“Sofia, you’re a lifesaver,” my best friend, Chiara, gushed in my ear.
I climbed out of a cab outside heavy metal gates framing a long stone driveway. “Hm, sure. You owe me. Again. Don’t forget,” I said, a smile forming despite the pain helping my friend hide her secret relationship with my bodyguard was proving to be.
Chiara was the only daughter of a high-up made man in the De Sanctis family.
My famiglia.
Angelo was the stoic bodyguard who’d been watching over me for years. As the only daughter of a don who ruled New Jersey into Philly and even New York, I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere alone. Especially not the trip from art school in New York to my home in New Jersey. The warm and cozy connotations of the word home were hardly appropriate for the sprawling compound from which the De Sanctis family reigned from, but it was the only one I’d ever known.
Today, I’d taken a cab home to give my poor, hardworking protector and my best friend some alone time. An act that was against my father’s, my don’s, rules. A rule I’d never broken for myself, but for my best friend? It was worth the risk.
I stood outside the gates, eyeing the black stone plaque mounted on a sandstone wall. It read “Casa Nera,” and was carved in a scrolling cursive. The tension I always felt coming home crowded my shoulders like an invisible noose around my neck. A leash. I might be the prized and protected daughter of the powerful Antonio De Sanctis, capo di capi of New Jersey, but I was as far under my father’s thumb as any other family member. A pretty dolly my father trotted out on Sundays to impress his men. At worst, a pure, untouched bargaining chip in a potential future alliance.
Turning a winning smile on like a switch, I pivoted toward the guard post sitting on the left side of the gate.
Luckily, I recognized the man on duty.
“Gino, how are you doing today?” I asked, leaning my body into the gap in his plexiglass partition and batting my eyes at him.
He narrowed his in return. “I know what you’re up to, Sofia. It won’t work. I have to report it.”
“But you don’t when you think about it. I’m fine. No one else saw… you don’t want Angelo to get in trouble, do you? He was the best man at your wedding.”
Most of the De Sanctis men at Casa Nera were as familiar to me as uncles. Made men who’d been around since I was a little girl, tagging along behind her older brother and playing hide-and-seek on the sprawling grounds of the compound. I had thirty men just like Gino, who I called zio, but he was one of my favorites.
Gino sighed and looked at the security feeds, checking that no one else had witnessed me arriving home in a cab.
He swallowed hard, cracking his knuckles with nerves. “Fine, but only because your father isn’t here, and today is tense as hell, and I don’t want either of you getting in trouble.”
Relief turned my smile genuine. “Thanks, Gino, I appreciate it. Tell Enza I got the tickets for the special exhibit.”
Gino winced. “Great, another art gallery I have to wander around and pretend to be interested in. I don’t know how you can study it and stare at it all day. It’s just paint on a canvas.”
“It’s more than that. It’s a peek into someone else’s head. It’s an escape.” The only one I have. I didn’t voice the last out loud. I couldn’t change who I was and who my father was. I couldn’t dismantle the walls that surrounded me. Walls upon walls. Stone-made ones and invisible ones. Walls around my heart. Walls around my body. And a hidden wall of fear and duty that sat inside my mind.
“You may not be interested in the art, but you’re interested in her. She’ll love it and love you for taking her.” It was always safer to change the subject to other people. Deflect, move on. Smile and keep going. Don’t let anyone see beneath the confident, capable mask I donned every single morning.
Sofia De Sanctis, smart, capable Mafia princess. It wouldn’t do to let anyone see the real me. I’d learned long ago that showing weakness only made me a target for predators. Bad men who were drawn to silent dolls.
Gino blew out a breath and smiled. Despite his protests, I knew there was nothing that the man wouldn’t do for his wife.
“Well, I guess we’ll go. Now, if you want me to stay quiet about your little cab trip, don’t linger and get inside. I told you, today’s tense.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
Gino studied the security feeds for a moment longer and then leaned forward, abandoning his watch for a second. He was a sucker for gossip. “We have a new guest at Casa Nera. A Chernov.”
The trouble with the rival family had started a few months ago. My father, wanting to edge further and further into New York and get a taste of the money that flowed in its seedy underbelly, had tried to arrange an engagement with one of the most vicious powers in the city—the Chernov Bratva.
Viktor Chernov, the pakhan, had two sons, and they couldn’t have been more different. Kirill was cold and calculating, while his half-brother, Nikolai, was a raging maniac, or so he liked people to think. My past with the more unpredictable Chernov was complicated.
When my father had proposed the engagement, he’d had Kirill in mind. I hadn’t met Kirill until the talks about the engagement had started. It was an engagement that would never happen. I’d barely given it a thought, yet my father had taken the slight hard. That’s when it became clear that his motives were purely financial. I wasn’t surprised. I was just an asset to him, something to be invested for a high return.
“I heard a rumor that their boss, Kirill and Nikolai’s father, died last night,” Gino said.
I reared back, trying to process that information. If it were true that Viktor Chernov was dead, it would shake the entire underworld of New York and its surrounding areas, us included. It also spelled bloodshed, without a doubt. Wars of succession in mob families were utterly vicious.
New York was home to five families, all warring for turf and power. The Chernov bratva held a violent reputation no one willingly crossed. Then there was the Navarro clan (a Mexican cartel), the O’Connor family (who were part of the Irish Mafia), a Turkish gang, and a Sicilian family who was losing power daily as the De Sanctis family pushed further into the city.
Viktor Chernov’s death meant blood and destruction in our world.
“If that’s true, Kirill or Nikolai will be the next pakhan of New York,” Gino muttered. In a rare display, he crossed himself and pressed a kiss to the golden cross on the chain around his neck. “God help us if it’s Nikolai. That man…” He trailed off, unable to find the right words to describe the threat Nikolai Chernov posed to the general population, not to mention the other bosses’ peace of mind. “He’s a fucking maniac,” he finished, still holding his crucifix as if preparing to ward off the Devil.
No one knew better than me how terrifying Nikolai Chernov could be. A small needle of pain dug into my heart when I considered the potential consequences of one of the Chernov brothers becoming Boss. The other would probably die. I didn’t know how to feel about that. My experience with Nikolai was the first time I’d learned how dangerous it was when a man who didn’t play by the rules locked you in his sights. My dealings with Nikolai remained inside a bolted box of the past that I never dared to peek in.
Gino’s radio chirped and we both jumped with fright.
“Damn, Gino, you freaked me out,” I complained as I straightened up and took a steadying breath.
“Well, that’s good if it keeps you inside today. Anyway, it shouldn’t have anything to do with you. Don’t worry.”
I nodded to Gino and headed through the pedestrian gate into the compound. Once inside, I walked up the long, winding driveway and crossed the massive lawn, surrounded by buildings on all sides.
None of the buildings filling the compound were as huge or traditional-looking as the original mansion Antonio had built as homes for his top men. Casa Nera. It was as old as you could get in these parts, and the imposing structure never failed to stand out against the backdrop of the woods ringing the compound.
A red-brick façade was adorned with ornate carvings and intricate details that I’d stared at for hours as a child. Some of the figures were downright terrifying: stone faces gnarled with pain, or gargoyle-style figures snarling at passers-by. A wide stone staircase swept up to the front entrance, a heavy oak door with brass fittings. The windows were small, considering the size of the place, with old frames that rattled in the wind. Antonio had wanted as much of the house’s history kept intact, which had made it a cold and uncomfortable place to live as a child.
As I neared the house, I noticed how quiet it was. My father did a lot of business in Atlantic City, and often, most of the De Sanctis manpower was with him. My father had the unshakeable confidence in his security and power that could only belong to someone of his age. Since he’d lived so long unchallenged, he thought that would never change. For this reason, the house was often less protected than it could be. They say pride comes before a fall, but I’d yet to see that reality play out with my father. He was proud, arrogant, and elitist, and nothing in our lives had ever proved him wrong.
Now, he had a Chernov in the basement, one of the most dangerous men in the city, no matter which one it was, and he hadn’t bothered to allocate extra men to watch the house. I could only suppose that Antonio believed he had the hostage suitably fucked up and, therefore, no longer a threat. There was no point in me thinking about it. My opinion counted for less than the ornamental gravel beneath my heels.
Good girls are seen and not heard, Sofia.
My father’s voice was a black poison in my mind.
I was a child when I’d first come across the lowest level, where my father carried out his darkest deeds. You didn’t end up being capo di capi of one of the East Coast’s richest and most violent mafia families without spilling blood. I feared that the grounds of Casa Nera and every flower that grew in its opulent gardens were fertilized by human remains. A Gothic mansion resting on real bones.
I shivered, forcing my mind away from such morbid imaginings as I crunched up the driveway.
The good news was that fewer people were around to wonder why I was walking up the driveway instead of being driven up by Angelo. Chiara better appreciate my effort to ensure she got time alone with my big, burly guardian.
I skirted around the entrance to Casa Nera and headed for the garage. The one person I knew would be home was Carmella, the housekeeper. If I came in from the front door, and not the garage entrance, she’d know something was up. She’d missed her calling as a detective.
I punched the code into the keypad, and entered the garage. It was dark inside, and I fumbled in my pocket for my phone’s flashlight. Turning the lights on kick-started a noisy generator and didn’t fit with my undercover mission of getting inside without my illicit solo cab ride being discovered. The smell of grease and gas met my nose, oily and addictive. I’d always loved the smell of gas stations, lowering the window in the back when I was a kid, watching my father’s driver gassing up the car just to catch any stray fumes, despite my mother fussing that it was bad for me.
Like so many things that felt good, knowing they were bad for you only made it better.
Today, there was another note to the smell-something sharp, like fire and metal.
My flashlight flicked on, and I raised it. The garage was huge, taking up nearly the entire mansion floor. Luxury cars with enough bullet-proofing to protect a president sat under covers, unmoving sleeping beasts. I started through the cavernous space, my boots echoing on the concrete floor. As I reached one of the vehicles, I paused, surprised to see the doors hanging open.
The interior was too dark to make out, but the way the shiny SUV’s doors were gaping was an unusual sight. I drew closer cautiously. The trunk was open as well.
Tension notched down my spine, sending gooseflesh rippling out from the point of contact.
Something wasn’t right.
Dark red puddles were illuminated as I pointed my phone at the ground.
Blood.
I took another step forward, a scream climbing up my throat, rushing toward my mouth. Carmella would hear and call for help. Carmella was always listening, always on guard.
The scream never left me.
Instead, a hard hand clamped hard over my lips, a rigid body pressed into me from behind, and a steely arm banded across my waist.
I was rigid with shock. No one touched me. Not my one best friend, not my father, no one. No casual arms were slung around my shoulders. No warm embraces, high-fives, or nudges came my way. I was a doll encased in glass. No one had ever dared to break my father’s rules and touch me, except one man – the one who haunted my dreams as often as he haunted my nightmares.
My attacker towered over me, clearly male from the boundless strength in his muscled arms. I screamed against his hand, and a low chuckle sounded in my ear as warm breath hit my skin through my hair.
“Sofia,” a deep, growly voice murmured in my ear.
I was completely immobile against him, held first by his strength, and second, my terror.
He rubbed his nose through my hair, and his hard chest expanded deeply, pushing firmly against the back of my head. “Sofia De Sanctis. Have you missed me, lastochka?”
Fear beat up my throat, stealing my voice.
The new “guest” at Casa Nera wasn’t Kirill Chernov, the cold, calculating heir to his father’s bratva. It was the violent, unpredictable psychopath he called his half-brother. Contender for the throne, and the only man who had ever dared to trespass on my father’s property and touch me.
Nikolai Chernov. In the flesh.
My shock and terror lasted a few seconds before I jerked out of my frozen state and fought him. He grunted when my elbow connected with his side, and he hauled me around to trap me against the wall.
My phone fell, clattering on the floor, the flashlight still on. The beam of light angled upward as Nikolai pressed my face into the wall, his forearm resting across the back of my neck. He moved his face next to mine, meeting my eyes for the first time. I couldn’t get used to how close he was. My skin hummed at the sensation of being touched by another, even like this. It was as if I’d been slowly turning into a ghost that haunted Casa Nera, and now, Nikolai’s punishing grip had brought me back to life.
“Now, that’s no way to greet me. Don’t forget your manners, Sofia. It’s hardly becoming of a former prom queen,” he said, cruel amusement filling his words.
Prom queen.
The night I’d been crowned prom queen had been the most terrifying night of my life, in more ways than one, and it was all because of this man. Did he know how badly that night had fucked me up? Obviously, a man like Nikolai wouldn’t care, but that he brought it up now told me he suspected it mattered to me. Nikolai Chernov didn’t just threaten my body, he seeped into my mind, too, like a poison tainting my soul. He liked to fuck with my head as much as he threatened to fuck my body.
His face was bloodied, and he had a black eye swelling. His full lower lip was split and crusted with blood. He caught me staring at his mouth. “I’ve had quite the morning, waiting here with the bodies of the pathetic guards your father thought were a match for me, waiting for a little lamb to wander through here and help me out.”
He smirked, and my anxiety climbed back up my throat and choked me.
“I’m so glad it’s you.”
His hand loosened slightly from my lips, and I jerked my head quickly enough that he couldn’t cover it. “I’m not helping you.”
His fingers closed back over my mouth, silencing me.
“Is that right? That’s okay. I don’t need you to be willing, I just need you.” He leaned in, his lips tracing over my cheek. “And prom queen, I’ve got you.”
My scream of frustration was smothered by his palm.
He leaned away from me and looked around. “Now, are you going to be a good girl and stay quiet for me, or do I have to gag you?”
I glared at him, my fury fizzling, my eyes burning.
He sighed as if I was a minor inconvenience he’d have to accommodate. “How about this? Keep your mouth shut, or I’ll find something to put in it that does the job, and I’ll enjoy every second,” he said, his manic grin returning.
Slowly, he freed my mouth.
I drew a deep breath, working my lips where they had gone numb under his hard touch. “Try it, and I’ll bite it off,” I whispered. My throat hurt from screaming against his hand gag, and I couldn’t get enough moisture down my gullet to do more than croak.
His dry chuckle set my teeth on edge. He was fiddling with something, and I took the chance to work a scream together.
He was still pushing me ruthlessly against the wall, and my neck was turned so sharply that it was hard to project my voice.
“Sounds like fun, but we don’t have time for that right now,” he said, bringing his hand back to my mouth just as I let out the first note of a piercing cry.
His hand clamped over my lips, too close to release more than a squeak. I tasted dry cotton and protested when he knotted what felt like a leather tie around my head, locking the ball of material he’d shoved in my mouth into place.
He turned me while I was still trying to adjust my mouth and caged me against the wall, knocking the breath from my lungs. Now, his hard body pushed into my front, and there was no escape from his probing stare.
I hadn’t been this close to this man in years. Five years, to be exact. A flush of shame and guilt worked through me as I remembered.
“Now, Sofia, we’re leaving. I applaud your father’s ingenuity in taking me, and I understand it was his price to leave my brother alone. But I don’t intend to pay for bratva sins with my blood. I won’t go easy, and you’re going to help me with that. You’re my insurance for getting out of this hellhole, and I don’t need you whole to be effective. I only need you alive. Don’t forget that.”
I shook my head madly and stiffened when Nikolai’s hand came up to my throat, easily circling the slender column. My pulse hammered against his hand. He rubbed his thumb across the pulse point.
He seemed fascinated by the tiny movement. “I don’t want to hurt you, lastochka. Don’t make me. You know what I’m capable of,” he whispered. “Come quietly, and everything will be okay.”
A tear welled in my eye. It wasn’t sadness, it was anger. Since that fateful night we’d met, when I was seventeen and he was nineteen, we’d been hurtling toward this very moment.
“We both know it was always going to come down to you and me, Sofia,” Nikolai murmured, seeming to read my thoughts.
I shook my head, another helpless tear of pure fury and fear falling down my cheek. His eyes burned into mine. He raised a tattooed finger to my cheek, tracing the path of salt, wetting his finger in it. Then he brought the fingertip holding my tear to his mouth and licked it.
