ARIA
Something was off. I’d known it the moment Luca had come home last night, and my suspicions were confirmed the next morning as I watched him put on his gun and knife holsters. Two knives strapped to his front, two to his back with two knives below. Two more knives at his calves. Luca had asked me to get ready as well, but didn’t say why. He hadn’t been forthcoming with any kind of information, but something must have happened with his Underbosses yesterday for him to call a meeting of the entire Famiglia.
“Luca, I’m starting to get worried,” I said quietly as I brushed my hair then lowered the brush to my vanity in the bedroom.
“Don’t worry,” he said firmly, taking my hand and pulling me against his chest. “This is me being overprotective. You will spend the morning with Romero. He will keep an eye on you.”
“I’m worried for you, not me,” I said with a frown.
His expression softened, but then he gave me a smirk. “I’m difficult to kill.”
I jerked. “Someone will try to kill you today?”
He kissed my lips, his hold on me tightening almost painfully before he pulled back. His hand around mine, he led me downstairs where Romero was waiting, looking as worried as I felt. He quickly masked his emotions when he spotted me, but it was too late. “Luca,” I whispered. “What’s going on? I thought this was only a meeting of the Famiglia.”
Romero and Luca exchanged a look, and Romero nodded, then moved toward the entrance door.
Luca cupped my cheeks, his body shielding us from Romero’s gaze. I searched his eyes for reassurance but he shut me out. Fear clawed at my chest, and tears sprang into my eyes. Perhaps he tried to shield me from the realities of mob life, but I was the daughter of the Outfit’s Consigliere. The mafia was in my blood. I knew its rules, its people. A new Capo meant a shift in power.
Luca shook his head. “No,” he growled. “No tears.”
I blinked and sucked in a deep breath. “You will return to me.” It was more question than statement.
Dark determination filled Luca’s face. “Always. Even if I have to slaughter a thousand men to do it.”
Good God. I believed him. He gave me another kiss then tried to step back, but I tightened my hold around his waist.
“Aria,” he said quietly, but I didn’t release him. Luca gave Romero a sign and a moment later, Romero gripped my upper arms and gently pried me off Luca. After a last look at me, Luca walked out of the apartment. The elevator doors closed to his strong back.
“Come on, Aria,” Romero said in a gentle voice, releasing me. “We should get going as well.”
“Is he in trouble? Is it because he’s a young Capo?”
Romero shook his head. “Luca doesn’t want you to know details. Don’t ask me for answers I can’t give you.”
LUCA
The Yonkers power plant with its reddish brown brick front loomed near the Hudson River, a crumbling relic of the past—like my uncles.
“The Gateway to Hell,” Matteo muttered under his breath as we parked near the entrance. The neglected surroundings of the power station were crowded with dozens of cars.
Gateway to Hell… The press had given the building that name in recent years because of gang wars, but the last real bloodbath had been orchestrated by the Famiglia, and perhaps today another one would follow. Romero was taking Aria on a trip around the city today. I didn’t want her in our penthouse or in the mansion if things escalated. If Matteo and I died, Romero would take her to Chicago. The Outfit would protect her.
The two smokestacks rose up into the sky like gun barrels. My own guns strapped to my chest would hopefully not come to action today. Matteo and I stepped through the creaking gates, past rust-consumed pipes, into the cathedral-high main hall of the building. Hundreds of men turned their heads toward me as I strode past them. The front was made up of the soldiers from New York and Boston, soldiers I’d worked with frequently over the years, but in the rows behind them I saw many less familiar faces: soldiers from Washington and Atlanta, from Cleveland and Philadelphia, and the other cities of the East Coast under my rule. Some of them had never seen me in person, only heard the stories and seen press photos. A murmur went through them as they regarded me. I hadn’t chosen a three-piece-suit for the occasion like my father and the Capos before him would have done. I was dressed in a tight dark gray dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up, displaying the muscles I’d worked hard for.
I didn’t choose one of the high platforms, which allowed for a jaw-dropping view of the hall, for my speech. The distance would have diminished the effect my size had on people. I wanted my men to see me up close, especially those who hadn’t seen me before. I jumped up on a low concrete platform with the remnants of rusted bolts before I turned to the gathered Famiglia. Matteo remained off to the side. Having him up here with me would have suggested I needed his reinforcement, but today I needed to show my men that I could handle anything on my own.
I raised my hand and at once my men quieted. Gottardo in the very front glared up at me with barely hidden contempt. “Thank you for following my call,” I boomed. “I know the Capos before me have never called for a meeting of this proportion, but times are changing and while we are bound to our traditions and rules, which I have always honored, some things need to be changed. We need to adapt so the Famiglia stays strong, so we can brave future threats and come out stronger.”
Most of the younger soldiers nodded and even many of the older, but some faces remained skeptical, among them my uncles Gottardo and Ermano. “As my sign of respect for all of you, I called this meeting so you can voice your concerns before you pledge loyalty to me.”
Surprised whispers.
I gestured at Gottardo, who immediately straightened. “To show you that I’m serious about this, I will allow one of my critics the floor now, my uncle Gottardo Vitiello, Underboss of the Atlanta Famiglia. Some of you might have heard of him.”
It was a jab I couldn’t resist. Gottardo had always been more about words than actions. I doubted many of them had ever seen him outside of his office.
Gottardo came forward and clambered up on the platform with some trouble. It had been a while since his last fight, as the pouch showing against his suit attested. He gave me a barely-there nod of acknowledgement and once more I wondered if I should have followed Matteo’s advice and cut the man’s throat, but he was family and I, at least, had to pretend I gave a shit about that.
Gottardo cleared his throat and opened his arms wide. “I don’t mean any disrespect. Whoever knows me, knows I am all about respect,” he began, and I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. He was all about bad-mouthing behind people’s back. That had nothing to do with respect.
“But some things need to be said for the sake of the Famiglia. We need a strong hand, an experienced hand to guide us. Luca is strong but he is too young, too inexperienced.”
A few astonished whispers arose. My face gave nothing away. If my men thought Gottardo’s words had an impact on me, they might consider them to be true.
“We have many capable Underbosses with decades of experience. One of them could become Capo until Luca is older.”
Fucking bullshit. Once I stepped down, Gottardo, and my other uncles and their sons, would make sure it stayed that way, probably with a knife in my back.
I raised my hand again, my expression steel. “Whose name instills respect in the Outfit? Whose revenge does the Bratva fear when they consider attacking us? I’ve been a member of the Famiglia for twelve years. I’ve killed close to two hundred enemies. It’s my name they whisper in fear. The Vice. They fear me because my actions speak louder than my age, because I’m capable of doing what has to be done, no matter how bloody, no matter how dangerous, no matter how merciless. You are older, Uncle Gottardo, that’s true, but how many fights have you taken part in, how many men have you tortured, how many enemies have you killed? You are old. And that’s what’s saving you today. I won’t kill you for speaking up against your Capo because I respect my elders. I respect them as long as they respect me, so next time you consider revolting, neither your age nor your status as my uncle will stop me from ramming my knife into your heart.” I focused on the many hundred men below me. “Those who have fought beside me know why I am the Capo the Famiglia needs at this time. I know how to fight, unlike so many past Capos who spent their time hidden behind desks and behind their bodyguards. But I can act diplomatically, as my union with the daughter of Rocco Scuderi should have proven.”
“We don’t want the Outfit whore in the Famiglia!” shouted a deep male voice.
My eyes swiveled toward the direction the shout had come from. Matteo flashed me his twisted-as-fuck grin. Gateway to Hell. Tonight there would be blood.
“Who said it?” I asked.
A few people shifted to my right. I focused on them. There was a tall asshole whom I didn’t know, probably one of Gottardo’s men, who met my gaze.
“Who?” I roared.
“I did,” he admitted, voice firm.
I leaped off the platform and stalked toward him through the parting crowd. Matteo was close behind me. My men looked up at me with respect and fascination. Most of them were much shorter than me, and as I stopped right in front of the asshole who’d badmouthed Aria, he too had to tip his head up slightly, even though he was six three. I knew what I looked like to most people—like the Devil arisen from Hell.
“I prefer to know the name of the men I kill, so what’s your name?”
“Giovanni,” he said, trying to sound unfazed but failing. Sweat coated his upper lip and his hand rested on the gun at his waist.
“Giovanni,” I said in my deadliest voice, bringing us even closer, my eyes telling him what lay ahead of him.
He backed away one step, only one, but everyone saw.
My smile pulled wide. “What did you call my wife?”
His eyes flitted around. “She was payment for the truce. She’s a whore,” he got out then added quickly. “I’m not the only one who thinks that way.”
“Is that so?” I asked, letting my furious gaze glide over the surrounding men, most of them Gottardo’s soldiers. None of them confirmed what Giovanni had said, but I could imagine what Gottardo had told them. “Perhaps they will help you, Giovanni. I hope some of them do, so I can carve them up as well.”
Giovanni jerked, fingers wrapping around the handle of his gun. My hand darted forward, closing around his throat, and I thrust him to the ground, rammed my knee into his chest to hold him down. He was choking as my fingers halted his oxygen supply. I held his gaze, relished in the panic in his eyes as he battled death. His struggle became jerky as he arched up and twisted, but I didn’t ease up. I held my hand out to Matteo. “Knife.”
I had my own, but it would have taken considerable effort to free it from my calf or back holster with the struggling asshole beneath me. Matteo handed me his favorite skinning knife with a short, sharp carbon blade, built to go through flesh like butter. Giovanni’s eyes widened, from terror and lack of oxygen.
Shortly before he lost consciousness, I released his throat and his mouth opened wide to gulp down air. I wedged my hand between his upper and lower jaw to keep it open, then brought the knife down on his tongue. He bit down, shrieking hoarsely, but the blade cut through his flesh. Pain shot through my fingers from his locked-down jaw but I’d had worse. I dropped the knife and reached for the half cut-off tongue, then ripped it out with a vicious tug. His eyes rolled back as blood filled his mouth. He fell to his side, twitching. He would die of blood loss or choke on his own blood soon.
The slimy tongue still in my hand, I turned in a circle to show my men that I saw them all, then I dropped the useless piece of flesh on the ground before I returned to the front, my hand and forearm coated in blood. I jumped up on the platform and faced the crowd, not bothering to clean myself. I’d let them see the blood, but the majority of eyes were fixed on my face, and sick respect twisted their features. “My wife is an honorable woman, my woman, and I will kill anyone who dares to disrespect her.” I hoped this would settle the matter once and for all.
Matteo smirked at me as he held the bloody knife I’d dropped. I gave him a nod and he spoke up. “Now that we’ve settled Giovanni’s wayward tongue, it’s time you pledge loyalty to your Capo. Those of you who still think Luca isn’t fit to be Capo can step forward and not speak the oath. It’s up to you.” He showed them his teeth and wiped the blade on his trouser leg.
Nobody stepped forward, and when Matteo rested his palm over his heart and began the words of our oath, “Born in blood, sworn in blood,” the crowd fell in as one. I breathed deeply, watching my men as they looked up at me. I’d silenced my critics for now, scared them into silence, but they wouldn’t always remain that way. Yet for now, I was Capo, a stronger Capo than my father had been because I had given my soldiers the sense that they had chosen me. When I stepped down later, I took the towel Matteo handed me to clean my hand before I accepted the congratulations from my soldiers and shook hands.
My men sought my closeness, especially those who had never met me before. They had only ever talked about me, and now they could talk to me. I gave them what they were looking for. Talked, listened, clapped shoulders.
Mansueto, Underboss in Philadelphia, who supported his weight on a cane, approached me later, his son Cassio towering over him. I shook Mansueto’s hand then Cassio’s. “Your wife brings splendor and light to New York. In my almost seventy years I’ve never seen beauty like hers. Truce or not, you are blessed to have her in your bed.”
I tensed.
“Father,” Cassio said in warning, sending me an apologetic look.
Mansueto gave me a smile and nodded. “Protective as you should be. I’m an old man. Don’t mind me.”
I knew Aria was beautiful. Had she been born in the past she would have been queen, given to a king for her gorgeousness, and even now she was meant for the stage, meant to be admired by millions. She would be the wet dream of millions of teenage boys, would haunt the fantasies of millions of married men who couldn’t get off with the images of their own wives—if she weren’t my wife. But I was a possessive asshole, and that’s why she’d always only be mine. Every inch of her.
“I know today isn’t a good time but I need to discuss my succession with you,” Mansueto said.
Cassio’s mouth tightened. “You won’t die today, Father.”
“But maybe tomorrow,” Mansueto said.
I leveled my gaze on Cassio. “You will take over from your father.”
Cassio inclined his head. “If you give your assent. I am young.”
I smirked. “Not as young as I. The Famiglia needs young blood.” I turned to Mansueto. “No offense.”
“No offense taken. There are certain forces in the Famiglia that are holding us back. But I have faith that you will burn the problem by the roots.”
Mansueto’s gaze moved to the center of the hall where Giovanni had bled out. Nobody had come to his aid. “I will.”
ARIA
Romero and I had been driving around New York for close to two hours. I was starting to grow restless and Romero’s grip on the steering wheel tightened with every passing moment. This wasn’t a simple meeting of the Famiglia, or Luca wouldn’t have put these kinds of precautions in place. My eyes were drawn up to the Flatiron Building as we crept past it in traffic, trying to distract myself from my growing panic—in vain.
“Luca is strong, Aria,” Romero assured me again, but his words didn’t quiet my fears. He’d managed to dishevel his brown hair completely from running his hands through it so often, and his blatant sign of nerves made me all the more nervous in turn.
Two hours.
What if he didn’t return to me?
Romero’s mobile beeped and he pulled it out, eyes darting down to the screen before they returned to the windshield and the tension slipped off him. He smiled. “Everything’s fine. We can go home.”
I slumped in the seat, pressing a hand against my lips as I closed my eyes to fight tears of relief. When I opened them again, Romero was watching me with a hint of surprise, but then he turned back to the front.
“Why?” I asked quietly. “Why are you surprised?”
“Few thought you’d deal well being married to Luca. Many think you’ll celebrate his death,” he said carefully.
“And you what do you think?” I asked.
He shrugged.
“Romero, I think I deserve the truth.”
“When I first saw you when you were only fifteen I felt pity for you. Don’t get me wrong. I respect Luca more than anyone else. He is my Capo, but I’ve fought at his side for years. I know what this life does to people, have seen what Salvatore Vitiello did to Luca and Matteo both. Luca was born and bred to be Capo.”
“I know what he is,” I said firmly. “And I love him.”
Romero gave me a small smile, brown eyes gentle. “I know. When you caught that bullet for him that became pretty clear, but it still surprises me sometimes.”
“Me too,” I admitted with a small laugh, because a few months ago I was still one of the people who thought becoming a young widow would be the best thing that could happen to me.
“He will do anything for you, you know that?”
I frowned. “Not if it hurts the Famiglia.”
Romero’s lips twisted in an ironic smile, but he didn’t say anything.
Darkness lurked in Luca’s eyes when he returned from the meeting with the Famiglia late in the afternoon. I was reading a travel magazine that featured the south of Italy on the couch in the living room but rushed toward him the second Romero disappeared in the elevator, threw my arms around his middle, and buried my face in his chest. I smelled blood, but beneath it lay Luca’s comforting musky scent. Luca held me for a few moments until I drew back to look at his face.
“Are you all right?” I asked him, my voice breathless.
He didn’t say anything, only stroked my hair. Smiling, I grabbed his hand and brought it to my lips, kissing his knuckles. When I pulled back I noticed the dried blood that had gathered in the fine lines between his fingers. I stiffened before I could control the reaction. I had seen blood before. On Luca’s shirts and body, and on every inch of the floor in the mansion after the Bratva attack, but this came unexpected.
Luca grimaced and pulled his hand away.
I searched his eyes. “What happened?” When it became clear that he was reluctant to tell me, I grabbed his hand again to show him that a bit of blood didn’t bother me and moved closer to him. “Please tell me. You can trust me.”
“I don’t want to sully you with the horrors of my life.”
“Your horrors don’t scare me. I’m here to help you deal with them.”
He didn’t look convinced but he answered nevertheless, “I had to make a bloody statement at the meeting today.”
“Bloody statement,” I echoed. I’d heard the term before. “You killed one of your soldiers?”
He raised his other hand and trailed it down my cheek to my throat, then over my shoulder. “So innocent,” he whispered darkly.
I pursed my lips. “Not that innocent anymore, thanks to you.” It was meant in a sexual way, meant to lighten the mood, but Luca nodded, eyes flickering with remorse.
“I still remember the first time I saw you. Fuck, you were a child.”
“I wasn’t that young, Luca,” I contradicted him. “And you are only five years older than me. You make it sound like you are an old creep.”
“Even on our wedding day you still had that childlike innocence. You had been sheltered, protected. You were pure and I was anything but. Perhaps I’m not that much older but I’ve done so much, seen so much.”
I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the things he’d done as a Made Man or as a sought-after bachelor. I knew he’d been with many women. One look at the press and that much became clear. And I wasn’t quite sure where he was going with his words. “You never seemed bothered by my lack of experience…”
“I’m not. You know how possessive I am. I would have had to kill every man you’d been with in the past, so it’s a good thing I’m the only one.”
I released an exasperated breath, but I could feel that his mood was slightly lifting. “How many women have you slept with? You had your first time when you were thirteen, so you’ve had ten years before we married.” I’d been wondering about it for a while, even if I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer, but I knew it would distract Luca from whatever demons the meeting had called out.
Luca’s expression closed off. “That’s not important. It’s the past.”
“But I’d like to know.”
“It doesn’t matter if there were one hundred or one thousand before you, because now there’s only you, Aria,” Luca said firmly.
I sighed. Perhaps he was right but I couldn’t let it drop that easily. “One thousand?” I prompted, widening my eyes.
He smirked. “Nice try. Let’s just say I took what I could get.”
“And you got a lot,” I finished.
“Not important,” he murmured before he kissed me. I knew it shouldn’t be, but I couldn’t help wondering if a man who was used to being with so many women could ever settle for only one, especially one who’d learned everything she knew about sex from him.
