jaw and peers inside and only releases me once he’s sure I’ve swallowed the pill. His eyes meet mine and he must realize how insane he’s acting because he gives a shake of his head as if he was arguing something in his head, then slides off.

“I hate you, you know that?” I sit up, rub my jaw. There will be bruises in the shape of his fingers.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” he demands, looking at me accusingly. “Last night. Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Are you serious?” I ask, not quite believing what I’m hearing. “So, what happened last night is somehow my fault?”

He shakes his head, walks away. But he doesn’t just get to walk away.

“Tell me something, Reaper⁠—”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” he throws over his shoulder.

I run after him, put myself between him and the exit. “If I’d said no, would you have stopped?”

He blinks, those infuriatingly beautiful eyes narrowing. “Get out of my way, Allegra.”

“Would you have stopped?”

“You didn’t say no.”

“You were fucking drunk!”

“I wasn’t drunk. I’d been drinking, yes, but I wasn’t drunk. And another thing, you should have told me you were a virgin.” He physically moves me out of his way, but he doesn’t leave. Instead, he holds onto me, looking down at me.

“You’re fucking unbelievable.” I try to pull free of him.

“You make this fucking hard for me, Allegra.”

“And you think it’s a walk in the park for me?”

He opens his mouth, closes it, gives a shake of his head. His eyes search my face. “Did I hurt you?” he asks finally.

“You know what? I’m having a really hard time following, Cassian. One minute you’re literally forcing my mouth open to make sure I swallowed the stupid pill and the next you’re asking me if you hurt me? What do you think?”

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t… I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Well, I’d give you a gold star, but it’s too fucking late for that. Oh, and just FYI, you’re hurting me now. Let me go!”

His hands tense on my arms, but he must see it’s true because he loosens his grip. His eyes search my face, and I hate how they make me feel. It’s ridiculous. It’s nonsensical.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for hurting you. I should have been gentler. Especially once I figured out it was your first time.”

God. I hate him. I hate him so much. Why is this so confusing? Why is he so infuriating? Because I think he means it. I think he’s truly sorry for hurting me. But I can’t deal with that.

Cassian Trevino is the villain of this story. He’s not the hero.

“So, I’m confused,” I start, holding back my tears, infusing my voice with as much venom as I can. “You’re not actually sorry for fucking me? You just should have done it differently? Is that what you’re trying to say?” I try to get free.

“Stop struggling.”

“Then let me go.”

“You’re not walking away from me. Don’t you get it?”

“What’s the matter? Not used to girls who don’t fall to their knees to worship at your feet? Well, I have news for you, Cassian Trevino. I will never kneel at your feet. I will never worship you. Because I don’t want you!”

He snorts, walks me backward until my back is at the wall. He sets his forearms on either side of my face caging me in. His electric gaze searches my face for what I don’t know, but I do know one thing. I hate how I feel when he looks at me like this. I hate myself for wanting this. For wanting him to look at me. Because what I just said? It was a lie and if I wasn’t sure, those moth wings fluttering in my belly confirm it. The sensation lower, deeper, between my legs, confirms it.

As much as I hate myself for wanting Cassian Trevino, I do want him.

“I had had a very bad night, Allegra. A very bad three nights, in fact.”

“I’m having a bad week, Cassian. A very bad week, in fact.”

“You and I do not have to be enemies. I don’t want that.”

“Well, too bad for you because I am your enemy! You asked me last night if I missed you. You said you’d like it if I missed you. Well, let me be very clear, I did not. I would not. Ever. I don’t want you, Cassian. Understand that.”

He pushes a hand through his hair and there is that look again, that moment of vulnerability I had glimpsed last night. But I push on.

“I want to go home,” I say.

“Home?” He laughs outright. “Haven’t you figured out yet that home isn’t safe for you, Moth?”

Again, he catches me off guard and a beat passes before I respond. “But this is safe for me? You’re safe for me?”

“Do you know what Malek offered me in exchange for erasing your brother’s debt?” I furrow my brows. “Do you? Can you guess?” He doesn’t give me a chance, not that I would anyway. “You, Allegra. He offered me you.”

“What? You’re lying. I’m not his to give.”

“But you are, and you need to stop fooling yourself about that. Your father would have sold you to Moore⁠—”

“He wouldn’t have⁠—”

“You are deluding yourself if you believe that. Your father was a ruthless man.”

“He loved me.”

“Well then you got off easy.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me. What does that mean?”

“You don’t want to know. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” I let out a harsh laugh. “You’re fucking unbelievable, do you know that? You just want to get in my head and fuck with me. My family would not use me, pawn me off. My father wouldn’t have, and my brother wouldn’t and he wouldn’t allow Malek to either.”

“Alaric’s dead so I’ll let you hold on to your delusion if that’s what you want, but at least don’t fool yourself about the others. Burying your head doesn’t make reality any less real.”

“I don’t bury my head⁠—”

“Malek tried to sell you to me, and your brother would have done the same if he was in control, but Malek Lombardi is in charge now. I think he’s been in charge for a while. You do know that don’t you?”

“Why don’t you worry about your own family and leave mine to me. I mean, you’re the one with the missing brother and all.”

His eyes narrow. I’m pushing his buttons, I know I am. And I know I should stop, but I can’t.

He cocks his head and something cold settles around us. “Are we doing this?”

“What? You don’t like talking about reality, Cassian? Not talking about it doesn’t make it any less real.”

He snorts, gives a nominal shake of his head. “Okay then. Tell me what happened when you were fifteen, Allegra.”

“What?” This is not what I’m expecting.

“After your mother’s death, your father pulled you out of school and you pretty much only reappeared years later at a handful of classes at the college and then only under guard.”

I feel my face grow hot and anxiety bubbles at my core. “How do you know that?”

He shrugs a shoulder casually. Too casually. “Not hard to find out.”

“Why were you digging around my life? It’s none of your business.”

Without looking away, he closes his left hand over my right one and takes the nub of my pinkie between his thumb and forefinger. “You know what else I know? You had all ten fingers before you disappeared.”

Blood roars in my ears. I try to snatch my hand back, but he holds tight. Sweat collects under my arms, between my breasts. “I didn’t disappear.”

“Your mother died in a fire, her body conveniently charred to ash. And you never returned to school after that.” He studies me, but I have nothing. “There was a rumor she’d been kidnapped and I’m starting to think it wasn’t a rumor at all,” he says.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear,” I say, my voice sounding weird, too thin, too high, my brain trying to think of a response that might shut him up, but my mouth spitting nonsense.

“There’s video footage of you leaving school that day, did you know that?”

I didn’t. “And?” I say, shrugging my shoulders as if it couldn’t matter.

“I recognized the driver.”

I just stare up at him because I don’t know how to respond. My father told me the kidnapping had to be kept a secret. Not that there was anyone I could tell. If it wasn’t kept quiet, then more of our enemies would come after us and maybe I wouldn’t survive the next attack. It was one of the reasons he took me out of school, not that I’d been able to go back anyway. Not after what happened.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Cassian continues, drawing me out of my head.

“Not especially.”

“I think they took you and your mother. And I think they did this.” He rubs the little nub.

I try to pull my hand away again. “Let go. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Who are you protecting?”

“No one. You’re not making any sense,” I say, looking beyond him to the wall.

“Do you know what’s really interesting though, Allegra?”

I shake my head. “I don’t care. Let me go, Cassian.”

“That driver, do you know who he worked for?”

I grit my jaw, my breathing tight, my body cold and my heart hammering against my chest. “Let me go.”

“He worked for your father. Did you know that?”

My vision starts to go dark around the edges, my heart thuds, each beat heavier than the last like an army is marching across my chest. For a moment, I’m back in that car. Back in that room. For a moment, I feel the man’s hand like a vice around my arm half dragging half carrying me out in front of her. For a moment, I hear her scream.

“Your mother’s betrayal cost her her life⁠—”

“Stop!” I pull my hand free and this time, he lets me. I cover my ears. It’s stupid, I know, but I can’t hear this. I shake my head. “Just stop!”

“Did he intend on it? That’s my question. My guess is he wanted to punish her for some transgression, but did he intend on killing her?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I hiss through gritted teeth, my brain rattling in my skull the sound of blood pumping deafening, my heart thudding so hard I think it’s going to explode out of my chest.

“Then tell me.”

He watches me closely and I wonder how much he knows and how he knows and then I think he doesn’t. He can’t know. No one can. No one. The men involved in the kidnapping are dead. I saw their murdered bodies. My father is dead. Everyone involved is in their grave. Everyone but me. And I’m certainly not telling.

He takes my wrists and draws them away from my ears. His hold isn’t hard. He’s being careful not to hurt me.

“Do you remember when you defended your father claiming he never raised a hand to you? Claiming that he wasn’t that kind of man?”

“Let me go!”

“What I don’t get is why you would defend him. He had you and your mother kidnapped.” I shake my head, tug to free myself from his grasp. I need him to shut up. I just really need him to shut up so I can think.

“Your finger? They wouldn’t have gone that far without his permission. Did you know that?”

“You’re wrong! You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know anything! Let me go!”

“Your father allowed it, Allegra.”

“Stop!”

“Hell, I think he ordered it.”

His words echo, bouncing off these too high walls, and the edges of my vision are fully black now, my heart beating too fast, my lungs not getting enough oxygen, my body going into flight mode. This time, when I tug, I manage to pull free and stumble backward with the momentum.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he continues, coming toward me, catching me before I fall. “Tell me. Tell me the truth. You know the truth. I can see on your face you know.”

He’s still talking, but his words make no sense because my brain can’t process them. I just need him to shut up. I need him to shut up and so I draw my arm back and ram the heel of my hand into his side, hit him exactly where I’d stabbed him just days ago.

The instant I do it, he stops talking, hunching forward. If he wasn’t injured, I wouldn’t be able to hurt him. His expression at first is disbelief. It’s that moment before his brain registers what happened. I know the instant that pain hits and Cassian’s face goes to rage, his mouth tightening into a hard line as red bleeds into his shirt, the wound opening, his hands tightening on me. I push against his chest to get away. Shit. I didn’t mean to do this. I needed him to stop. To shut up. I just needed him to stop.

“That was a mistake.” Cassian’s words are short, his pain written on his face. He’s controlled, and I think that’s when he’s most dangerous.

Before I can respond, he wraps one arm around my middle and pulls me to himself, lifting me off my feet and stalking out of the bedroom. He walks slowly, each step heavy with pain and purpose. I try to pry his arm off, twisting to get away, calling out for help knowing no one will help me, but even injured, he’s too strong and far too determined.

“Where are you taking me?” I demand as we cross the church to a corridor behind the altar. This one is in shadows and when I’d found the door locked and tried to see about a way in, a soldier had stopped me. Now, I see Cassian reach his free arm up. He groans with the pain of extending it and the bloody stain spreads on his shirt as he takes the key from above the frame and unlocks the heavy door. When he opens it, stale damp air hits me, the smell of a closed up underground room, of stone walls filling my nostrils, making me remember his warning that first night.

“If she gives you any trouble, put her in the crypt.”

“No!” I scream, fighting with all I have as we descend stairs where the only light is what is coming from inside the church and in this dark corridor it’s not much. “Stop! No!”

I claw at his forearm, twisting, begging. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps walking, a silent, brutal, heartless beast. The perfect villain. We reach the bottom of stairs carved into the stone. It’s pitch black down here, but he must know it well because he can’t see any more than I can, I’m sure. He pauses, holding on to me with one arm while with the other, he switches on a lantern. The place is suddenly illuminated, and I wish it wasn’t. God, how I wish it wasn’t.

They put you in the basement when you’re of no consequence. When they want to hurt you. But this? This is something else entirely.

I shake my head, clinging to him, taking in the cave-like room, this underground space that houses sarcophagi that, judging from the stone, are older than time. I shudder with cold and when Cassian releases me, I find myself clutching his forearm, refusing to release him as I try to blot out the scene.

He picks up the light source. My gaze follows. It’s a small battery-operated lamp with a handle. It’s bright and I think if it were a flashlight, it would be better because it wouldn’t illuminate so much of the space.

“Do you know what this is?” he asks, looking around the room before turning his gaze to me.

I look up at him as he walks me backward. I went too far. Shit. I went too far.

“Do you know the history of Devil’s Peak? Of this particular church?”

I do, but I don’t answer. I can’t. Because it’s not supposed to be true. I draw closer to him, hating that I’m clinging to him rather than trying to free myself of him and refusing to walk toward the wall where I see the iron shackles lined up and hanging open. Empty. For now.

“No?” he asks, gesturing around the space.

I know the secret history. I just didn’t know it was more than a rumor. Our town has an ugly past, one the church tried to cover up. Devil’s Peak. It wasn’t always called that, but the locals renamed it several hundred years ago because so many men and woman disappeared from the town and from towns all around it. Bribes had been paid. Given the location, the cliff’s peak at the end of what is now Cassian’s property into a violent ocean, this secret crypt. I understand why the place was chosen even if it was a church. Money is money and even men of the cloth aren’t immune to the power it brings.

There’s a reason this church became a ruin. A reason a mafia boss was able to buy consecrated ground.

“You’ve studied this church in detail, Allegra. I saw that much in your books. So, you know what these are.”

“What are you going to do?” I ask weakly, my thumb absently closing over the stump of my pinkie finger. I remember how it hurt. How I watched that dirty butcher’s knife come down. They chopped it off. And I just stared at my hand, my finger lying there beside it, not believing it, not feeling anything, not yet. Hearing my mother’s screams. Screams that pierced my ears. And then I remember the blood. And I remember the pain. Oh God. The pain.

“What are you going to do to me?” I ask again, my voice sounding strange. Hollow. My throat is so dry, and panic makes it hard to breathe. “What are you…”

“This corridor was closed off when I bought the property. It was uncovered during the rebuilding.”

My back hits the wall. I hug my arms around myself, shivering in the damp cold. Cassian looks down at the bloody stain on his shirt, then back at me, his eyes narrowed, the blue looking black in this shadowed, dark place.

“What are you going to do to me?” I ask again, seeing the countless shackles lined up along both walls that look to be hundreds of years old. “Don’t leave me here. Please. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me here!” I beg in a panic, tears hot on my face.

Cassian sets one hand across my stomach to hold me against the wall as he stretches my arm and shackles it to the wall.

“Cassian?” My voice breaks and I shake my head.

“You need to learn that when you fight me,” he says slowly, stretching my other arm out, shackling that. “I will punish you.” When he is finished, I try the restraints, tugging, but they hold. I see the others around the cave. This was a torture room. A murder room. Here. In the underbelly of this church.

I shiver as he slowly strips off my clothes. Once I’m naked, he takes my face in his hands his thumbs wipe away tears as my gaze lands on the implements of torture hanging in the far corner. I look up at him, still trying to get close to him even though I’m bound to the wall.

I close my eyes and feel myself starting to rock and it’s like I’m back there. Back in that basement room. And she’s upstairs and they’re making her play for them, the notes breaking as she misses the right ones. She can’t play anymore. It’s not possible, not after what they did.

Cassian says something and it draws me out of my head.

He cups my face and I open my eyes to look up at him. His hands are warm. His body close. His eyes search mine.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I’m muttering. He’s wiping tears from my face.

“You aren’t sorry yet,” he tells me. “Not yet.”

His touch is gentle, his words calmly spoken. No anger.

“I am. I really am.”

“You need to learn, my violent little Allegra. You need to learn that mine is the hand that feeds you and when you bite,” he starts, pausing, bringing his mouth to my ear. His breath is warm when he whispers the words that send a chill through me. “I will bite back. And my bite is infinitely more painful than yours.”

14

CASSIAN

“Cassian? Cassian!” she calls after me as I ascend the stairs, my hand on my side. She opened the wound, and I need to take care of it. “You can’t leave me here. Please!”

I won’t leave her for long, but she is too wild. Too violent. She needs to learn.

“You’re bleeding,” Enzo says once I’m upstairs. He must hear her, but doesn’t comment. I pull the door closed behind me, lock it and set the key back above the frame.

“It’s fine. No one goes down there.”

He nods once, doesn’t ask questions. He rarely does. Enzo and I grew up together, his father often more a father to me than my own. I think I spent as many nights at his house as I did mine. He is respectful of our positions within the family, though, which is very different to Jet. Jet and I are not blood, but he feels very comfortable inserting himself where he doesn’t belong.

I hear my phone ring as I approach the bedroom. I must have left it in there. It stops before I reach it. I’m not through the door when it starts again. I rush to answer because it’s Vivi’s ringtone and I know in my gut that something’s wrong.

“Vivi?”

“Cassian. Shit, Cassian.” She’s crying.

“What is it? What’s happened? Are you all right? Is Gage?”

She sniffles and it takes her a minute to speak. I can almost see her inhaling deeply, telling herself to pull it together.

“He’s okay. We’re both okay, but⁠—”

I exhale, but don’t miss the panic in her voice. “What’s happened?”

“Someone came to my mom’s.”

“What?”

“I was going to drop Gage off like I always do, but when I got there, she said his uncle had just left.”

My heart begins a slow, echoing throb. Vivi’s mom babysits Gage twice a week while Vivi works. Although she doesn’t need to work, she knows I’ll look after her and Gage, she’s as stubborn as Seth was. So far, she’s refused protection and although I haven’t been comfortable with the choice, I’ve tried to respect it. Now, I think that may have been a fucking stupid thing to do.

“What uncle?” I ask, my voice tight.

“I don’t know. She just said he had dark hair, was pretty tall and he was wearing a suit. She didn’t know him. It was early, whoever it was rang the bell when she was just getting out of bed. I think he caught her by surprise and was gone before she could even ask him his name.”

“Is she all right?”

“Everyone’s fine, but…”

I sit on the edge of the bed, look down at the drying blood on my hand, peel my shirt which is sticking to it, away. I swallow the pain, letting it remind me the difference a few inches would have made. Letting it remind me that Allegra may look like she can’t do much damage, but it’d be a mistake to underestimate her. She’s a Moretti. And spending a little time in the crypt might be good for her.

“But what?” I ask.

“He left something. An early Christmas gift for Gage he said.”

I’m on my feet in an instant stalking out of the bedroom. “Whatever it is, don’t open it. Leave it where it is and get out. Get out of the house!”

“Cassian. Cassian wait,” she interrupts.

I hurry to the exit. “I need you with me,” I tell two of the soldiers who stand smoking just outside the front door.

“Cassian, I opened it.”

“You did what?”

One of the soldiers slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.

“It was a gun.”

“A gun?”

“Yes. Gage thought it was a toy, but it’s not. Shit. It’s not.”

“Are you still at your mom’s?”

“Yeah. I called you right away.”

“Where is the package?”

“Here, on my lap.”

“Put the package aside and get out of the house. Go to the café two blocks away, what’s it called?”

“Trifle.”

“Trifle. Good. Go. Now. Take your mom and Gage. Leave the door unlocked. Get out of the house. Now. I’m on my way.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“Just g…” I force myself to stop, to breathe. “It’s fine. I’m sure. Just go. Now. Okay? I’m going to stay on the phone with you until you get there. Move, Vivi.”

“Okay. Come on, Gage. Let’s get ice cream.”

“Ice cream!” I hear Gage’s voice followed by rustling, her mom muttering, and, a few minutes later, the door closing. They’re outside. Good. Keeping her on speaker, I text Angelo to get soldiers to both Vivi’s house and her mother’s as well as to the café. I never thought it was a good idea she didn’t have protection. Gage is Seth’s son. He’s my father’s grandson. Our enemies could take him. Use him. Worse. Fuck, a lot worse. Hell, maybe we’ve been lucky no one has hurt him yet.

“We’re here,” Vivi says ten tense minutes later.

“Okay. Angelo’s sending soldiers. They’ll stay in their vehicles⁠—”

“I don’t want soldiers, you⁠—”

“That’s too bad,” I cut her off. “Sit tight. I’ll call you back once I’m at the house.”

“You don’t get to decide that Cassian.”

I bite back my words because I do. He’s my nephew. He’s my brother’s son. And she would have been his wife. I’m not going to leave them unprotected. Shit, the fact that I have this long was just stupid. “We’ll talk after, Vivi. Let me get this handled.”

“Fine.”

“Call me back if you need anything.”

“Okay. Be careful.”

“I always am.” I disconnect the call and look out the window thinking who it could have been. There are any number of options. Shit. When we pull up to the house almost an hour later, two soldiers climb out of their car to greet us. I walk up to the front door, two men flanking me, more joining the others already out back.

Vivi’s mother’s house is on a quiet street of mostly nondescript homes. It’s a two-story colonial, well maintained, ordinary. I don’t miss the heads that pop up at the windows of nosy neighbors. I don’t pay attention. Instead, I walk into the house not sure what I’m expecting.

The house is neat, as usual. Soldiers split up to begin a search although I don’t think there would be anyone here.

I see Gage’s little backpack discarded by the door. A few toys left on the stairs. I walk into the kitchen where the smell of burnt coffee permeates. I see the package on the kitchen table as I cross the room to switch off the coffee machine.

The box is from a toy store in town. I recognize it because I’ve bought Gage toys from there. Tissue paper in pastel colors looks like cotton candy, but at the center of the package sits the revolver. I pick it up, open the chamber and remove the single bullet. I put it in my pocket and look at the gun. The serial number is filed off, but not well, like it wasn’t meant to be scratched off at all. I can almost make it out, which is unexpected. I put it back into the box, close the paper around it then put the lid back on.

A soldier enters to tell me the house is clear.

I take my phone out to call Angelo.

“Cassian, what’s going on?” he asks.

“What’s the status of the soldiers?”

“They should be parking outside the café now. Yes, I have confirmation. Two are at Vivi’s house and you should have seen the other two when you got to her mother’s house.”

“They’re here. Thank you. The house is clear, but I want soldiers here and at Vivi’s. I’m going to see her now and I’m going to send you a photo of a partially filed off serial number. It’s still legible.”

“Calling card?”

“Maybe. Find out who the gun is registered to. Do it quickly.”

“I will. I’ll do it before heading to AC.”

“AC?”

“Atlantic City.”

“Oh. Shit the charity.”

“You’re not attending.”

“Not planning to.”

“No worries. Let me go find out who sent that gun. And good call to get soldiers to Vivi.”

He knows she doesn’t want protection. “Should have done it a while back.”

“I’ll send whatever information I find right away.”

We disconnect and I climb into the SUV. I unpack the box, pull the tissue paper away and snap a photo of the serial number. I send it to Angelo as we head to the café.

The café is only a few minutes away and I see Vivi looking anxiously out the window from their booth as we pull into the lot. The soldiers stand by the SUV because I’m drawing enough attention. We don’t need more.

The bell over the door chimes when I enter, and I notice how Vivi’s mom watches me from beneath her lashes even as she plays a game with Gage. She has made no secret of her dislike of our family, and I get it. I don’t hold it against her. If it wasn’t for Seth, Vivi would be safer. But if it wasn’t for Seth, there would be no Gage.

“Uncle Cass?” Gage says when he sees me, a smile stretching wide on his little face.

“Hey, Gage,” I say, forcing myself to smile as I pull him out of his seat and hug him.

He buries his face in my neck for a minute then shows me his toy which is a pink pony. Gage’s choice in toys is a relief to me. He’s young, I know, but I hope he grows up wanting to have nothing to do with guns.

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“Buddy.” He hugs the toy to his chest.

“Buddy, huh?” He names all his toys Buddy, and I exchange a look with Vivi, see how she smiles a little. She can’t hide what she’s truly feeling from me, though. I see her anxiety.

“Gage, let’s go see about that ice cream, shall we?” Vivi’s mother says, standing and taking Gage from me as quickly as she can.

“Thank you,” I say to her even though she doesn’t acknowledge me. She walks away and I slip into the booth across from Vivi. “You ever get something like that again, you don’t open it, understand?”

She’s surprised by my tone, clearly.

“It could have been something else,” I say, reaching over to touch her hand, trying to soften my tone.

She nods, bites her lip. “How did they know where he’d be? Why would they…” She looks over at her mom and Gage.

“Listen, I’m thinking a vacation might be a good idea.”

“What? Vacation? I can’t just⁠—”

“Only until I figure out what’s going on. I need you to be safe, Vivi. You and Gage and your mom. Anywhere you want to go. Hawaii, right? You love Hawaii.” Seth had proposed to her in Hawaii. Recalling that, I notice she’s taken the engagement ring off. That’s new. I don’t comment. It’s been two years. She’s young. Of course she’s going to move on with her life. She should move on with her life.

She must notice me looking and sets her hands on her lap.

“If I agree, no soldiers when we’re back, okay?”

“Not okay. Hawaii then?” I take my phone out.

“You don’t get to decide. Seth wouldn’t⁠—”

“Seth would want me to protect you,” I say, cutting her off. I lean across the table toward her. “Seth would want you safe. You know that. I will take care of this, Vivi. I promise. You’ll stay at the house. There’s a pool there, you’ll have everything you need. Gage will love it. Your mom will. Hell, it’s freezing here.”

“Cassian—”

“Vivi, I’m not asking,” I make clear.

She studies me for a long minute, then, finally, nods. “I need to pack.”

“Just essentials. I’ll arrange for anything you need to be there before your flight lands. Just give me a list.”

“My mom⁠—”

“Your mom will want you safe.” I slip out of the booth and Vivi’s mom returns with Gage who is holding a popsicle in a bright, unnatural blue. “I hear you’re going on a plane,” I tell Gage who makes an O out of his mouth and looks at me with huge eyes.

“A plane?” Vivi’s mom asks, eyebrows high.

“Vivi will explain, Mrs. Chance. I need to go. I’m sorry for what happened. It shouldn’t have happened.”

She snorts.

“Vivi.” I give her a nod.

I ruffle Gage’s hair and walk out of the diner, all eyes on me as I climb into the SUV just as my phone buzzes with a text from Angelo.

Angelo: That was too easy and you won’t like it.

There’s an attachment and when I open it, my blood boils.

Because the gun is registered to Blackstone Holdings.

15

ALLEGRA

Idon’t know how long he leaves me down there in that freezing place, in that dark. I gave up calling for him a little while ago. My throat is too raw. Water drips somewhere and I feel a cold breeze coming from the deepest dark. I don’t know where the corridor leads. I don’t know what’s down there and I don’t think I want to know.

I’m shaking with cold and fear. Why did I attack him? I don’t even know why I did it. What was he saying? My brother would sell me. Malek would. Malek offered me to him to repay my brother’s debt.

But it wasn’t those things. It was his mention of my mother. Her betrayal. And his alluding that it was my father who ordered our kidnapping. Her torture. My father who allowed—no, who ordered—them to cut off my finger to get her to confess. Because that’s what they were looking for. Her confession. But they took it too far. They weren’t supposed to kill her. I know that. I overheard that.

A cold washes over me that has nothing to do with the temperature of this room.

I’m not sure how long I spend down here. It could be hours. It could be days. I’m freezing, trying to keep sane. My memories are tangible things down here. They swell like ocean waves, like I’m in the middle of the deepest, darkest sea and I’m barely treading water.

They took me from school. I knew something was wrong when I saw mom in the car. I knew it from her face. We drove for what felt like hours. It was pitch black by the time we got to the house. I remember my confusion when I saw where they’d brought us. Mom held me and knew she knew why. She held me and told me it would be all right. Told me to be quiet. I remember how scared she was though. I could feel her shaking.

When we got to the Maestro’s house, they were ready for us. They had a room for us with an iron door that had a window in it. An iron door as if a simple lock wouldn’t keep us in. The glass was broken out of the window so we could hear them. They were more careful with me than mom. They never hit her in front of me, but I heard them, and I saw the bruises whenever they brought her back. They wanted her to tell them something, but I never knew what. Not then. All I knew was that my father would come for us. I knew he’d never let anyone hurt us. We were his favorite girls. He always told us that.

But they did hurt us.

They did worse than hurt us.

Even after he came for us.

She wasn’t supposed to die. He was so angry he killed them all. I heard the shots in quick succession. Five of them. Five bullets for five men. And even though he told me not to look when he carried me out of that room, I did and I saw them lying there, dead, some with their eyes open. Blood coming from the holes in their foreheads.

I’m so lost in thought that when I hear a sound, a key in the lock, a man’s voice, I panic and scream thinking I’m back there. Thinking they’re coming for me, coming to take another finger. A whole hand. More.

No. It’s Cassian. It has to be. I force myself to breathe, remind myself I’m not fifteen anymore and I’m not there, in that cellar. What happened there happened five years ago and those men are dead, and my father is dead. My father who promised he’d never let anyone hurt me again. He was a liar. I’m a liar too. I told Cassian my father never hurt us.

It takes me a minute to realize the whimpering is me. I count to four as I take a slow deep breath, my eyes on the bobbing light of what must be a flashlight. I hold my breath for four, then exhale for six and start again and watch. My arms are numb, my body aches. I lick my lips, my throat parched and get ready to call out to him. To apologize. To beg him to take me out of here. To not hurt me. To please not hurt me.

But it’s not Cassian. I know from the way he moves. The way he stops at the bottom of the stairs and shines the light around until it lands on me, and I shrink back, turning my face away, the light too bright after all this dark.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters.

No, not Cassian. It’s his brother. Stepbrother.

I breathe. I try to stop the frantic pounding of my heart.

“I’m sorry,” I try to say, but I’m not sure the words are forming the way they’re supposed to. “I’m sorry.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, putting the flashlight down as he unbuttons his shirt and pulls it over his head. In the beam of light, I see smooth skin, hard muscle, and scars. A lot of scars on his chest and stomach. “Lean into me,” he says, pulling me forward as much as the locks will allow and draping his shirt over my shoulders. It’s warm and I pick up the scent of aftershave. Different than Cassian’s. More refined. Just as dangerous.

“Come on, I’m going to get you out of here.”

I nod, shivering. He’s warm. Heat is coming off his skin.

“How long have you been down here?” he asks.

“I… I don’t… know.”

He unlocks the shackles of one wrist. My arm drops to my side. My legs are stiff, my knees weak, and my arms completely numb.

“Come on,” he says, wrapping an arm around me, taking my weight as he unshackles my other wrist. I collapse into his arms, not realizing it was the shackles holding me up. Jet scoops me up. I burrow against him, tuck myself against chest, his heat. He looks down at me, but it’s too dark to read his eyes. He uses the flashlight to light our way as he carries me up the stairs where I see Enzo waiting by the door.

“He didn’t authorize her release,” Enzo says icily.

For a moment, I’m afraid he’s going to put me back down there and I whimper, curl myself into Jet’s arms.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” Jet says, holding me closer and shoving past Enzo. “She’s going to fucking freeze to death down there, fucking idiot.”

He’s right. I’m freezing. I’m shaking all over. Jet’s chest is warm and solid, and I watch, my eyes adjusting to the light up here as he leads me to one of the locked doors I’d found a few days ago. He takes out a key and lets himself in then closes the door and switches on the light. It’s a bedroom, neutral in design. Is it his? He doesn’t live here, does he?

He carries me to the bed, pushes the duvet over and sets me down, his forehead furrowed as he looks me over.

“Where is he?” I ask.

“Not here. Are you hurt?” he asks. “Did he hurt you?”

“Cold.” I’m shivering so hard my teeth are chattering. I try to pull the blankets close with my numb fingers. Jet does it for me, wrapping the blankets tightly around me. He crouches down to rub warmth into my arms before taking one of my feet and rubbing it. I’m so cold it feels like I’ll never warm up. He does the same with my other foot before tucking both beneath the blanket.

“I’ll get you some whiskey. That’ll warm you up.”

I watch him cross the room and open a cabinet. His back is broad, those scars I saw on his chest also mark his shoulders, his lower back. A moment later, he returns with a tumbler of whiskey. I don’t like it, but I drink it because he’s right, it will warm me. It makes me choke at first, but then it’s all right and I drink it all.

“Better?” he asks.

I take a breath in, look up at him and nod. “Where is he?” I ask again.

“He should never have taken you.”

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about Cassian now. Lie down, close your eyes.”

“Is he going to put me back there?”

“No. Just lie down, Allegra.”

“But when he comes back⁠—”

“I’ll be here. I won’t allow it. Now lie down. Close your eyes.”

I nod because that’s what I want too. To lie down and burrow under the heavy, second duvet he is laying on top of me. I hug them to me, covering half of my face up to my ears and closing my eyes as if that will keep me safe in this violent world of ours.

16

CASSIAN

When I walk into the house, I find Jet leaning casually against the kitchen counter peeling a green apple, the skin hanging from the fruit in one long swirl. He watches my approach, his gaze dark.

Angelo’s text comes back to me. The gun that someone hand-delivered to Vivi’s mother in the guise of a present for a two-year-old is registered to Blackstone Holdings.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demand, the bullet burning a hole in my pocket. I stalk up to him.

Blackstone Holdings could mean Jet, Severin, Sybil or any one of their security team.

“Your dog call you?” he asks, making a barking noise at Enzo.

In fact, Enzo did call me as I was on my way back from the café. Jet and Enzo hate each other. They have from day one. Jet slices off a wedge of the apple and brings it to his mouth at the point of the sharp knife. He eats it before slicing another and holding it out to me like we’re not discussing what we’re discussing.

I slap his arm away. The apple goes flying, the knife clanking loudly on the stone floor. “What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

He stands up to his full height and comes nose-to-nose with me.

“What the fuck was I doing?” he asks, eyes narrowed. “Do you have any fucking idea how cold it is down there? Did you want her to freeze to death? Or just be terrified to death?”

I snort, but he’s not wrong.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He shoves me backward.

Enzo takes a step toward us, but I signal for him to stop, never taking my eyes off Jet. I recall the leak about the shipment within my own household and now this. Now that gun. Am I surrounded by traitors?

“Why do you care? And while you’re answering that question, why don’t you tell me what the hell you’re doing here anyway?”

His jaw tenses, and I see a twitch. “You know a simple thank you would suffice.”

“Answer my question. What are you doing here when I’m not here?” I glance at my open bedroom door, walk over because I have a feeling. When I find the bed empty, I stalk back and round on Jet. “Where is she?” I ask, my voice that of a predator.

He grins.

I glance at the door that leads to his bedroom. Correction. Not his bedroom. The room he used to use when he stayed over. When things were different.

He watches me.

I draw a deep breath in. She’s in his bed. I know it. She’s in his fucking bed. “Did you touch her, Jet?”

A smirk curves one corner of his mouth upward. “Would it upset you if I did?”

I fist the collar of his shirt. “Did. You. Fucking. Touch. Her?”

He grips my collar, mimicking my posture. “Well, I’m no magician and she couldn’t walk so what do you think?” He shoves me backward, unafraid. Jet knows me better than any member of his family. There was a time when we were friends. As close as brothers. Maybe I even wanted that and that’s why he’s so fucking brazen now. “You seem pretty upset considering the fact she’s just collateral.” He pauses dramatically and I want to fucking kill him. “Or isn’t she?”

“It’s none of your business what she is.” I drop my grip and walk away, pushing a hand through my hair.

I hadn’t planned on leaving her down there for as long as I did. It was only to scare her. I planned on going back in half an hour, max. Just giving myself enough time to clean up the blood. Take care of the wound. But then the shit hit the fan.

By the time Enzo called to let me know Jet was here. That he’d gotten Allegra out, she’d been down there for three hours.

Shit. Why is my life always such a fucking shitshow?

I walk over to the cabinet where I keep a bottle of whiskey and pour myself a glass. I down it in one go and don’t offer him any. Instead, I pour a second and turn to face him. I know what he wants. I saw how he looked at her. And I need to manage this.

“Allegra’s off limits.”

He studies me and I wonder what he sees. Wonder if I’m not as good at hiding what’s in my head as I like to think I am. Jet knows me better than anyone else though because Jet was there when the ground fell out from under me. When Seth’s disease progressed too far, too fast, when my father’s illness took hold of him and destroyed his life. Jet knows about Seth. In a moment of weakness, I told him. I’d needed to tell someone. To talk to someone. I’ve wondered ever since that night if that was a mistake.

“We’ve shared before,” he says, voice low. My hand tightens around my glass. I knew he wanted her. I fucking knew it.

I turn away and shake my head. “No.”

“If she’s nothing more than collateral, why does it matter?”

“I said no.”

“Fuck’s sake, Cassian, you’re not going to fuck her anyway!”

I spin to face him, my mouth open to respond because I knew it was a matter of time before he’d throw that in my face, didn’t I? But before I can, a sound comes from behind me. As if on cue, no, more likely she had her ear pressed to the door, my Little Moth, we turn to find Allegra standing at the door of Jet’s bedroom. She looks from me to Jet and back, her eyes narrowed, fury making her hands into fists, her lip into a snarl. Her hair is a wild mass around her head and she’s fucking beautiful in all her rage, and I remember how she clung to me when I took her down to the crypt. How she changed.

How scared she was.

Her rage had gone, only fear left in its place. Being down there triggered something, some memory. I want to know what. And I want to know if I’m right about the kidnapping. If her father had ordered it.

She steps out of the room then, coming fully into view and when I see what she’s wearing, when I see Jet’s shirt on her, my brain fucking rattles against my skull and all thoughts are gone, but one.

He. Touched. Her.

She’s wearing his fucking shirt.

She’s naked underneath. I know. I stripped her myself. And for her to be wearing his shirt now? Did she want it?

The fury I feel has no words.

I shift my gaze from Allegra to Jet. He’s looking at her too. Hell, he can’t seem to drag his eyes away and I can’t read his expression. My hands turn to fists so tight, my fingernails almost break the skin of my palms.

“Out!” I bellow. “Enzo. Get everyone out. Now!” My voice bounces off the walls, the vaulted ceilings. I don’t look away from Jet, not for the time it takes for the soldiers to clear out. I watch him watch her, watch his gaze move to mine, narrowing to slits.

He wants a fight. He’s itching for it.

I force a slow breath in, count to ten, turn to Allegra. She’s watching us, her gaze moving between Jet and me, settling on me. I get the feeling she’s not sure if she wants to tell me off or go back to hiding in his room. “Allegra.” Her name sounds strange on my tongue. My voice is low and tight. “Come here.” She doesn’t move. “Now.”

It takes her a minute to decide and when she does, she raises her head, makes a hard line of her mouth. Her bare feet pad over the stone floor and up the stairs to the kitchen. She wraps her arms around herself, the sleeves of his shirt so long they drape like bishop’s sleeves. Is she hugging his shirt to herself? Is that what this is?

“You have no right to be angry,” she hisses.

I let my gaze move slowly over her. Let myself feel the boiling of my blood.

“Did he touch you?”

She glances over my shoulder to Jet.

“Don’t look at him. Look at me.” She does, her eyes narrowed to slits. “Did. He. Touch. You?”

“What if he did?” she says through clenched teeth.

My fist comes down on the altar-table so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if it cracked the stone. Allegra jumps, backs up a step.

“He didn’t touch me!” she cries out.

Do I believe her?

I look at Jet. Allegra moves to stand between us. “I said he didn’t.”

“But he wanted to.”

Jet keeps his eyes on me, and I keep mine on him. He’s right, we have shared women in the past. And maybe I’ve been a fool to give him the impression he can somehow come and go as he pleases here in my home.

“You want her,” I say. He doesn’t deny it. If anything, the look on his stubborn face tells me I’m right.

Allegra starts to say something, to move away, but I set my hands on her shoulders, keeping my eyes on Jet. Moving behind her, I slide my hands to her arms and lean close to her ear. I make myself breathe in the smell of his aftershave on her.

His. Fucking. Aftershave. On. Her.

“Tell me, Moth,” I start, liking that she shudders when my breath tickles her cheek. When the scruff along my jaw brushes her ear. “What do you want?”

“What are you doing?” she hisses, turning her head, but the collar of the shirt is unbuttoned and too wide and I see the throbbing of her pulse at her neck.

“You want him to touch you?”

“Don’t be fucking crazy,” she says, trying to tug free. “You left me down there. You just left me.”

“That’s not what I asked you, Moth.” I straighten to look at Jethro and reach around to undo the buttons of the shirt.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asks, catching my hands.

I take hold of her wrists, draw them behind her back, noting how her cheeks are flushed, how dark her eyes have gotten. I hold both tiny wrists in one hand while I continue to undress her with the other. When the shirt is unbuttoned, I watch Jet. Watch his eyes move over her. I take note of how his jaw tenses.

“You want to see, don’t you?”

Jet meets my gaze. He doesn’t answer me. Doesn’t have to.

I draw the shirt off her shoulders and the soft cotton slides easily down, the only thing stopping it from dropping fully to the floor is my hand cuffed around her wrists.

“Cassian,” Allegra starts, twisting in my grip, shuddering as her nipples tighten when Jet takes her in.

“You want to see?” I ask again, leaning to press my lips to her jaw, my eyes on him. “You want to touch?” I continue, licking the curve of her neck. Allegra shudders and I slide my free hand to cup her breast, to move over her belly. “You want to watch?” I ask as I close my hand over her pussy and bite down onto the soft flesh of her neck.

Allegra sucks in a breath, let’s out a low whimper.

“Tell me, Jet, you want to watch her come?”

“Stop,” Allegra pleads weakly, her throat working as she swallows, as she squirms even while her pussy grows damp in my hand and her breaths become pants.

“And you,” I say, turning my gaze to her. She looks at me, her mouth open. I look at her lips, watch her tongue dart out to lick them and I kiss her because it’s all I can do. I kiss her because it’s all I want to do.

I move to stand in front of her, my body pressed to hers. She looks up at me and I take in those deep whiskey-colored eyes, and I kiss her again because she tastes good. So good. And her pussy is wet and warm, and I hear what Jet said just moments ago.

You won’t fuck her anyway.

But I want to. God. How I want to. If there was ever anyone in this world inside whom I want to sink my cock, inside whom I want to lose myself, it’s her.

It’s fucking her.

But he’s right. I can’t. What happened last night can never happen again. So, I draw back and adjust my grip. Jet’s shirt drops to the floor. I pull her backward toward what was once the holy altar, not caring when I knock a bottle of olive oil on its side and send a glass crashing to the floor as I kiss her again before lifting her up onto it.

I can feel her resistance, her confusion. When I draw back mid-kiss, she is surprised. Blinking, she bites her lip. “What are you doing?” she asks me, her gaze moving over my shoulder, panicked.

“I’m giving you both what you want,” I say, that boiling of blood again as I move around the stone altar, drawing her backward on it, standing on the opposite end. Allegra struggles to hide herself and Jet watches her, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows because he wants this. Wants her.

Oh, how he wants her.

But she is not for him.

“Cassian,” Allegra’s plea is a breath.

“Be still,” I tell her, gripping her wrists tighter.

She raises her head to look at Jet, then back at me.

“This what you want, Jet?” I ask him.

He drags his gaze from her to me, jaw tight.

“Open your legs, Allegra,” I tell her.

“Let me go,” she struggles against me, but I felt how wet she was when I touched her while he watched.

“I said open them. Fucking open them. Isn’t that what you fucking want?”

Allegra’s pulling against my grip, the skin around her eyes wet, her body twisting this way and that. Jet moves and my gaze snaps to his when, his eyes locked on me, he sets his hands on her knees—he sets his fucking hands on her knees—and I’m about to lose my mind when he forces them apart and comes to stand between them.

For a moment, for the longest fucking moment, the world stands still, the only sound that of blood roaring in my ears.

“What is it, Cassian? You want to watch me do it? Want to watch me fuck her how you can’t? For old times, maybe.” He grins, eyes narrowed to slits. He’s pushing my buttons.

My vision goes from black to red. My brain rattles against my skull. A murderous instinct takes hold, and I lunge at him. We go crashing against the wall Jet’s head bouncing off it.

I’m going to kill him. I’m going to fucking kill him.

I draw my arm back and Allegra screams. I turn to look at her and Jet takes the advantage, punching me hard in the gut. I double over, but grip his shirt

“You want to make an enemy of me, Cassian?” he asks, fury clear in his tone even as he’s panting.

I push through the pain, shove him backward and press my forearm against his windpipe. “Have you ever been anything but an enemy, Jet?”

My jaw ticks. I stare into shadowed green eyes I thought I knew. We are drawing a line in the sand, Jet and me.

He shoves me backward and glances at Allegra, then back at me.

He snorts, shakes his head. “Fine. Fucking fine. You chose this. Remember that,” he says with an accusing finger pointing at me before he stalks away. I watch him go, watch his back as he walks down the center aisle toward the door, his steps echoing off the stone floor.

Allegra watches him go. I turn to her and when she shifts her gaze to me, her eyes are full of betrayal. I walk around the table, push her knees apart as she sits up, her hands flat against my chest.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she asks.

I grip the back of her head and kiss her even as she pushes against me, even as she uses her teeth to draw blood. It always comes down to blood.

“You’re not his,” I say and I’m not sure if I’m telling her or myself. “You are not his.” I kiss her harder, smashing my mouth against hers.

“I’m not yours either.”

I snort. “Oh, but you are. You are so very mine.”

Her breaths are pants, her knees pressed to my sides. She doesn’t want to want this. Hell, I don’t want to want this. But I do. We both do.

And I’ll have her the only way I can. The only way I should.

I lay her back, leaning over her, kissing her still. She pulls at my shirt, buttons popping, nails clawing and when she can’t unbutton it, she pushes it aside and brings her hands to my skin. I draw back to tear my shirt off, our eyes locked, our breaths gasps as I lay her back down, leaning over her to reach for the bottle of olive oil that’s knocked over, that’s spilling out onto the stone floor.

Her hands are undoing my belt, my pants. Her knees are wide, feet pressed to the edge of the altar. She takes me out and I pour olive oil onto my hand and slide it between her legs, feeling her wet, wanting pussy, dipping my fingers inside before sliding them to that other hole.

She’s confused at first, blinks up at me.

I take one knee and push it back and look down at her, at her wet, gaping pussy, her tiny asshole. I meet her gaze and push one slippery, oily finger inside that hole.

Allegra’s mouth opens on a gasp. “Cassian,” she breathes.

I let out a groan, feeling her heat around my finger. I bend my head to lick her pussy, use my teeth on her clit as I slide a second finger into her ass.

“I fucking… God. I fucking hate you.” Her fingers are pulling at my hair as she raises her pussy up into my face.

I draw back. Not yet. Not yet. I meet her eyes as I slide my hand over my cock, lubricating it before bringing it to her asshole.

She pants hard, eyes panicked, understanding how I’m going to take her.

“Push against me,” I tell her, because I need to be inside her, and I don’t want to hurt her and I can’t fuck her pussy. I can’t risk it. “I’m going to make you come so fucking hard you forget how much you hate me,” I tell her, pushing the head of my cock into her tight entrance.

“I will never forget that,” she says, gripping my arms, nails digging in to draw blood, her eyes going wide.

“Then don’t forget. Hate fuck me.” I play with her clit as I push deeper into her.

She cries out, but holds on to me.

Fuck. She’s so tight, so fucking tight.

She has her eyes squeezed shut and I imagine it hurts. She’s a virgin here too, of that I’m sure.

I pour more oil onto my cock, which is a third of the way in. “Look at me, Allegra. Open your eyes and look at me. Fuck. Glare at me. Show me how much you fucking hate me.”

She opens her eyes and does just that.

“Did you like him looking at you?” I ask, watching her, playing with her clit again.

“Did you like him watching me?” she hisses. “Is that what you’re punishing me for?” She bites her lip trying to swallow back a moan of pleasure-pain, her passage opening to me as she’s more and more aroused.

“You want him to fuck you?” I thrust.

One corner of her mouth curls upward. “Only if you’d hate it!” She arches her back as her body stretches to take me.

“Wrong answer.” I thrust hard because she’s close and I want her to come for me. Even as she hates me, I want her to come for me and I want her to know she came for me.

“What the hell are you doing to me?” she whispers and I’m not sure she meant to say it out loud because when she realizes she did, she looks away. “I hate you!” she cries out, her body jerking violently with orgasm, a moan coming from somewhere deep inside her chest, a raw, guttural sound, a sound that’s almost inhuman.

I watch her and fuck, fuck. It’s not what I’m doing to her. Not even a little. It’s what she’s fucking doing to me.

Her walls throb around my cock and I push all the way into her, fucking her hard and deep, feeling every inch of her. I bend to kiss her mouth, swallowing her moans and her curses, ready for those sharp teeth that don’t come. She’s too exhausted. Too worn out. When she opens her eyes and looks up at me, there’s a glassy sheen to them, a softness, a vulnerability that isn’t there when she usually looks at me and I realize I want her to look at me like this all the time. I need her to look at me like this always.

“Fuck, Allegra,” I manage, watching her face, her eyes, as I fuck her, as she begs for me to stop, to go on, a second orgasm following on the heels of her first. I take her hard, wanting to punish her for wanting him. I take her deep to lay my claim on her. I have her because I need to be inside her. To come inside her. And when I come, it’s to the sound of her release, her letting go, because she can’t fight any longer, has no fight left in her as a third orgasm ravages her body and finally, finally, I feel it. She is mine. I draw her to me with a deep groan, my cock throbbing inside her, my hand a fist in her hair, our eyes open. I kiss her. I kiss her, watching her. Knowing she’ll bite, my wild Allegra. My violent Allegra.

“You’re mine, Allegra. Mine. Do you understand that?”

“I will never be yours, Cassian. Never. Do you understand that?”

I laugh an insane man’s laugh. “But you already are. You were mine from the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

17

ALLEGRA

Idon’t know what the hell just happened. I don’t know how we got to where we got after the crypt. After whatever the hell that was with Jet.

Cassian and I sit at opposite ends inside a giant tub filled with water so hot it could blister. Our arms are stretched along the edges, above the water, our knees are touching, and we are glaring. A war of eyes. A war of hearts.

What are you doing to me? I said it aloud. He heard me. I don’t care. I don’t give a damn. The way he looked at me after that, the way he never took his eyes off me? Like he was furious. Furious with me? For Jet’s want? Jet does want, I know that much. But is he also furious at himself? Because he wants too. He wants to eat me alive. It’s all right there, right in his brutal, beautiful eyes.

I recall Jet when he saw me down there in that crypt. How he looked at me for a minute. How, without a thought, he stripped off his shirt to drape it over my shoulders. I recall the scars on his body. He’s as big as Cassian. As dark. As wicked, I know. But they’re so very different and I’m not sure if Jet’s wanting me has more to do with Cassian than me.

Cassian’s eyes narrow like he can read my mind.

“Why did you let him look at me?” I ask.

His eyes search mine. I hate his eyes. I hate how deceptive they are. Hell, I hate him. I shift my gaze to the lines my nails scratched across one side of his face, the more prominent ones on his shoulders, down his chest. Five on one side, four on the other. I touch my thumb to that nub of my pinkie finger.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“To be stripped and displayed between the two of you? Like I’m a piece of meat?”

“He’d already seen you.”

“Not like that he hadn’t. I don’t know what kind of rivalry you have going on between you, but I want no part of it.”

“Come now, Moth. You like the drama.”

I flip him off.

“He wants you,” he says flatly, watching for my reaction.

I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t know how I feel about it. I’m attracted to Cassian. Cassian, I want to hate fuck. Cassian makes me want him even when I hate him. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Jet, I don’t know. Jet, I know nothing about. But I do know his motives are not innocent. Not at all.

“Why did he say what he said?” I ask before I think about it.

From the look on Cassian’s face, he knows exactly what I mean, but it takes him a moment to rearrange his features into curiosity. “Why did he say what?”

“That you won’t fuck me anyway,” I ask, not ready to unpack the other part I overheard just yet. The part about sharing.

“How long were you eavesdropping?”

“Since the moment I woke up from all the racket of you two trying to decide who has a bigger dick.”

He chuckles at that, and for a moment, his eyes brighten like someone just told him the funniest joke he’s ever heard. But it’s just that single, lonely moment before that light is gone. He stands up, water spilling off his huge body, olive skin glistening, water cascading over powerful muscles, the Reaper’s robe black as the darkest night. And I hate that in that moment, after what we just did, my body begins to prepare itself for more.

My traitorous body wants more of Cassian Trevino. It can’t get enough.

Cassian stands looming over me, letting me take him in before stepping out of the tub. He crosses the bathroom to where towels are lined on a heated rack. I watch him walk away, the muscles of his back, his ass and thighs, like no man I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve seen many. My dad and brother in the summers maybe, Malek, which gross, but never have I seen a body like his. Clocks lie like grave markers at the Reaper’s feet, two of them. I know he’s holding another in his hand around Cassian’s front.

He finishes drying off and wraps the towel low around his waist. He checks the time like he might be late for something before taking a fresh towel off the rack and returning.

“Why three clocks?” I ask.

“What?”

I gesture with a nod of my head. “Two on your back like grave markers and one in his hand. Why?”

He considers me, eyes narrowing. “No reason.”

“Liar.”

“Come, Moth.” He lets the towel fall open and holds it out for me.

“I’m not done.”

“Water is getting cold, and we have somewhere to be.”

At that I look up at him. “Where do we have to be?”

“A dinner for a charity hosted by my stepfamily. You’ll get to see Jet.” He means to say it like a joke, but his muscles tense at the mention of his stepbrother’s name.

“Oh, well, you should have said so,” I say flippantly and stand too quickly, water splashing out of the tub. I give him a smirk then turn my back to him planning to take the towel once he drapes it over my shoulders, but he doesn’t let it go. Instead, he wraps it around me and when I jerk too hard, I slip. He catches me, lifts me up out of the tub.

“Careful, Little Moth,” he whispers in my ear as I push against his chest to get free.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You keep asking me that.” He carries me into the bedroom and sits me down on the edge of the bed then proceeds to dry me gently until he’s crouched down before me, the towel draped around my waist as he dries my arms, my hands. When he gets to the pinkie finger, he shifts his gaze up to mine and I’m not sure if it’s the way he’s looking at me or maybe the tenderness in his touch, but something inside my belly does a little flip. “What happened when you figured out I’d leave you down there? Where did all your fight go?”

I tug at my hand. If Cassian Trevino is being tender, it’s because he wants something.

“You literally threatened to leave me in a fucking crypt. I was scared. I’m sure it’s a sensation you’re unfamiliar with, but human beings, those of us with actual feelings, get scared.”

He studies me, gives a little shake of his head. “It was more than that,” he says, ignoring my jab.

I study his eyes. What did he see in me down there? Yes, I was afraid. Terrified. How could he know what memories he triggered? What sensations I thought I’d locked up so tight I’d never have to feel them again.

He can’t. He’s guessing. That’s all. My secret is safe.

“Why did you leave me there so long?” I hear myself ask, my voice like glass. Too breakable. I hate myself for that. For shifting my gaze just slightly away, to his nose, his mouth. Anything but his eyes because they fucking undo me. They make me want to believe him. To believe in him.

Something twitches in his jaw and a beat passes before he answers. “I didn’t intend to. There was an incident.”

I meet his gaze. “What incident?”

He shakes his head. “It’s handled.”

“Oh, well then…”

“I didn’t intend on leaving you down there so long. Believe that.”

“But you did, so I don’t,” I say, watching his big hands wrap around mine. Watching how mine disappear inside his.

“Tell me about this.” He’s still talking about my missing finger. He’s not stupid. And for all I know he’s cut off the fingers of little girls too except I know he hasn’t. I know he wouldn’t. It takes a special kind of man, a true monster, to do that and Cassian may be a villain, but he’s not a monster.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Allegra,” he says as if having read my mind.

I shift my gaze from his hands to his eyes and as much as I try to channel my rage, my rebellion, my hate, the way he’s looking at me, I can’t because I think on some level, some stupid part of my brain wants to believe him. Some stupid part of me wants to have those hands holding me. Wants his arms around me, carrying me so easily, like my weight is nothing. Like he can so easily protect me. Like he wants to protect me.

“I don’t want to go down there again,” I say with as little emotion in my voice as possible, but I hear how I sound, how like that fifteen-year-old girl locked in a room behind a steel door waiting for them to bring back her mother. Waiting in terror.

I look away, willing myself not to cry, not to let him see. I think I should brace myself for some cruel comment, some insult. A power play. But Cassian just keeps looking at me, his eyes so intent on mine that it’s hard to hold his gaze. He must see that too because just as I feel the burn of tears, as the first of them wet my lashes, he straightens to stand.

“I won’t put you down there again. I promise, Allegra,” he says, his tone firm. Not mocking. Not anything. Just a promise made. He wraps the towel around me and pulls me to my feet. “Trust that.”

We’re so close, our hands between us, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him.

I search his eyes. What am I looking for? His soul. I’m searching for his soul because I want to believe him. I want desperately to believe him.

“Trust me, Allegra.”

My mind reminds me, though, that men lie. A lie is so easy to tell. When the men who love you can do terrible things to you, what will your enemies do?

I blink away. I don’t trust him. I can’t.

He clears his throat. “When you’re ready, you’ll tell me what happened to you.”

“I won’t.” I sound like a petulant child, I know.

His hands come to my chin, and he tilts my face up so I’m looking at him. “My rebellious little Allegra. Always geared up to fight. What bastard taught you this is the way to protect yourself?” he asks with a sad half-smile like he expected my response, but he’s also sorry about it. He releases me, steps away, checking his watch. “Let’s get out of here. Pack a few things, whatever you need for one night and one day. We’ll get you a dress for the dinner once we’re there.”

“I hope Jet will like it,” I say, not sure why, because I don’t care about Jet, but often, my mouth works faster than my brain and it feels safest to put Cassian on the other side of this boxing ring.

His eyes narrow as he focuses on brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. I don’t move. I stare up at him trying to read him. It’s impossible, though.

“Careful, Little Moth,” he finally says, eyes locking on mine again. “That’s a dangerous game to play.”

18

CASSIAN

I’m standing in front of the fire in the great church waiting for Allegra to pack. I texted Angelo that I’d see him in Atlantic City after all.

I decided to attend and take Allegra with me in the spur of the moment. I wouldn’t normally attend any event organized by my stepfamily, but as I slip my hand into my pocket and my fingers wrap around the bullet, I know it’s a good plan. I’ll have them all in one place. I can watch them all and if I can see their faces, I’ll know.

So, I suppose the trip will serve a dual purpose. It’s me making up for the crypt. I shouldn’t have taken her down there. I should have handled that better because I didn’t intend on terrifying her. It’s also to make up for whatever that was with Jet. Why did I let him see her? I was crazed. Furious with rage at the thought of him touching her. But more at the thought that she may have wanted it.

I press my finger to the tip of the bullet in my pocket to force those thoughts away. I need to focus and so I let my mind conjure up the images of the damage this bullet could have done. Which of my stepfamily sent a loaded gun to my two-year-old nephew? They out of anyone should know I’d kill them if they got near Seth’s family.

Enzo comes around the corner, tucks his phone into his pocket.

“I thought you weren’t going to go at all,” he says. I told him to get soldiers ready for an overnight in Atlantic City. “Why the change of heart?”

“I want to see my stepfamily,” I tell him, that bullet burning a hole in my pocket. I’m not sure of my plan exactly. Am I going to confront them? And who am I confronting? Severin? Sybil?

Jet?

Jet feels like a betrayal worse than the others.

There’s no reason for them to have done this. To have sent that loaded gun. It’s just illogical.

“Anything I should know?” Enzo asks.

I glance at him, shake my head. “No, nothing. I’m taking the Ferrari.”

“Oh? Why?” he asks, and I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “I mean it’ll be easier to keep track of everything in the SUVs. Everyone knows the Ferrari.”

“I’ll be fine, and you’ll follow with the men.”

“You don’t make my job easy, Cassian.”

“You don’t do this because it’s easy, Enzo,” I say, looking over his shoulder when I hear Allegra’s combat boots on the stone floor. She’s carrying her backpack, her dark hair plaited into two thick, long braids on either side of her face. She looks curious, maybe a little excited? She’s been cooped up in here for days, so I get it. But the moment she meets my eyes, she narrows hers, her expression shifting to annoyed and, as usual, contrary. It makes me smile. “Excuse me,” I tell Enzo.

Enzo steps aside, but I don’t miss how his eyes follow mine to watch her too.

She takes in the collection of soldiers at the door.

“Don’t look so sour, Moth,” I say, taking her backpack. “Your face might freeze that way.”

She shifts her gaze to mine. “What can I say? You bring out the worst in me.”

I chuckle. “Ready?”

“For a road trip with you and all your friends? I’m sure it’ll be the most fun I’ve ever had.” She’s not going to give me anything. But I don’t really deserve anything, do I?

“Come, Little Moth, I have a surprise for you.” Before she can say anything, I take her coat off the rack and drape it over her shoulders. With my hand at her back, I guide her out the door and past the two SUVs to the 1966 Ferrari 275 a soldier just drove around. I take the moment to enjoy the expression on her face, her surprise, her disbelief. Her delight?

“Mr. Trevino,” he says, handing me the keys. I take them and manually unlock the trunk to drop her bag inside.

“We’re taking that?” she asks, dragging her gaze from the car to me.

Then I remember the accident that killed her father and wonder if I’m misreading her expression.

“It’s safe,” I tell her. I’ve maintained it meticulously over the years. It’s a passion of mine and a hobby I don’t get to spend much time on. It, like cooking, relaxes me. They’re about the only things that do.

She glances at the car again before looking back at me. “It’s not that, I’m just surprised.”

I raise my eyebrows, amused. “Is it so strange?”

She walks closer to the car, rubs a smudge off the door. “I figured you’d be the obnoxious sportscar type. Not a Ferrari 275,” she says.

“You know the model?” Now it’s me who’s surprised.

Her grin wide, she turns to face me, and she looks far too pleased with herself.

I chuckle, open the passenger side door. “Well, I guess we’re both full of surprises today.”

“Wait. Don’t you have a bag?” She asks before getting in.

“I have an apartment there.”

“Oh. Of course you do.” She climbs into the car and can’t hide her enthusiasm as she peers closely at everything. Weirdly, it pleases me.

I close her door and walk around to the driver’s seat. When I climb in, she’s looking into the back. It’s a two-seater.

“No soldiers hiding back there?” she asks, running her fingers over the red leather piping of the seat.

“They’ll follow.” I glance in the rear-view mirror to see Enzo and several others filing into the SUVs. I start the engine and head out.

“What year is it?” she asks.

“1966.”

“Nice,” she says, caressing this and that with a tenderness that truly surprises. “Can I drive?”

I turn to her, curious because this is possibly the first interaction we’ve had that isn’t somehow fraught.

“Can you actually drive?” I ask.

“Rude. I am an excellent driver.”

“Well, you’re not used to a car like this, I’m sure.”

“You’re wrong and besides, I’ve never hit anything,” she qualifies, sitting up as we pick up speed and I’m sure that what I’m seeing now is pleasure on her face.

I smile. “Well, then, if you’ve never hit anything…” I trail off, giving her what amounts to an eye roll.

“Come on. I’m serious.” She touches my arm, and I look down at her hand. She must realize what she’s doing the moment I do and pulls back. She clears her throat. “Really, I’m a good driver. I’ve driven my dad’s cars.”

“Have you?” I know Alaric Moretti had a collection of antique cars.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, liking this conversation. Liking not fighting with her. I look at her as I shift gears accelerating once we’re on the main road. She seems to relax and inhales deeply of that particular smell that clings to old cars. It’s not exactly pleasant, but it’s a thing.

We fall silent for a while, each of us lost in our own thoughts and I admit I’m showing off a little when we lose the procession of soldiers, driving well over the speed limit which has Allegra holding onto the sides of her seat and smiling wide with pleasure.

“You like speed,” I say, weaving through traffic smoothly.

She glances at me and it’s as if she realizes she’s enjoying herself, so she wipes that smile off her face and shrugs a shoulder.

“Don’t do that,” I say.

“What?”

“Don’t stop smiling.”

She is caught off guard and I see the blush creep up her neck before she turns her face to look out of the side window.

“My mom loved tinkering with old cars. My dad bought them for her.”

I glance at her, watch her smile fade as a line forms between her brows. Her father was out on a pleasure ride when he was killed. He was driving a car older than this one. The brakes had failed.

I think about her father’s accident. It was convenient for Malek. For Michael too, maybe? It wouldn’t be hard to arrange on an older car.

“Everyone thought Dad was the collector, but it was my mom’s passion.”

“Oh? That’s unusual.”

“She was unusual. And I guess it was one of her two passions. Although I think it gave her more joy than music did.”

I know her mother was a gifted pianist although she didn’t play publicly after marrying Alaric Moretti.

“Why do you think that?” I ask.

“She only played the saddest tunes. I think she liked the way they made her feel, but when you saw her smile when she was tinkering with the cars, she glowed. She was alive and amazing.” She turns her face away, and although I can’t see her, I hear the loss she feels in her words.

“You were close.”

She shrugs a shoulder, rolls the window down a little then puts it back up. She reaches for the glove compartment and opens it before I can tell her to stop. She looks at what’s inside, then at me. It’s my Glock.

I reach over to close it. She folds her hands on her lap, any openness in her face gone. “My father had a rule about guns at the house.”

“I’m sure his soldiers all carried guns, Allegra. Maybe he was careful you didn’t see them, but I can assure you, they were there.”

“You’re probably right,” she says. Did she really think they had no guns in the house?

“Tell me about school,” I say to change the subject.

“There’s not much to tell.”

“You’re in college. That’s something. Tell me about that” I say, wanting her to continue. Wanting to lift the mood again.

“You want to hear about my education?” she asks like she doesn’t buy it.

“Humor me. School was never a priority for me.”

She studies me momentarily. “I’m in my second year, but since dad died, Michael won’t let me actually go to any classes in person so I’m just taking the few offered online. I don’t think I’m going to continue though.”

“Why wouldn’t you continue?” I glance at her. She is passionate, that I can tell from the notes I read in her books. She loves the history of art in churches, the stories that go along with them. I get it.

“I’m required to attend some classes in person. When dad was alive, I was allowed to go with soldiers. Michael has made it clear he won’t spoil me like dad did. His words.”

“Is he jealous of you?”

She glances at me. “Maybe. I don’t know. I think after what happened, dad felt guilty or something, so he tried to spend time with me, and I guess Michael didn’t like it.”

“Guilty?”

“Not because of what you said. He didn’t arrange to have us kidnapped. He didn’t…” she trails off, hiding the hand with the missing finger in her other one. “I’m not talking about this. You’re wrong about that. You know what? This was a mistake. Take me back. I want to go back.”

“Relax. We don’t have to talk about it. That’s not why I’m doing this.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“I don’t know,” I say without meeting her eyes.

“Just take me back, Cassian.”

I glance at her. “I guess I’m trying to make up for what happened back there,” I say, feeling sheepish. She studies me like she’s trying to decide if I’m telling the truth. “In fact,” I start, looking over my shoulder before crossing four lanes of highway to get to the exit that we almost don’t make.

Allegra gasps, sitting up, her expression one of surprise. “What are you doing?”

“You like frozen custard?”

“What?” Car horns blare at us. She looks over her shoulder. “They’re so mad at you,” she says, turning bright amber eyes to me like she doesn’t believe I did that.

I grin, shift gears, glancing in the rear view to see one of the SUVs miss the exit. The second one makes it, and Enzo’s face in the driver’s seat tells me he’s not happy about it.

“Do you?” I ask.

“Do I what?” she asks as I drive onto a single lane road.

“Do you like frozen custard?” I ask.

“Oh, yes. I mean who doesn’t? But it’s November and it’s not even noon.”

“There’s no bad time for frozen custard.”

“Why are we talking about frozen custard?”

I reach over and close my hand over one of hers. She looks at it, then at me.

“Maybe I feel guilty, Allegra.” She looks confused. “I shouldn’t have left you in the crypt. You were scared. I am sorry about that.”

Her eyes search mine, uncertain, and she pulls her hand out from under mine, but she doesn’t argue so I take that as a win.

We fall silent, the stretch of road long. The second SUV comes into view, but it’s only us on this cloudy November morning. Allegra is silent, her mood sad.

“We used to come here when we were little,” I tell her, wanting to give her something. My own way of groveling, I suppose which is very much unlike me. “My father would bring my brother and I.” I slow, taking a hairpin turn. “Sometimes that life feels like it belonged to someone else,” I say, not sure why I say it out loud, even though it’s true. I feel her eyes on me, the weight of that silence expanding.

“Everything changes so fast. I miss my mom. A lot,” she says.

A glance shows me how her eyes glisten, but I note what she said. She misses her mom, not her dad. “I miss my family too.”

She looks at me confused. I clear my throat. “Here we are,” I say, turning onto the dead-end street where the frozen custard shop that hasn’t changed since I was little stands with its red and white checkered awning. The two windows, one to order and the other to pick up, look out at us like eyes.

“Oh, it’s closed,” she says, disappointment evident in her voice.

“Nah.” I park the car, honk twice and climb out. She opens her door as I come around to her side. I can smell the salty sea air in the brisk wind. I breathe deeply, filling up my lungs. Life seems easier here in this tiny, simple place.

I extend a hand to help her out. She looks at it, then up at me.

“I don’t bite.”

“Well, I mean, you do bite,” she says and slaps her hand over her mouth. Clearly that slip was unintentional.

My laugh is unexpected even to me, but I’m loving how she blushes. How pretty she is right now, looking at me like she is. A little shy. A little embarrassed. A lot honest. And sweet. Like no one in any mafia family should be or even could be. It makes me want to wrap my arms around her, pull her to me to keep her that way. Keep her safe from this ugly, violent world.

I lean toward her. “Like I said before, you taste good enough to eat.” Her blush deepens and I straighten. Wink. “But time and place, Allegra.”

She snorts, but sets her small hand in mine and I help her out. The wind blows and Allegra shivers, hugging her arms around herself. She’d slipped her coat off during the drive. I drape my arm over her shoulders and pull her to my side to keep her warm. She resists at first, but then her body yields and I can’t explain what I feel when she does that.

“Well, I’ll be,” says an old woman’s voice I recognize.

I watch as Mrs. Thurston slides the window wide open.

“Am I seeing a ghost?” she asks, rubbing her eyes. “Is that you, Cassian Trevino?”

I smile wide, so happy to see her. She must be in her eighties now and I’m not sure what I expected when I took that detour. For all I knew, the shop could have been boarded up years ago. It’s been a decade at least since I’ve been here.

“No ghosts, Mrs. Thurston. It’s me, Cassian.”

“Come over here, let me get a look at you,” she says, peering out from inside the window. I extend my hands to hers and she takes them, squeezes, her old eyes searching mine.

“I’m surprised you remembered me,” I say, noting the papery skin on her hands and face.

“I’d never forget those eyes. Where’s Seth? And your daddy?”

I clear my throat, my smile faltering. “Not here, but I brought someone else. This is Allegra. Allegra, this is Mrs. Thurston of Thurston’s frozen custard. Best you’ll have in your life.”

“Well now,” Mrs. Thurston says, letting go of my hands to take Allegra’s. “Nice to see Cassian has a girlfriend. You’ll make pretty babies with her, Cassian,” Mrs. Thurston says, and Allegra’s face goes a deep red.

“Oh, we’re not—” Allegra starts, but is cut off.

“Grandma, what are you doing? It’s freezing out there,” comes a voice from inside the shop which is attached to the Thurston’s modest home.

“Oh, here we go,” Mrs. Thurston says, rolling her eyes. “It’s all right, Libby I’m fine. And we have customers.”

Libby peers around her grandmother to see us, raising her eyebrows. I remember Libby as an awkward teenager. Now she’s grown up and carrying a toddler on one hip. Her surprise is evident when she sees me.

“Cassian?”

“That’s right,” Mrs. Thurston says. “And before you embarrass yourself, no, Seth is not here.”

I chuckle and Allegra smiles. Libby used to have a very obvious crush on Seth.

“Gran, go inside. I’ll take care of them,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “How are you, Cassian? What are you doing out this way?”

“Thought I’d stop by on my way to Atlantic City.”

“Because we’re so on the way.”

“I missed your custard.”

“Let’s remedy that. Two?” she asks, glancing at Allegra.

“Yep.” She sets her little boy down on the counter and I check out his toy truck. He’s Gage’s age, maybe a little younger. “Who’s this?”

“This is Joey. Say hi Joey,” she says, handing the first custard to Allegra. “He’s shy.”

“It’s all right. I have a nephew your age and I think he might have that same truck.”

“Really?” Joey asks.

I nod, take my wallet out to pay when Libby brings the custard. “Your granddad?” I ask.

“He passed away a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.” A beat passes. “I’m glad to see your grandmother is still a force.”

“That she is.”

“How’s business?”

“Better in the summer, but we do all right.”

Wind howls and Joey shivers. She grabs him up. “Here, let me pay and you can get inside.”

“It’s on the house.”

“Here,” I say, handing her two hundred-dollar bills. She raises her eyebrows. “It’s nice for some things to stay the same,” I tell her.

“Well, thank you. We appreciate it. Say hi to your family, Cassian.”

I nod and turn back to Allegra who is eating her custard, shivering. I reach into the car to get her coat and slip it over her shoulders.

“You’re right. This is really good custard. Thanks.”

“Let me show you something.” I lead her around the tall, blowing grass to a rickety stair we climb up that leads to a plank down to the deserted beach. The wind is freezing, and I keep her close.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asks.

“I’m fine. Look.” We walk a little farther and she gasps. I look at her, watching her eyes as she takes it in for the first time, this wild, gray-green water, the crashing waves.

“Oh, my God. It’s amazing.”

It is. She looks up at me, the tip of her nose and her cheeks pink from cold. A gust of wind blows, and she turns her face into my chest, shivering. “Come on. We’ll finish these in the car.”

We hurry back to the car. I open the driver’s side door and stand aside.

She looks at it, then up at me, eyebrows high. “I can drive?”

I nod.

“It’s not a trick?”

“What trick would it be?” She shrugs a shoulder. “Just until the highway. And don’t hit anything.”

She gives me a look, but hurries to get in before I change my mind, I guess. I close the door, walk around to the passenger seat and open the door. One of the SUVs pulls up and Enzo climbs out raising his eyebrows.

“Quite the detour.”

“Keeping you all on your toes. She’ll take us to the end of the road. Give her some space, will you? I’m not sure about her driving skills.”

He chuckles. “Noted.” I get in the car.

“You’re not sure about my driving skills?” she asks, eyebrows raised. “Well, you’re not changing your mind.” She finishes the last of her custard and rubs her hands together, eager to adjust the seat and rear-view mirror. I finish my custard. She turns the key in the ignition. “Where’s drive?” she asks.

“Shit. Please tell me you’re fucking kidding.”

She grins an evil little grin and shifts the car into first gear. “Hold on!” she says, and presses her foot to the accelerator, making me grab hold of the dashboard as the car leaps forward and she laughs wildly.

“Jesus Christ!” I reach over to adjust the steering wheel as she speeds down the road, shifting gears, the ride bumpy as hell. But I find I don’t care. I find myself enjoying watching her laugh.

“Is it this model that used to stick between third and fourth?” she asks, fully focused on driving, not taking her eyes off the road as she shifts gears a little clumsily for my liking, but it could be the car. “Yep.” She answers her own question.

“Slow down a little, this turn is tight,” I say, again reaching over to adjust the steering wheel.

“Relax, will you? I got this.”

“There’s little room for error.”

“Are you going to hold on for dear life the whole way?” she asks with a glance at me.

“I don’t want whiplash. Who taught you how to drive?”

“My dad.”

“Did he let you go this fast?”

“Oh, I only ever drove on our property with him. He’d never let me on the highway. Or a real road even.” She grins.

“You told me you knew how to drive.”

“Well, I don’t have a driver’s license or anything.”

“You don’t have a license? You lied to me?”

“Not really. I mean, would you have let me drive if I’d told you the whole truth?”

“No, probably not.”

“But look at you now. You’re having fun.”

“What I’m having is a heart attack.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s fine. I just haven’t had much real practice, but I know the basics.”

“Ease off the gears a little. It should slide into the slot not be rammed in. Like this.” I cover her hand with mine and instinct has her gasping, trying to pull away, but I don’t let her and a moment later, she stops trying. “Push the clutch in,” I say, and she does, and I ease the car into a lower gear for the turn. “Good girl. Again, clutch.” I shift up as she speeds up.

We drive like this for a while and when we get to the highway, I give her a nod to continue. She smiles happily and weirdly, that smile makes me happy. I keep my hand over hers even when shifting isn’t required. I’m just beginning to relax into this, into her not pulling away from me, into her not fighting me, when my phone rings. It’s Vivi’s ringtone or I might not answer.

She glances at me. “I’m fine. Go ahead.”

“Stay in the right lane.”

She sighs. “Boring.”

“Right lane,” I repeat.

“Fine.”

I dig my phone out of my pocket and answer. “Vivi, everything all right?”

I see Allegra glance my way.

“Everything is fine. Just wanted to let you know we’re on the plane. Angelo wanted to make sure you knew.”

“Thank you.”

“I gave Angelo a list of what we’ll need. How long do we have to stay away?”

“Not sure. Until I figure out who sent that package,” I say with a glance at Allegra. “Just relax and try to enjoy yourself.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I know. Give me a few days. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.” I am careful with my words because Allegra may pretend she’s focused on the road, but she’s listening to every word.

“We’re going to take off in a few minutes. Let me get Gage settled.”

“All right. Let me know once you land.”

“I will.”

“It’s just to keep you all safe. You know that.”

She sighs. “I know, Cassian.”

We disconnect and I tuck the phone into my pocket. Allegra looks at me, eyebrows raised.

“Take the next exit. We’re just about there,” I say, the mood in the car shifted now.

She nods and exits the highway. One of the SUV’s pulls around us to drive ahead of us into the lot.

“Follow him,” I tell her, and she does, nodding. We pull into the parking lot and follow the SUV to my spot. “There.” I point.

She slides the car into the spot, kills the ignition and turns to me. “See, I didn’t hit anything. That was fun actually.”

I rub my neck. “What? You didn’t expect to have fun with me?”

“Not really, no.”

I reach into the glove compartment to retrieve my Glock, slipping it into its holster before opening the door. My phone pings with a message. I pull it out of my pocket.

“Is it Vivi?” she asks.

I glance at her, noting her tone. She’s trying to be casual, but she’s not. “No, actually.” It’s Angelo telling me where he is. I type out a text to let him know we just arrived. “Let’s go in.” I climb out, close my door and by the time I walk around to open hers, she’s distant again.

“If they’re here because you think I’m going to make a run for it, I’m not.” She gestures to the soldiers climbing out of their SUVs.

“You wouldn’t run the first chance you got?”

“What would you do if I did?”

“I’d come for you,” I say, not needing to think about it. Not for a second. But I’m not sure she or I understand my reasons behind that. “But they’re here for protection. That’s all. Just as your family would have protection when out in public.”

I take the keys from her and pop the trunk. Before I can slip on my jacket and grab her bag, she does, hoisting it over her shoulder.

“Who’s Vivi?” she blurts.

I study her for a beat. Her attempt at casual has the exact opposite effect. “My sister-in-law.”

“The one who keeps her clothes in your closet.” She doesn’t quite look at me when she says it.

“I’ve already told you, it’s not like that.”

“I don’t care if it is, Cassian. I just want to be sure I’m protecting myself.” She takes two steps then stops. “From STDs I mean,” she adds hurriedly.

“Ah. Okay. Well, in that case, you’re safe.”

My phone pings with a message. “You should get that. It might be Vivi.” She starts to walk away again, but I capture her arm and stop her.

“Are you jealous, Little Moth?”

She tries to tug free, but I don’t release her. “Of course not.”

I study her, see the flush creep up her neck. She pulls at her arm again and this time, I tug her to me, wrap one arm around her back to grip her braids. Tugging her head backward, I lean close to inhale her scent, that subtle one of me, of my bodywash on her.

“I like my smell on you,” I tell her. She shudders. “Just to be clear, Vivi has never nor will she ever sleep in my bed. She’s like a sister to me.”

Allegra stares up at me. She’s searching my eyes, and I get the feeling there’s more.

“I heard what Jet said,” she says.

“Refresh my memory.” I say tightly, really not wanting to think about any of what Jet said because it makes me want to kill him all over again.

“That you’ve shared before,” she says. That’s not what I expected.

“My, what big ears you have, Little Moth.”

She shrugs her shoulders.

I grit my jaw. I remember well the moment. The rage I felt. The fury that I might share her. That he might touch her. That I’d allow it.

My eyes narrow as my blood begins to boil at the memory of him looking at her, laying his hands on her.

I glance around, draw a deep breath in. “Allegra.” I bring my mouth to her ear. “You belong to me.” I lick the shell of it and she shudders. “You have belonged to me ever since the moment you walked into your father’s study with those ridiculous wings on your back. You’re the only woman I’ve thought about since that night. You’re wild and violent and angry and you are mine. Only mine, my Little Moth. And once we’re upstairs, I’m going to show you exactly what it means to belong to me.”

19

ALLEGRA

There is an energy, a crackling electricity when Cassian pulls away, narrowed eyes burning into me. He releases me and I stand there stupidly watching, my heart pounding against my chest, my breaths short as if I ran a marathon.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, I guess to read that message that just came in.

Enzo clears his throat.

Cassian tucks the phone back into his pocket and shifts his gaze back to me. His eyes are still burning. On fire. “Tell your father I’ll be up once I clarify something for Allegra,” he says. He takes his jacket out of the trunk and slips his arms into it, concealing the Glock.

Paper wings flutter in my belly. Sweat breaks out under my arms, across my hairline. I look away, unable to hold his gaze. I shake my head, needing to clear it, unsure why I said what I said. Why I brought it up. Of course, I knew what Jet meant. I may be inexperienced, but I’m not an idiot. Although the second part about Cassian not fucking me, that I don’t understand.

But it doesn’t matter, not right now, not when I feel Cassian’s gaze burning into me. I need to remember that Cassian is not only older than me, but also more experienced than me. He’s probably had a hundred women in his bed. A thousand. I’ve had zero men. I’ve never felt what I’m feeling with him, but maybe it would be like this with any man. When Jet looked at me, what did I feel? No, I don’t want to think about that. I won’t think about whatever that was. All I know is that it was different than what I feel when Cassian looks at me. When he touches me. What I felt when Jet looked at me was angrier. Was, well, I’m not sure what it was, but Jet doesn’t have my belly fluttering.

“Moth,” Cassian says.

When I look up, he’s still watching me. I remind myself he cannot read my mind. He’s not superhuman. He’s a man. And now is not the time to unpack whatever that was.

He sets his hand at my lower back, and I shudder.

I clear my throat. “You can go meet whoever you want. You don’t need to, um, clarify anything.”

“Oh, but I do.”

We walk into the lobby of the casino. Atlantic City has several casinos along its boardwalk, but Blackstone’s stands out. I know it the instant I step into the elegant lobby from its huge blown glass chandelier in every color of the rainbow, to the rich polished wood of the front desk to the elegantly uniformed staff. Elevators stand ready to whisk us upstairs to the casino and exclusive boutiques and restaurants line the hallways leading off on either side of the lobby.

One of his men is standing at the elevator. The doors open and a well-dressed woman exits. The soldier buttons his jacket and blocks the doors from closing as we step inside. He positions himself so as not to allow the couple who is also clearly waiting for an elevator to enter. Once the three of us are inside, the soldier slips a card into a slot and the button for the penthouse lights up. Does he feel the tension between Cassian and I? Because electricity is crackling, ready to spark a fire.

I watch the ocean as the glass-walled elevator carries us up. Once the doors slide open, he waits for us to exit then follows us. There are two sets of double doors at either end of the hall. Two penthouses, I guess. Soldiers stand at both.

Cassian leads me to what I assume is his. He punches a code into the keypad and, after a short beep, a green light blinks and he opens the door. He gestures for me to enter. I do and I’m immediately wowed. I stand just inside the door taking it all in. This apartment is as modern as the church is gothic. It has floor to ceiling windows along one wall with a balcony that spans the length of the room overlooking the water. Every polished surface shines, from the beautiful wide-planked, white-washed hardwood floors to the glass table tops, to the gold-veined white marble waterfall counter with its six stools and bowl of perfect green apples on top. In fact, they’re so polished that I’m not sure they’re real until Cassian picks one up, takes a bite and chews while watching me take it all in.

I slip my bag off my shoulder and walk to the wall of windows that overlook the ocean far below.

Cassian is beside me a moment later. I hear the crunch of another bite of apple and glance his way to find him watching me while he chews, a smile on his too-beautiful lips. He holds the apple out for me to take a bite. I bite into the crunchy, juicy fruit. We watch each other while I chew and he wipes juice from the corner of my mouth before taking one more giant bite and tossing the core into the trashcan. He returns to me and when he sets his hands on my hips, there goes my heart again, beating wildly.

“Good apple?” he asks.

I nod.

One corner of his mouth curves up wickedly. “Now that I’ve fed you, Little Moth, let me be sure you understand me.”

“I understand you just fine.” My heart races anticipation.

“No. I mean in here,” he says, pressing the flat of his hand to my chest. “Not just here.” He taps two fingers against my skull. “When I’m finished with you, you’ll know in your soul that you belong to me. Only me.”

Before I can even think, he lifts me in his arms, making me gasp as he carries me effortlessly into a bedroom. He kicks the door closed behind him and sets me down at the foot of the bed which is centered against the wall that faces the floor-to-ceiling windows with the same view as those in the living room.

“Cassian—”

“Quiet,” he says, bending his head to kiss me before pulling my top off and tossing it aside.

When I open my mouth to say something, I’m not sure what, he kisses me again, not giving me a chance to speak or even think. There’s something wild in that kiss as he pushes me to sit on the edge of the bed and crouches to undo my combat boots and slips them off my feet. My socks are next before he stands, pulling me up with him. He’s so much taller than me, especially now that I’m barefoot. He kisses me again, then pulls back to look down at me as he undoes my jeans and peels them off.

I find my arms have moved to his shoulders and when he kisses me, I’m kissing him back while his words circle my mind.

“You have belonged to me ever since the moment you walked into your father’s study with those ridiculous wings on your back. You’re the only woman I’ve thought about since that night. You’re wild and violent and angry and you are mine. Only mine, my Little Moth and once we’re upstairs, I’m going to show you exactly what it means to belong to me.”

Surely, he didn’t mean them like my brain wants me to think of them. Surely not.

He undoes the top buttons of his shirt before tugging it over his head so he’s standing bare-chested before me, all inked olive skin stretched tight over powerful arms, chest and shoulders and when he kisses me again, he cups the back of my head with one big hand as with the other he unhooks my bra, and I feel the straps slip off my arms. He draws back to look at me with those eyes that shine a deep blue sea around black pupils.

My panties are last to go. Cassian never looks away from me as he slides them off then pushes me to sit on the edge of the bed. He steps between my legs, nudging them apart before setting his hands on my knees and opening them. Only then does he shift his gaze, sliding it over my naked body to my core, to the very center of me.

“He will never look at you again.” He bends his head to kiss me, eyes open, teeth biting before moving down to my neck, my chest, between my legs.

I gasp when he closes his mouth over me, licking hungrily, the flat of his tongue tasting me fully before he straightens.

“He will never touch you, Allegra. Never.” He bends his head again, eating me whole as I arch my back to push myself against him, against his face, his mouth, his lips, his tongue, his teeth, my fingers curling in his hair to pull him closer, ever closer.

I want this, want his mouth on me. Want him inside of me. I want to come on his tongue. I want to come with his cock inside me. I want to feel him come inside me.

“Cassian,” I gasp when he pushes two fingers into my pussy.

“You. Belong. To. Me.” He says the words through mouthfuls of me. I’m panting and I’m close, so close. “Me, Moth. Only me. Say it.”

He fucks me with his fingers, licking, biting and when he takes my clit into his mouth and sucks, I come hard, moaning as I pull him to me, my legs clamping on either side of his head, needing him closer, closer, needing him inside me.

“Say it, Little Moth.”

“You. Fuck. Only you,” I pant as the wave of orgasm subsides and Cassian straightens, face and mouth wet, glistening with me, eyes black as he takes himself out and I open for him, wanting him inside me, needing it.

“Fuck,” he groans, looking down at the invitation.

He fists his cock and begins to pump, sliding the tip over my clit, dipping inside me shallowly. I can see the effort it’s taking him not to push into me. I see his frustration.

“Fuck!” he pushes one knee wide and sets his on the bed, leaning over me as he thrusts into his hand. I watch, awed, my fingers on my clit to see this man, my villain, all rage and violence and frustration as he jerks himself off. I don’t know why he won’t take what I’m offering. What I want even as I hate him or should hate him or fuck! I don’t know what I feel for him and as my fingers work faster and his thrusts grow harder. I can’t think. I can’t.

With a guttural, animal sound, Cassian comes and he’s beautiful, so beautiful that I can’t drag my gaze away. Warm come spills across my chest, my belly, and this is what calms him as he watches it, painting his come onto me, marking me as his.

When it’s over, when he’s spilled himself onto me, he straightens fully, draws his pants up, eyes glued to me. He looks at the mess he’s made all over me and I follow his gaze then meet it.

“Mine, only mine,” he says, eyebrows furrowed as he smears his come into my skin, rubbing it in. “I will never share you, Allegra. I have no intention of ever sharing you.” He leans close to kiss me. “I will kill him before I let him have any part of you,” he says darkly.

20

ALLEGRA

“Ineed to shower,” I protest.

“No.” He pulls my sweater over my head, then tugs me close. His eyes search mine and I wonder what he sees. “You’ll wear my come all day long. All night long.”

“That’s insane.”

“If you wash yourself, I will punish you. Am I clear?”

“Are you serious?”

“You need to know, and anyone who comes near you needs to know, that you belong to me.”

By anyone, I assume he means his stepbrother.

He walks into the living room and a moment later, returns, carrying my backpack.

“What are you doing?” I ask when he sets it on the bed and takes out my makeup bag. He unzips it and pulls out my birth control.

“How careful are you with these?” he asks, opening it, counting the empty slots and the ones with pills inside them.

I take them from him and shrug a shoulder. “I’ve never had to be careful. It’s not like I was having sex. It was to manage pain.”

“So not very,” he says. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll get you the shot. That’ll be more reliable.” He picks up his discarded shirt and pulls it on.

“You don’t get to decide that. And besides, you don’t fuck me anyway. Not…” I trail off, feel myself going red.

“I won’t risk pregnancy.”

He tucks his shirt into his pants and when he slips his hand into the pocket, his forehead furrows.

“I need to take care of some business. Two of my men will take you to the shops.”

“Soldiers? You’re not coming?” I ask, suddenly worried that he won’t be there which is ridiculous. Cassian is my enemy. I keep forgetting that. Why do I keep forgetting?

“Don’t tell me you’ll miss me, Little Moth.”

“No. I just don’t know them.”

He studies me. “Don’t worry, you’ll be safe.”

“It’s not that,” I start, heat flushing through me, my underarms suddenly damp. “I’m not scared,” I say, but it’s not wholly truth. After the kidnapping, the murder of my mother, my father rarely gave me permission to go out, which was fine by me. I’d have anxiety just thinking about being out there where someone could take me. At home, I was safe. Or at least I wouldn’t be hurt anymore. It’s embarrassing and weak, but I have these moments of panic. I have had them for five years now. I can usually manage them, but this is a surprise. I don’t like crowds. I don’t like to be anywhere where someone might get to me.

He steps closer, taking my hand. He sets his finger over the stub of mine. With his free hand he tilts my chin so I’m looking up at him. I search his eyes, unsure what I’m looking for, feeling things I don’t understand.

“No one is going to hurt you, Allegra. You’re under my protection now.”

He can’t really promise that and I think we both know it.

“You need to buy a dress. I’ll let Elenora know.”

“Elenora?”

“The boutique owner. She’ll close the shop while you’re there. The dinner is formal. Buy something expensive. Red, I think. And whatever else you want.” He waves his hand around like it’s nothing. I never thought about money when I was growing up, but since dad’s death, it’s definitely a thing. “You can have your hair and makeup done too. Whatever you want.”

“What’s wrong with my hair and makeup?”

“Nothing. Just if you wanted to. They’ll put it all on my account. You can go exactly as you are. You know you’re beautiful.”

I raise my eyebrows. Was that a compliment? “I’d like to go to the beach. I haven’t been in a while.”

“I’ll take you later. We don’t have time today. Be ready by seven,” he says. We hear the doorbell ring through the closed door. “Okay?” he asks me, releasing me to pull on his holster and jacket.

I shrug a shoulder as if it’s nothing. “Go.” I walk over to the side table where a menu sits beside the phone. “I’ll get lunch.”

“That’s a good idea.”

I open the menu, but don’t read it, instead, I wait until he’s gone. He leaves the bedroom door open, and I can see him giving instructions to two soldiers. Enzo is standing by the door, ever present.

When Cassian glances back at me, he catches me watching so I clear my throat, pick up the receiver and push the button for room service. I place an order for pancakes. Breakfast for lunch is good. He’s gone by the time I hang up the phone, only the two soldiers left with me now, so I close the bedroom door and plop down on the bed, undoing my braids. From inside my backpack, I take out a wide-tooth comb and watch my reflection in the mirror on the wall across the room. The braids leave my hair in thick waves. I look at my face and there’s a part of me that wonders what he sees in me. Why he wants me.

Why I want him to want me.

You’re the only woman I’ve thought about since that night.

“Don’t be stupid,” I tell myself, dropping my comb back into the backpack and taking the makeup bag into the bathroom to wash my face and put on a little makeup while I wait for room service.

I think about what he said. About wanting people to know I’m his. To smell him on me. You can’t smell that can you? I sniff at myself, but feel stupid to do it. Of course you can’t smell it.

By the time I’ve applied minimal makeup, my food is delivered. I ask them to pull the cart into the bedroom because it feels weird to eat while two soldiers stand watching. I eat the pancakes mostly to kill time and when I can’t put it off any longer, I go into the living room.

“Are you ready?” one of the soldiers asks.

I nod and they open the door. One goes ahead to call the elevator and I watch the nearly empty beach as we descend.

Once down where the shops and restaurants are, things are lively, but not overwhelming. The interiors of the shops are brightly lit, and people are having fun and when I spot a toy store that makes me feel like Alice in Wonderland, I decide to pick something up for Daniel. Cassian did say whatever I wanted so why not?

The woman behind the counter greets me, noting the two men standing at the entrance. I ask about the train set in the window. It’s nice, very nice, and when I tell her I’ll take it and to put it on Cassian’s account, she almost salivates. She hurries to pack it up and I understand why when I get a peek at the price tag.

“I’ll have it sent up to Mr. Trevino’s room,” she says.

“Thank you.”

Daniel will love it. Now, I’ll need something for Amal, which is easy because the shop right next door is a cosmetics shop. I smile, knowing exactly what Amal will like, and I pick up a basket. The soldiers stand uneasily at the door as I weave around the aisles and grab pallets of eye shadow and too many eyeliners and lipsticks to count. Amal loves makeup so why not?

I don’t even blink when they ring up my purchases and I ask them to send them up to Mr. Trevino’s room as well.

My last stop is the boutique to buy a dress. Elenora’s is a few shops down and I know she’s expecting me when she opens the door before I even have a chance to.

“Ms. Moretti, welcome!” she says, her Italian accent heavy. She barely looks at the soldiers. “I’ve arranged everything.”

“Thank you,” I say as she locks the door behind me.

“You two can wait here,” she tells the soldiers, pointing to a sofa. She says it with such authority, they only glance at each other and sit as she leads me through a curtain to a back area. “I’ve already chosen several dresses. I know what Cassian likes,” she says and signals for me to follow her.

I notice how she uses his first name, not Mr. Trevino like the others, and look at her with a new interest. She’s in her early thirties, I’d guess. A few years older than Cassian, but not much. And she’s very attractive. Very sophisticated. Very European. I don’t want to be intimidated, but I admit, I am.

I clear my throat, wishing I’d applied more makeup and wasn’t wearing combat boots while she’s in her Versace pumps.

“He was right about the size,” she says, appraising me as we walk through the burgundy velvet curtains that fall heavily closed behind me. This part of the shop contains a comfortable sofa before a slightly raised platform where a three-way mirror stands. On either side of the mirror are curtained off dressing rooms. I notice the tray of various bottles of liquor, too many brands of whiskey to count.

“I hope you like the selection. He mentioned red…” she trails off as she pulls a rack forward.

“They’re beautiful,” I say, meaning it as she holds one dress then another up. “A little showy for me, though. Do you have something black?”

“Cassian said red.”

“Cassian’s not the one who has to wear it,” I say with a smile. “Black please.”

“Why don’t you start with these,” she says, clearly disappointed. “But I’ll see what I can find. Right in here.” She carries the first of the dresses into one of the dressing rooms and I follow her, noticing the shoes already lined up to go with the dresses. I guess she’s seeing a big payday.

“Sure,” I say. “Maybe not so plunging a neckline for the black dress.”

“Of course.” She draws the curtain closed and I stand before the mirror inside the room that’s about the size of Daniel’s bedroom. I drop down onto the chair to untie my laces wondering what I’m doing, what we’re doing, playing dress-up. Because what is this? My brother owes Cassian money. A lot of money. I’m collateral. And my time is just about up. So why am I here trying on dresses like this is some movie where he’s the hero and I’m the heroine? Like we’ll fall in love and live happily ever after.

“Do you need help?” Elenora says peeking in.

I shake my head. “I’m fine,” I tell her. I just have to get through this. Pick a dress. I don’t care which. Then I can go back upstairs and think. Try to work through this confusion.

I put on the first dress which is lovely, a deep red silk that feels so soft against my skin it’s like I’m not wearing anything at all. It’s elegantly cut, and I hate that I find myself thinking he’s right. The red does look good against my skin and hair.

“Oh, now, that’s beautiful,” Elenora says, startling me. She draws the curtain fully open and gestures for me to step out in front of the three-way mirror.

“Did you find something black?” I ask her, a little irritated by her pushiness.

She smiles, but I see her annoyance. She points to a simple black sheath. “Great,” I say, taking it into the dressing room and not letting myself try on the choker she tries to show me. Instead, I slip back behind the curtain and strip off the beautiful dress to put on the simpler one. At least she’s quiet, I think, as I reach back to zip it up, but the zipper gets stuck almost right away.

“Elenora?” I call out as I slip out from behind the curtain.

I stop dead the instant I do. Because it’s not Elenora who is looking back at me.

It’s Jet Blackstone.

I gasp, my heart racing.

He smiles, sips his whiskey. He’s seated at the center of the couch, one ankle resting on top of the opposite knee, casual as can be. He’s wearing black on black. Jet black. Jet Blackstone. And he looks like the perfect villain. A lot like Cassian does.

He uncrosses his legs and sits there like that, legs spread, just looking at me. When he finally sets the whiskey down, I draw in a breath. He stands, putting a finger to his lips to signal for me to be quiet.

I remain as I am, dumbfounded, and watch him climb up to where I’m standing. I instinctively take a step backward. He’s big, as big as Cassian. And even if he did rescue me out of that crypt, there is something about him that makes me uneasy. That scares me. Because he is dangerous. I know that. Perhaps not quite foe, he is something other than friend.

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

He shrugs a shoulder, steps a little closer than is normal or correct. His eyes move from my face down to the exposed skin of my chest before he stretches his arms to either side of me. I take hold of his biceps to stop him, thinking he’s going to hug me or something.

“What are you doing?” I ask. “Where’s Elenora?”

He chuckles, as unmovable as Cassian, and a moment later, I feel his fingertips on the skin of my back before I hear the zipper as he slides it up, cinching the dress around me.

“Elenora had to step out.”

A moment later, he steps backward and looks at me, taking my shoulders and turning me to look at the mirror.

“I prefer the red,” he says. He’s right. This is a beautiful dress, but the red was special.

I look up at him over my shoulder. He’s standing right behind me close enough that I feel the heat of his body and when I look in his eyes, I remember how he looked at me. How he put his hands on my knees and looked at me.

I turn away, feeling my face burn. But I can’t do that. I can’t cower. I promised myself that a long time ago.

Taking two steps away, I turn to face him fully. “How long have you been here?”

“Not long.”

Forest green, I realize. His eyes are forest green. Not black. I recall the scars on his body. So many of them.

“Two soldiers are right in there,” I say, pointing.

He grins. “Are they?”

“Cassian will kill you if he finds you here,” I continue.

“Probably, yes. If he finds me. Do you want me to go?”

Do I? Maybe. Why wouldn’t I want him to go? “What are you doing here?”

“Well, this is my family’s casino. The dinner tonight, you and Cassian will be our guests.”

Now I’m confused. But that’s not what I meant. I meant what is he doing here in this dressing room, which is supposed to be guarded, the shop locked.

Anxiety wrings out my insides. I may have Cassian’s protection, but Cassian isn’t here.

“Surprised he’s coming, actually,” Jet continues. “But back to my question. Do you want me to go?”

I think about how he rescued me out of that crypt, putting me to bed. His bed. I’m not sure he did it to save me, though. I think he did it to piss off Cassian. I recall how he and Cassian fought. How he looked at me, his hands on my knees, fingers digging into flesh.

My face feels like it’s on fire and from the smirk on his face, it must be bright red.

He takes a step toward me, and I take one back right into the mirror. Jet reaches out a hand and brushes a lock of hair behind my ear then leans his face closer to mine. My heart races. I realize what he’s doing and feel my face go even redder when he straightens, eyes darker.

I don’t need him to say it to know what he smells.

Sex.

Cassian.

Cassian on me. Cassian all over me. It’s exactly what Cassian wanted. Did he know Jet would approach me? Why didn’t he send Enzo down with me? Because surely the soldiers out there can hear us. Surely Elenora can. Where is Elenora?

“I smell him all over you,” he says.

“Why are you here?” I ask, my throat dry, my voice hollow.

Jet’s eyes narrow as my heart races. He steps backward, reaches into his pocket and takes something out.

“I came as a favor to my new friend, actually.”

I’m not sure what he’s talking about, but he opens his hand and inside I see my phone. For a minute I don’t believe what it is. I think maybe I’m mistaken, but he touches the screen, and the wallpaper of Amal, Daniel and I confirms it’s mine.

“Where did you get that?” I ask, reaching to snatch it from him.

He pulls it out of reach. “Someone gave it to me. Actually, she asked me to give it to you.”

“Amal?” I ask, knowing there can only be one person, but how?

“Right on the first try.”

“What game are you playing?” I ask, hearing his words because my brain is slow to process. I came as a favor to my new friend.

“No game. She’s a tough one, Amal.”

I spring, fisting handfuls of his shirt, furious. He laughs. He just laughs, grabbing hold of my arms as if I could hurt him. As if I could ever actually hurt him.

“What the hell did you do to her? What the⁠—”

“Whoa, whoa. Relax. I didn’t do a thing. She came to me.”

“No way. I don’t believe you.”

“Well, it’s true.” He shrugs his shoulders, and I drop my arms, step back.

“What do you mean she came to you?”

“I mean she showed up at the club.”

“Amal showed up at your club?”

“She’s resourceful,” he says with a grin I don’t understand. “She cut class and took an Uber.”

“An Uber?” I know I sound like a parrot.

“Wildcard, that one. She said you didn’t take the phone with you because you knew Cassian would search you and likely take it.”

I reach out and take my phone from him. This time, he lets me.

“Oh.” He reaches into his pocket once more for the charger. I take that too.

“She’s not your friend,” I tell him.

He just shrugs a shoulder.

“Why did she bring it to you of all people? And why would you give it to me and not Cassian?”

“Do you prefer I did that? I can, of course.” He reaches as if he’ll take the phone back.

“No! I just don’t understand.”

“I thought you and I were friends, Allegra.”

“I think you’re playing a game, Jet.”

“You’re not very trusting, are you? Well, no matter.” Again, he shrugs. “Nothing to understand,” he picks up on my comment. “Amal came to the club. She asked for Severin or me and she’s lucky I heard who she was before my brother did. He’d have tossed the phone out with the trash.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “I’m curious how things will play out, I suppose. Also, she’s cute. Young but⁠—”

“She’s seventeen! You stay away from her.” I find I’m leaning into his face, his shirt bunched in one fist. “She’s not a part of this.”

“Well, with Malek Lombardi for a father, I’m pretty sure she’s in it up to her eyeballs,” he says with a casual chuckle as he peels my fingers off. “I took the liberty of adding my number to your contacts list.”

I unlock my phone and sure enough, there’s Jet’s contact. Amal knew my password to unlock it, so I guess she did that for him. I look up at him. “Is this some sort of trick? A test or something?”

“You are very suspicious. Can’t someone just do something nice for you? Haven’t I done that for you twice now?”

I study him, try to read him, but it’s impossible. “You and Cassian, are you his friend or his enemy?”

“That’s exactly the question I keep asking myself. What about you?”

That makes me pause because what about me?

As if on cue, the curtain opens just a little, just enough for one of Cassian’s soldiers to peek his head in and give Jet some sort of signal. Jet nods and the curtain drops. So, are they double crossing Cassian? Or did Cassian set this up to test me? No. Why would he? To test my loyalty? It could be, but I don’t think he’d do that.

“I mean, why try to be a friend to someone who doesn’t want your friendship, am I right?” he asks me. “Take care, Allegra. Cassian is dangerous and his…” he clears his throat. “Claim on you puts you in danger. You don’t want to be in the middle of this. Bad things can happen.” Am I imagining it or does he glance at my hand with its missing finger when he says that.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Save me a dance, will you? If Cassian lets you out of his sight, that is.” He walks toward another curtained wall, so many curtains in this place, and slips through, but pauses, turns back to me. “The red one,” he says with a tilt of his head toward the dress.

21

CASSIAN

“You sure you don’t want me to look after the girl?” Enzo asks just before I enter the dining room where Angelo is seated in a corner table.

“I’d like you with me, Enzo.”

“Got it,” he says, expression as neutral as ever. He glances at his father, who stands, smiling. Enzo nods his greeting, but surprises me when he remains standing at the door rather than walking over to say hello. Their relationship has always been fraught, though, even when we were younger. Enzo was a quiet boy and he is now a quiet man. I wonder if it has to do with his parents separation and the fact that my uncle took full custody of him. I don’t know the particulars, but for my part, I don’t even remember my aunt’s face.

“Cassian,” Uncle Angelo says after clearing his throat.

I cross the room to shake hands with him. “What’s up with you two?” I ask quietly.

We sit. Angelo shrugs his shoulders and gives a little shake of his head. “Just a little disagreement. You know how it is with fathers and sons.”

I nod because I do.

I’ve known my uncle all my life. He is my father’s brother and was his trusted consigliere. When dad started to get sick and Seth declined so quickly, in many ways, Angelo took up the spaces they left behind. But even before that, Angelo’s always been more to me than an uncle. My own relationship with my father was always fraught. My mother died in childbirth, a complication the doctors didn’t see coming. I don’t have a single memory of her. Although never outright, my father always blamed me for her death. I was never excluded from the family, and to the outside world, I was equal to Seth, except that I was not first born. To anyone looking in, they simply see the favorite. Parents are human too, after all. But I knew it went deeper than that. Seth was the best big brother anyone could have. He understood what was happening at a young age and between him and my uncle, I was loved and cared for. But it didn’t quite make up for missing my father’s love. For knowing every time he looked at me he saw our mother, the woman he loved. The woman whose life ended the day mine began.

“Something to drink?” Angelo asks.

I see the carafe of coffee and pick it up to pour myself some. “Coffee’s good. Tell me what you’ve found.”

He opens a folder, turns it so I can read it. “The weapon was registered to Blackstone’s and, unsurprisingly, Severin Blackstone reported it stolen just this morning.”

“Hm.” I read as I listen.

“We have to think this through, Cassian. What reason would Severin have for sending a loaded weapon to a child? What message was he hoping to get across?”

“Who the hell knows with him? If it was him. I suppose it could have been Jet or even Sybil. But I don’t buy that it was stolen.”

“No, too convenient.”

“Given dad’s decline, I know they would be happy to be rid of me. Rid of the Trevino name. Our continued partnership might benefit me more than it does them at this point.” Blackstone’s launders money for me. It goes through the casino and although that money was once their lifeline, it no longer is. With Severin at the helm and Sybil no longer controlling the company, they’ve done well.

“There’s more,” Angelo continues. “Their lawyer has also reached out with a renewed interest in buying back this property and the land the club sits on in Devil’s Peak.”

“Oh?”

My father and I own the buildings and properties. My father bought them from Sybil and rented the space out to her for pennies when selling was her only option. The pennies for rent was a separate understanding between them followed shortly after by their marriage.

“They must be flush with cash,” I comment, sipping my too-weak coffee.

“Suppose so.”

“Well, I’ll talk to Severin tonight. Understand what he’s been up to. But as of now, I have no intention of selling back to them. If anything, I’ll be increasing their rent.”

Angelo nods, glances in the direction of Enzo who I can see is standing like the soldier he is. He’s too far to hear what we’re saying.

I follow his gaze. “Do you want me to talk to him, Uncle?”

“No, no. He’ll come around. Just sometimes I don’t understand what cause I’ve given him to be so untrusting of me.”

“If I can help…”

“I don’t think you can, but I appreciate you asking, Cassian.” He studies me, smiles. “I always hoped you two would be like brothers.”

“Enzo and I are fine.”

“Good.”

“I want to run something else by you.” He raises his eyebrows. “Moretti territory, we’ve had a truce in place for years, but what if I’m interested in expanding?”

“Expanding?”

I shrug a shoulder. “Why not. Michael is weak. Lombardi will move in as soon as he’s able. You and I both know that. Given the seizure of the cargo and Michael’s clear inability to pay what he owes, well, it just seems like a good time to grow the business,” I say, considering my words. “And send a very clear message to anyone else who might consider moving against us.” I clear my throat. “Allegra Moretti is in my keeping.” My heart beats faster at the mention of her. Do I sound casual? Like having Allegra is an incidental. A means to an end. She is more than that. That’s something I’ll need to unpack another time, but for now, she needs to be seen as nothing other than collateral.

Angelo studies me, tilts his head, one corner of his mouth curving upward. “Allegra Moretti. The contract binding her to Governor Moore is no longer in play then.”

“Correct.” My hand flexes at the thought of Allegra with another man. “I’m not worried about the governor and with the money Michael owes, it’s a solid inroad.”

He studies me. “If he were to pay you back, to buy back his sister, would you return her?”

I blink, my eyelids feeling like sandpaper suddenly. I haven’t allowed myself to think of this. “That’s an impossibility.”

“Which part?”

“He doesn’t have access to that kind of money. He’s not going to get it anytime soon. I’m well within my rights. I gave him his week. Why ask the question?”

“Humor me.”

I look straight back at Angelo. “I have no intention of returning her.”

He smiles. “Well, it’s decided then, isn’t it?” There’s a pause I don’t fill. “Are congratulations in order?”

I snort.

“Is she amenable?”

“Well, I haven’t proposed if that’s what you’re asking.” I sip my now lukewarm coffee just to have something else to do than look at him.

He chuckles. “Cassian, Cassian, Cassian. It’s me you’re talking to. I’ve known you since you were in diapers, remember. I know you. You want her.”

“I have her.”

“But you want her.”

I clench my teeth, nodding once. Angelo does know me. Lucky for me, he is not an enemy because if he were, he’d see the path to attack.

“So you’ll marry Allegra Moretti. And then?”

“Michael will bend the knee and Lombardi is out. Michael I can control. Malek Lombardi is a different animal. He wants power. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t try to take it in this same way, except he’d get rid of the brother altogether.”

Because I have thought about this possibility. Michael, as inept as he is, is the only son of Alaric Moretti. His family will follow him. Malek Lombardi does not have their loyalty, at least he didn’t before Alaric’s death. Now, given Michael’s ineptitude, he has gained some supporters. I’ve seen that myself. But it’s not enough or he’d have made his move already. If he managed to get Michael out of the way, binding Allegra to him would seal the deal. A woman wouldn’t rule the family. That’s just not done. But this scenario? It could work. The more I think about it, the more sense it makes.

“It’s a solid idea,” Angelo says, interrupting my thoughts. “If you’re going to make a move, this is the time. They are at their weakest and, like you said, you have the girl. This union would offer them a less bloody way out of their current situation. But you’d better do it soon and quietly.”

I chuckle internally at the thought of Allegra going quietly to the altar or anywhere else for that matter. But it will be done. Sooner rather than later. “Arrange it. Before we leave Atlantic City,” I tell him.

He doesn’t even blink. Just nods. “See you at dinner, Cassian.”

22

ALLEGRA

Ilock myself in the bedroom as soon as I’m back upstairs and call Amal. On the fifth ring, I worry it will go to voicemail when she finally answers.

“Allegra?” she says breathlessly like she’s running.

“Thank God,” I say, relieved to hear her.

“It worked? He actually gave you the phone?”

“What were you thinking going to him?” I ask, angry at her for taking such a risk. “And how? Doesn’t your father have guards on you?”

“I’m not a big fish, like you. And it’s fine, Jet’s fine.”

“Jet’s not fine. He’s dangerous and I don’t want you to have any contact with him. Why are you out of breath anyway?”

“I ran up the stairs when I saw it was you. Listen. I need to tell you something.”

“Promise me first that you won’t have anything more to do with Jethro Blackstone.”

“Listen, Allegra, something’s going on. I’m not sure what, but there’s just a lot of activity here.”

“What activity?”

“Lots of people coming and going. Governor Moore for one. And my father met with the Blackstones.”

“What?”

“At least, he was at the club. I overheard his driver mention it to one of the other soldiers. I think Michael’s trying to get the money to get you back.”

“By borrowing it from the Blackstones?”

“I don’t know, I just heard snippets of conversation I’m trying to put together. I mean, that’s good news, right? You’ll come home.”

“At what cost? If he borrows money to buy me back, then what?” What happens next? Is marriage to Richard Moore or someone else back on the table? The family is weak. And what about Cassian? Do I want to be freed of him? I should want that. Of course I should.

Cassian’s soldiers allowed Jet’s visit to me. I don’t know if he paid them off, if this was a one-time thing or what, but what if it wasn’t? What if it’s part of a bigger plan. Jet was pissed off at Cassian. He’s declared as much. Would he betray him? Cassian is dangerous. I know that. But is Jet more so? And what about Cassian’s family? What did Jet say? That I could be in danger because of Cassian’s claim on me? I make myself look down at my hand, the nub that remains of one finger. It’s ugly, so ugly. I can almost see that butcher knife still stained with my mother’s blood coming down right before my eyes. See my finger lying beside my hand, the blood, the moment of disbelief before I registered the pain.

Commotion in the outer room has me climbing up off the bed to cross to the door. I press my ear to it and recognize a woman’s voice. Elenora. It must be the dress.

“Amal, I have to go. I’m going to try to figure out what’s going on here, but please just stay away from Jet and his family. Stay away from all of it. It’s not safe.”

“My father isn’t going to let anything happen to me, Allegra. You’re the one who’s in danger. I’ll find out what more I can.”

Someone tries the door, but when they find it locked, they knock.

“I have to go. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

“Be careful, okay? And don’t switch off your phone. At least I can see where you are if you don’t switch it off.”

“I won’t. Just a second,” I call out. “Please you be careful too.”

I disconnect the call, silence the phone and shove it deep into my backpack before opening the bedroom door.

Elenora is standing inside holding a garment bag high in one hand and a tote in the other and two women follow dragging small cases on wheels. She comes toward me.

“There you are. Everything is ready. You didn’t try the shoes, so I brought several.” She pushes her way into the bedroom and honestly, I’m happy for the distraction, although I’m curious about her involvement as far as Jet’s visit.

“What’s all this?” I ask.

“They will prepare your hair and makeup,” she says, pointing to the two ladies who follow her in and close the door behind them. “The dress is exquisite. We need to make you exquisite.”

I glance at the clock. It’s a little after five. I guess they have two hours to work their magic. Two hours for me to try to unravel the webs each player is weaving.

23

CASSIAN

When I step off the elevator on my floor, I find Elenora followed by two women talking loudly as they leave the penthouse. When Elenora sees me, she smiles, comes to greet me with her usual kiss on each cheek.

“She is ready for you!” she announces. “And she is bellissima!” She kisses the tips of her fingers and gestures in the air before turning to the women and snapping at them to hurry up.

I watch, entertained, as they pile into the elevator a cloud of perfume in their wake.

A soldier sneezes and I pat him on the shoulder. “Any trouble?” I ask.

“All good,” he says. I walk into the penthouse. The main room is empty. Allegra must still be in the bedroom. I make my way in, glancing at my watch. It’s already seven o’clock. No time for a shower.

Allegra walks out of the bathroom just as I step into the bedroom and we both stop, she with a gasp, her hand moving to cover her heart because I’ve startled her.

Me, well, me in awe.

Because Elenora’s bellissima did not prepare me for this.

Allegra is pretty. I know that already. Her makeup the few times she’s worn it is understated, a little eyeliner, mascara, a swipe of lip gloss, although all I’ve seen her apply is Burt’s Bees so I’m not sure that counts. And I like her that way, without a doubt. I like her natural. But this? How she looks right now with her heavy, smokey eyeliner, the deep red lips, her hair piled high on her head in a messy Helena Bonham-Carter style and that choker around her neck, well, she’s something else. Something more than pretty that’s for sure.

“I was right,” I mumble.

She clears her throat and a blush I’m starting to like very much creeps up her chest over her neck to her face. She’s almost as red as the dress now.

“Right?” she asks, glancing at her backpack then back at me.

“Red is your color.” I make a twirling gesture with my finger.

“I asked for the black,” she says, humoring me with a spin. “But the zipper magically broke. Or so Elenora said.”

I chuckle. “That’s Elenora for you.” I walk toward her, notice her bare feet peeking out from beneath the floor length gown. Her toenails are polished red and when I take her hands in mine, I notice her fingernails are painted a pretty nude shade with a streak of red at the tips. I lift the hand with the missing finger to my mouth and kiss the back of it before kissing the place where her pinkie should be.

She looks surprised and pulls her hand free to cover it with the other.

“Don’t hide it from me,” I say, taking it back.

“It’s ugly.”

“Nothing about you could be ugly. Not a thing.”

She snorts.

“Think about it this way. Every time you look at it, remember that you survived. You’re here. You’re still standing.” She looks up at me with wide eyes like she’s never heard this before, and I guess she hasn’t. She’s looking at me like she needs to hear it and wants to believe it. “Turn what was weakness, what was fear, into strength, Allegra. Transform it into your power. Choose to change the way you see it and what you see will change.”

She studies me, her forehead furrowing, before she turns away I tilt her chin up.

“You’re beautiful, Allegra. Thank you for humoring me with the gown.” She bows her head, and when she looks up at me again, I get the feeling something is off. “Everything okay?”

She considers my question, then shakes her head. “Just not looking forward to tonight. I’m not great in crowds.”

“Is that why you’d snuck into your father’s study that first night?”

She nods.

“What happens when you’re in a crowd?”

“Nothing. I mean, you just don’t know who’s out there, I guess.”

“Well, I’m not planning on letting you out of my sight if that’s any comfort.”

“It shouldn’t be,” she says and I’m not sure she meant to say it to me at all.

I smile. “I’ll get dressed.”

She sits on the bed to slip on her shoes while I find my tux in the closet and change, making sure to slip that bullet into the pocket of my slacks. I return to the bedroom to find Allegra snapping a small clutch closed.

How will she react when I tell her what’s next? At this point, does she expect to go home? Does she want to? Even if she didn’t, what I’m going to require of her tonight she won’t be expecting. I decide to cross that bridge when we get to it. Besides, it’s not as though she’ll have a choice, even if she hates me for it. Ultimately, I stand by what I said. What was her home is not safe for her. It hasn’t been safe for her for a very long time. Her missing finger is proof of that.

I pick up the holster with my gun still inside it and slip my arms through before putting my jacket on.

“Do you always have a gun on you?” she asks. “Or are you afraid of something going on tonight?”

“I usually wear one.”’

“But are you expecting something tonight?”

I study her. “Is something on your mind?”

She hesitates, then shakes her head. “No.”

“You ready? We should head down.” She nods, but I can see she’s anxious, so I take her hand, turn her to me. “You sure there’s nothing on your mind?”

“I already told you I just don’t like crowds.”

“I’ll be by your side.”

Once in the living room, Enzo glances at Allegra and holds up a package for me. “This came from one of the shops downstairs for you, Cassian.”

I take it, open the envelope to find the small pouch that contains two rings inside. They’re just placeholders, simple bands.

“What is it?” Allegra asks over my shoulder.

I slip the pouch into my pocket and toss the envelope. “It’s nothing. Take the night off, Enzo. Get some rest. I’ll need you tomorrow bright and early.”

Enzo furrows his brow. “I’m fine⁠—”

“It’s all right.” I pat his back. “Go see your dad maybe.”

Enzo’s expression tightens and he steps backward. “I’ll see you in the morning then.”

“Goodnight,” I say and lead Allegra out to the waiting elevator. The two men who accompanied Allegra ride down with us.

“Why don’t we bring Enzo too?” she asks me.

I raise my eyebrows. “You want Enzo to come?”

She nods. “Just for extra protection.”

“We’ll be fine.” And I’m hoping he’ll talk to Angelo, work out whatever is going on between them.

She nods. “Do you own the casino?” she asks a few moments later.

“No. My father and I own the land and the building. The Blackstones rent from us.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“It’s complicated. Sybil Blackstone, Jet’s mother, my stepmother, inherited her fortune from her parents so everything used to belong to her. That includes the club in Devil’s Peak. But Sybil is not the businesswoman she likes to think herself and a few years ago, when she was out of options, she came to my father to ask for a loan.”

“And they fell in love?”

I snort. “That’s a laugh. No, not quite. They did not fall in love. My father may have been besotted, but there was no love on her part, I can tell you that. Unless you count love of money, I suppose.”

“You don’t like her.”

“I don’t trust her. I make no secret of it.”

The doors open and I gesture for Allegra to step out. This is the Blackstones’ annual charity dinner and as usual, it’s sold out. The crème of the crop attends this evening’s soiree, a bunch of rich assholes I don’t want to rub elbows with. I’m not sure how my father could stand it as long as he did honestly.

“Come, Allegra,” I say, leading her down the softly lit, elegant corridor toward the ballroom where chandeliers burn overhead, and the carpet is thick beneath our feet. Two long bars line two of the walls and it’s standing room only while waiters circulate with trays of champagne to serve my stepmother’s guests. “My father infused cash into the Blackstone businesses when they were in trouble. We own a share of the club, but the casino is solely Blackstone owned. It’s better that way.”

“Because of money laundering and other illicit activities, the mob and casinos are known for?”

“Did you recently watch Goodfellas or something?”

“I did, in fact.”

“Well, getting your facts from fiction will get you into trouble, sweetheart,” I tell her, tapping the tip of her nose in a gesture that has her looking at me like she’s confused.

Familiar laughter comes from across the room, and my mood darkens. Allegra must sense it because her expression changes and her gaze follows mine to where I spot my stepfamily. That laughter is Sybil flirting. She’s a manipulator. Always has been. The older man standing across from her, the one whose tie she is straightening, must be her new mark. How did my father not see right through her?

“Fucking ungrateful⁠—”

“Cassian?” Allegra says, touching my arm, and I notice the couple who is approaching us. I don’t pretend to smile. I can’t.

“I need a drink,” I say and wrap my hand around the back of Allegra’s neck to lead her to the bar. “What would you like?” I ask Allegra.

“Um,” she starts, glancing at all the bottles behind the bar. “Aviation, please,” she says, and it surprises me.

“That’s strong, isn’t it?”

She shrugs a shoulder. “It was what my mom always ordered at parties.”

“Ah. An Aviation and a whiskey neat. Make it a double actually.”

“Yes, sir.”

I take my wallet out and drop money in the tip jar. The bartender hands us our drinks and as we take them, I turn to watch Sybil who has since been joined by Jet. He glances at Allegra, then me, and nods.

“Is that your stepmother?” Allegra asks after clearing her throat.

I look down to find her fishing the maraschino cherry out of her drink and plopping it into her mouth. I raise my eyebrows.

“My mom used to let me have hers.”

“Lucky you.”

“Is it her?”

“Yep.” I swallow my drink and signal the bartender for another.

“But from the way you’re looking at them, I’m going to guess that man she’s flirting with is not your father?”

I shake my head, take the new drink. “I assume she’s lining him up for when my father passes away.”

Allegra doesn’t comment. What do you say to that?

“Is your father not coming then?”

“Nope.”

It’s then Severin steps into the ballroom. The instant I see him, my blood turns to red hot rage. I swallow my whiskey, set it down on the bar and stalk toward him.

“Cassian?” Allegra asks, following.

Severin must see me because he turns to face me. He’s wearing his usual sour expression.

“Cassian. You’re here. What a pleasure,” Severin says, his tone saying the opposite.

We’re joined almost immediately by Sybil and Jet, and I force a deep breath in even as I slide my hand into my pocket and wrap my fist around the bullet. I need to focus. One thing at a time.

“Isn’t this a nice surprise, mother?” Severin says.

Jet comes to stand beside me. “Cassian, Allegra, good to see you both,” he says casually. Too fucking casually for my liking.

I glare at Severin who isn’t quite glaring back, but his eyes are locked with mine and one corner of his mouth is curved upward in a tiny, self-satisfied smirk.

“He’s a child,” I say. “Two years old.”

Sybil’s gaze moves from Severin to me and back. One glance at her tells me she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. Which is good. Sybil is hungry for money. She wouldn’t send a loaded gun to an adult much less a child. She wouldn’t want to get her hands dirty.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Cassian,” Severin says in that tone that makes me want to beat his face in until I break his nose. Until I turn bone to dust.

“Severin, mother, you haven’t met Allegra,” Jet says, and I feel his shoulder against mine.

“No, we haven’t,” Sybil says. Severin still doesn’t take his eyes off me.

I take a step toward Severin, but Jet slaps a hand over my arm. “Charity, remember?”

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

Jet removes his hand. “We’re trying to raise money for Children’s Hospital. Do this later.”

My jaw is clenched so tight I’m grinding my molars.

“Tell me what message you wanted to send. Tell me because call me stupid, but I don’t get it,” I tell Severin, ignoring Jet.

“Like I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Severin says. “Mother, shall we take our seats. The auction is about to begin.”

I step right up to Severin very aware of the men who have moved toward us. Security, theirs. Soldiers, mine. I’m also aware of how quiet the room is growing.

But I could give a fuck.

“If he’d been hurt or worse, I’d kill your entire family before your eyes and then I’d kill you. Do you understand me, Blackstone?”

He narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t break a sweat. Not Severin Blackstone. “This is a charity event, Cassian. Not sure your kind belong here.”

“My kind? Don’t forget, it’s you who washes the blood off my money,” I say in a low voice. “I’m not worried about shedding some of yours. In fact, I’d be happy to.”

“Are you threatening me?” he asks, face inches from mine.

“Oh, more than that. I’m fucking promising you. Do not go near my family again. Do not dare. Am I fucking clear?”

But before he can answer, the elevator doors slide open, and all eyes turn to the man inside. The man who is humming a little too loudly. He’s dressed in his tuxedo, well, dressed as best he can without help these days. What was once a neat five o’clock shadow is a gray, unkempt beard, the scruff of hair remaining on his head standing up in the back where he slept on it. The jacket is too big on him. It used to fit. Used to be too tight even. My father always took care of himself. Healthy as a horse until this. He was dashing once upon a time. Once many years ago. When he steps off the elevator, he does so in socked feet because he forgot to put on shoes.

The crack in my heart deepens.

“Dad.” I don’t recognize my voice. “What are you doing here?”

“There you all are,” my father says, oblivious to the room full of people that have gone so quiet you could hear a fucking pin drop.

I walk to meet him, Sybil on my heels. Sybil taking his arm, signaling for the band to start playing, for some distraction as even her smile falters. It’s not for concern for my father though. It’s concern for her image. She’s embarrassed.

“Samuel. We talked about this,” she says, a smile on her face even as her voice comes out a hiss. She takes his arm, and a soldier comes to stand on the other side of him.

“Well, don’t you look wonderful, my dear. A true beauty, isn’t she, Seth?”

Seth.

Fuck. He thinks I’m Seth.

He pats Sybil’s hand.

I walk closer.

“You didn’t have to come tonight, dad. You hate these things, remember?” But he doesn’t remember. That’s the problem. “I’ll handle it, if you want to go back to bed.”

“Nonsense,” he says with a warm smile. “Now, I could use a scotch,” he tells a nearby waiter who doesn’t know what to do. At least the band begins to play, not that it does anything to disperse the crowd. Not when there’s a show like this to watch.

I follow my father’s gaze to Allegra who is standing where I left her a few feet away. He doesn’t quite smile though. He just looks confused for a long minute before taking a deep breath in like he’s preparing himself for something. “Ah. You’re here.” He steps toward Allegra and takes her hand, the one not holding her cocktail. He bends to kiss it. “My boy keeps you hidden away, doesn’t he, Vivi.” He shakes his head, turns to me.

“Vivi?” Allegra asks, looking up at me.

“Let’s go upstairs, Dad,” I say, taking his arm now, turning him toward the elevator which, thankfully, a soldier is holding.

“Don’t pull at me, Seth. For Christ’s sake, you’re not a little boy anymore.”

“It’s not Seth, dad. It’s me, Cassian.”

My father stops, looks up at me, his forehead wrinkled. It takes him a minute. Does he really see Seth when he looks at me warmly? Because I know the instant, he realizes I’m not Seth. The moment he knows I’m his other son.

The one whose birth killed the woman he loved.

“Where’s Seth?” he asks loudly as he tries to pull away from me.

“Seth isn’t here tonight. Come on, Dad,” I say, managing to take a step toward the elevator.

But he’s not so easy to move. He’s agitated. And fuck knows where his head is. What year he thinks this is. What he’ll say.

“Where is Seth? Where’s my boy? What did you do with him?” he barks and I’m sure everyone hears him, even with the band playing like they are. “How could you put him in that place?”

“Samuel, it’s time to go,” Sybil tells him, but he slaps her hand away and pulls free of me, too.

“How could you put your own brother in that terrible place?” he asks, his eyes bright and shining with tears. “How could you?” But then he turns to Allegra and, before I can stop him, takes a step toward her. “And you. Keeping my grandson from me. I have every right to see him. Every right!” He spits the words and Allegra flinches.

“Get her out of here,” I start, taking my dad by the arm again, not sure who I’m telling to take Allegra away.

“You were never good enough for him!” he grabs Allegra’s arm and jostles her. Her cocktail spills all over the front of her dress.

“That’s enough!” I say, stepping between them. “Get her out of here,” I tell a soldier who takes Allegra by the arm and leads her away.

“You took my boy and turned him against his own father, you fucking bitch!” My father calls out the entire room openly watching now.

“Get her out! Now!” I order and take my father more firmly than I want to. I turn him toward the service doors and march him through, Sybil following, Severin staying behind to do damage control I suppose and it’s only when Dad sees Angelo, only when my father recognizes him does he calm down. Does he relax enough that I can walk him out of the ballroom and away from all those prying, vulture eyes. All those wagging tongues.

24

ALLEGRA

I’m hustled out of the ballroom and into the corridor so quickly, I barely see Cassian as he tries to maneuver his father out of there. My dress is sticky against my chest, and I stumble as we hurry toward an elevator. I’m only released once we’re inside it, the two hulking men blocking my view as the doors slide closed.

“Hold it,” a man calls out and an arm blocks the doors from closing fully.

A soldier steps forward I assume to stop the man from entering, but when the doors reopen, I see it’s Jet. They do too. There’s a moment when I swear the soldiers glance toward the ballroom. Are they looking for Cassian? These are the same two who let Jet into Elenora’s.

“Relax, guys,” Jet says, climbing onto the elevator, glancing at me as he pushes the button to close the doors before tugging the sleeves of his jacket back into place.

The two men exchange a look, but they don’t stop him.

“What’s happening?” I ask as the elevator climbs up. “What was that?”

Jet signals for me to wait until we’re alone. The ride feels like it takes hours before the doors finally open on the penthouse floor. The soldiers part to let Jet out. I follow him, glancing back to watch them trail us as we head toward Cassian’s penthouse where I watch, surprised, when Jet enters the code to open the door.

“I’ll take it from here,” Jet tells the soldiers.

“Mr. Trevino didn’t say anything about that.”

“Mr. Trevino didn’t say anything about earlier, either.” He takes his wallet out. “Besides, Mr. Trevino is a little busy.” He pulls out several hundred-dollar bills, and hands them to one of the men. “I said I got this.” When they don’t look convinced, he raises his eyebrows. “Don’t worry, boys, I’ll be gone before he’s back.”

They glance at each other, then turn their backs to us.

“So, you bribed them before too?” I ask as we enter the penthouse. Jet switches on the light. I drop my clutch on the sofa and turn to face him. “Or do they work for you and that exchange of money was just for my benefit?”

Jet looks at me, his gaze moving momentarily to the blotch the cocktail left on my dress. “Are you loyal to Cassian then, Allegra? He’s your prison guard, remember? You’re his collateral, isn’t that right?”

“I’m not loyal to you or to him. And my loyalty isn’t in question.”

“But you’re angry on his behalf?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.”

“Don’t tell me you trust him.”

“What? Should I trust you?”

“After what I did for you, twice now, I’d think so, yes.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t think your concern is for me. Giving me the phone, getting me out of the crypt, those things weren’t about me. They were for Cassian. To take from him or hell, maybe just to piss him off. I don’t know. Maybe you’re just jealous of him and you want to make trouble for him.”

He tilts his head, and I can’t tell if it’s anger or what I’m reading in his eyes. “Oh, my goodness,” he says more casually than I like. He takes a step toward me and there’s something in his eyes that makes me take one back. His gaze narrows and one corner of his mouth curves upward. “My, my, Little Moth. Are you falling for him?”

“Don’t call me that,” I say, turning away.

“Why? Is that nickname only for him to use?”

“It’s none of your business, is it?”

“Are you though?”

“Am I what?” I ask, feeling flushed and sweaty.

“Falling for my stepbrother?”

I shake my head. “Don’t be stupid. You said yourself I’m collateral. What was that anyway? What happened down there? And why are you here with me?”

“We’re friends, remember?”

“We’re not friends. I’m still trying to figure out why you gave me the phone. Why you’re bribing Cassian’s soldiers. He’ll kill them if he finds out. He’ll kill you.”

“I’m not afraid of Cassian. I need a drink.” He pushes a hand through his hair and stalks across the room to pour himself a whiskey. He swallows it down before turning to me. “Want one?”

“Why are you here, Jet?”

“Honestly, I don’t fucking know, Allegra.”

He pours himself another drink, then decides to pour me one too. He carries both over to the couch and sits right in the center of it, legs wide, setting one of the tumblers on the coffee table and pushing it toward the chair facing him.

“There’s a whole table between us. I’ll stay on my side, if that’s what you want. Is it what you want?”

“Just fucking tell me why you’re here,” I demand.

“Sit, Allegra. Sit and I’ll answer your questions.”

I study him and although I don’t trust him, he seems as tired as me. If Cassian finds him in here, I don’t know what he’ll do, especially in the state he’s in, but I decide to sit because I need to get my questions answered and I have a lot of questions.

“Tell me what that was,” I say.

He sits back and brings his glass to his lips, forest eyes on me. His jacket opens. No holster. No gun. He’s not mafia, I remind myself. That’s Cassian. Jet is a legitimate business owner. At least officially.

“What did Cassian tell you about his father?” Jet asks, crossing his ankle over the opposite knee.

“Not much,” I admit. “Nothing, in fact. But I guess what I saw down there, that’s dementia? He’s too young though, isn’t he?”

“Early onset. He’s sixty. It started in his fifties.”

“Jesus.” I pick up the tumbler and bring it to my lips needing the whiskey. “It must be hard for Cassian to have watched his father decline,” I say as casually as I can.

“I wouldn’t know. Cassian doesn’t exactly share what he’s thinking.”

“He thought Cassian was Seth.”

Jet nods gravely and I can see he’s waiting for me to say more.

“Vivi is Seth’s wife,” I say. This part I know.

“His fiancée. They never got married. Seth is… was Cassian’s older brother. She was pregnant when he disappeared.”

“Oh, God. That’s terrible.”

“Cassian’s father confuses Seth and Cassian sometimes.”

“Did you know Seth?”

He nods, sips. Doesn’t offer more.

“How long ago did he disappear?” I ask as casually as I am able.

“Just about two years.”

“Is he dead?”

“It’s assumed, but no one knows. No body no crime, right?”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“Poor taste. My bad.”

“Why did his father say what he said about Cassian putting Seth in that terrible place? What place?”

He shrugs a shoulder as my mind fills in the blank. A grave? Did Cassian put his brother in a grave and his father knows it?

“From what I know about Seth and Cassian, Seth was the favorite. Seth was everything to Samuel, or so Cassian told me back when he told me things. Now he’s left to shoulder the burden of his father’s dementia while everyone thinks he killed his brother.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“No?”

“Why would he? I mean, he’s close to Vivi. It sounds like he takes care of her and her son.” Then something occurs to me. “He’s not in love with her, is he?”

That confuses Jet for a moment, but then he chuckles. “They’re very close and he takes care of Gage that’s true. And I’m not suggesting he did anything to his brother. It’s just what people assume, but you know what they say about assuming.” He chuckles, drinks more whiskey. “I mean it’s logical. Power thing. If Seth were here, he’d be running the show. With Seth out of the way, Cassian’s the boss.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“So you keep saying, Allegra, but do you know it for a fact?”

I open my mouth to answer, but I don’t have an answer. I guess I can’t know that. At least I don’t know it more than a feeling.

“Why does he call you Moth anyway?”

“What?”

“Cassian. He calls you Moth.”

I shake my head, look away not because I feel embarrassed although I guess I do a little. It seems like it’s a private thing between Cassian and I, but it shouldn’t be. I have to remember that to Cassian, I’m collateral. I’m here to make sure he gets his money.

“Probably trying to annoy me.”

He chuckles. “Probably. He doesn’t often give his girlfriends nicknames. Although he doesn’t really have girlfriends.”

“Well, I’m not his girlfriend.”

“No?”

I open my mouth to set things straight, but before either of us can say more, the door opens, and Cassian is standing there looking huge and pissed as hell, but unsurprised. I jump to my feet.

Cassian looks from Jet to me and back.

“Jet,” he says, stepping inside. Just before he closes the door, I notice Enzo is out there along with more soldiers, but before I can see more, the door is closed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Jet stands. “Making sure Allegra here is all right. How’s your father?” he asks Cassian.

Cassian looks suspiciously at me, and I can’t seem to hold his gaze. Guilt, I guess. Although I haven’t done anything to feel guilty. Except that’s not completely true. I didn’t tell him about Jet’s visit earlier. The phone. But I don’t owe it to him to tell him, I remind myself. I’m collateral. A pawn. But I’m having a hard time believing that. Having a hard time looking at Cassian as an enemy. Am I being stupid? And what is that stupidity going to cost me?

“You know how he is,” Cassian answers accusingly.

Just then, a sound comes from the couch. A buzzing.

My gaze flies to the small clutch I tossed there just minutes ago. Shit. It must be Amal texting me.

Maybe they didn’t hear though. But then Cassian’s eyes narrow and he tilts his head.

That buzzing comes again. Another text.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Jet’s watching us. Is he grinning? At the next buzz, Cassian walks over to pick up the clutch. He glances at me. The little velvet purse in a shade that matches my dress looks too small in his hands. Like a toy. He opens the bag, and I swear I see the pouch vibrate as yet another text comes through.

“Cassian, I can explain,” I say, my voice fading by the end as I take a step toward him.

He plucks the phone out and signals for me to stay where I am, so I do. I can’t not. My heart is racing, my stomach in knots.

“Password,” he says without looking at me. He can’t read the text, but he’ll see the notification on the locked screen. When I don’t answer him, he raises narrowed eyes to me. “I said password.”

“0243.”

He punches it in, still holding on to the clutch in his other hand as he scrolls through the messages. His jaw tenses, he’s clenching his teeth. Another text comes through as he tucks the phone into his pocket and shifts his gaze to me.

“Let me guess,” he starts, then looks to Jet. “You delivered this to her earlier today. When she was with Elenora.”

“How…” I start, but Cassian holds up a finger to me to be quiet. He tosses the clutch aside and looks to Jet.

“Those soldiers you bribed won’t be walking come tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my God,” my hands fly to my mouth. “Cassian, you can’t⁠—”

He turns to me and the look in his eyes is enough to shut me up. “What do you think this is, Allegra? What do you think we’re doing here?” he asks, taking a step toward me. It takes every ounce of strength in me not to back away. “Do you think we’re playing some fucking game?”

His words are fueled with a visceral rage. A moment later, he’s standing inches from me, and my back is against the wall.

“Tell me, Allegra. What game is it you think we’re playing? Some murder mystery? A soap opera maybe with me cast as the villain?”

“Cassian—”

“Tell me what fucking game!” he demands, making me jump.

“It’s not a game!” I cry out, tears blurring my vision as my heart races. When I try to scoot away, he slams a fist into the wall. I jump, afraid. Truly afraid.

“Fucking. Tell. Me. Am I the villain?”

“No! Get away from me!” I shove at him, but he doesn’t budge.

“And him? What role is he playing?”

“Christ, leave her alone,” Jet says. “It wasn’t her fault.” He comes toward us.

“Oh?” Cassian shifts his gaze to Jet, then back to me, fury in his eyes, fury and something else. Betrayal. “So you cast Jet as the hero then? Is that it?”

“I didn’t cast anyone! I’m not playing any game!”

“Because let me tell you something about my stepbrother, Moth.” He grips my arm and tugs me to himself. “He’s no hero.” He hisses through clenched teeth.

“Let her go,” Jet says, stepping toward us. “I brought her the phone. She didn’t know anything about it. And if it’s any consolation, she doesn’t trust either of us.”

Cassian doesn’t look at Jet and I see the betrayal in his eyes. I see how tired he is. How weighed down.

“Well, you may have given her the phone, but she accepted it, and she kept it hidden from me, isn’t that right, Allegra?”

“You’d have taken it from me!”

“Damn right I would. A cell phone can be tracked.”

“Tracked? Jesus. I didn’t do anything. I’m not running away. Nothing. I’m here, aren’t I? You can read my fucking texts. Oh wait, I forgot, you already did, asshole.”

He snorts, shifts his grip to my wrists, holding them at my back in one of his hands. I stop wriggling. I won’t get free. Not until he decides to let me go.

“Tell me something,” he says, finally turning to Jet. “What did you intend with your betrayal, brother? Always wanting what’s mine, aren’t you?”

Jet’s eyes narrow and I know what Cassian is saying is true, at least in part. He takes a deep breath in, exhales, picks up his glass and finishes his drink. “Fuck you, Cassian.” He slams the empty glass down so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack the tabletop. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“No. Stay,” Cassian says, his tone lower, but no less dangerous. Some men are like that. Most dangerous when they appear calm.

Jet and Cassian stare off for a minute.

“I said sit, brother, so I can give you what you want,” Cassian says, and I feel him gathering the skirt of my dress in one hand. I look down as the material slides up along my calf, my thigh.

“What are you doing?” I ask, half-turning.

He shifts his gaze to me, eyes searching mine. Imploring. For a long moment, the only sound in the room is my hectic breathing, the pounding of my heart. I watch Cassian all the while, watch his strange eyes, because they do betray him. They do show his heart. And what I see makes mine crack a little.

“Allegra,” he says so quietly, it’s no more than a whisper. “You deceived me.”

I shake my head because his words are no longer angry. Anger is easy. Anger I can meet. This? This is something else. Something that hurts.

I open my mouth to tell him I didn’t mean to. I wouldn’t.

But I did. I know I did. I knew it the instant I accepted the phone and then again, each chance I had to tell Cassian, and I didn’t tell him.

“You betrayed me. You are my enemy.”

A tear slides down my cheek.

He watches that tear and for a moment, I think it’ll be okay. I think I can explain. Make him understand because I never meant to deceive him. What Jet said, it’s true. I’ve fallen for him. I’ve fallen in love with Cassian Trevino.

“Cassian—”

“But that’s on me. My own fault for believing anything else would be possible,” he says in that same tone, except that now, the look in his eyes is different. Now, that softness is gone. That vulnerability. All that’s left in its place is an icy resolve that makes me physically shiver.

He turns back to Jet who is still standing there, watching us. For a moment, I’d forgotten he was there at all.

“Sit,” he tells Jet.

Jet looks from him to me then back. He sits and narrows his eyes on Cassian.

Cassian nudges me forward, toward Jet.

“What are you doing?” I demand, turning, wriggling to get free. “What the hell are you doing?”

He pushes me forward and I’m not expecting it. I’m caught off guard and would fall if it wasn’t for Jet catching me as my hands close over his thighs. I meet his forest eyes, my face inches from his. He slides his hands to my wrists, holds on.

“You liked it when he looked at you before, didn’t you?” Cassian asks as he raises the skirt of my dress higher.

“No! Stop it!”

I fight, but Jet’s hands are like handcuffs around my wrists so I can’t straighten, can’t pull away.

“Look at him.”

I shake my head.

“Look at him. So he understands. So you do.”

“Understand what?” I demand. “That you’re insane?”

“So you both understand that you, Allegra, belong to me. That you belong only to me.” My dress is up to my waist now and when I feel him take hold of my panties, I know what he intends to do because there can only be one thing.

I fight with all I have to get free and somehow, some way, I pull one wrist from Jet’s grip and when I do, I make a fist, and I don’t think. I don’t waste a second. Instead, I slam that fist into Jet’s crotch.

The instant I do, his other hand loosens enough that I slip free and straighten, my dress sliding back down my thighs. I stumble backward and mean to headbutt Cassian, but he has just that sliver of time to dodge me. He’s fast. He’s always been faster than me, but hell, he’s a mafia boss. Of course, he knows how to fight.

I whirl on him, but he’s still got me caged in his arms. I can’t swing at him, it would do no good. He’s ready for me. So, I dig my nails into his face, burying them deep with a roar that is years old. An animal cry that I have held inside me for five long years. I break skin and I scratch until he grips my wrists and pulls my hands from his face and somehow, we’ve turned, and he’s got me pressed against the wall. He’s breathing fast now too at least. At least I have that.

“You fucking asshole. I thought you were different. I thought… I fucking thought,” I’m crying and can’t get the words out. Because what did I think? That he cared about me? Jesus. I’m a fucking idiot. “You asshole! You’re the fucking traitor! I will never, never forgive you for what you just did. What you were about to do!”

He snorts, drags my arms over my head and shifts his grip so he’s holding both wrists with one giant hand. With the other, he grips my jaw, fingers digging in.

“You’re violent, Allegra.” His eyes narrow and he leans in close and like the beast he is, he inhales like he’s scenting his prey.

Well, he can fuck right off because I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I will not play good fucking victim ever again!

Five bloody marks on one side of his face. Four on the other. A remembrance why I would rather die than let anyone make a victim out of me again.

“But you know what?” he continues. “I like that about you. I like your fight. It means you’ll survive once I’ve broken you.”

I spit at him, and he flinches. When he looks at me again, I press my back into the wall. He is still bigger than me. Stronger than me.

His eyes search my face, and I feel the effort it’s taking him to hold back.

“And as far as your little game, let me tell you something, Little Moth. Let me tell you something about our world. There are no heroes. We are all villains.”

All I can hear is the roaring of blood in my ears.

“Enzo!” Cassian barks, never looking away.

The door opens and in my periphery, I see Enzo enter.

“Take Allegra home. Tie her to my bed. And stand guard over her until I get there. She’s a tricky one. Can’t be trusted.”

“Fuck you,” I say.

“No, Allegra, you’re the one who’s fucked.”

With that, he tugs me away from the wall and hands me roughly off to Enzo. I’m marched out of the room, barely registering that Jet is still there. That before the door closes, Cassian circles on him.

25

CASSIAN

Ilook at my stepbrother and I think about what I was about to do. What I almost did. What I would have done—would I have done it? If Allegra hadn’t broken free, would I have done what I was readying to do? And what the fuck was it anyway? How much a villain do I want to be to her?

Not.

But I am. And she’s right. I’ve betrayed her too. Any thoughts that somehow with her I’m not a beast, a monster, a villain are ridiculous. Foolish. Any idea that what Allegra and I have is something other than what it is, an exchange, a debt to be paid, collateral, well, that’s my own stupidity.

But Jethro? He will be dealt with.

“You like to play with what belongs to me,” I say.

“Did it occur to you she may not want to belong to you?” he asks, meeting me in the middle of the room.

I grip a handful of his shirt and slam him against the wall. “That’s not up to her.”

He shoves me, getting in my face. “That’s not how the world works.”

“Your world and my world are two different things, aren’t they?” I reach for the Glock in its holster under my jacket and bring the barrel to his throat. “Aren’t they?”

“You gonna shoot me?” he snorts. “Seems like a fair fight. Why not?”

“You’re right.” I walk away and set the gun down on the nearest surface. “You want a fight? Sure. Let’s do this, shall we? Fists it is. It’s time you had a proper beating to put you in your place and this time, to keep you there.” I draw my fist back and slam it into his gut.

He’s ready though, as ready as he can be. He braces himself because Jet, too, is a fighter. If it were Severin, I’m not sure what I’d get, a pussy or a killer. But Jet, he likes my world. He wants in on my world. He wants to get his hands dirty.

So maybe it’s time I let him.

“Yeah, let’s do this. It’s overdue, isn’t it?” He forces me backward and I hit a side table, sending a lamp crashing to the floor.

We fight, Jethro and I, like we’ve never fought before, and it feels good to get it out. To finally release some of this tension that’s been building for too long. Tension that Allegra has only amplified. But things are getting clearer as I beat Jet. As I take his punches. We’re well matched, he and I. It’s only when I send him crashing through the glass coffee table that he stays down for a minute. That he pauses to catch his breath.

I grin, haul him up, tasting the copper of my own blood as I ready to swing.

He blocks me, though and his next hit sends me slamming into the liquor tray, all those bottles crashing down onto the pristine hardwood floors.

We fight, fists flying, until, finally, we both slow down, both of us bloodied, both of us panting, me clutching my side where Allegra stabbed me, the wound he probably has reopened. Him with his hand on his jaw adjusting it, his lip bleeding.

“This is fucking stupid,” he says.

“Had enough then?” I ask, stalking, or attempting to stalk, toward him, but the pain in my side is too much.

“Have you?” He drops onto the couch.

I have. I’m fucking beat and so is he. I find the one bottle of whiskey that seems to have survived our assault and pick it up. Uncapping it, I drink right from the bottle before dropping into the chair across from him.

“She’s not for you, Jethro.”

“What the hell was that with Sev?” he asks, ignoring what I just said altogether and reaching to take the bottle from me. He drinks three deep swallows.

“You don’t know?”

“He doesn’t exactly confide in me.”

“You lying?”

“Christ, you’re fucking boring, you know that?” He drinks another swallow then hands the bottle back to me.

“A package was dropped off at Vivi’s mother’s house. A gift for Gage. She knew something wasn’t right and called Vivi who opened the damn thing before calling me.”

“What was it?”

“A gun registered to Blackstones. At least she didn’t give it to him.”

“A gun? A real fucking gun?” he asks, and I believe he doesn’t know about it. At least I want to believe that he doesn’t know.

“With a single bullet in it.”

“Fuck. She okay?”

“Yeah. It was too close though. Serial number was intact enough that we’d know where it came from and, conveniently, Severin reported it stolen just this morning.”

“Why the hell would he do that? That’s not his MO. You know how squeamish he is about blood.”

“He sure didn’t sound squeamish when I confronted him tonight.”

“Shit.” He drinks more whiskey while I study him. When he’s done, he sets the bottle down.

“If it was Severin, I’m going to kill him. If Sybil was involved, I’m going to kill her. And if I learn you even had a clue of what was going on, I’m going to fucking add you to that list, am I clear?”

He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, my phone pings with a message. I reach into my pocket, pull out both mine and Allegra’s and her betrayal burns fresh again.

Another text comes in on my phone. I unlock the screen.

The first text is an automated one from one of my offshore accounts. I read the preview, read it again, because this can’t be right.

I open the message, then click into the account.

And there it is. An eight-million-dollar deposit.

What the fuck?

This automated text is followed by another from an unknown number.

I’ll be retrieving my sister tonight. I have big plans for her, and she’d better have all remaining fingers and toes intact.

I read it a second time, my brain slow to understand even as my body isn’t. Even as a fresh shot of adrenaline courses through my veins. When my brain finally catches up, I shoot up off the seat and lunge for my gun.

“Cassian?” Jet asks, he’s on his feet, alert.

I turn to him. “How the hell did Michael Moretti get his hands on eight-million-dollars? Tell me, Jet. How the fuck did he get the money?”

I don’t wait for him to respond. As far as I know, he could be behind it. He could have given that money to Michael Moretti. Either way, I need to stop Michael. I need to get to Allegra.

“You’re with me!” I call out to the two soldiers who replaced the two who took Jet’s bribe. We rush to the elevator, lean on the button to call it, but it’s on the third floor. “Fuck! Let’s go.”

I run down the hall to the stairs, the two on my heels, Jet behind them. The stairs echo, a storm of boots charging. By the time I’m in the garage, I’m out of breath, we all are.

“I’ll get the SUV,” a soldier calls out.

I hurry to the Ferrari, unlock it. “Head back to the house. Do not let them take Allegra. Whatever you have to do, do not let them take her!” I slam my door closed as I start the engine and just see Jet as I speed out of the underground garage, tires screaming as I shift gears and take the turns up, up and finally out. The car leaps when I floor the gas pedal and car horns blare as I swerve into traffic and speed around the cars slowing at a yellow light. I glimpse the SUVs in the rear view mirror just as I turn onto the on ramp of the highway, scrolling for Enzo’s contact on my phone as I put the pedal to the metal and take the car to its top speed, pushing the button to call Enzo, to warn him, the sinking feeling of dread settling deep in my gut when he doesn’t answer, not the first time, not the second. Not the third.

26

ALLEGRA

Ihate him. I fucking hate Cassian Trevino.

And I hate myself for the fucking stupid tears I’m trying to hide from the soldiers sitting on either side of me, from Enzo in the passenger seat and the driver.

Four soldiers.

Four huge, armed men to take me back to the house, like there was any chance I might escape this car. Like he thought maybe I’d leap over one of their laps and somehow get the door, that automatically locked as soon as the engine started, opened and leap to my death on the fucking highway.

I hate Cassian Trevino with all my heart.

The highway is busy in both directions, fully stopped heading into Atlantic City, but we’re moving at a snail’s pace here, too. I’m not sure it matters. I’m either going to be locked in here or cuffed to Cassian’s bed until he gets there and then what? What’s he going to do to me then? Either way, I lose.

I close my eyes, lean my head back and press the heels of my hands into them.

Shit. I should have told him about the phone. He’d have let me keep it. Why wouldn’t he have let me keep it? We were starting to trust each other at least a little. The drive to AC, the custard stop, I don’t know, all of it, me talking about my parents, him talking about his and telling me about Vivi, we were getting somewhere. Now I’m back to square one. A prisoner. Collateral.

“I’ll take the surface road,” the driver says.

“Stay on the highway,” Enzo orders, but the driver is already shifting lanes. “I said stay on the fucking highway,” Enzo commands.

Enzo takes out a gun, cocks it and points it to the driver’s temple.

I gasp. Am I fucking seeing this?

“I said we stay on the fucking highway,” Enzo repeats, tone low and deadly.

The driver doesn’t even blink or turn his head, though. What’s Enzo going to do, shoot the driver? He can’t. We’ll crash if he does.

But another gun is cocked before a split-second passes. It’s the soldier on my right and he’s holding the pistol to the back of Enzo’s skull.

I glimpse Enzo’s expression in the side mirror. He’s not going to put the weapon down. Shit. Is he really going to shoot the driver?

“Enzo, give me the weapon,” the man to my right says.

The driver has by now exited the highway and he’s driving down a surface road. The soldier to my left texts a message to someone and I get the feeling it’s not Cassian.

“I said give me the weapon, Enzo. I will kill you if I have to. Don’t make me have to.”

“Traitor,” Enzo says and draws his weapon from the driver’s temple. I think he’s going to give it to the man at my right. He reaches his arm to pass the weapon back. The man to my right lowers his pistol. The instant he does, Enzo shifts his grip, aims using the side mirror and fires.

The man’s head jerks backward. Well, what’s left of it does.

I scream as blood and brains splatter the window, the back windshield, all over me. My face, my already ruined dress.

“Mother fucker,” Enzo says, taking aim at the one to my left who has just gotten his weapon in hand. I guess he didn’t expect trouble because he’s slow and Enzo has no trouble taking him out.

More blood. Another slumped body. Me screaming.

The driver mutters a curse as Enzo leaps across to take the wheel.

“I told you to stay on the fucking highway!” He jerks it, pushing the button to release the driver’s seatbelt before reaching over to open his door.

I grab hold of the seat in front of me as the car swerves sharply off the road, bouncing over the barrier as the driver is ejected, his scream sharp, the sound of his body hitting the asphalt muted by my own scream.

Enzo maneuvers himself into the driver’s seat, the SUV bounding the door still open. He slows the vehicle, glancing at me in the rear-view mirror.

“You all right?”

I nod. When I lick my lips, I taste blood I’m pretty sure isn’t mine. His phone rings then, but it must be on the floor of the passenger seat. He ignores it and it stops ringing then starts again right away. Enzo is focused on getting the car back on the road, but as soon as he does, as soon as we’re back on, I know this isn’t over. I know something is very wrong. Because three sets of headlights turn on out of nowhere ahead of us and three more come up behind.

“It’s a fucking ambush,” Enzo mutters. “Hold on!” He hits the gas, and I slam against the back seat, but I know there’s nowhere to go. I know they have six vehicles, and we have one on a road where we’re trapped. However Enzo managed what he just managed, we’re not getting out of this.

As if to prove me right, one of the cars behind us slams into us.

I scream again and Enzo curses, yells at me to hold on. But I know this is as fast as our SUV will go. The driver of the other vehicle does it again and this time, one of the others pulls up right alongside us and when I look over, I think I recognize the man in the driver’s seat. I think it’s Rami. As if to confirm, he turns to give me a wide, gold-toothed grin, just before slamming into the side of our SUV. Fucking bastard.

Enzo has no choice, but to slow as he approaches the barricade of vehicles blocking the road, but he doesn’t. He hits the gas instead.

“Enzo, what are you doing?” I scream, gripping the edge of the front seats for dear life. But just before we hit them, just as those cars chasing us match their speed to ours, he slams the breaks. Tires scream, and I scream and watch as two of their SUVs slam into two of the vehicles blocking the road ahead.

Enzo just watches the fireball that lights up the sky and hits the gas again, turning the SUV around, but it’s not time to celebrate a victory yet. We aren’t victorious. And before he can get the SUV turned around, the last car chasing us slams into us sending us spinning off the road, Enzo’s grip on the steering wheel unable to keep him in the driver’s seat, the force of the crash sending him across the passenger seat, his head colliding with the window, shattering it, as the SUV finally crashes into a tree and jerks to a stop at the side of the road.

“Enzo? Enzo!” I call out, dazed, but somehow conscious, somehow unhurt. Although I can’t tell if any of the blood covering me is mine and it may be shock that has me shaking, but not feeling pain.

I undo my seatbelt, look over the front seat at Enzo’s slumped form.

“Enzo?”

Nothing. I don’t know if he’s dead or unconscious, but it doesn’t matter because I see the four men in balaclavas approaching with machine guns. I see them and I reach for the gun the soldier next to me struggled to get out of its holster and tug. Enzo’s phone rings. It’s such a normal sound in all this chaos. This blood and death.

I manage to free the gun just as one of the men opens my door, machine gun slung over one shoulder.

I point my weapon at him, my hand shaking so hard.

But then he pulls his balaclava off and it’s Michael.

“Bet you didn’t think I had it in me, did you?” he asks.

“Michael.”

He must have been in the one car that didn’t go up in flames or maybe another car off in the distance because he isn’t bloodied or remotely disheveled and I’m not sure he even knows how to operate that gun on his shoulder.

“In the flesh.” He looks with distaste to the dead soldier between us. “Get him out,” he tells a soldier who steps forward and pulls the body out, letting it drop to the ground like it’s garbage. “Put the gun down, sis. You don’t want to hurt yourself.”

I look at it. I didn’t realize I was still holding it. I put it down.

“Bring her.” He tells one of the soldiers.

He reaches in, undoes my belt and hauls me out, setting me on the ground in front of my brother.

“How did you get to me?” I ask, shaking so badly I wrap my arms around myself. I’m not sure it’s the cold or the shock. Probably the latter though.

He grins proudly. “That Enzo?” he asks.

I glance over to see Enzo’s face. It’s bloodied and bruised and he’s either unconscious or dead. I nod. “I think he’s dead,” I say, even though I’m not sure. I don’t want them to shoot him.

One of the guards goes to drag him out.

Malek walks up alongside my brother. He’s wearing his usual suit, looking relaxed and casual.

“Leave him. Don’t waste a bullet,” he tells the soldier. “You got her. Well done, Michael,” he says to my brother. He looks me over, seeing all the blood and guts doing nothing to his smile.

“Of course I did,” Michael says.

Malek turns to him, cocks his head. “Of course you did,” he repeats just before turning to Rami who is standing behind Michael. He’s still smiling as he gives a small nod of his head.

I realize what is about to happen just before Michael does.

No. I’m not sure Michael sees it coming at all. And in some way, I hope he doesn’t.

“No!” I yell as the gun is cocked and fired and Malek takes a step to the side to avoid Michael’s body falling into him. To avoid getting blood on his suit, although he does. Blood splatters and gets everywhere.

I drop to my knees beside my brother’s body and somehow, I’m not screaming. I’m not screaming in this darkest of nights when I have lost the last of my family. Cars drive by on the highway unaware of the massacre here just on the other side of the wall. I take Michael’s head in my lap, look at his still open eyes. Empty eyes. He’s gone.

I look up to find Malek watching me. He glances at Michael’s face then looks back to me.

“He was always a useless brat, wasn’t he?”

“What did you do?” I hiss. “What did you do?”

His eyes darken, go flat. I know this look. The death inside him. I’ve seen it before although he’s been so good at hiding it from Michael. I think my father saw it too. I think that’s why he kept him at arm’s length in the end.

“You were always too fucking dramatic. Let’s go.” He turns, signals to Rami, because they are all his soldiers, not Michael’s. I’m hauled to my feet.

I lunge at Malek as soon as I’m up, and even though Rami holds me back by one arm, I manage to slap Malek hard across his face, so hard his head jerks to the left.

“I will kill you! I will fucking kill you!”

He chuckles as Rami grips both my arms, immobilizing me.

Malek touches his lip where I see blood. He must have bit it. He looks at his finger, then up at me. He raises his arm and slaps me and if Rami wasn’t holding me up, I’d fall to the ground with the force of it. But he’s not done yet because with the back of his hand he slaps me once more before gripping my jaw, my ears ringing as he holds me still, as he gives my eyes time to focus on him even as my head spins.

“No, Allegra, you won’t kill me. You’ll get on your knees and thank me for allowing you to live every day for the rest of what may be a very short life.”

I hate him. I’ve always hated him. I never thought he could do anything, though. Amal warned me. And now, my brother is dead, his blood seeping into this dirty road.

“I will fucking kill you,” I tell him and he digs his fingers into my jaw and his smile widens, just before he slams my head hard against the one unbroken window of the car. The impact sends me crashing to my knees in that bloody asphalt and one final blow from the butt of a soldier’s gun knocks me out.

THANK YOU!

Thanks for reading The Villain, the first installment in the War of Hearts Duet.

Allegra and Cassian’s story concludes in The Pawn!

Click here to get your copy of The Pawn !

ALSO BY NATASHA KNIGHT

War of Hearts

The Villain

The Pawn

Sinners Duet

By Sin To Atone

By Blood To Avenge

Heroes & Villains Duet

The Heroes We Break

The Villains We Make

The Augustine Brothers

Forgive Me My Sins

Deliver Me From Evil

The Sacrifice Duet (IVI)

The Tithing

The Penitent

Ruined Kingdom Duet

Ruined Kingdom

Broken Queen

The Devil’s Pawn Duet

Devil’s Pawn

Devil’s Redemption

To Have and To Hold

With This Ring

I Thee Take

Stolen: Dante’s Vow

The Society Trilogy (IVI)

Requiem of the Soul

Reparation of Sin

Resurrection of the Heart

The Rite Trilogy (IVI)

His Rule

Her Rebellion

Their Reign

Dark Legacy Trilogy

Taken (Dark Legacy, Book 1)

Torn (Dark Legacy, Book 2)

Twisted (Dark Legacy, Book 3)

Unholy Union Duet

Unholy Union

Unholy Intent

Collateral Damage Duet

Collateral: an Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance

Damage: an Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance

Ties that Bind Duet

Mine

His

MacLeod Brothers

Devil’s Bargain

Benedetti Mafia World

Salvatore: a Dark Mafia Romance

Dominic: a Dark Mafia Romance

Sergio: a Dark Mafia Romance

The Benedetti Brothers Box Set (Contains Salvatore, Dominic and Sergio)

Killian: a Dark Mafia Romance

Giovanni: a Dark Mafia Romance

The Amado Brothers

Dishonorable

Disgraced

Unhinged

Standalone Dark Romance

Descent

Deviant

Beautiful Liar

Retribution

Theirs To Take

Captive, Mine

Alpha

Given to the Savage

Taken by the Beast

Claimed by the Beast

Captive’s Desire

Protective Custody

Amy’s Strict Doctor

Taming Emma

Taming Megan

Taming Naia

Reclaiming Sophie

The Firefighter’s Girl

Dangerous Defiance

Her Rogue Knight

Taught To Kneel

Tamed: the Roark Brothers Trilogy

ABOUT NATASHA KNIGHT

Natasha Knight is the USA Today Bestselling author of Romantic Suspense and Dark Romance Novels. She has sold over a million books and is translated into seven languages. She currently lives in The Netherlands with her husband and two daughters and when she’s not writing, she’s walking in the woods listening to a book, sitting in a corner reading or off exploring the world as often as she can get away.

Write Natasha here: natasha@natasha-knight.com

Click here to sign up for my newsletter and receive a FREE book!

www.natasha-knight.com