PROLOGUE
A Week Ago
SANTO
Alone in the Bianchi Construction offices, reviewing assistant applications because nobody could do their fucking job, nobody could follow a simple fucking instruction anymore, I stared from the top floor office window, slumped in my father’s old leather office chair. The dark harbor below was a reminder of my first kill. Rain streaked the windows, showing lights as orange blobs, pulling the focus of my drunken eyes. I clenched my fingers around my glass of scotch, nursing it warm in my hands.
“I’m going to show the world how to get shit done,” I growled, sipping and letting the liquid melt on my tongue. It was the only thing that brought me joy right now—besides the fact my father was dead.
My father, the previous head of the Bianchi family, died two months ago. It was a slow death, prostate cancer that got into his blood and bones. The man was blasted with all types of therapies, transforming him from a bitter old man into someone who apologized and wanted to live. It didn’t matter to me. I’d playedfavorite, but I hated his fucking guts. He was homophobic, and the core memory I had of him was him striking me down when he saw memaking eyesata boy in middle school. The man thought he’dbeat that shit out of me. I told him he had. I fucking lied. He died from cancer of an organ I played with on every twink and twunk who crossed my path. I laughed—more of a cackle. It was sick of me, I know, but I laughed. The irony of it.
In my eyes—and my two brothers’ eyes—he died of hate.
And the three of us were now free.
I raised my glass to the man as I looked out at the harbor. It’s where we’d thrown his ashes. Half were in an urn my mom kept by her bed, and the other half were supposed to be here in this fucking office. That bullshit wasn’t going to fly, though. The ashes didn’t even see these four walls. We threw them in the harbor as soon as we could. Rocco spat in them too. His fingers had been twitching for a knife, but our dad was already ash, so spit was the next best thing.
I turned in the office chair to see a stack of applications on my desk. That new assistant role needed filling. I’d been through the stack once already, trying to find someone I liked the look of, and I liked the look of them all—but Daddy’s little harem was out of the question.
My brothers told me to hire a woman, someone I wasn’t going to fuck... someone I wouldn’t push into the mold of a partner I wanted. I was an HR disaster waiting to happen—if this wasn’t a fucking criminal enterprise where my cousin Camille was HR.
I had the pick of Boston’s twink litter. There was power in that. Or safety. Protection too. Control was the only thing that never betrayed me. I’d been through four assistants already, and picking a new one was tough. They were only going to last a week or two under myregimeand protocol.
Batting a hand at the files, they went flying across the floor, fanning themselves out.
One file remained on the desk.
I downed the scotch with force, and most of it dribbled down my chin. Ever since quitting smoking, I was drinking more, alongside theboyswho came by for work, my vices were becoming slimmer.
My hand dropped, slamming the glass onto the file, and I peered through the glass at the magnified headshot below. Hewas... cute, with an eager smile and lips I knew that would love overtime.
“Yeah.”Isaiah King. “You’ll do,” I said with a snort of accomplishment.
1. ISAIAH
The tightness of my tie pushed up around the collar of my shirt was a sensory nightmare. I had to wear it for professionalism, or whatever, the internet had told me. I didn’t know how to function in the real adult world without several internet searches just to make sure of things—sometimes it made me feel like an alien walking around in a human skin.
Walking through the glass doors of Bianchi Construction Services into a small empty lobby, I tugged the tie a little, hoping to loosen it but nearly strangling myself instead, my messenger bag—a.k.a. my informal briefcase—swinging from my shoulder with the big steps I took.
At the reception desk stood a woman with fancy rimmed glasses and bold red lips. “Hi, welcome to Bianchi Construction Services. Do you have an appointment?” she asked, but my eyes were watching the gum she was chewing. “Hon?”
“Hi,” I said, my body freezing as the warm sweat that had soaked my shirt turned cold against my skin. “I’m here for the assistant interview, for the—” I pulled my messenger bag around, almost knocking the bowl of blue glass pebbles from the desk. “It’s the—I’ve got a letter here.”
She smiled at me. “This is the job for the owner, my cousin, Santo Bianchi,” she said. “Executive assistant? You have prior experience?”
I nodded then shrugged; the job title was something along those lines. “Yeah,” I said. “Oh, and no, I ... well, I’m fresh out of college. Please don’t... I’ve been job hunting for months.” And my entire life was currently depending on maxed-out credit cards with an interest rate I blamed on my mom for fucking up my credit score.
She chuckled. “Oh, doll. That’s no problem. I was just gonna say, make sure to get in all the experience possible while you’re here,” she said. “My cousin has a bit of a habit with assistant turnover. He can be intense.”
At this point, I didn’t care. She could’ve told me I’d have to walk over hot coals every day, and I’d still take the job offered to me. I couldn’t help but grin. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll be sure to get the experience.”
She pulled out a folder. “You’ll also be required to sign an NDA,” she said. “I’ll call my cousin down now.”
“It’s just an interview, though, isn’t it?”
She laughed. “Oh no, he’s going to hire you,” she said. “You’re...” After a pause where her eyes traced me up and down, she nodded. “His type... of assistant. You’re going to do great, I promise. Oh, I’m sorry, what’s your name?”
Glancing at the file and hearing her question, I needed to take a breath to center myself. There was no going back. I knew that. I needed the money, because without it I’d lose my apartment and the home for my babies—my plush teddy collection.“Isaiah King,” I said.
