Prologue
MATTEO
I should beon the highway, driving fast to a small airstrip in the desert where a plane is waiting to take me east.I should be hauling ass if I want to get out of LA alive.
Instead, here I am, at Resurrection Cemetery, standing in the dark over a white marble headstone that marks the last resting place of most of my closest family.Only my wayward younger sister is still alive, but my mother is here, my father and brother too.My grandfather and grandmother are keeping them company.The Rovina family grave.Buried far from the rest of our extended family that in our world means everything.Buried far earlier than was their time.
Ruin.That’s what our name means in Italian.And it is not just a name.It is a curse we carry.One that always makes sure we fall back down no matter how far we rise.One that always makes sure we fall to ruin.But I can’t think like that now.I’ve been a prisoner of the man responsible for killing those closest to me, but now I am free to avenge them.
I lay my hand on the cold stone wishing for possibly the millionth that I could ask my father or grandfather, or even great-grandfather who died when I was a toddler, for some advice.
They’d probably tell me to get the fuck back in my car and drive to the desert to make that plane.Because if I don’t get out of this city, I will join them.And then our line will truly die out.They all gave their lives to prevent that.I wish they’d made better choices.
Just as I did when I buried my parents and brother, I wish the damn cemetery name—Resurrection—held truth.I wish they’d all rise and stand by me, because other than managing to stay alive, I haven’t done any great thing with this gift of still being alive that they did not get.
“I’ll be back,” I promise them.“Back with an army to take back what was taken from us, to get what you deserved, to keep our name alive, and to make sure it’s forever remembered.Just like you wanted.”
I try really hard to hear words in the rustling of the cypress trees stirred by the nighttime wind.Really want at least that much of a sign that I’m on the right path.But all I hear is a distant police siren and the world sleeping.
Wherever my family is, they do not walk with me.They’re not ghosts watching my back or offering advice.
Most of them are probably burning in Hell.
That’s where I’m headed too, no doubt.
So we’ll be together then.We’ll be together again.
But before then, I mean to earn my place among them.
I unsheathe my knife—a short, curved, black blade with a black handle.It’s the only heirloom I have left of Eddo Rovina, my great-grandfather who first dreamed of carrying the family name into the world and into the pages of history.He came to this country with not much more than this knife to his name.And he used it to bring fame and glory to the family name.Which, by now we’ve managed to squander away.He was as alone and friendless as I am when he came here, so I hope he’s watching over me even if I can’t sense him.
It’s a good knife, I keep it sharp, and to make it truly mine, I’ve washed it in the blood of my enemies often, just as all who held it before me had done.
Now I use it to slice open my palm, then let the blood drip over the pure white stone.
“I will restore honor to the family name.I will get back all that was taken away from us.I will make our enemies fear our name and I will not rest until all that is ours.By my blood and yours, I swear it.”
The rustling of the wind swallows up my words.But maybe it grows just a little louder, a little more excited.Like maybe they heard me.Like maybe they’re with me after all.Like maybe luck has finally smiled down on my family.I’d say God has finally done that, but he has nothing to do with what I’ve vowed to do.
That’s fine.I don’t need God, and I don’t need the heavens to help me.All I need, all any of us ever needed, was the support of our extended family back east.So maybe it is the voices of my forefathers in this rising wind that I can’t quite hear.And this time I’m certain they’re telling me to just get the hell on with it and stop wasting time.
It’s time to listen.
Chapter1
GIANNA
My twenty-first birthdaycame and went and nothing’s different.A childish part of my mind—or maybe it’s the only sane part—believed that maybe now that I’m of age I can do whatever I want.I blame all the movies I watch and rewatch for giving me that idea.But in reality, I’m still in the same golden cage I was yesterday, and for the last twenty-one years.My cage isn’t just golden, it’s practically diamond-studded.But it’s just as suffocating as any iron cage in existence.
The bedroom I just woke up in is bigger than most people’s apartments and my view out the window stretches across a gorgeous garden all the way to the ocean in the distance.We’re at the Hamptons house, because that’s where my birthday party was held and the place is big enough to fit everyone that wanted to be here.
Out of over two hundred guests, maybe a handful of people were here just for me.My sisters Chiara and Lidia, possibly my mother.But Mom just floated around the party with a glass of pink champagne in her hand and a calm smile on her face that never changed.Probably drunk and heavily sedated.She’s been that way ever since my older brother Antonio was killed by the Russina Mafia, the Bratva, in the back room of an underground gambling parlor.It’s been over a year, and I’m afraid she’ll never recover from his death.She doesn’t talk about it.Because one doesn’t talk about such things.Death and war and grief are a part of our world.The retribution for the killing has been raging for the better part of this year.I’ve now lost three cousins, two uncles and another two cousins are likely to go soon.
And for what?
To get at the son of the head guy of the Bratva, the Russian Mafia’s capo, or whatever they call him?But the cowards are keeping that one so well hidden we could lose all our men before we get to him.It’s sacrilege to even suggest we give up though.And I’m not suggesting.It wouldn’t be my place anyway.My place is in this diamond-studded golden cage watching it all, and making as little sound as possible.Or the one back in New York City, which I prefer because at least there’s something going on down on the street all the time.
I loved my brother and I’m sorry he’s gone.But he was fifteen years older than me, a made man before I was even born and I didn’t know him very well.
