“My ambition will make this family great again.” Tony pounded his fist on the table. “And the alliance with the Cordanos will ensure I have the power to make it happen.”
Tony didn’t know about the marriage Nico’s father had arranged with the Scozzari family in Sicily. If Tony married Mia, Nico’s Sicilian bride would be the only way he could save the family from certain destruction. With the Scozzari alliance, Nico would be able to avenge his father’s death and the deaths of all Toscanis who had fallen to Cordano soldiers in the war.
Nico pulled his pen from his pocket and spun it over his thumb. He had to put personal feelings aside, just as his father had done. Although Papà loved Nico’s mother, Papà loved his family more. He had married his wife for the powerful alliance that came with the union, and he wouldn’t have risked the security of the family, even for the woman of his heart.
All his life, Nico had wanted to be like his father—a man of honor and respect, selfless and loyal, devoted to the family—a man whose blood had run through Nico’s fingers when the damn Cordanos shot him through the back.
Duty or desire?
Ruin or revenge?
*
“Mia.” Mama pulled open the door, dressed in mourning black out of respect for the fallen bosses. Many Mafia wives wore black all the time to honor the brothers, cousins, husbands, or fathers who had died in the endless wars for power. “So nice to see you again so soon.”
“Seriously, Mama?” Mia pushed past her mother and into the hall as Rev headed down to her father’s office. “Do you really think I’m here for a social visit? Rev was sent to drag me here against my will. He told me Papà hurt Kat. Where is she?”
“They’re waiting for you in your father’s office.” Mia’s mother swallowed hard and twisted her gold bracelet around her wrist. Mia remembered the night her father had given the bracelet to Mama, praising her as a good wife. Only later had she discovered that Mama had seen him with his mistress but had done her duty and kept her mouth shut.
Mia stared at the bracelet. “How bad is it?” Her mother never fidgeted or sweated or appeared anything less than fully interested in whatever a person had to say. She had perfected the look of a porcelain doll even though she was shattered inside.
“Your father is very stressed.” Mama gave her a wan smile. “He’s still recovering from his injuries, and poor Dante mishandled something to do with the business—you know he’s not good with numbers—and we have lost our consigliere.”
“The Wolf is dead?”
“I’m afraid so. They found his body this morning.”
Mia felt a chill through her veins. Had Nico really killed him? She’d never seen him as angry as when the Wolf threatened her, even the night he’d held his gun to her father’s head in the restaurant. But was she really surprised? Even she knew of Nico’s brutal reputation in an almost barbaric conflict. Her father had lived in fear of Nico for years, never leaving the house without a slew of bodyguards, and keeping the family locked behind a high wire fence.
“And, of course, you were seen in public with Nico Toscani, which is just one more thing to add to his stress.”
Mia stared at her mother and looked down the hall. Mama had just given her fair warning that the next half hour was going to be bad. Very bad. Maybe worse than anything she had experienced before. She had a sudden, overwhelming urge to ask for help. But only person who could help her was the last person who would walk through that door.
Nico.
She had opened herself up to him, and he liked her for who she was—with her dyed black hair and her ink, her feminist anthems, her punk clothes, and the attitude that brought out the worst of her father’s anger. He was interested in her work, respected her business, and made her feel both feminine and strong. She felt good when she was with him. Like two halves made whole. Like the woman she was meant to be. A woman powerful enough to take on her father and win. Alone.
“Okay.” She took a deep breath and walked down the hall, with her mother following behind. “I can do this.”
“Be strong, darling.”
Mia looked back over her shoulder when she reached the door to her father’s office. “I’ve always been strong, Mama. I just don’t know if it will be enough.”
A guard Mia didn’t recognize let her into the office, and she staggered back from the blast of heat. Her father had closed the thick, velvet curtains, and lit a fire in the fireplace. Four guards stood at attention near the windows, and another two stood behind his chair. He wore his usual dark suit and blue tie, his broad, angry face was twisted in a scowl. There was nothing to suggest he’d suffered a life-threatening bullet wound just over two weeks ago, and she wondered just how badly Kat, seated in a chair in front of his desk, had been hurt.
“Papà. I’m glad to see you are home. Kat, are you—?”