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I feel like I’m speaking to a slab of stone, but I continue. “I didn’t choose to be born into my family, just like you didn’t have a say about it. I wish I didn’t have to bring you back, but you know sooner or later, someone was going to find you.
“It took me some time to make my peace with my lot in life, but I’ve learned that once you’re in the mafia—by choice or otherwise—the only option is to stay and make the most of it. That goes for the two of us too. We’re not exempt.
“Grace, I can give you a life of peace. We can spread that peace around, share it with our families, make sure nobody else has to lose his life in this fucking stupid war.” I make my last plea, hoping she hears me even if she pretends she doesn’t. “I really do love you, Grace. I’d do anything to make you happy.”
Grace
Strange eyes shoot daggers at me as soon as the limo that picked us up at the airport glides past the tall, wrought-iron gates of the Guerriero estate.
When the driver rolls down his window to let the security guard peek inside, he casts a surreptitious glance at me. Maybe that’s why the driver keeps the partition down.
The other black-clad guards turn their heads as we pass as though they can look through the tinted windows. Even the gardener pulls his attention from the hedges and fixes his eyes on the car, metal shears hanging from one tanned hand.
I can feel their stares burning a hole in my back as I step out of the limo and up the stairs into the house where the house staff looks at me in the same cold way.
I feel like a prisoner being paraded by the war victor for people to gawk at.
Matteo grasps my hand, and I let him. The warmth of his skin feels like my lifeline as he guides me through one lavish room after another. High ceilings, marble floors, giant pillars. Like many people in this business, Matteo’s family has expensive tastes.
“Don’t worry. Everything will be okay.” His voice is calm, steady. Reassuring.
We walk side by side, hand in hand, like we were partners in crime, past oversized furniture, crystal chandeliers, and paintings with gilded frames. The extravagance of our surroundings stands in stark contrast to the ugliness hiding within, the deceit and the violence lurking below the placid surface of wealth and stability.
If the Guerrieros hadn’t taken Jack, I would’ve had no problems trusting Matteo. And if he hadn’t killed my brother, I would’ve happily taken refuge in his kindness.
But those things happened. And I don’t know if I can just forgive and forget. It’s not like he forgot to get me a card for my birthday. He killed my brother and kidnapped my son.
What other secrets is Matteo hiding from me? What dark deeds has he done with the same hands that have held me, caressed me, and taken me to the peaks of screaming pleasure?
“Matteo.” I don’t have to whisper, but it’s hard not to when I feel like everybody’s listening in on us, trying to figure out what business a dead woman has showing up here with their prince.
“Yes, Grace?” He hasn’t called me “kitten” since I told him not to. But after four years of going by “Ashley,” having someone call me by my real name still feels too intimate, coming from someone I don’t trust.
“Where’s Jack?”
Matteo’s lips press into a line. “He’d better be here. Or some people will find themselves in a world of hurt.”
His anger courses through his hand and into my body, filling me with courage. I don’t feel alone with him fighting by my side.
But how can that be when he’s the reason why I’m thrown into the ring in the first place? If it weren’t for Matteo finding me, Jack and I would be sleeping in peace at home right now.
“Ready?” he asks, his hand poised on the brass handle attached to tall, carved-wood double doors.
He should’ve asked me that question before flying Jack home without my permission. Shoving my doubts aside, I focus on my son. I need to see Jack. Find out if he’s okay. He must be terrified. “Yes.”
This is it. My life depends on these men now.
Nobody—not even my family—knows I’m alive. And my only friend isn’t even aware that she’s been calling me by a fake name the entire time.
Nothing’s stopping the Guerrieros from shooting me dead and tossing my body into an unmarked grave in the woods. Officially, Grace Esposito is already a dead woman.
I swallow my nerves as Matteo turns the door handle. I’ve got to be strong. For Jack’s sake.
We step inside a room with rich, dark wood paneling on the walls and plush carpet underfoot. Shelves so tall they reach the ceiling, filled to bursting with books. A fireplace crackling in the background, basking everything in its warm glow.
