“How are we doing?” I ask the two guards stationed at the gate of Dem’s property. We’re about an hour from Mari’s wedding ceremony, and I’m doing one last round to make sure everyone’s keeping their eyes peeled.
We’re still being careful these days. Dem’s claim as our new leader has been accepted by anyone who’s worth a damn, but the only time a don has no enemies is when he’s dead. It’s my job to make sure nothing ruins these two weddings, and I’m taking that seriously. We expanded the perimeter a few days ago, added more cameras, and put more men on the security detail.
“All good,” the older guard says while he peels an apple with his pocketknife. “Enjoy the party, boss.”
“Send a message if anything comes up.” I pop my head into the security booth and do a quick scan of the cameras, just in case.
Mari deserves to enjoy this. The poor kid’s been through a lot recently.
As have the rest of us.
It took a lot to get to the top of the clan, but now that we’re here, the view’s damn nice, even if I’m still getting used to it.
Dem and I operated in exile on Ibiza for over a decade under the old don—that motherfucker Sal. If I’d gone to his funeral, I would have spit on his grave. He fucked with us for a long time, but he got what he deserved.
Now Dem is in his rightful place.
Dem and I go way, way back. When his and Mari’s parents died, they came to live with my family. He’s always been around, but we only became close friends a few years after we graduated high school.
If I had to describe my life to someone in one word, it would be “unexpected.” I was born into a high-ranking Casalesi family, my father an area capo who often had the don’s ear. Everyone told me I’d take my father’s position one day. Their expectations were like a living, breathing thing growing up, sucking all the air out of a room.
No wonder meeting that asshole Nunzio in high school did a number on me. Try believing you’re destined for leadership when every week you get your ass kicked by a kid who’s twice your size and has a vendetta.
My gaze drops to the scar on my arm. Even all these years later, there’s an annoying twinge in my chest at the memory of how I got it and who gave it to me.
I tug my shirtsleeve over it and start walking back to the house.
Whatever I have now, I owe to Dem.
He dragged me out of a dark fucking place after what happened with Nunzio and Sara. Nothing quite like having the woman you love dump you for the guy who made your life hell for years.
If Dem hadn’t hounded me to help him, I don’t know where I would have ended up. But he refused to give up on me. He gave me something to live for.
Now, I’ll do anything for him.
The wedding ceremony’s sweet and simple. Mari glows with happiness, and Napoletano actually cracks a smile. It looks weird on him.
When they kiss, everyone cheers, and some kind of daytime fireworks explode, making colorful patterns in the sky. We watch as they disappear against the backdrop of the setting sun, and everything feels just right.
It’s only when everyone gets up from their seats that I finally spot Gemma.
My breath catches.
She’s a vision in a blue silk dress. The way the fabric falls over her body reminds me of those flawless Roman statues. The ones you want to look at for hours from every angle.
She’s walking with Cleo toward the bar, that perfect ass swaying with every step.
Fucking mesmerizing.
I shake my head to make myself snap out of it and run my hand over my hair.
I don’t even know what I want from her.
Nothing. She’s engaged.
No, that’s not true. I want something.
She’s a puzzle I need to figure out.
Then I’ll leave her alone.
My feet carry me across the lawn to where they’re standing. Gemma notices me approach, and her eyes widen momentarily. Is she tugging on Cleo’s elbow? The predator in me smirks. She’s not getting away that easily.
“Why are you pulling on me?” I hear Cleo ask just before I cast my shadow over them.
“Going somewhere?”
Gemma’s gaze flits over my body before leveling on my face. “Yes, we were just leaving to find some shade. Excuse us.”
I block her way and tug on my tie. “Hot, isn’t it?”
Her cheeks tinge pink. “Can you—”
“There he is!” a familiar voice calls out behind me.
Cazzo.
I turn around just in time for my ma to pull me into her arms. She presses kisses to both of my cheeks. “Where were you before the start of the ceremony?”
“Working.”
She tsks. “You work too much. And who’s this?”
“Gemma and Cleo Garzolo,” I say. “Valentina’s sisters.”
“I’m Avena Sorrentino,” Ma says. “Cassio’s mom.”
Merda. Ma ignores the glare I send her. Every time I see her, I have to remind her no one calls me that anymore.
You’d think she’d get used to it after a decade.
Gemma’s brows scrunch together. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve met him.”
Ma laughs. “I think you have.” She points at me.
Gemma’s eyes widen for a moment as she makes the connection. “You’re Ras’s mom?”
She says it like the idea of me having a mother is impossible to comprehend. She probably thinks I was forged in the depths of hell.
“When you have children, make sure they don’t get attached to stupid nicknames,” Ma advises. “Cassio is such a beautiful name, and he’s all but abandoned it. And Ras isn’t even a real name, it’s just what we call—”
“Ma.”
She shoots me a look. It’s one I’ve seen countless times before, and it all but screams that I’ve tossed aside all the things she wanted for me. She used to say that to me out loud, but not anymore. Not since I became the underboss to our don. It’s a position many made men would kill for. A position that demands respect. But it’s still not what my parents wanted for me. They wanted me to work with my dad, take over managing our family’s businesses, and make it into something great.
Instead, the only businesses I’ve ever given a fuck about are Dem’s.
It’s easier to help someone else achieve their goals than to meditate too much on my own.
Vale appears and whisks Gemma and Cleo away, while Ma patters on to me about some drama with our cousins until I find an excuse to step away.
I get to the main dinner table before everyone else and scan the names on the place cards.
Gemma and I are on opposite ends.
Fuck that. How am I supposed to figure her out if she’s all the way over there?
I swipe her card and swap it with the one that’s right across from me.
She arrives a few minutes later with the rest of the guests and looks for her seat. When she realizes how close we are to each other, her gaze volleys to me, and something exasperated passes over her expression.
I grin. This is going to be a fun dinner.
The server comes around offering wine, and Gemma does her best to ignore me.
I’m okay with that. Just looking at her is a thrill, especially when she looks like that.
A sparkling pendant glimmers against her skin, as if it’s there to draw my attention to where it’s nestled between her breasts. The neck of her dress dips low enough to show off a tantalizing bit of cleavage. She’s a walking distraction. That dress should have come with a warning.
I pull on my wine. She does the same. My gaze is drawn to the way her fingers are curled around the stem of the glass, and a visual of those fingers wrapped around something else makes my neck feel hot beneath my collar.
“Will you stop staring?” she hisses.
I blink, like I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“I was just zoning out,” I say.
“Zone out on someone else.”
“You’re sitting directly across from me. Don’t take it personally. It’s just convenient.” I smirk, hoping to piss her off enough to make those cheeks turn red.
It works, because when does it not? I don’t need to work very hard to make Gemma angry. My mere presence seems enough to do it.
She shakes her head. “What’s with the name?”
“Hmm?”
“Ras. Why is that what people call you when your name is Cassio?”
It’s a question I’m not expecting.
My blood chills. Memories press in from the darkened corners where I keep them.
You’re an idiot, Cassio. Nunzio will kill you for what you did.
I smooth my palm over my tie. “Never mind.”
She doesn’t drop it. “What does it mean?”
Why did Ma have to mention it?
Ras is a term in the Camorra system for someone who answers to a higher boss.
You’re not Cassio anymore. You’re ras. My ras. And you’re going to do whatever I tell you to from now on.
I can still see Nunzio’s face as he said those words. He was so angry, so determined to make me pay.
His family wasn’t like my own. They lived in the neighborhood, and his father worked as a low-level manager in one of Pa’s factories.
Honest people doing honest work.
They used their savings to buy Nunzio a motorcycle as a gift for his sixteenth birthday, and when he showed up one day at school riding it, everyone was awed.
And me?
My first thought was to steal it. Just as a joke. Just to prove I could.
What I didn’t realize was that it wouldn’t be funny to Nunzio.
He’d been twice my size and freakishly strong for a sixteen-year-old.
When he found out I was the one who took the motorcycle and crashed it, he told my friends I’d pay for what I did thrice over.
Pff.
I made an enemy for life.
He made it his mission to show me just how fucking weak and worthless I was. He knew that I was too proud to run to my family for help. I thought it would end when we graduated, but he never seemed to get his fill when it came to breaking me.
At least not until he managed to steal the woman I loved.
“It’s an old nickname,” I say, standing. I don’t want to fucking talk about this.
Gemma’s gaze trails up my body, confusion in her eyes.
I reach for my glass and polish off my wine. I don’t like it. It’s too sweet. I’ll get a bottle of my favorite red from Damiano’s cellar.
It’s a stupid excuse to leave, but fuck it.
I head toward the house, acutely aware of Gemma’s gaze on my back.
