Them.
Him.
No…it.The bloodbath.
There’s blood.So much blood.
A man is slumped on the floor, his body twisted at an unnatural angle.Another man is standing over him, a bloody knife in hand.Beside him stands another figure with his arms crossed.
They are both staring at me with dismay, as if they can’t believe their eyes.
For a heartbeat, no one moves.
Then, after a second of shock, adrenaline courses through me and I mumble, “Sorry, wrong door,” and bolt out of the room and down the hallway.I run as fast as I can with my heels and my dress hindering my legs.
But I am not far down the hall when strong hands catch my arm mid-sprint and yank me back toward the room.I want to fight, to scream, to scratch, but all I can do is let out a pitiful whimper, my fight-or-flight instincts frozen from terror.
Man Number Two drags me back like a rag doll, shoves me inside the room and slams the door shut behind us.He leans on it, cutting off my only escape.
My heart is frantically trying to leap out of my throat, and my breath comes out in shallow bursts.
I turn to face the man who was holding the knife, stomach clenching from fear.
But he is gone.
I hear the distant splash of water.It stops after a few seconds and he comes out of an adjoining room, wiping off his still damp hands on a towel he then carelessly throws on the floor next to the slumped figure.
He shrugs off his jacket and casually drapes it over the body, hiding the gore.Then he looks at me…and my heart stops.
I know that face.
Damiano Santaluccia.
The Damiano Santaluccia.Il Demonio, the Devil.
The head of the Boston mafia.
The most powerful man in our world, in this city.
Of all the rooms I could have walked into tonight, I had to choose the one hiding a murder.And him, knife in hand, poised over a dead body.
Shit.I’ve just witnessed a murder.
I am going to die tonight.
Chapter Two
Lily
A long silence stretches on.All I hear is the frantic thumping of my heart.Can they hear it?God, I am hyperventilating.I am going to be sick.
Terror has me rooted on my feet.I can’t move, can’t talk, can’t look away from the man—no, devil—who is dominating the room like an apex predator governing his kingdom.He looks relaxed but his eyes are dark and intense while they take me in.His gaze sweeps down to my feet and up again, and I swear I feel it like a physical touch.
Then his deep voice breaks the silence.“What is your name?”
I swallow and manage to croak out “Lily,” as if it explains everything.
“She is Bianchi’s youngest daughter,” the man behind me supplies.
