Chapter One: The brown-eyed girl…
Watching the body fall, limbs slack and cold, a spreading puddle of crimson bloomed on the concrete. The echo of the gunshot still rang in my ears. This wasn’t new.
He deserved it. The man I’d just sent into the dirt deserved that bullet to the head.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
“No emotion, zero overthinking before action.” My father’s words, drilled into me since I was ten.
“Sbarazzati di lui.” *Get rid of him.* I’d barked the order into the phone, my Italian thick even to my own ears.
My men moved without hesitation, dragging the body – a rapist who’d trafficked children – out of sight. I always caught them before the cops.
My phone buzzed, pulling me back to the present. I nodded curtly to the men clearing the scene, then stepped out of the building, answering the call as I slid into the backseat of the black limousine.
“Papa?”
“Ciao, figlio.” My father’s voice, cold as the marble floors of my mansion, came through the line. [Hello, son]
“Is it done?” He asked, the question clipped, impatient.
“Yes, Papa. Bullet to the head. *Lo stronzo è morto*.” [The asshole is dead.]
“Good. Come by tonight.”
“Not tonight, Papa. Meeting at the Miro. Remember?”
“Sì, ok. Tomorrow then.”
“Sì.” He hung up without a goodbye. He never bothered with pleasantries.
It didn't take long for my driver to pull up outside of my huge home, located in America, right in the centre of California. Security guards worked day and night, inside and outside of the mansion.
My family have been located here since I was sixteen, Papa couldn't face staying in Italy after my Mama was murdered...but that's a story for a another day.
Now age twenty seven, I am now the leader of the mafia. When my father stepped down, being the oldest and only son, I instantly had to take over. I had been training for this, pretty much my whole life.
“Sir, dinner is prepared for you, if you’re ready?” Tisha, my maid, called out as I shrugged off my jacket. I glanced at the chandelier, then back at her.
“I won’t be eating at home tonight.” She nodded, already retreating.
My shoes clicked on the marble as I walked toward the staircase. Ascending each step, I reached my room and began rifling through my closet.
-
“Boss.” Gino’s voice, deep and resonant, cut through the noise as I entered the packed club. I owned this place, along with a dozen others across America and back home in Italy.
Gino was like a brother. Growing up with only a younger sister got annoying sometimes, so having Gino around was a big help. There’s a ten year age gap between us, but now that I’m his boss, the irony of him having babysat me wasn’t lost on me.
“Luca,” I pulled him into a brief hug, my eyes scanning the room where I was about to hold a meeting.
“Everyone here?”
He nodded, dark hair bouncing as he moved. With a quick gesture, I led the way to a private room. The walls were soundproofed, blocking out the club’s throb. I’d had them fitted specifically for meetings. The room went silent as I entered, my men in tailored suits waiting for my orders.
After pulling my chair out, I folded my hands together, resting them on the long wooden table. “Come sai, i russi hanno cercato di rubare le nostre spedizioni oltremare.” [As you know, the Russians have been trying to steal our overseas shipments.] I watched my men’s cold stares focus on me, absorbing every word.
“Stasera devi restare concentrato. Guarda ogni scambio di droga in questo club e se vedi un russo, uccidilo.” [Tonight, you must stay focused. Watch every drug exchange in this club and if you see a Russian, just kill him.] My voice was a low rumble, and my men nodded, some murmuring, “Yes, Boss.”
“That will be all.” I rose, Gino following.
“Kill them? Are you crazy? Your father won’t be happy if you just go around killing our enemies. What if it starts a war between us?” Gino’s voice was laced with concern.
I rested my hands on the bar, watching the dancers move. “My father is no longer the boss, Gino. What I say goes. If it causes a war…so be it.” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair.
“I need a drink.” He breathed. “You want one?”
I nodded, watching him head to the bar. My eyes drifted back to the dance floor, and I had to force myself to blink.
Her hair was a cascade of chocolate curls, and her lips were luscious and full. She moved with a grace that was intoxicating, a black dress hugging every curve. Her eyes, dark and sparkling, held a laugh that lit up her face.
I strode towards her, weaving through the crowd. As I reached out to grip her shoulder, she spun around, her brows furrowed.
“Can I help you?” Her voice was as sexy as her body.
“Come with me.” My tone was flat, emotionless. I watched as she laughed with disbelief before turning back to face her friend, completely ignoring me.
“Sorry, no.” She shouted back, and I cocked my head to the side as she pulled her friend away.
“Why not?” My voice boomed over the music, making her stop in her tracks. Her head slowly turned, her gaze locking with mine.
“Maybe because I don’t know you.” And with that, she was lost in the crowd.
One thing about me: I don’t ask, I simply receive.
Who was this girl, to think she could reject me?
How did she not know who I was, especially in my own club? The petrified stares around us weren’t enough to signal my authority?
This woman was going to be mine.