Chapter 1
Bianca
Bang! Bang!
“Run!”
Every time I dozed off in this silent darkness, Cosimo’s voice thundered in my head as he yelled over the bullets. His face urging me to escape with our baby, men falling down around my husband like flies, and all the blood staining our apartment played on repeat behind my blindfolded lids.
I moved my hands, but my wrists burned, zip tied behind my back. I had no idea how long I’d been here. By the pressure in my bladder, I’d say at least twelve hours, if not more.
Whoever did this, whoever kidnapped me and my baby, didn’t have the courage to show themselves, say their demands or rattle their threats; they drugged me, threw me here, and tied me to this chair without my son.
No surprise here. The people who dared kidnap Cosimo Lanza’s wife and son must be lunatics or had a death wish. They must have realized the lethal mistake they’d made and were either cursing themselves to hell and beyond or already in hell.
If Cosimo didn’t murder the bastards who shot at us at our own home and kidnapped me and Mario, I’d do it myself.
Nobody touched my son and lived.
My husband was the boss of the Italian Mafia. As much as I despised what he did for a living, urged him to step down over and over, in situations like this one, I realized his way was the only way.
That’s what I’ve always been afraid of, Cosimo. I told you I didn’t want my children to live in fear. Why wouldn’t you just listen?
After he offed the fuckers, I wouldn’t tolerate this anymore. Two years ago, when he proposed, I’d begged him to quit, but he said it was impossible. I followed my stupid heart and married him anyway. I had no other choice. Despite how dark and twisted and depraved our story was, Cosimo was my everything. The gorgeous bad boy I loved since I was eight. The man I lost my virginity to. The dangerous devil who owned my heart, body and soul.
But when we had Mario, I couldn’t just sit around and wait for a day such as today. I asked again. Demanded. That was when Cosimo promised the second we were in danger, he’d consider leaving his seat to his brother Enzio.
Well, now he’d have to do more than just consider it. Cosimo must step down. I wouldn’t rest until my husband, my son and I lived in peace.
My nipples ached with the heaviness of my breasts. It was past Mario’s feeding time. He must be so hungry. What would those fuckers feed him? Would they feed him in the first place?
“You motherfuckers, give me back my son!” I bellowed at the darkness, rocking the chair hard, my whole body shaking with fury, the zip tie slashing my wrists. “If you hurt him, I’ma kill each one of—”
Something screeched, followed by a cold sea breeze, seagull noises, and a hint of light I felt on my face. Was I close to a beach? Docks? My pulse rocketed as footsteps echoed. Elegant and self-assured.
Familiar.
Another screech. A metallic thud. Darkness. Then another burst of light much closer than the first. The familiar steps came toward me. They belonged to a man whose smell I knew by heart, but my mind, out of shock and distress, refused to believe he was the one standing next to my chair.
My head whipped in his direction. “Where is my son?”
Silence filled the space between us for never-ending seconds. Then he sighed. “Safe.”
A chill ran down my spine, and a wave of relief engulfed me at the familiar voice and assuring word. “Oh, Enzio. It is you. Thank God. Where’s Cosimo?”
“Never ceased to surprise me how you could tell us apart so easily.” Fingers touched the back of my head, and the blindfold dropped.
The flaring light from what seemed to be a lamp in the middle of this dark room forced me to squint hard. My eyes suffered to adjust before I could take in my husband’s twin brother’s face. “I’m so glad you’re here. I really need to pee. Where’s Mario? Take me to him.”
“I have him, Bianca. Don’t worry.” He grabbed a chair from a corner and sat across from me.
“What do you mean don’t worry? Why are you sitting down? Untie me and let’s go. Did you catch the bastards who did this? And where the hell is Cosimo?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
My heart skipped a beat. “What? Is he hurt?”
He just stared at me, his eyes the darkest I’d ever seen. Cold sweat trickled down the back of my neck as I imagined the worst possible scenarios. They were shooting at my husband when I ran, but he wasn’t hurt, and his bodyguards were still standing.
