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DeLuca
* * *
The buildings on either side of me are like dark giants, seeming to breathe as the air whips around me. It’s crisp, with a breeze so sharp it feels like pinpricks along the skin of my face and hands. My body is covered in all black, from the denim on my legs to the thick winter coat, its collar turned up. I watch the area, checking for any passersby who might notice my presence. Luckily, this is an inner-city job, and in Desolation, New York, no one ever minds anyone else’s business. Eyes forward, no distractions or encounters with each other. That’s how this place has always been, and that’s why I call it home.
Moving across the street, I head into the alley and step behind the first dumpster just a few feet from the sidewalk. I take a moment to center myself, pushing back the brief niggle of guilt I still feel every time I’m about to break the Hippocratic Oath—to do no harm—I took all those years ago. Taxis honk and screech, heels of pedestrians clicking on the sidewalks surrounding me. I tune it out, focusing on the job that needs to be done.
I’m here to kill the woman who betrayed one of the leaders of The Ruin—a consortium for the Bratva, Cartel, Cosa Nostra, and any other organized crime faction that deals in the less than legal aspects of humanity. Arabella has threatened to expose our world outside of Desolation, and I can’t let that happen. I’m not particularly a fan of Ferro Fetulli, her husband and one of the highest-ranking men in the Cosa Nostra, but it’s a paid job, and I don’t ask questions. My world is threatened, meaning I could be taken down with it. And that simply can’t happen.
The sleek car they told me she would be arriving in pulls to a stop at the curb, just beside the alley that leads to a private entrance to her penthouse. I wait and watch as the car drives away. She has yet to turn around and show me her face. It’s as if she senses me.
Her eyes follow the car as it leaves, finally showing me her profile, and just that alone has me swallowing thickly, taking an involuntary step toward her. She’s stunning, a rare sort of beauty, almost old Hollywood, made for the silver screen.
Dropping her head, she releases a breath, and I release one in tandem.
Get your head in the game, DeLuca. She’s the enemy.
Before this thought can course through me and actually take root, she turns, giving me a clear view of her face. This exquisite creature stands just a few feet away from me, and my body ignites with a flame that’s unlike any I’ve ever felt, let alone the one that sparks right before I attack. No, this is a fire telling me I need to claim what’s mine.
I don’t have time to think or hesitate. I pull the hood from my coat pocket and move in quick, measured steps, making it to her in five strides. Just as she’s about to reach for the handle of the door that’s set into the brick building, I slide the murky material over her dark hair and down over her head. I clamp my hand over her mouth before she can scream. She fights against me as I move backward toward an alcove where we can’t be seen, but she’s no match for my strength.
I hit the button on my earpiece, and my driver’s voice comes through. “Yes, sir?”
“The alley four blocks up on the left.”
“On it.” My driver ends the call, and I use both of my arms to keep her close to me.
“Hush, Arabella. You’re mine now,” I rumble at the side of her head, the softness of her backside flush against my front making me harder than I’ve ever been in my godforsaken life.
A whimper leaves her, the sound erotic and just what I need to fortify my decision.
Our fates are sealed.
No matter the consequences with The Ruin, Arabella Fetulli is mine.
1
Arabella
One week earlier
* * *
“Deep breath in. Good, now forward fold, letting it out. Halfway lift, breathing in. Now all the way down, placing your hands on the outside of your feet on the mat. Hop or step back into plank. Now up into downward-facing dog,” the yoga instructor on my tablet says in a soothing but firm voice, and I follow along, doing exactly as she explains, the sweat trickling from my hairline and down the sides of my face. I force myself to breathe as I stare down at the floral print of my yoga mat, trying to clear my mind of the absolute mockery that is my life.
Trapped. Any other person in the world outside The Ruin would say that’s what I am. A modern-day Rapunzel in my tower. But I was brought up this way, so I know nothing outside of this lifestyle. I was born to be a bargaining chip. As soon as it was announced I was a girl, there was no question as to what my duty to the family would be: to marry someone who would solidify our place in the Cosa Nostra, making our foothold even stronger.
