Chapter one
Present Day
“Finn.” Fabi, our underboss, poked his head around the door of my office. “He’s here.”
I stopped typing and stared at the words on the screen. For a moment, I forgot to breathe. But despite my body’s reaction, I kept my face expressionless, void of any emotion. This was just a typical business meeting. This was what I did, what I was good at. Meeting with mafia bosses who worked under our regime to offer them solutions to their problems. I had meetings like this every fucking week. It would be exactly the same.
Except it wouldn’t. Because it washim.
“Okay,” I said with a deep exhale, flexing my fingers over the keyboard. “Send him in.” I continued to type, though I had no idea what I was writing.
When Fabi hesitated at the door, I looked up, noticing how his dark eyebrows twitched into the bridge of his nose.
“Shall I stay?” he asked in a low whisper.
Only three people on Earth knew about the history between Enzo Aiani and me: Alessio, Elenora and Fabi. But that was all it was. History.
Ten years ago, I walked away from the only man I’d ever loved. From the man who didn’t just own my heart but crushed it in his fist and forced me to live with its fractured remains. It wasn’t as if we hadn’t crossed paths since. We’d stood in expensive suits in swanky halls at galas, exchanging clipped nods. We’d sat shoulder to shoulder in negotiation meetings with all the mafia bosses watching, pretending to be strangers.I suppose ‘strangers’ would be a better description of us now.
But we’d never been alone. Not since I told him I’d no longer be his dirty secret in the dark.
That was the past, and I refused to live in it.
“No, I’m good. Send him in.”
Fabi nodded and left. I closed my laptop, pushed down the sudden unease in my stomach, and walked over to the window, quickly fixing my dark brown hair in my reflection.Stop it. Why the fuck should I care?This was a business meeting, not a date.
I forced my gaze past my reflection and looked down at the swimming pool below. The squeals of delight and splashes of water from the three most adorablebambinosin the world made me smile. Elenora was trying to calm the chaos and failing terribly. Her six-year-old twins, Siro and Isotta, were in the middle of a water fight, while my little Nerina stood on the steps, clapping her chubby hands together as her armbands flapped around her arms. She was my reason for everything. Becoming a single dad wasn’t an easy decision, but it was the best one I ever made.
I sensed the moment he entered the room behind me. The air shifted, and my spine straightened. I kept watching the children, pretending not to notice his presence, buying myself a few moments to secure my fortress and face him.
“Consigliere Rossetti.” His voice, deeper and rougher than I remembered, licked at my skin like fire, but the formality and coldness were like a dagger between the ribs. This man used to moan my name. Now he couldn’t even say it.
“Don Aiani,” I replied before forcing myself to turn around and place my hands behind my back. My fortress cracked. The late Sicilian sun streamed through the window, catching the sharp contours of his striking face. A face that time had hardened, but that had somehow only made him more attractive. The softness and boyish features he’d once possessed had been chipped away, leaving behind a ruthless, edgy, but no doubt beautiful man in his prime.
Those crystal blue eyes met mine. The silence stretched between us, loaded and heavy with the weight of the years that had passed. I gestured to the chair in front of my desk as I walked towards my own.
“You flew all the way to Sicily to meet with me. It must be urgent,” I said, steadying my breath and my expression.
He dropped into the chair as if he owned it. His broad shoulders swallowed the space, and his massive biceps strained against his shirt as he leaned back, stretching out his long legs. It was an effort to keep my gaze from wandering all over his body, taking in the way the expensive material of his clothes hugged every defined muscle. My pulse raced at the memory of what lay beneath. Back then, he was slimmer, more athletic. But the man before me… he looked as if he were forged from steel. Solid. A unit you’d think twice about challenging. Every inch of him radiated the man he’d become. A man I barely recognised.
“It is. You must have heard by now that the Americans killed my consigliere. My cousin, Corrado,” he growled, his lip curling over his teeth.
I exhaled, leaning back in my chair to match his pose. “I heard. I’m sorry for your loss. I only met Corrado a handful of times, but he seemed like a decent man.”
“He wasn’t,” Enzo interrupted, holding my gaze. “He was atesta di cazzo. But he was still my cousin. They chased him and my men throughPadua, dragged him out of his car, beat him to death, and left his battered body in the street. In broad fucking daylight. In my city. They also took out three of my men to get to him.”
My hackles rose. That wasn’t just a message the Americans were sending us; it was an insult. Making an example of a man who held power in a city and stripping him of it for all to see. This ongoing battle between the Americans and us had started ten years ago. Even though there was no evidence (we’d made sure of it), they were convinced that Alessio, the Mafia king of Italy, my best friend and boss, had murdered their don, Anthony Galiz and his high-ranking soldiers. He did, but they had no proof. Yet, they started a war over it anyway. They were trying to take everything we had worked so hard for. Capturing and torturing our soldiers, targeting our shipments, and blowing up our warehouses—that was one thing. But killing a consigliere, a man almost as important and respected as a boss, on our streets in the light of day? That was an act of war.
“You want permission to retaliate,” I responded, knowing how any boss in this situation would react. They’d be out for blood. And from the darkness in Enzo’s eyes, he was ready for a massacre.
“I will retaliate,” Enzo said, his jaw clenching. I narrowed my eyes in warning.
We allowed bosses the freedom to run their families as they saw fit under a unified mafia regime. All we asked was that they keep us informed about their illegal dealings and negotiations with other crime lords. If disagreements arose, we expected them to bring it to us first, allowing us to mediate without resorting to bloodshed. But the Americans were different. This was different. There was no negotiating or mediating. We’d tried. They wouldn’t listen. So we had no choice but to respond to violence with violence. But every attack had to be approved by Alessio himself or me. Enzo knew this, but he was also hot-headed and sometimes reckless. His raw emotions and inability to think through his actions or see the consequences of his choices were reasons our relationship had been doomed from the start.
“Don’t make any impulsive decisions. This is a war we are winning. They are growing desperate, which is why they are putting on the pressure. Any provoking moves now will cost us.”
His cold, composed mask of a mafia boss slipped as his blue eyes filled with frustration and his frown lines deepened. He inhaled, rubbing his chin. For a moment, I glimpsed the man I once loved peeking through. Then he was gone. The anger was back in place.
