Izzy’s the only person who knows the full extent of what’s going on.
My aunt is selling me to Conor Dunne, the man who killed my parents. Or who ordered their murder, at least, which is just as bad in my book.
I could run. There’s nothing physically holding me here.
Except my aunt is a sadistic evil genius. Four years ago, in the most uncharacteristically kind move of her life, she bought me a Weiner dog for my sixteenth birthday.
I fell in love with the little guy right away, with his deep brown fur, energetic personality, and this light in his eyes.
But the only reason my aunt bought him was so she could control me. When I left the house this evening, she had him in her lap like some kind of movie villain, stroking him as she told me to have a good time. She sounded deranged.
She is deranged.
She’s selling her only living relative to the man who killed her brother and sister-in-law. And all so she can retire, as she puts it. Apparently, caring for me since I was twelve entitles her to do whatever she wants.
I’d go. I’d get the heck out of here if it wasn’t for my little Jackson.
“Are you okay?” Izzy walks over, holding two drinks.
She’s like my opposite with her fishnet stockings and tattoos covering her arms. Her hair is dyed electric-blue. Taller than me, she aims a grimace down at me, her eyebrows furrowing.
“This was a bad idea, wasn’t it?”
I shake my head quickly, not wanting to spoil this.
When I’m Conor’s wife – one of many, if the rumors are true – I might never see her again.
My skin crawls whenever I think about that, but it’s worse when my thoughts turn to what my aunt will do if I back out of the wedding now.
Taking the drink, I raise my voice over the music. “Is there alcohol in this?”
“Not in yours,” she calls back. “Do you want there to be?”
“It’s illegal.”
She laughs, and a moment later, I start laughing with her. What a ridiculous thing to say. We’re standing in a room full of mobsters. Izzy’s uncle is in here somewhere, a loose connection with the Italian mob. She’s probably got an ex-boyfriend hanging around someplace too.
“But still,” I say. “I’m fine.”
“Shall we dance?”
I wave a hand. “You dance. I’m fine watching.”
“Are you sure?”
“Really. Honestly.”
She frowns at me again. I can sense there’s so much else she wants to say, so much else she wants to do to make this situation better.
But what can she do?
It’s not as though she can go to war with the Irish mob, with Conor, and it’s not like she can rescue Jackson from my aunt.
She keeps a close watch on my dog, never letting me walk him without paid bodyguards keeping watch. When I was younger, I thought my aunt paid for those men, but she later told me Conor has been paying her way for a number of years.
All as payment for me.
It’s not enough that he killed my parents in the mafia war. He has to claim me too.
I shiver, swallowing a big lump of emotion.
And then I almost leap out of my skin when somebody walks up next to me, touching my elbow.
“What the hell?” I shout, backing away from them.
The man is tall and clearly part of the Italian mob. He must be a member of the Lucciano Family since they’re the main players in the city now that my Family, the Bonetti's, has fragmented and split off into smaller factions.
“I’m sorry,” the man says, head bowed slightly.
His tone is surprisingly respectful. He won’t meet my eye as though he’s been ordered not to.
But by who?
“It’s fine.” I let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to shout.”
“Don Lucciano would like to see you,” the man goes on. “Now.”
My hands clench into fists, my fingernails jabbing into my palms. I can’t think of a single good reason why the Don of the Lucciano Family would want to see me.
Is he going to taunt me? Tease me about my parents’ death or my upcoming wedding?
The only thing I know about Luca Lucciano is that he’s allied with Conor Dunne, despite the fact Luca is rumored to have killed Conor’s father after another mafia war.
It’s like cycles, this life, fight after fight after fight.
And for what?
All so these men can drink and eat and pay women to pretend to like them.
“What if I don’t want to go?” I snap, standing a little straighter.
I can’t speak this way to my aunt. I’m sure I won’t be able to talk like this to Conor or any of his men if his reputation for being a cruel asshole is true.
But I don’t have to take any crap here where nobody has power over me.
The man flinches, his mouth falling open. The response is so unexpected I almost tell him I’m sorry. Mafia men never act like this, at least in my experience.