The Devil I Don't Know (Brooklyn Kings, #1)

by L.K. Shaw

With a deceptive calmness he moves to his desk and picks up a pen lying on top of a piece of paper. My eyes land on it. Certificate of Marriage. “Sign.” He holds the pen up in front of me. I stand frozen, unable to move. With my signature, everything is final. There’s no undoing any of this. I can’t do it. There’s a flash of movement and then blinding pain. Tears spring from the impact of Grand-da’s hand across my face again. On its heels is a roar of rage. I turn my head in time to see my grandfather pinned against the wall, clawing at my husband’s hand wrapped around his throat. “I don’t give a fuck how powerful you think you are. If you ever touch my wife again, I’ll slit your throat and bury your body where no one will ever find it. Do you understand?” he growls.

Utterly disregarding the man gasping for breath, my husband turns, and in a blink, he’s standing before me. He towers over me, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him. A shadow of brutality lingers in his eyes. He reaches out, and despite myself, I flinch…again. He merely picks up the pen my grandfather dropped and holds it out to me. “Our marriage is a business arrangement, so I understand your being opposed to it. Neither of us wants this, but one thing I can promise is that I will never lay hands on you in anger.” I shiver at his gruff tone.

I turn my gaze back to my husband who’s still holding the pen in his hand. I take him in again. His dark hair is swept back off his forehead, his eyebrows a sharp slash over eyes that bore into me. A chill dashes across me at their intensity, and I could almost lose myself staring into them. They’re the color of my father’s favorite cognac. Despite the ferocity he displayed only moments ago, they seem almost gentle now. In a move that surprises me, I reach out and take the pen. Our hands brush. Before I change my mind, I scribble my signature on the line above my printed name. I can feel my husband’s eyes on me. He takes the pen from my fingers, his skin gliding along mine. Goosebumps travel up my arm. Confused over my reaction, I hastily take a step back while my husband—Emilio—signs his name next to mine. He rolls up the certificate and tucks it into the inner pocket of his suit. It’s final. I’ve signed my life over to a stranger. A man who, only moments ago, showed me how brutal he is. Despite his promise, I don’t know if I can trust him. Dear God, what have I done?

My self-imposed exile isn’t going to last forever. Sooner, rather than later, la famiglia responsibilities will call me home. Long before I’m ready. I rest my forearms on the railing of the second floor deck of my estate and stare out across the vast expanse, down into the valley where the small town of Pinegrove, North Carolina lays. The harsh spring breeze penetrates the layers of my suit and undershirt to skate across my skin, and I breathe in the salt-tinged air. It’s quiet here. No horns honking. No police sirens. Just nature. A throat clears behind me. I briefly close my eyes, inhale one last lungful of cool, salty air, and then release it. Only one person would intrude upon my solitude. I turn to face six-and-a-half feet of solid muscle. The hell-fire red eyes of the skull tattoo covering his entire throat glare out at me from between his open shirt collar. Pierce is an intimidating fucker on a normal day. Today, his expression is grimmer than usual. “You have a phone call.” “Take a message.” He shakes his head. “It’s Sal.” It would seem sooner just arrived.

Unable to avoid my fate any longer, I let out a breath before picking up the phone. “Hello, Father.” “The time has come for you to return home.” Is that fatigue and pain in his voice? “I think you and Uncle Paulie are handling things just fine without me.” “Emilio—Jacob—I’m dying.” The air in my lungs freezes at his statement. At the name. Not once, in thirty-six years, has my father ever called me Jacob, even though it’s what my mother called me, to his great dismay. To hear it from his lips now? It’s a plea. And Salvatore Ricci didn’t become head of the Brooklyn syndicate by begging for anything. “How long?” “The doctors say three to six months, depending on treatment.” “Does anyone else know?” If the news got out that my father is sick, there’s no telling what our enemies would attempt. “Only Paulie.” He pauses. “For now.” Paulie Lasco. My adopted uncle, and my father’s consigliere for the past thirty years. I close my eyes and count to ten before opening them again. “Pierce and I will be on the next flight to New York.” The man against the wall straightens at hearing his name. “Paulie will meet you at the airport. He’ll fill you in on things before you get here.” “Yes, sir.” “And Emilio…I’ll be happy to see you.”

A roar bursts from deep in my chest. In a single move, I launch to my feet and swipe everything off my desk onto the floor with a loud crash. I collapse back into my chair, my breathing harsh in the quiet of the room. “I’ll have Agnes come and clean up.” Pierce steps toward the door to call in my housekeeper. “No,” I bark. “I’ll take care of it.” He pivots back to me. “What’s going on, Jacob? Aside from the fact that we’re heading back to New York.” There’s not a soul on this planet I trust more than the man standing across the room. He chose to exile himself with me seven years ago. Right after we slaughtered the enemy who hurt Francesca. He’s been my best friend our entire lives. “My father is dying.” Pierce moves to the chair opposite me. “What?” “It’s time for me to return and take my place as head of the syndicate.” He blows out a ragged breath and runs his hand down his face. “Christ. I can’t believe it. I thought Sal would outlive us all. How long’s he got?” “No more than six months.” The implications that come with my father’s death are widespread. Civil war between the families. A contract on my life. Our enemies will band together to destroy everything my grandfather built.

“You know there will be those who challenge your right to take your father’s place.” There is no doubt in my mind. A few would like nothing better than to usurp my position. Especially given my long absence. “They can try, but they will fail.” I may not want the role thrust upon me at birth, but with my father’s death on the horizon, it’s mine nonetheless, and I will kill anyone who tries to take it from me. “They’re going to want you to prove your loyalty. Not only to your father, but to the whole syndicate. You’ve been gone a long time. Things have changed. Alliances have changed. Our enemies are not who they once were.” “Which is what I have you for. I trust you to share with me everything you know on our flight back to the city.

“I’ll call the pilot and let him know when to expect us. I’ll have the car ready in an hour.” I nod absently. I rest my forearms on my desk and turn them over to stare at the palms of my hands. Hands that are covered in blood. Her blood. I still see her body lying in the middle of the bed. Pale. Cold. The red sheets that, only hours earlier, had shone a bright white. I clench my fists as though I can wring the blood out of them. Like usual, it doesn’t work. It’s still there. Mocking me. Reminding me.

Methodically, I pack my toiletries. I open the top dresser drawer and push aside the perfectly folded undershirts. In the darkest recesses my fingers latch onto a small velvet pouch. With careful movements, I tug the string and tip the bag on its side. Out slides a nearly empty bottle of women’s perfume. I bring it to my nose and inhale, pulling in the scent of lilacs. I bought this bottle for her birthday eight years ago. It’s the only thing of her I have left. I deposit it back inside the velvet sack and tuck it inside my luggage. Bags in hand, I make my way down the staircase where Pierce is standing. He takes them from me without a word and walks out the front door to the waiting town car. My emotions are volatile, and he senses it. I stand there a moment, and then I follow him outside. I have responsibilities and a dynasty I can no longer ignore.

I never thought I’d see the day that Salvatore Ricci would form a tentative alliance with the Irish. Especially Colm Donnelly.” The head of the Irish mob has always been a ruthless bastard. Rumor has it he had one of his own sons killed. “The Russians have become a nuisance. They seem to have forgotten their place, and it’s up to us to remind them of it. By aligning ourselves with Donnelly, we’re sending a message to those who think they can come in and take what isn’t theirs.” Still, it is a risky move. The Irishman is cold, calculating, and unpredictable. I don’t think much has changed in the time I’ve been gone from New York. Even the slightest perceived betrayal could unravel an alliance. “What happens if Donnelly decides an alliance is no longer to his advantage?” Paulie and Pierce exchange a knowing glance. One I don’t care for. My eyes dart back and forth between the two of them. “What aren’t either of you telling me?”

“Grand-da wants to see you in his office.” I jerk my head up from the book propped against my knees and narrow my eyes at my twin brother, Paddy, standing in the doorway of the library. He knows better than to interrupt me while I’m reading. Then it strikes me what he said. Grand-da never wants to see me. Hell, even if he looked straight at me, he wouldn’t see me. I am invisible.

“Why are you following me?” I ask Paddy, who is almost stepping on my heels. “I was told specifically to escort you there.” It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes. I’m sure the instructions weren’t that specific. We reach the door to our grandfather’s sanctuary, and I stop in front of it, hesitant now that I’m here. What does he want with me? “Go on,” Paddy nudges my shoulder. I smack at his hand in irritation and bare my teeth at him. Inhaling a deep breath, I reach out, turn the doorknob, and let myself in. Seated behind the behemoth oak desk is my grandfather, Colm Donnelly, patriarch of one of the most powerful families in the Irish mob. He’s a fearsome looking man despite his full head of white hair. His presence fills the room even sitting. “You wished to see me, sir?” He glances up and assesses me with a stony glare. I stand ramrod straight under his critical stare. He blinks and then merely looks through me, dismissing me as unimportant, just like everyone else. A familiar sting that never lessens follows in its wake. “Sit down.” I try not to flinch at the sharp command.

Grand-da steeples his fingers under his chin. “Emilio Ricci is returning to Brooklyn,” he pauses as though this should mean something to me. “In two weeks, you will marry him.” I blink, my brain slow to process what he just said. “What?” “His father and I have come to an agreement. In an effort to strengthen our forces against the Russians, we feel it’s in our best interest to form a familial alliance.” There has to be a mistake. I’m already shaking my head. “No.” With a placid calmness, Grand-da rises from his chair and circles around to stand in front of me. My head snaps to the left, and a stinging pain shatters the side of my face. Tears burn my eyes, and I taste blood on my tongue. I cover my cheek and stare up at him in shock and fear. He actually hit me. His face is impassive as he looks down at me without a care. “You will do your duty to this family. The contract is already signed.” He returns to his seat and his eyes land on me, a brow raised as though questioning why I’m still here. Despite the pain, I clench my teeth, and with as much dignity as I possess, I stand and stare at him, but his attention is already back to the papers on his desk. An obvious dismissal. My cheek burns like fire. I know my grandfather is ruthless, but I’ve never experienced it first-hand before. My mother has always tried to shield Caitlín and me from the life our family leads. With a stiff spine, I walk out of his office in search of my mother,

“Mother?” I holler, flying through our living quarters. “Mother?” She steps out of the kitchen wiping her hands on the yellow half-apron tied around her waist, her expression full of worry. “Brenna, what’s wrong?” I slam to a halt in front of her, my fists clenched tightly at my hips. “Did you know?” Her eyes scan my face, pausing at my cheek. “What happened?” “Did you know?” This time the question is loud and demanding. “Don’t speak to your mother in that tone.” I whip around to see my father standing behind me, arms crossed, wearing a fierce expression. He’s never directed that look at me before. I’m the quiet daughter. The dutiful one. But this? “I can’t do it,” I say aloud. “Do what?” My mother asks, her voice rising in exasperation on the last word. “Marry Emilio Ricci.” Behind me is a gasp, and my father lowers his arms with a heavy sigh. “I knew he’d been speaking to Salvatore Ricci. I should have realized something like this would happen.” “I won’t do it,” I repeat. My father’s expression twists into anger, and I take a hasty step backward, colliding with my mother, my heart galloping with fear in my chest. I’ve never been afraid of my father before, but he’s never acted like Grand-da before either. “Cormac, please,” my mother pleads behind me. “Let me speak with her.” He jabs his finger in my direction. “You will do your duty to this family.” Da glares one final time at me and then storms down the hallway, leaving me alone with Mother. My body sags as some of the ...

“You remind me so much of myself at your age. Struggling to find my place in this world. Especially being a member of a family such as ours.” “Mother—” “Shh. Let me finish. This life we live, it’s not easy. It’s brutal. Violent. And often unfair. Did you know your father and I had an arranged marriage?” I draw back in shock. “But—but you and Da seem so happy.” “Now, but we weren’t always.” “I hate this. Everything is always about duty,” I sneer the last. My mother nods matter-of-factly. “Yes, it is. Duty to the family—the organization—is the only thing that matters to your grandfather. It’s what matters, or should matter, to all of us. That doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.” “I don’t even know anything about this Emilio Ricci. Yet I’m expected to marry him because Grand-da signed a contract?” “Yes. What happens after that is what you make of it. Be a good wife. A good mother. Affection can grow between you and your husband. It will just take work and time.” “What if I can’t be either of those things?” My mother stares intently at me. “You must.”

Uncle Paulie and Pierce flank me. The former’s restlessness is palpable. Neither of them answered my question in the town car. They both deferred and said it’s a discussion that needs my father’s presence. The man who currently waits inside. The man I haven’t seen in seven years. The man who’s dying.

Stopping before the wooden door, I close my eyes for a brief second, and then knock. “Enter.” The time has come. Standing next to his desk is not the same man I last saw. The Salvatore Ricci I know is tall and broad-shouldered, with his thick hair combed back, and sharp, piercing black eyes. This man is gaunt. His tailored suit nearly hangs off his frame. And his eyes have dulled and appear almost lifeless. “Hello, Father.” “Emilio.” This is not the larger-than-life king from my childhood. The one who rules an entire syndicate. I stand, awkwardly, unsure how to greet this new man. We’ve never been close, but seeing him as he’s become, a handshake seems impersonal, a hug too intimate. As with my decision at the front door, the choice is taken from me. My father strides forward, closing the distance between us, and envelops me in his arms. The familiar scent of cigar and his expensive aftershave surrounds me. He seems so frail. Uncomfortable with the gesture, I step back and clear my throat, unable to meet his eye.

“I believe Paulie and Pierce have caught you up on our current state of affairs?” “Yes.” I try to relax back into the leather chair, but my muscles are too rigid. Instead, I sit stiffly. “Although they left out a detail regarding your alliance with the Irish that I haven’t quite figured out yet. Said it was best to come from you.” “Our alliance,” he sharply corrects me. “Despite your extended absence, you will soon control this syndicate and all that it entails. Don’t forget that.” I nod in acknowledgment. “How are you going to assure Donnelly that a continued alliance between us will remain to his advantage?” My father doesn’t immediately answer. Instead he reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a single sheet of paper. My gut clenches and my heart begins a heavy beat inside my chest. “I know the reasons you left seven years ago. Just as you know that she was never going to be a part of this life.” My already tense body tightens further. My jaw clenches and my fingernails turn white from the death grip I have on the armrests. The briny taste of blood fills my mouth from biting my tongue. Damn my father for bringing her up. “As my son, and the future leader of this syndicate, it’s imperative that you prove your loyalty. Not only to me, but to all the families within our organization.” “I’ve been nothing but loyal,” I bite out between my teeth. My father nods, but a question of uncertainty remains in his eyes. He slides the sheet of paper across the desktop and meets my...

Everything is familiar, yet not. Already I’m about to jump out of my skin, and I’ve only been in this place for an hour. My collar is tight around my neck, and it takes all I have not to tug at it. Staying here is temporary. First thing tomorrow I’ll find a townhouse, since it appears I’m acquiring a wife.

“Is there anything else you haven’t shared with me?” I lean my forearms against the window, staring out at the city, the lights glowing brighter with the disappearance of the sun. “It wasn’t my place to tell you.” My fists clench against the chilled glass, and I rein in the urge to punch through it. “You’re more than just my cousin, Pierce. You’re my best friend. My brother. The one person I trust not to withhold things from me. I’d kill for you. Bleed for you.” Slowly, I pivot to face him. “Don’t ever fucking keep secrets from me again.” He acknowledges me with a short nod. No more needs to be said.

He pulls out his phone and hands it to me. “Her name is Brenna. She’s Donnelly’s oldest granddaughter. Three brothers, including a twin, and a younger sister. Graduated from Columbia two years ago.” I study the picture on the screen before returning the device to him. “Any man in her life?” Pierce shakes his head. “None, unless he’s extremely well-hidden.” I turn back toward the window, my gaze unseeing. “She’s not what you’re used to, but she’s certainly pretty enough.” It doesn’t matter what she looks like. This is nothing more than a business arrangement. “Tomorrow, I plan on finding new living arrangements. Ask around. See if anyone knows of anything for sale in the area. Something suitable for a wife,” I instruct, signaling the end of our conversation. Pierce nods. “I’ll let you know.” With that, he disappears out the door, leaving me with only my thoughts. I pity this poor girl—Brenna. My only hope is that she has no dreams of romance and love. No illusions about what this marriage will be. It’s nothing more than an alliance between our families. I can’t—won’t—love her. Not ever. I don’t have it in me.

It’s no doubt childish, but I lock myself in my room for two days. Caitlín brings me dinner the first night, but I send her away with the untouched plate. I can’t even think about food; my stomach is queasy enough as it is. My mother knocks on my door several times throughout the day, but I ignore her. By the second night, I sneak down after everyone’s gone to bed and raid the fridge, because I’m starving. Then I return to my room and sulk. I try reading the book I started, but I can’t concentrate. All I can do is think about my future. I’m barely twenty-four years old. I’ve never really even had a boyfriend, and now I’m expected to marry this…stranger, because Grand-da has decreed it. Perhaps I’m naive about our world, but if so, I blame my parents. They never told me that I could be married off to someone against my wishes. They’re the ones who’ve sheltered us, Caitlín and me. Who’ve refused to answer my questions on nights my father and brothers would come home covered in blood.

How am I expected to be a good wife to a man I know nothing about? I’m not entirely ignorant about our family and the crimes they’re involved in. What I don’t understand is how it all works. I’m not sure I want to. My thoughts shift to my future husband. It’s the fear of the unknown that bothers me the most.

“Did Mother send you to drag me out of my room, then?” “She says we’re going dress shopping today.” I freeze for a second. Caitlín can’t mean what I think she means. “What kind of dress shopping?” I ask, slowly turning to face her. My sister’s excitement is palpable from here. “For your wedding dress. I can’t wait to see how beautiful you’re going to look. Although I still can’t figure out why you locked yourself in your room. If I were the one getting married, I’d be over the moon. Aren’t you happy about the wedding?” There’s a churning sensation in my belly, and I send her a weak smile, not wanting to put a damper on her mood. “Why wouldn’t I be?” She jumps up and pulls her leg underneath her, nearly bouncing with energy. Of course she’s giddy. She’s not the one being sold off to someone she doesn’t even know. I choke back the bitterness. It’s not Caitlín’s fault. Then her expression flattens, and she settles down to glare at me. “Wait a minute. You answered my question with a question. You only do that when you’re evading the truth. Does that mean you’re not happy?” There’s no way I can tell her why I’m upset. I’m not sure she would understand anyway. Instead, I paste on my most sincere smile. “It’s nothing. I’m just being silly. Nerves, you know. It’s not every day a girl gets married. I’m sure we’re going to have so much fun shopping.” Caitlín rolls her eyes. “I’m fifteen, not five. I can smell bullshit from a mile away. You still didn’t answer my question. Are you no...

As I stare at my sister, there’s nothing I wish for more than for her to remain this innocent. To be woefully oblivious of alliances and duty and only focused on pretty dresses and boys. I can’t imagine it happening, though. Despite my insistence that I’m happy about this marriage, the truth will come out eventually. My heart cracks at the thought.

A noise at the door causes Caitlín and me to jerk our heads in that direction. My mother stands in the doorway, and I rise. My heart aches a little more at the hesitant smile she sends my way. There’s a new tension between us that’s never been there before. It won’t leave though. Not now. Not after all this. “I see your sister has weaseled her way into your room. I assume she’s let you in on our plans for the day?” For Caitlín’s benefit, I maintain the smile on my face. “It would seem we’re going dress shopping.” Caitlin jumps up and dances around the room excitedly. “I, for one, can’t wait. Oh, do you think they serve champagne while you’re trying them on? I saw that on one of those reality shows. You get a glass of bubbly and little chocolates.” I’m unable to contain my laughter at the sight of my sister gushing. “Even if they do, runt, you’re too young to be drinking.” I hip bump her and she fake stumbles a few steps. The cheeky grin that always manages to get her out of trouble crosses her face. She shrugs. “You can’t blame a girl for trying.” My mother rolls her eyes.

I turn and face my mother. “I’m glad you didn’t tell Caitlín the truth.” She sighs. “I’m sure I’ve done you girls a disservice by keeping you in the dark about the ways of our family. I thought I was protecting you. I wanted you both to lead normal lives away from everything. Away from the violence. Away from being used as collateral.” I’ve had two days to come to terms with my situation. It isn’t my mother’s fault. It’s never been a secret that we’re part of the Irish mob. Until now, that fact has never touched me, though. “My life has been normal, Mother. I mean, as normal as someone from our kind of family could have. Don’t think I’m not grateful for the opportunities I’ve been given.” I wrap my arms around myself, but it doesn’t remove the chill coursing across my skin. “But I also think by protecting us, you’ve left us unprepared for reality. For twenty-four years I’ve lived in this safe bubble. A bubble you’ve all just popped. What did you expect was going to happen?” My mother’s hand is warm against my cheek as she stares at me earnestly. “I know you’re unhappy, and I’m sorry for that. I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for my children.” I step away, and her hand drops to her side. “We should probably get going. You know how Caitlín is when she’s left to her own devices for too long.” A twinge of guilt hits me at the sadness that crosses my mother’s face. It’s not fair to punish her, but I’m feeling petty. I’ll apologize another time. I pull in a deep breath, hold it...

I spend a restless night filled with visions of blood and the lingering scent of lilacs. I hear her voice, her laughter. The silken strands of her golden blonde hair glide through my fingers. I wake covered in a sheen of sweat. Naked, I pad across the room and turn on the shower, knowing I’ll never be able to wash away the memories. Being back in this city does nothing but serve as a reminder of all I’ve lost.

In a few short hours I’m meeting with the other families. Paulie mentioned it on the ride to my father’s house yesterday. I have been given one test of loyalty already. No doubt there will be many more to come. At some point before the wedding, I’ll also need to meet with our new ally, Donnelly. I step out of the shower, dry myself off, and dress in my tailored black suit with red pin-striped tie. As a kid, my father always told me that men who wear a perfectly fitted suit demonstrate power. He’s never worn anything else. I adopted his attire in my early twenties. Today, it is important that I show the others just how much power I have. I adjust my platinum-and-black cufflinks, tug my sleeves down, and take one last glance in the full-length mirror. It’s not for vanity’s sake, but rather a final look at the soon-to-be new ruler of an entire kingdom. The thing I’ve avoided for seven years.

Living in this house has never been an option for me. I can’t stay at Pierce’s place, though. Not with Francesca living there. But I certainly hadn’t planned on a real estate tour being one of the first things I did upon my return.

I turn to my cousin. “Marta. Who exactly is she? Surely not my father’s mistress?” He shakes his head. “She’s his assistant, to those outside. She fields any visitors or phone calls if your father’s too sick to see anyone. Makes his excuses. I believe she also plays the role of nurse. Sees that Sal is taking his medicine. That he’s eating healthy.” It’s hard to imagine the well-dressed woman who answered the door yesterday being a nursemaid. “And Franco?” “One of our soldiers. He’s also Marta’s son.” “My father trusts them with his secret?” I find that hard to believe. Having anyone besides Paulie, Pierce, and me know is dangerous. “To my knowledge, only she knows. Apparently her husband was one of your father’s captains twenty-some years ago. He was killed by the Russians, but first they made him watch her being raped. Franco was hidden. After it was over, your father tracked down those responsible. He sent her a monthly stipend, paid for her son’s schooling, and has made sure she’s been taken care of since. While not impossible, I don’t believe she’d betray him.” That is one thing about the syndicate. We look after all the families. If our enemies manage to kill one of ours, we take retribution. Still, I plan on watching the two of them. Loyalty can be bought, for the right price.

I have no doubt the agent inside will talk up what a fantastic property it is and expound upon all the wonderful conveniences it has to offer. I pinch the bridge of my nose to try and alleviate the headache starting to develop. “Let’s take a look so we can be done with this. We have more important things to take care of today.” No doubt I should be taking more of an interest in where I live, but it only serves as a reminder of the reason why I’m purchasing a new home. And for whom.

We’re shown all the property amenities first including the fully equipped gym, the children’s play area, and the rooftop pool with a view of the Williamsburg Bridge and the East River. I don’t care about any of those things, although maybe Brenna will. My brain hiccups over the name. Better get used to saying it, since she’ll be your wife soon. Finally, the realtor shows us the four-bedroom, three-bathroom townhome on the top two floors. It’s a corner unit, so the living room is two walls of windows. I barely listen as he drones on about the open floor plan, the state-of-the-art appliances, the twelve-foot ceilings, and hardwood flooring throughout. The second floor of the townhome is comprised of all four bedrooms. There are two closets—“His and hers,” he says, in the master bedroom—and the en-suite bathroom has a double vanity and rain shower. Pierce responds to questions about any interior design needs. I do have to admit it’s a nice place, and I’m sure I’ll be satisfied living in it. I’m not particularly excited about doing this with any other properties, plus this one’s not far from my father’s house, and one of the family businesses is nearly around the corner. I glance at Pierce and give him a nod.

The headache that started as a dull throb earlier has begun pounding like a drum, and the scenery goes out of focus as the memories come. It’s been hard not to compare this place with my old penthouse and see how different they are. Here, everything is blindingly bright, as opposed to the darker, muted tones I prefer. My penthouse had been designed for function as opposed to fashion. Soon, a new woman’s items will be scattered around. I won’t find a brush with strands of long, blonde hair. They’ll be red. Like the color of the blood-stained sheets I found her lying on. I shake off the thought and return to the present. So many things are changing quickly, and it’s a lot to adjust to.

“He’s been gone a long time. How do we know his interests are the same as ours?” I fix a stony glare on the man who asked the question. Although the question is posed to my father, I answer, which is no doubt what my father expects. He certainly won’t speak for me. It’s up to me to show these men that I am now the man they answer to. “Where were you, Angelo, when the Russians took Francesca? When they repeatedly raped an eighteen-year-old girl? Where were you when Pierce and I tracked them down and made them pay for what they’d done?” My eyes quickly shift to the man standing next to Pierce. “And Marco…” In a split second, my cousin has the man pinned against the wall, a gun shoved in his mouth, as the rest of the men shift and more guns are drawn along with cries of confusion. I stroll around the room as though fifteen weapons aren’t pointed at me, while I stare every single man down. My father takes a seat, not because I’m in control, but from fatigue. It’s on his face and in the way he sags in his chair. “Did any of you know that Marco here has been selling information to the Russians?” Mumbles of denial race through the room, and I turn to stare at the man held by Pierce. His eyes are narrowed in defiance. “I have video surveillance of him meeting with Mikhail Popov two days before the latest shipment of drugs was intercepted. Isn’t that right, Marco?” What sounds like “fuck you” emerges from his mouth. Pierce shoves the muzzle further down his throat and he chokes...

I move next to my father, who’s risen to his feet. He stands tall, and for a moment, he’s the Salvatore Ricci I used to know. “The time has come for Emilio to take my place as head of the Brooklyn syndicate. You will each pledge your loyalty to him as you’ve pledged your loyalty to me. Your word is your bond.” His voice is strong and confident. My eyes travel the room as all fourteen men holster their weapons and place their fists on their chest, directly over where we all have a crown tattooed. It’s the crest that belongs to the men who pledge their loyalty to the Brooklyn Kings. To dishonor that pledge is punishable by death. Something Marco will soon discover. As will any other man who tries to take what’s mine.

I stare into the mirror. I don’t recognize the woman looking back at me. Her hair is artfully curled and sections are pinned back to showcase the contoured cheekbones, the pale skin no amount of foundation can cover, and the rose pink lipstick that highlights her plump lips. All together, it only emphasizes the emptiness in her eyes. There’s a gasp behind me. I turn and lose sight of the stranger. “You look so beautiful.” My mother’s fingers cover her mouth and tears well in her eyes. I envy her ability to cry. I seem to have lost mine. Emotions have disappeared to be replaced with numbness. She fusses with my dress and veil, running her fingers over every nip, tuck, and fold while I stand motionless. It’s my wedding day. A day that is supposed to be filled with joy and love. Instead, it’s filled with loneliness and fear. Warm hands cradle my cheeks; dry lips press against my forehead. “It’s time. Remember what I told you. Love can grow from only a tiny seed.” I nod, because she expects it of me.

The notes of an unfamiliar song come quietly from the speakers. Multi-colored lilies and tulips from my mother’s garden have been used to accent the white-cloth covered chairs, separated evenly down the middle to provide a natural aisle. At the end of it stand the priest and another man, but my gaze quickly darts away. Grand-da, my father, and siblings sit to the left while two men sit to the right. One is massive, scary-looking, and overshadows the other. His shoulders are tense, his jaw clenches, and his eyes seem glued to my grandfather. My gaze is unfocused as my mother leads me partway down the aisle before taking a seat next to my father. Alone, I proceed the last few steps, my soon-to-be husband’s shoes coming into view. I finally focus on the outstretched palm and stop to study it. It’s a strong and powerful looking hand, calloused. Is it capable of gentleness, though? Despite my grandfather’s age, his possesses great strength. My cheek heats at the remembrance of his slap. To him, gentleness equates to weakness. A throat clears behind me, and I toss away my fanciful thoughts. I place my hand in his; a shiver dances up my arm. He leads me to stand directly in front of the priest and clasps my other one so we face each other. My eyes lock on his chin, and I study the dark shadow of growth along the sharp jawline. I can’t force my gaze any higher. Not yet. I’m afraid of what I’ll see in his eyes. Triumph? Ruthlessness? Hunger?

ceremony is a blur. The priest is speaking, but I don’t hear what he’s saying. Someone coughs loudly, and I blink. At last, I tilt my head back to meet the eyes of the man standing before me holding my trembling hands in his. His expression is impassive. The air freezes in my lungs. He’s beautiful. He stares down at me with a hooded gaze. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Beside me, the priest clears his throat. Did I miss something? I dart a quick glance in his direction. “This is where you say ’I do’.” There’s a heavy pall over the room. I look back at the man I’m supposed to be pledging my life to. He doesn’t squeeze my hands in encouragement or smile at me in reassurance. He merely peers back at me. Waiting. An hour ago I’d been numb. Unable to shed a single tear. It would seem I have one left though. It chooses this moment to spill over, slide down my cheek, and drip off my chin to splash on my chest. It’s soaked up by fabric and vanishes like my dreams. There’s nothing left to do but accept my fate. “I do.” The words are whispered so softly I’m not sure anyone can hear them. The priest continues. “And do you, Emilio Jacob Ricci, take Brenna Erin Donnelly to be your lawful wife? To protect and honor her from this day forth until death do you part?” “I do.” There’s no tenderness, no love, in his tone. I don’t expect there to be, but the tiny part of me that hopes for some emotion crumbles with the reality that for him, this is a business arrangement.

the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.” I steel myself for the assault. Instead, his dry lips barely ghost over mine and then he’s turning us to face the small crowd comprised of my family and the two men I assume are his. I can hear the priest speaking behind me, but I’ve blocked out the words again. My mother is crying while my father sits stoically by her side. I can’t look at my brothers and sis...

With a deceptive calmness he moves to his desk and picks up a pen lying on top of a piece of paper. My eyes land on it. Certificate of Marriage. “Sign.” He holds the pen up in front of me. I stand frozen, unable to move. With my signature, everything is final. There’s no undoing any of this. I can’t do it. There’s a flash of movement and then blinding pain. Tears spring from the impact of Grand-da’s hand across my face again. On its heels is a roar of rage. I turn my head in time to see my grandfather pinned against the wall, clawing at my husband’s hand wrapped around his throat. “I don’t give a fuck how powerful you think you are. If you ever touch my wife again, I’ll slit your throat and bury your body where no one will ever find it. Do you understand?” he growls.

Utterly disregarding the man gasping for breath, my husband turns, and in a blink, he’s standing before me. He towers over me, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him. A shadow of brutality lingers in his eyes. He reaches out, and despite myself, I flinch…again. He merely picks up the pen my grandfather dropped and holds it out to me. “Our marriage is a business arrangement, so I understand your being opposed to it. Neither of us wants this, but one thing I can promise is that I will never lay hands on you in anger.” I shiver at his gruff tone.

I turn my gaze back to my husband who’s still holding the pen in his hand. I take him in again. His dark hair is swept back off his forehead, his eyebrows a sharp slash over eyes that bore into me. A chill dashes across me at their intensity, and I could almost lose myself staring into them. They’re the color of my father’s favorite cognac. Despite the ferocity he displayed only moments ago, they seem almost gentle now. In a move that surprises me, I reach out and take the pen. Our hands brush. Before I change my mind, I scribble my signature on the line above my printed name. I can feel my husband’s eyes on me. He takes the pen from my fingers, his skin gliding along mine. Goosebumps travel up my arm. Confused over my reaction, I hastily take a step back while my husband—Emilio—signs his name next to mine. He rolls up the certificate and tucks it into the inner pocket of his suit. It’s final. I’ve signed my life over to a stranger. A man who, only moments ago, showed me how brutal he is. Despite his promise, I don’t know if I can trust him. Dear God, what have I done?

My blood continues to boil over the fact that Donnelly hit my wife. Business arrangement or not, in our family, wives are treated with respect, and marriage is a sacred vow. One you do not break. No one touches a Brooklyn Kings’ wife. That piece of paper we just signed makes Brenna mine. According to our law, I have every right to kill a man who lays a hand on her. I need to get her grandfather out of my sight before I put him in the ground.

My eyes are unfocused on the passing scenery, and I ignore Pierce’s pointed stare until I can’t take it any longer. “Say whatever it is you’re going to say.” The stench of disapproval is thick in the air and coalesces with the scent of leather wafting off the seats. “You’re running again.” I’ve never been good at hiding my emotions from him. Pierce has always been able to read people, but most especially me. There’s no point in lying. “What do you expect me to do?” “She’s your wife, Jacob. Someone who is just as much a pawn in this alliance as you are.” I sigh in frustration, because he speaks the truth. “It’s been seven years,” he says. I dive across the seat and punch the window, my fist flying past the side of his head. I’m directly in his face. “You think I don’t fucking know how long it’s been? As though I don’t count the months. The weeks. The days.” My voice is strained. “I still see her in my dreams. Smell her. I also see the blood. Every time I close my eyes, I see the blood. So don’t tell me how long it’s been.” A normal man would be trembling in fear. Pierce merely stares me down. There’s a flash of pity in his eyes. I push away with a jerk and collapse back against the plush seat. My breathing is ragged. “I can’t begin to understand what you’re feeling. But Brenna is now your wife. It’s your wedding day and you left her with barely a word.” “You know we need to talk to Enzo. There’s a deal going down soon, and the Russians have already played us for a fool one ...