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Chapter One
Coda
Everyone says cops are observant, but it's a lie. No one watches more intently than a predator stalking prey. I know because it's what I do. It's why I'm here.
Everywhere I look, my eyes land on one of Chicago's finest. It's a goddamn sea of blue from one side of the ballroom to another. Quite frankly, it's enough to make my skin crawl.
I don't fit in. I don't belong. In this room, I'm the predator, here for one of their own. And they don't spare me more than a cursory glance as I skirt along the edges of the throng.
Like usual, they're fucking clueless.
Typical.
I keep my gaze fixated on the man of honor…biding my time. Hunting.
Miles Alessepo hasn't changed much in the last twenty-five years. His blond hair is shot through with gray, and fine lines crease his eyes now. He's older and harder, but he's still a stone-cold son of a bitch.
Icy anger slides through my veins at the sight of the smug smile stretched across his face. The prick has less business in this room than I do.
I know who and what I am. I've got enough blood on my hands to drown this city. But I've never pretended to be anything other than a hitman for the mafia.
I swore an oath to put La Cosa Nostra above all else. Alessepo, though? He swore to serve and protect.
He's a goddamn liar. The only one he serves is himself. The only things he protects are his secrets.
Twenty-five years ago, he murdered my parents in cold blood with his shiny fucking police badge glinting on his chest. I know because I was there, hiding in the closet…a terrified nine-year-old boy convinced I was going to die next. Had he known I was there, I probably would have.
He took everything from me—leaving me an orphan with no home, no family, and nowhere to turn except the streets. I spent years on my own—freezing, starving, and alone.
I survived by doing what I had to do. When Rafe Valentino's father—the head of the Valentino family at the time—caught me stealing from him, he could have turned me in or killed me. Any other capo would have.
He didn't.
He put a gun in my hand and told me where to aim it.
I was fifteen.
By the time he died four years later, I was already deep into the life. Anything to get me closer to destroying Alessepo. Swearing my allegiance to Rafe at nineteen was easy. At least he has a conscience. He has a soul.
His father? I'm not sure that motherfucker ever had one.
I'm not sure I do, either.
I've waited twenty-five years to destroy Alessepo, watching him slowly rise through the ranks. Waiting until he was perched as high on his pedestal as he could sit. He's officially there…perched so high everyone else looks like peons.
They actually made the motherfucker the Superintendent of Police. The last one—Alexander Santorum killed himself. Guess he didn't like kissing Rafe's ring once we learned about the evil deeds he did when no one was watching.
Alessepo is no better.
He was a fucking dirty cop twenty-five years ago, and he's dirty now.
Not for much longer.
My fingers itch with the urge to reach inside my jacket for my gun. But patience is the creed by which I operate. It's kept me alive since Alessepo destroyed my world.
The glint of the chandeliers casts a golden hue over the sea of dress blues, the opulence of the gala bleeding into every corner like spilled wine. Their chatter rolls over me like white noise as I navigate through the throng, each step measured, each breath controlled.
As I edge past a column near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a curvy blonde in a red dress collides with me, her soft body crashing into my chest. I hook an arm around her waist to steady her before she lands on her ass. The heat of her bare skin sears me, turning my cock to stone.
