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“Gigi fucking Marchetti!”
Looking past him, I spot Benny storming toward us with a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder. A duffel that no doubt has money or weapons inside. Raul, one of my father’s men, is behind him.
“I’d recommend keeping a tighter leash on your sister,” Antonio tells Benny, sliding his glove off and not looking away from me. His voice carries a layer of annoyance, like he’s a teenager stuck babysitting a toddler.
“I told you to stay in the car,” Benny scolds. “Come on.” He holds the duffel up. “Pleasure doing business, Antonio.”
Antonio narrows his cold eyes at me without bothering to reply to my brother. I struggle not to glance back at him as Benny pulls me out of the warehouse.
During the ride home, I squirm in my seat, still needing to pee.
“You need to start listening to what I say,” Benny lectures. “Whatever you saw in that warehouse, you keep it to yourself.”
I ignore him.
Antonio Lombardi consumes my thoughts.
My face warms when I run my hand over the same cheek he touched.
Then, I smack myself in the face.
Not bitch-slap-style, but with enough force that there’s a slight sting.
Raul whips around from the passenger seat. “What the fuck?”
“Just slapping some sense into myself,” I say with a smile.
Antonio Lombardi is bad news.
Next time he touches me, I’ll scream.
And he’ll die for it.
FOUR MONTHS LATER
I’m well acquainted with death. It seeps into my bones, oozes into the walls of my home, and hangs like rotting branches on our family tree.
Funerals always remind me of my mother. I was six when I stood in the cemetery, eyes flooded with tears, and said goodbye to her one final time. Since then, I’ve lost count of the number of funerals I’ve attended.
Today, I’m paying my respects to Edda Bova. She was a gentle soul, and like my mother, she was killed in a drive-by shooting.
Poor Edda wasn’t the target. Her husband, Remo, was. Unfortunately, a wife paying for her husband’s sins is common in my world.
After the service ends, I offer my condolences to the family. When my father waves my bodyguard, Bruno, over, I sneak out of the cathedral in need of fresh air. I pass cars and people lining the sidewalk before turning the corner into a back alley.
“If it isn’t Princess Marchetti.”
Spinning around at the taunting voice, I nearly twist my ankle while finding Antonio casually walking toward me. My heart races—a warning signal mingled with a twinge of excitement.
Even though he’s the one followingme, he looks pissed off at my presence. His malevolent expression matches the one he wore when telling Benny to keep a tighter leash on me in the warehouse.
I hold a hand above my brow to block out the sun as he approaches.
Antonio lacks a smile or any warmth, dressed in an all-black suit and leather loafers. I want to trace the rugged lines of his stubbly cheeks with my fingers. His nose, while perfectly shaped, is slightly off-center, adding character to his face. Blinking, I make out the small scar on his forehead—kinda Harry Potter–style, but less lightning bolt and to the right.
Knowing he has the power to unleash total destruction, anyone with brains would run away from him.
Me? I want to dive in headfirst.
