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At First Sight
ISA
“You fucking do as I say, Isabelle. Do not make me repeat myself,” my father growls in my face.
“Dad, are you insane? I barely know these guys. I’ve only met them a couple of times,” I volley back.
My father, Stephane Saint Clair, the gangster overlord, wraps one meaty hand around my throat and violently slams my back to the wall behind me.
The familiar pain invades my body. My back aches from the brutal impact. And the way he’s squeezing, I can tell even with my dark complexion, he’ll leave bruises on the delicate skin of my neck.
But this is nothing new. Just more of the same way he treats my sister and I. The same way we saw him behave with our mother countless times before he dragged her kicking and screaming out of our home. Never to be seen again…
We’re in his office, at our family’s mansion, on the hills of the most exclusive residential area of the small town of Delmonte, on the central coast of California.
The man is rich, arrogant, violent, and not to be crossed. Ever. And his most recent ploy is to use his daughters, my twin sister Gabrielle and me, to forge alliances in his criminal world. Gabrielle will be given as payment for our father’s debt to a mighty mafia family. But my fate is still up in the air. There are four candidates, each from four powerful criminal families, who are interested in me. I know it would make my father ecstatic if any of them makes a deal with him for my hand.
Mikhail Antonov’s family runs the Bratva on this side of the Atlantic. He’s all dark eyes and powerful body. A fascinating beast with a low, raspy voice.
Danni O’Malley is Irish Mob. People say he’s a madman, a cold-blooded killer, but all I see are his gorgeous blue eyes.
Sal Calderón is the head of the largest cartel on our side of the border. He’s also the very definition of tall, dark, and lethally handsome.
Then there’s Vito Romano. The mafioso is as beautiful and cold as a marble statue. And I can’t help but wonder what it would take to heat his icy gaze.
My father is crazy if he thinks I’ll throw myself at any of these savage beasts!
* * *
MISHA
I cross my legs, tug on the sleeves of my Tom Ford suit jacket, and let my eyes lazily roam around the room. We’re in a luxurious library. Overly ostentatious. Thick leather-bound volumes line up polished cherry-wood shelves. Authentic Persian rugs under our feet. And heavy leather and wood furniture spread about the vast room.
I’m sitting on a Chesterfield club chair by the heavy-curtained window. The soft mid-morning light at my back.
Romano stands with his back to a wall by the door. Hands stuffed in the pockets of his tailored slacks, one leg bent at the knee, the sole of his shiny leather loafers resting flat against the silk-covered wall.No fucking respect. My lips twitch in amusement, and I shake my head when we exchange a knowing gaze.
Danni is stretched out on the sofa. Fucking laying on his back like he owns the fucking place. Feet up, crossed at the ankles, hands at the back of his head, eyes closed like he’s taking a fucking nap.
Now, Sal. Motherfucking Salazar Calderón stands guard at the door, like he’s ready to pounce on Isabelle as soon as she walks in.
Fuck, this is gonna be fun.
The four of us have known each other our entire lives. We started our training working for our families around the same young age. We’re best friends, brothers, partners in crime and business.
Our families run the West Coast of the United States and our alliances rule the world. Stephane Saint Clair is a very audacious man for approaching us and offering his daughter’s hand to forge a pact with one of our families. But this fool doesn’t know. He doesn’t know they call us The Tetrad. The Tsar, the Irish, El Capo, and Don Vito. This motherfucker has no clue who he’s trying to play with.
* * *
ISA
I take a deep inhale and follow my father into our mansion’s library. It’s a statement room. Another place for him to show off his wealth and impress his guests.But not today, papa.The men gathered in this room couldn’t give a fuck about your measly million dollar Persian rugs. These motherfuckers are a thousand times richer and more powerful than you.I see the disdain in their eyes when they’re in my father’s presence, hear the clearly unveiled insults.
I’m not sure my father knows what he’s doing. I’m not sure he thought this whole thing through. What interest would such influential families have binding themselves to a mid-range player like Stephane Saint Clair?
The moment we step into the room, I want to turn on my heels and split. The amount of raw masculine beauty and overpowering levels of testosterone saturating the air is almost suffocating. My eyes bounce from one corner of the room, and one outrageously beautiful mobster, to the other, and it feels like my heart has lodged itself in my throat.
