Page 4

That shit is old news.

What's done is done, and dwelling on it now won't change a goddamn thing. I genuinely believe every word of that, so why the fuck am I sitting here outside her house again?

Surveillance is an everyday occurrence in my world. That's technically what I'm doing, but I told my men my concerns revolve around the unification of the Italian families and what that might mean for the power dynamic in the city. The reality is, my interest has everything to do with Isa.

Why the fuck did it have to be her?

Why the fuck does it matter?

I've been grappling with the answer to that question for the past half hour while I watch her talk with that Antonelli prick and his mutant sidekick. I’m no closer to an answer now than when I arrived.

Antonelli is a stain on humanity. I wouldn’t wish him on any woman. His shortcomings aren't exactly difficult to unearth. Surely, Cosimo knows what he's agreed to on behalf of his daughter. I would think he must know, but I can't fathom why he would agree to that.

I grip the steering wheel of my car until my knuckles feel like they might pop right out of the joint. This has happened every time I’ve followed her since I found out about the wedding. I know I shouldn’t be here, but I can’t stay away.

Everything about this situation makes me want to strangle someone.

From what I remember of Cosimo, he was a decent man. I can't imagine he would sell off his daughter, which means he’s being forced into this. The only man above him in the chain of command is his boss, Renzo Donati. From what I've learned of him, I don't see him making that sort of call. The only other person whose opinion could then trump Cosimo's is Isa herself.

The thought of her choosing to marry Antonetti of her own free will fills me with a seething rage.

Cue the self-loathing.

I hate the fact that I still feel so strongly about Isa. My emotions are one giant circle jerk, fanning the flames until I'm ready to burn down the whole goddamn city.

If any other woman in the Moretti family had been chosen for the marriage—literally anyone else—I wouldn’t be barreling down this one-way street to self-destruction.

They’d be forced to choose someone else if Isa was no longer an option. Hell, I could walk up and take her right now. No Isa, no wedding.

It would be ridiculously easy to make it happen.

She’s still friends with my identical twin, so all I’d have to do is pretend to be him. She’d go anywhere with her longtime friend DiAngelo, no questions asked. I know because I’ve already approached her on two other occasions pretending to be him.

She’d never be suspicious because she and everyone from my past think I’m dead. She wouldn’t know the danger she was in until it was too late.

The temptation to be near her is monumental. Too consuming to withstand.

I open the car door and step onto the street.

CHAPTER 3

ISA

Living in the city makes me forget sometimes how soothing it is to connect with nature. The enormous trees overhead remind me that life goes on. Their leaves fall off, and violent storms may break branches, but with each passing year, their sturdy trunks add another protective layer, and vast root systems cast a wide net of support.

I’d love it if Mazzi had trees at his place, but that’s probably a long shot in the city. I’ll have to hope for a terrace where I can grow some potted plants.

It’s a little crazy that I have no idea where I’ll be living in another week. The fact that I haven’t pushed for a tour or even asked about my new home is telling. As brave and optimistic as I’m trying to be, a part of me is terrified. Going to his place would make it all the more real.

The small pit in my stomach grows a little larger, so I set aside my worries and focus on my plants. Gingerly, I tug on a petunia seedling until the root ball and dirt slide free of its container and set it in the small hole I’ve prepared. I fill in the dirt all around it, then sit back and admire the small patch of purple-and-gold petals waving at me as if to say thanks for their new home.

Let’s hope I’m that happy in my new place.

I take a long, deep breath before starting on my next container of six plants, but when I turn to move my supplies with me, I gasp to discover I’m not alone. I don’t know where he’s come from because I didn’t hear him approach and don’t see his car, but DiAngelo stands behind me, watching me work.

The image from my dream flashes in my mind, and a surge of heat blisters my cheeks.

“Hey, are you here to see Dad?” My rushed words are an octave too high for the nonchalance I’d like to exude.