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CHAPTER ONE
Iinhaled the fresh, salty air of the Maltese ocean as soon as I stepped out of the black SUV and fought the dizzy spell and low-level nausea I’d been fighting ever since waking up on a freaking private jet.
And not just any private jet.
No.
This particular private jet belonged to none other than one of the most powerful Italian Mafia families.
And it wasn’t even the “bad boy falls hard for you and whisks you away” kind of scenario.
This was the “you thought you didn’t belong your whole life—well, wanna really experience how it feels not to belong—here you go” scenario.
I glanced over at Gabe—AKA Gabriele Falcone, head of the Falcone family, who helped my cousin Sophie—his brand-new bride—out of the black SUV.
What was it with gangsters and their black SUVs anyway? Was there some kind of global Mafia code that made them all drive identical vehicles, no matter if they were Irish, like my family, or Italian?
And did Russian and Chinese gangsters abide by this law, as well?
Well, my father most certainly did. And apparently, the Falcone family did, too.
Sophie smiled at Gabe. He intertwined their fingers, leaned down, whispered something against her baby bump, then straightened and kissed her hand.
Fuck.
They were both clearly excited for their honeymoon—me? Not so much.
“Can’t believe you lovebirds dragged me with you on your honeymoon,” I muttered under my breath, then looked in the other direction before their flirting caused uncontrolled vomiting…their flirting or the mild sedative Gabe had slipped into my drink at their wedding.
Scheming bastards, both of them.
I turned around and squinted against the warm Maltese sun at the sight of the luxurious entrance to the beach hotel—owned by none other than the Falcone family.
“Come on, Fee, try to enjoy yourself. It’s not every day you get to stay at a place like this,” Sophie urged as she playfully side-hugged me before she and Gabe exchanged a deep look.
Damn. Their non-verbal communication was sickeningly sweet—the kind only lovers could share.
And if I weren’t so happy for them, and didn’t love Sophie more than anyone else in the world, I would probably demand to stay in the vehicle and be brought back to the private jet that brought us here.
So instead of throwing the tantrum I wanted to throw, I stomped into the lobby.
The hotel was indeed breathtaking—white marble floors, vaulted ceilings, and crystal chandeliers reflecting the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The scent of fresh flowers filled the air, mingling with the salty aroma of the Mediterranean Sea just beyond the terrace.
But as exquisite as the setting might be, I couldn’t shake the tension that seemed to follow me wherever I went these days.
Ever since…
Not going there. I shook my head, which caused another bout of nausea, and focused on the modern yet timeless artwork on the wall.
My father would throw a fit if he knew I was here.
This was Falcone territory. Italian Mafia. Who would’ve thought that my conservative uncle would allow his oldest daughter to marry an Italian Mafia don?
Not me.
And as much as the Donnellys and Falcones had entered a truce with this marriage, they were still the enemy—scum—according to my father.
