Table of Contents

Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Content Warning
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Contents
1. Christine
2. Niccolo
3. Christine
4. Niccolo
5. Christine
6. Niccolo
7. Christine
8. Niccolo
9. Christine
10. Christine
11. Niccolo
12. Christine
13. Niccolo
14. Christine
15. Christine
16. Niccolo
17. Christine
18. Christine
19. Niccolo
20. Niccolo
21. Christine
22. Niccolo
23. Christine
24. Christine
25. Niccolo
26. Christine
27. Christine
28. Niccolo
29. Niccolo
30. Christine
31. Christine
32. Niccolo
33. Christine
34. Niccolo
35. Christine
36. Christine
37. Niccolo
38. Niccolo
39. Christine
40. Niccolo
41. Christine
42. Christine
43. Niccolo
44. Christine
45. Niccolo
46. Niccolo
47. Christine
48. Niccolo
49. Christine
50. Niccolo
51. Christine
52. Niccolo
53. Niccolo
54. Christine
Epilogue
Thank you!
Also by Cora Kent
About the Author
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OceanofPDF.com
 Dark Obsession
A Dark Student Teacher Romance
Blackmore University
Book 2

Cora Kent
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 Copyright © 2024 Cora Kent
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the prior
written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
To request permissions, contact the publisher at [email protected].
First paperback edition January 2024
Cover art by Soren
Cora Kent
www.corakent.com
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To the girlies that like a little plot with their smut.
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 Content Warning

Dark Obsession is a dark romance novel containing morally ambiguous

characters and plot lines that include sexual content, violence, and
questionable behavior. This book contains subject matter with the following
themes:
Sexual Content: dubious breeding consent, daddy talk, spanking
Behavior: graphic violence, torture of a side character, criminal activities,
PTSD
This list may not be a complete picture of triggering content. Please
remember that even though this book contains a happily ever after, you can
put it down any time the storyline, characters, themes, or sexual content
exceeds your expectations.
These warnings can also be found on my website:
www.corakent.com/dark
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 Contents
1. Christine
2. Niccolo
3. Christine
4. Niccolo
5. Christine
6. Niccolo
7. Christine
8. Niccolo
9. Christine
10. Christine
11. Niccolo
12. Christine
13. Niccolo
14. Christine
15. Christine
16. Niccolo
17. Christine
18. Christine
19. Niccolo
20. Niccolo
21. Christine
22. Niccolo
23. Christine
24. Christine
25. Niccolo
26. Christine
27. Christine
28. Niccolo
29. Niccolo
30. Christine
31. Christine
32. Niccolo
33. Christine
34. Niccolo
35. Christine
36. Christine
37. Niccolo
38. Niccolo
39. Christine
40. Niccolo
41. Christine
42. Christine
43. Niccolo
44. Christine
45. Niccolo
46. Niccolo
47. Christine
48. Niccolo
49. Christine
50. Niccolo
51. Christine
52. Niccolo
53. Niccolo
54. Christine
Epilogue
Thank you!
Also by Cora Kent
About the Author
Sign up for my newsletter!
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 Chapter 1
Christine
For a full list of content warnings and to download the free prequel, please
visit: www.corakent.com/dark

P
sychology 101 is taught by the one and only Niccolo Terlizzi. The
university website has a handsome, smiling picture of my stepfather
right above his biography. He might be new to the campus, but the
reviews from his past year of students sound promising.
“He has a stupid, ugly face,” I grumble as I scroll to the top of the page to
get away from him.
Someone plops down beside me and hovers over my phone. “Looks pretty
hot to me,” she announces.
I toss my phone three feet in front of me and almost pee myself. “Jesus
Christ,” I swear at her.
“Sienna Richler, actually,” she says with a grin, “but you can call me Jesus if
you want.”
I dislike her immediately. She’s bold, beautiful, and blunt—not to mention
sticking her nose in my business. What a bitch. “Didn’t your parents teach
you it’s rude to eavesdrop?”
Sienna pulls a laptop from her backpack, dropping it unceremoniously on
her thighs. “You’re, like, the only person here; I didn’t realize you were
talking to someone. You got multiple personalities or something?”
My jaw hinges open, and I’m not sure how to respond. “Wh-what?” I stutter,
taking a minute to regain my faculties. “I don’t think you can go around
asking people that.”
With a shrug, she places her backpack by her feet and prepares for the
hour. “My mama always told me that if I don’t know something, I should
ask. I don’t know if you’ve got a personality disorder or something, so I’m
asking.”
I trip over my words trying to figure out how to respond. My brain can’t
formulate a proper response because I’m so surprised by her extroverted
personality.
“This is Psychology 101,” she reminds me after a moment. “I’m sure it’s
normal for people with psychological disorders to take the class in hopes of
better understanding themselves.”
“Who are you?” I finally ask when my mouth starts working again.
She turns to look at me and offers a patient smile. “Sienna Richler,” she
reiterates, “I’m from Minnesota. You know y’all don’t even get two feet of
snow here in Kansas?”
I’m not sure I know my name anymore, let alone how much snow we get in
winter. I feel like a slow computer struggling to reboot. My brain takes a
solid five seconds to comprehend what she said before it kicks into gear.
I clear my throat and reach out to shake her hand. “Maybe we should start
over. I’m Christine.”
“I’m Sienna.”
“And you’re from Minnesota?”
She enthusiastically nods her head yes. “Duluth. We get seven feet of snow
every winter. Not all at once,” Sienna clarifies. “Though if you ask my
mama, she’ll tell you about that time I was five when we got two feet
dumped on us overnight. She likes to show people pictures of me bundled
up like a parcel, sinking to my neck in the drifts.”
I feel like I’m in an episode of Punk’d because I have no idea what’s going
on. This girl came up to me, sat down, and started talking like we were
friends. Thank God a rush of students come through the door and fill in the
chairs around us because I don’t know what to say.
“You were looking up the professor?” Sienna asks after a minute, gesturing
toward the door.
I follow the line of her gaze and see Niccolo walk into the classroom. He
carries a briefcase and wears a suit atypical of the other professors I’ve
seen this morning.
“I think he’s hotter in person,” she whispers. “What do you think?”
I think he’s my stepfather and potentially deranged. When he locks eyes
with me, the corner of his lip curls into a smirk that makes my stomach flip-
flop. “He’s okay.”
Sienna snorts in derision. “You’re trying to tell me he doesn’t sizzle your
bacon?”
Once again, Sienna leaves me speechless. Thankfully, Niccolo tells everyone
to quiet down, and I don’t have to come up with a response.
“I’m Professor Terlizzi, and this is Psychology 101. If you want a syllabus,
it’s on the campus website,” he announces. “I didn’t print out copies
because it’s a waste of paper, a waste of ink, and a waste of my time and
yours. If you care enough to work on the scheduled assignments ahead of
time, you’ll go to the website. Otherwise, I expect you to do all the required
reading, submit your papers on the specified due date, and know you’re in
college now. You’re an adult, and you are the only person responsible for
the choices you make. You might have fucked around in high school and
gotten an A, but you won’t in my class.”
Everyone laughs, including Sienna, who leans over to whisper that not only
is the professor attractive, but he’s funny, too.
“Only if you aren’t his stepdaughter,” I mumble back to her under my
breath. “He’s a tyrant at home.”
Sienna’s eyes widen in shock, her words coming out in a choked gasp. “Shut
up,” she whispers scandalously.
Niccolo stops mid-speech and directs his gaze at us. With an eyebrow more
manicured than my own, he crosses his arms over his chest and asks, “You,
dark hair,” he gestures toward Sienna, “What’s your name?”
I avert my eyes. She got herself into this mess; she can get herself out of it.
“Sienna Richler, sir.” She doesn’t sound so confident anymore; Niccolo
tends to have that effect on people.
“Miss Richler, can you tell the class what the biological basis of behavior is
in the study of psychology?”
Her cheeks flush bright red, and uncertainty clouds her voice as she
answers. “To, um, explore biological factors and how they, um, impact
behavior?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Niccolo’s jaw twitch. “This isn’t
Jeopardy, Miss Richler. Don’t answer in the form of a question.”
Sienna clears her throat before repeating herself with more surety. “To
explore biological factors and how they impact behavior.”
Niccolo’s stern gaze softens slightly as he nods in affirmation. “Correct.”
His voice remains firm yet measured. A few silent seconds pass as he sizes
Sienna up again before continuing. “Don’t talk when I’m talking, Miss
Richler. This is a place of learning, not idle chatter. Shall we continue, or do
you have some riveting information you’d like to share with the class?”
She shakes her head quickly, then proceeds to face forward for the rest of
the hour. It’s her first day of class, and she’s already pissed off the
professor. Better her than me, in my opinion.
But I can’t escape my stepfather’s watchful eye for long. He spends the rest
of the hour informing us of the year to come, breaking down the schedule
for midterms and finals from now until spring. When he finally dismisses
everyone, he shoots me a look that almost glues me to my chair. “Not you,
Miss Lucatello,” he says when I stand up. “I’d like to speak to you
privately.”
There are a few ‘oooh, she’s in trouble’s from the back of the lecture hall,
all from boys who haven’t matured past high school yet, but the jeers
subside as everyone files out of the room.
Niccolo turns to scribble on the whiteboard, his muscular form silhouetted
against the pristine surface. Although his back is turned, I can feel his
presence commanding the room. As the last few students pack up their
things and eagerly flee from the palpable tension, I remain in my seat until
the door closes behind the last person.
“What do you want, Nic?” I’m ready to go back to my dorm room and take a
nap.
He turns on his heel and scowls. “That’s professor to you, Christine.”
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 Chapter 2
Niccolo
M y stepdaughter shows up to class looking like she wants me to bend
her over the hood of my car and make her scream my name.
Dressed casually in shorts and a tank top, her bare legs are just begging me
to get on my knees and worship. I’m so turned on that I have to think about
bugs splattering on a windshield to keep my dick from getting hard at the
sight of her tanned, delicious thighs. I fight tooth and nail with my lust
through the hour because my brain is conjuring up images of grabbing her
by the hips, ripping off her tiny little shorts, and grinding my cock deep into
her center.
I drone on about the syllabus and my expectations for the semester,
checking off points on an imaginary list in a monotone voice. It’s almost
enough to keep my mind off Christine. Almost.
At the end of the class, I ask her to stay after even though I have no reason
to. I need to see her alone, eye her up and down without fifty other students
seeing me do it. It’s the first time we’ve been away from home together, and
I need a moment to collect my thoughts.
“What do you want, Nic?” Christine asks from her seat when everyone is
gone.
I want everything I’ve been holding myself back from for the last few
months; I want her. “That’s professor to you, Christine.” My voice tightens
as I turn to take her in. She is arousing from head to toe, a walking wet
dream demanding to be debased, and I’m just the man to give in to do the
job.
My stepdaughter rolls her eyes as she gets up, yawning to show her
complete lack of concern as she saunters toward me. “Oh, you want me to
call you professor now?” She asks with a teasing lilt. When she reaches my
desk, she leans forward and spreads her hands wide across the mahogany.
The neckline of her shirt dips into an inviting V-shape, so low that her
breasts look like they might pop out of her dark red velvet bra at any
moment. “Then why did you keep me after class, professor?”
I drag my eyes away from her chest before I lose control of my senses and
give in to my cravings. “You need to conduct yourself properly in the
classroom, Christine.”
She raises a confused eyebrow and asks, “Excuse me?”
“That,” I look her up and down, “is not an appropriate outfit for a college
classroom.” A too-tight tank top cinching her breasts together should not be
paired with jean shorts that cup her ass in a way that makes me jealous of a
piece of fabric.
Christine snorts in disdain as she pushes off the desk. “It’s 102 outside, Nic.
I’m not showing up in a parka.”
She’s deliberately trying to bait me, and it makes my palm twitch. “That’s
not what I mean, and you know it.”
With a wave of her hand, she makes it clear that she isn’t interested in what
I mean. Christine slowly walks around the edge of the desk until she’s only a
few inches from me. “Even if I was the only one dressed like this—and
believe me, I’m not—you can’t tell me what to do anymore,” she announces
with a smug look on her face.
But that’s where she’s wrong. I don’t tell her what to do because I’m her
stepfather or professor. I tell her what to do because she likes it. I see it in
the way her nostrils flare when I give her a command. I see it when I
threaten to spank her for being a brat, and her eyes darken with lust. I can,
and will, tell her what to do as often as I like.
“That’s where you’re wrong, dolcezza.” I close the gap between us, bringing
my hand to her throat and wrapping my fingers around her soft, delicate
neck.
Christine reaches up to grab my wrist. I am only a couple of inches taller
than her, but she is all curves and femininity, while I am fueled by rage and
desire; my strength easily overpowers hers. “Nic,” she pleads, her confident
defiance dissipating in the face of my dominance.
“That’s right, say my name.” If I tightened my grip, she wouldn’t be able to
say anything at all. It’s a fantasy right now, but one day I’ll do it. One day,
I’ll steal the breath from her lungs while I’m thrusting deep inside of her,
and she’ll pop off like a rocket.
“We can’t do this.” Her words are beautifully desperate, but they fall on
deaf ears.
I’ve waited for this day since she turned eighteen. We’re finally away from
her family, away from everyone back home who knew about our prior
relationship. It is just her and I at Blackmore; this is our fresh start. I don’t
have to pretend not to want her. I don’t have to act like she’s just my
stepdaughter.
“But we can do this, sweetheart. We can finally indulge in our desires.”
She fights me, struggling against the tight collar my hand makes around her
throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I’m so close that I can feel her warm breath against my chest. If I lean in a
little closer, I could graze her lips with mine and indulge in our first kiss.
“Don’t lie to me, dolcezza. I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think
I’m not looking. You want me as badly as I want you.”
Christine shakes her head, swearing the opposite. “That’s not true.”
I’m tired of fighting her; I’m tired of fighting fate. My father arranged for
me to marry Caterina Lucatello five years ago. She died and left me with
her daughter. This was our destiny; this was always where I was meant to
be. “I have waited a lifetime for you, Christine. You can lie to yourself all
you want, but you’re mine now.”
Christine’s bottom lip quivers. “Nic, no. Don’t do this; it can’t be undone.”
“Good.” I sew up the chasm between us by pressing my mouth against hers
and taste my stepdaughter for the first time. I have waited an eternity for
this moment, and I can no longer hold back. I surrender to my desires and
savor the sweetness of our first kiss.
As I drag my tongue across her lower lip, exploring its contours, she tilts
her head ever so slightly in acceptance. She tastes like sunshine after a
thunderstorm, like lying in bed after a long day, like a tall glass of water
when it’s hot outside. My longing for her is impossible to resist.
Christine’s eyes close in anticipation as she parts her lips, our tongues
dancing against one another with wild abandon. Desperate for more of her,
I delve deeper into the kiss, my tongue tangling with hers as my free hand
moves down to cup her ass through her shorts. She gasps into my mouth as
she grinds against my hand involuntarily. I groan, lost in the sensation of
having her body pressed against mine.
But the kiss is over all too soon, and it leaves us both wanting more. I’m
forced to pull away to stop myself from taking more than she’s willing to
offer. This is just an amuse-bouche; the main course is still to come.
“I know you’ve been with other boys, Christine.” I’ve listened to her late-
night calls with her best friend, detailing every moment of the time she lost
her virginity. I’ve seen her kissing other guys and letting them feel her up in
the parking lot at the high school. I know she’s no pristine virgin. “You let
an inexperienced teenage boy pop your cherry, and maybe you’ve been with
other boys since. I don’t know, and I don’t care. You’re with me now,
dolcezza, and I’m not some two-pump chump that’s going to leave you
wanting more. I’m the man that’s going to fuck you until your legs are
shaking with pleasure.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I see defiance melt into desire. “Nic, we can’t do
this,” she repeats. But under her disapproving tone is deep-seated yearning;
Christine wants this as much as I do.
I toss her arguments to the wind; I forget she ever gave voice to them. “You
called me dad when I was married to your mother. By the end of the year,
you’ll be calling me Daddy.”
Christine’s breath catches in her throat as a pink stain of carnality spreads
across her cheeks and creeps down her neck. “Nic,” she pleads once more,
one final petition before she gives in.
“Keep saying my name like that, sweetheart, and I’ll fuck you until you’re
screaming it.”
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 Chapter 3
Christine
B ack in the dorm, sitting opposite Kaye, I try to put into perspective what
I just went through with Niccolo.
“He’s a sick and twisted man. That’s what you’re thinking, right?”
Kaye has a textbook on her lap and a highlighter in her hand. Even though
it’s the first day of school, she’s studying. Her eyes scan across the page in
rapt attention. “Yeah,” she mumbles, “terrible.”
With a heavy sigh of frustration, I correct her. “Twisted, Kaye, he’s twisted.”
I snatch a second of her attention as she looks up from the textbook. Her
eyes are wild, as if I pulled her from another dimension. “What?” She asks
with a frown. “What happened?”
I would be surprised if she remembered anything I told her in the last
twenty minutes. “Nothing,” I grumble. It’s probably a good thing she didn’t
hear me. I don’t need her, or anyone else, recalling that I didn’t deny my
stepfather’s accusation that I’m sexually attracted to him. “How are you?”
She shakes her head, frustration burrowing in the lines around her eyes.
“Exhausted,” Kaye groans. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I signed
up for 23 hours this semester. Well, that’s a lie.” She pulls her feet under
her, reaching up to push a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was thinking if I
could take as many classes each semester as possible, I could graduate
early and get out of here sooner.”
Kaye has as many problems as I do if not more. Ever since her mother
married prominent divorce attorney, Malcolm McCade, she’s been dealing
with her obsessed stepbrother, Xavier. He stalks her like he has nothing
better to do than show up at her house in the middle of the night and
torment her. Xavier is the reason she wants to race through her time at
Blackmore and doesn’t have a moment to spare for her best friend. I hate
him.
“How’s your wrist feeling today?” I ask.
She gingerly displays the wrap Everton Health Center gave her a few days
ago. We had just made it to campus to settle into our new dorm, when one
thing led to another. She refuses to admit exactly what happened or what
he said to her, but Xavier left her with a sprained wrist and a healthy fear of
the future. “It doesn’t really hurt unless I take off the splint thing.”
The corner of my lips quirks upward. “Then don’t take it off, silly.”
My best friend groans in frustration, pushing the textbook off her lap and
onto the blankets beside her. “I can’t deal with him this semester, Chris.
I’ve got five million papers to do, and I need to find a job. He can’t follow
me around all semester; I’ll never get anything done.”
I’ve been telling her for years to do something about Xavier. Tell her mom.
Call the cops. Put it in writing in case he tries to kill her one day. But Kaye
has been resistant to all of my recommendations. “You want me to beat him
up?” I offer. “I could break his leg or something.”
It breaks the tension, and she grins at me. “I could run him over with my
car,” Kaye perks up. “You think I could get away with it?”
I grimace in response. I love my best friend, but she isn’t the person I would
call if I had a dead body to dispose of. She’s more fragile than she cares to
admit, and she would crack under the pressure. “I don’t know, Kaye. You’re
not much of a liar.”
She wrinkles her nose and sighs. “Yeah, you’re right. I’d wind up getting
caught trying to get rid of the body, and then I’d go to prison. And I’ll never
make it in prison,” she says with an exaggerated groan. “I’m too gentle.”
“Absolutely,” I agree. “Someone will make you their bitch on day one.”
Kaye flips me off, but there’s a smile on her face. “You’re supposed to make
me feel better about myself, Christine.”
I stretch out on my bed, feeling the stress of the last hour with Niccolo
disappear from my limbs. “I’m off my game today. Did I tell you about the
weird girl in my Psych class?”
“Weirder than you?” Kaye teases me with a mischievous grin and a playful
poke of her tongue.
“Yeah. Sierra or Sienna or something. I don’t know. I was looking at Nic’s
bio on the campus website when she sat down next to me and said he was
hot. Then she started talking about snow in Minnesota and her mom.” I
almost forgot to mention that she asked me if I had a personality disorder.
“She was so weird.”
But Kaye points out that I thought the same thing about her when we met in
elementary school. “I was the lonely little five-year-old that brought a
Barbie lunchbox to school when Barbie wasn’t cool,” she reminds me.
The first time we met, it was like comets colliding. I hated her for reasons I
can’t even remember now. “God, you were chatty, too,” I shake my head.
“You kept talking about your crush on Arthur.” I barely remember the PBS
Show from back in the day, but I know she was weirdly in love with the
animated Aardvark.
“All I’m saying is don’t write her off just yet. You’re going to need a new
best friend when I go to prison,” Kaye reminds me.
Oh, god. If my only option for a new best friend is some crazy girl that
thinks my stepfather is hot, I’m screwed. “Maybe I’ll pack my bags and flee
the country if you go to prison,” I offer. “Find a new man, one I’m not
related to.” One that doesn’t make my stomach do backflips every time he
looks at me a certain way.
Kaye gives me a pointed look. “Crazy men like Niccolo exist everywhere.
You’re gonna have to become a lesbian if you want to avoid them all
together.”
I snap my fingers and point at her. “New plan. You and I become lesbian
lovers, and then Xavier and Nic will have to leave us alone.” I’m a genius.
“Yeah, no,” she responds, immediately shooting down my idea. “I might not
have been with a man yet,” Kaye’s cheeks fill with color upon admission,
“but I want to one day.”
I bury my face in my pillow and whine, “You’re breaking my heart, Kaye
Pennington.”
She giggles from her bed on the other side of the room. “I’m sure you’ll get
over it when some tall, dark, handsome college senior sweeps you off your
feet. Then you’ll forget all about step daddy dearest.”
God, I hope so. I just need one hot, experienced college boy to make me
forget about the kiss I shared with Niccolo. And maybe a couple more to
make me forget everything else. Kaye doesn’t know it, but this isn’t the first
time I’ve been in a predicament like this with my stepfather.
And if I’m being honest, I don’t think it’ll be the last.
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 Chapter 4
Niccolo

M
y brothers have the audacity to show up at my door on a Friday
night and ask me to go partying in the Rosedale bar district—as
though I’m not going to run into a single student of mine. “You’re
fucking crazy. I’m not partying with a bunch of college girls.”
My youngest brother, Luciano, breezes past me and heads for the kitchen.
He’s always hungry, and by the time we reach him, he’s got a bag of
popcorn in the microwave. Lucky starts looking through my cabinets,
searching for a bowl. “Don’t be so critical, Nicci,” he says as he allows a
cabinet door to slam shut. “You hang out with college girls every day,
Doctor.”
My brothers never call me ‘doctor’ to show recognition for the hard work I
had to put in during graduate school. When they call me ‘doctor,’ it’s to
make fun of me for choosing a different career path than theirs.
“I teach college girls, Luciano. I don’t hang out with them.” I’m not about to
jeopardize my job when one of those girls gets too attached and reports me
to Human Resources. It took me too many years to get my Ph.D. to blow it
on a one-night stand.
Dante snickers and elbows Salvatore. “What are you just teaching Christine
then, eh?” He teases.
The corner of my jaw ticks as I clench my teeth, trying to contain the
mountain of irritation I feel. Dante is an arrogant bastard whose opinions
are like a disease: contagious and easily passed from him to the others.
“Christine is,” I search for the right word, coming up short, “different.”
Which still doesn’t explain why she’s so special and all the other eighteen-
year-old girls in my Psychology 101 class aren’t.
“You call her what you want, Nic. Father always said if there’s grass on the
field, play ball,” Salvatore grins. “I haven’t seen little Lucatello naked, but I
bet the carpet matches the drapes. Eh, Nic?” He winks disrespectfully. “She
got a ginger bush?”
Rage courses through my veins like hot magma, stirring up a hatred that
permeates every thread of my being. I despise them. Every single one of
them. From the moment I was born into this family, I’ve never belonged,
and they’ve never let me forget it. I am an outsider, the son who never lived
up to the family name.
“I thought you guys were going out,” I change the subject. If I don’t control
my anger, I’ll do something we’ll all regret.
Dante, the oldest and the pride of the Terlizzi family, hops up on the kitchen
counter and grabs an apple. He pops the red delicious between his lips and
takes a bite. “We are. We just thought we’d extend an invitation for you to
join us. We miss you when you’re away at college.”
His teasing gets the better of me, as it’s done since we were children, and I
snap at him before I can stop myself. “And what’s Adalina going to say
about you partying with nineteen-year-olds?” I narrow my eyes at him.
“What’s your wife going to say about you taking body shots off a barely
legal teenage girl?”
Dante’s relationship with Adalina has always differed from what I expect of
my future bride; I never understood why he settled for marrying someone
he hated. They were in love once, but something changed. We rarely see
her, and when we do, she looks at her husband like she might gut him
without remorse.
Dante hops off the counter and strolls across the room, stopping once he’s
in front of me. With more force than necessary, he taps me on the cheek
with an open hand. It’s a gesture of affection, but it stings. “Worry about
yourself, Lolo,” he calls me by the disrespectful nickname my brothers came
up with when we were kids. “Don’t stick your nose in my marriage unless
you want me to give your relationship with your stepdaughter the same
treatment.”
My brain rapidly fires off a dozen insults. I have every nasty thing under the
sun to say about him. I know Dante’s greatest weaknesses and the struggles
he holds close to his heart. If I wanted to, I could make him hurt.
“You coming out or not?” Luciano breaks the tension. The microwave dings,
and he pulls out the popcorn, ripping into the bag immediately. “You used to
love breaking in college virgins.”
Before I met Caterina, when I was in my twenties, and didn’t feel guilty
about sleeping around with girls who put too much stock into a one-night
stand, sure. I loved going out, getting drunk, and hitting on every girl I
could find. It was a treat to be their first, to teach them what they should
expect from a man. “Yeah,” I grumble. “But that was years ago. We’re too
old for trolling college bars for freshman pussy.”
Salvatore snorts, flipping me the bird in the process. “Speak for yourself,
Grandpa. There’s no such thing as being too old for freshman pussy.”
This isn’t an argument I’m going to win. The Terlizzi brothers are stubborn,
all of them, including myself. But being a Terlizzi is like being popular.
While it comes with the perks of strangers knowing your name and
everyone wanting to be your friend, you’re constantly pressured into doing
things you don’t want to do by people who will mercilessly bully you if you
say no. I hate my brothers, and yet I seek constant validation from them.
“Whatever. I’ll come, I guess. I’m not doing anything, anyway.” I’ve been
rebuffed by Christine, and I haven’t heard from her since she ran from my
lecture hall a few days ago.
“You gonna go get ready?” Salvatore asks, raising an eyebrow. “Or are you
going out wearing that?” He wrinkles his nose as he looks me up and down,
judgment woven into the gesture.
I follow his line of sight, but I don’t understand his reaction. “Is there
something wrong with what I’m wearing?” Black slacks with a white, long-
sleeved, button-down shirt. It’s what I wore to class today.
“You look like you a runaway groom,” Salvatore deadpans.
“And you look like an ape that’s escaped the zoo,” I fire back. “What of it?”
Dante rolls his eyes and holds his hands up to stop the bickering. “Just put
on some shoes, and let’s go. I’m tired of hanging around this house. Why
don’t you sell it?” He asks with a frown as he looks around at the dated style
of the kitchen and the paintings hung in the dining room. “You haven’t
changed anything since Caterina died. You could build a new home from
what you’d make selling this one.”
But if I sold the Lucatello mansion, I’d lose the Lucatello daughter. She’d
have no reason to see me if we didn’t call the same house our home.
Christine might be avoiding me since our run-in on the first day of school,
but losing her is a luxury I can’t afford. “I like it here. It’s cozy.”
“It’s a mausoleum,” Dante remarks. “It’s hardly fit for a Terlizzi.”
If his house is the gold standard for Terlizzis, I’ll pass. I don’t need a
dungeon in the basement or an underground crypt for all my dead bodies.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Can we go now?”
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 Chapter 5
Christine

C
onvincing Kaye to come out on Shark Night was not easy. She made
plans to spend the weekend doing homework and getting ahead in
her classes. She didn’t want to embrace the tradition of senior frat
boys trying to hook up with freshman girls. Before she caved, I thought I
was going to have to go to the bars by myself. Thankfully, persistence paid
off; she agreed to come and slipped into a bright red dress I provided for
her. It’s tight around her torso, accentuating her curves and full breasts,
but falls loose around her waist.
“That looks better on you than it did on me,” I yell over the music as we
stand in line outside of Red Dawg. Even on the street, we can hear the bass
drum pounding through the walls.
Kaye tries to pull the hem of the dress down again, but it won’t stretch any
further. “I wish it weren’t so red,” she complains. “I feel like everyone is
staring at me.”
“Kaye, baby girl,” I toss my head back, “you’re young and gorgeous. Of
course, they’re staring.”
The line moves, and suddenly, the bouncer is right in front of us. We’ve
been out for an hour and had a couple of drinks at the last bar, but Kaye
and I sober up before the guy gets a whiff of alcohol. I flash him a smile, and
he lets us through the door, but not before looking at Kaye’s ass as she
walks by.
When we get inside, Red Dawg is packed, and the line to the bar stretches
to the back wall. Kaye and I decide to secure a place on the dance floor
before grabbing drinks.
The sweat from all the surrounding bodies accumulates on my skin, causing
my legs to feel sticky and damp. The air conditioning blasts from every
direction, but it isn’t enough to mask the scent of body odor, cologne, and
cheap vodka.
“I’m going to get us another round!” I announce as the song changes. Kaye
gives me the thumbs up, staying on the dance floor to guard the small patch
of space we’ve claimed as our own.
As I fight through the crowd to get to the bar, I run into a familiar face.
“Dante?” He’s my stepfather’s older brother and one of the last people I
expected to see at the bar tonight. His hair is shot through with streaks of
gray, but he’s the kind of man who only gets better looking with age, like
George Clooney or Idris Elba.
Dante eyes me up and down like he’s a single man looking for the right
woman to take home. I’ve met his wife a couple of times at Terlizzi family
gatherings; she’s a striking young woman. I wonder what she’d think about
his lewd behavior. “Cara Mia,” he grins, “my, oh my. I can see why Lolo is
attracted to you.”
I came out tonight to get attention, but Dante’s eyes trailing across my body
feel more lecherous than sexy. I cross my arms over my chest in a vain
attempt to hide the cleavage I am eagerly showing. “What are you doing
here?” I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other, wishing I could melt
into the floor.
Dante’s lips move, but I can’t hear him over the fresh wave of music
blasting through the speakers. The twist of his lips tells me that whatever
he said would have turned my stomach. He looks like a predator stalking his
prey, and I’m the only one in sight.
I smile wanly and give him a little wave, pointing toward the bar to indicate
why I’m walking away. He doesn’t see me because he’s already moved on.
His eyes are locked on someone in the distance, and he takes off without
another word.
Unfortunately, Dante isn’t the only Terlizzi at Red Dawg tonight. Salvatore
and Luciano stand at a high-top table, throwing back shots.
“Lucatello!” Salvatore yells over the cacophony of music and voices when
he sees me. “What are you doing here?”
“Me? It’s a college bar. What are you doing here?”
His lips curve into a smirk. “Terlizzi night out,” Salvatore says with a wink.
“Nic is here, too, if you’re looking.”
My stomach flip-flops. I’m not looking for my stepfather; I don’t ever want to
see him again. But those aren’t the words that come out of my mouth.
“Where is he?” Salvatore nods toward the opposite corner of the room, and
when I turn to look, I see some tiny little blonde with her body pressed up
against him. My jaw drops open, and I forget the drinks I told Kaye I would
get.
I make a path toward Niccolo, pushing my way through the crowd. He sees
me when I’m twenty feet away. His posture straightens, and he smiles as he
whispers something in the blonde girl’s ear. She turns her head to look at
me, eyeing me up and down in a catty way that only girls are capable of.
Then she rolls her eyes and walks away as if she doesn’t think much of me.
“Dolcezza,” Nic grins as I approach, “I knew you’d be back.”
“Shut up,” I glare at him, straining to be heard over the music. “Are you
stalking me? Is that why you’re here?”
He rakes his eyes from my face all the way down my body, sending a ripple
of pleasure through me as he gives me the attention I crave. Niccolo doesn’t
bother responding. Instead, he licks his lips as if dinner’s just been served.
“Quite the outfit you have on.”
Goosebumps pucker the skin across my chest, my nipples tightening into
hard little peaks beneath the fabric of my dress. “You need to go, Nic. Kaye
is here.” I say as if that will persuade him.
Niccolo leans into me, our faces only centimeters apart. His cologne
permeates the air, mixing mint and forest with the smell of whiskey and
coke. “You looking for some boy to take you home tonight?” He teases,
sending my heart into palpitations and causing my breath to quicken.
“It isn’t like that,” I mumble, even though it’s exactly like that. How does he
know me so well?
Nic reaches forward, his fingers colliding with my hip. His touch sears my
skin through the silky fabric of the dress, setting me ablaze. “I should hope
not, dolcezza. I like to think my offer is more appealing than some frat boy
that doesn’t know how to fuck you right.”
My face burns in recollection of what happened in his classroom a few days
ago. I had to flee from Niccolo before I allowed myself to give in to him, and
I’ve been embarrassed ever since.
“Maybe I want a frat boy,” I say stubbornly, refusing to let him think he’s
won.
But it’s the wrong thing to say. We’re off campus and surrounded by
strangers who don’t know he was once married to my mother. Niccolo’s
well-positioned hand on my hip becomes a vice as he twists me in his grasp,
trapping me in an unyielding embrace. My back presses against his chest,
and I am powerless to pull away.
“Really?” He whispers in my ear. “Tell me why.”
I open my mouth to reprimand him, but his fingers find the hem of my dress
and dip beneath the fabric. Unable to stop myself, I offer no resistance
when his hand caresses my thigh, higher and higher, until his fingers brush
against the lace of my panties. “Nic,” I groan, torn between desire and
disgust.
His touch is gentle but firm, and I can feel myself growing hot and bothered
under his ministrations. His fingertips circle the delicate fabric, teasing me
with unbearable anticipation. My breathing accelerates as his fingers find
their way beneath the lace and start to rub slow circles around my clit.
Niccolo moves his hand in a figure-eight pattern, rotating his fingers ever so
slightly as he glides up and down my slit. His movements are maddeningly
slow, sending jolts of pleasure through every inch of me. With each stroke, I
can feel all the tension melting away until I am nothing but a ball of desire
for him.
“Tell me what the frat boys can do that I can’t,” he growls in my ear.
And I become a puddle of need that can barely make a sound, let alone
answer his question.
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 Chapter 6
Niccolo

N
obody is looking at us; nobody cares who we are. They don’t notice
my hand moving beneath Christine’s dress or her fingers digging
into my arm wrapped around her waist. In a crowded college bar,
we are all but invisible.
I toy with her clit through the fabric of her panties before dipping my
fingers inside, strumming my thumb across her tight bud of pleasure until
she bucks against my touch. “Tell me what the frat boys can do that I can’t,”
I growl in her ear.
She moans in reply, her body rolling against mine in response to the stimuli.
“They’ll last all night,” Christine says between gritted teeth, trying to hold
back her moans of pleasure. “They’re young, and they’ve got stamina.”
As if. I was a college boy once. It takes a lot of fucking to get good at it and
learn how to keep yourself from shooting your load in the first two minutes.
“You want whiskey dick, little girl?” Her panties dampen as I zero in on her
clit. “Because that’s all these drunk boys are good for. They’ll thrust all
night because they can’t get hard, and when they finally do, they can’t get
off.”
Christine leans her head back, letting it rest on my shoulder. She tattoos
half-moons into my arm with her nails, teeth gripping her bottom lip in
sensuality. “Maybe I want to get fucked all night long,” she moans, keeping
up the charade that she’d rather be with some nineteen-year-old prick than
me.
Frustration and jealousy erupt in my chest like a volcano, spewing their
ugly emotions through every extremity. Christine’s soft mews pull me back
to reality, and I delight in her breathy moans. I want her to feel as
frustrated as I am. I want her to know what it’s like not to get what she
wants. It’s how I’ve felt every day since she turned eighteen.
Her body trembles with anticipation, and instead of letting her climax, I
hold her on the edge of orgasm, slowing my strokes until her grip tightens
with anger. “Niccolo!” Christine begs. “Please!”
“Just say the word, dolcezza. I’ll fuck you from dusk ’til dawn. I’ll fill your
pussy with so much cum you’ll be a walking, talking Twinkie.” If I don’t get
any satisfaction, neither does she. Funny how that works.
“You’re disgusting,” she breathes, but her words are that of a woman angry
that someone brought her tantalizingly close to finishing and then denied
her orgasm.
“And it turns you on,” I accuse before starting the slow, cruel movement of
my thumb on her clit again, working it back and forth until she’s panting
with barely concealed desire. As I coax her closer to orgasm, I switch up the
rhythm before she comes. “What else can these frat boys give you that you
think I can’t?”
Christine nearly screams in exasperation, but I begin to caress her once
more. Her eyelids flutter shut as the sensations electrify her senses. “They
uh,” she groans, trying to think through a cloud of arousal, “they’ll get me
off.” If she wants to keep up the façade that she’d rather have an
inexperienced college boy than me, I’ll play her game all day.
“They won’t care about getting you off. They’ll leave you on the edge,
desperate for a man that knows how to lick your pussy and treat you right.”
They’ll do exactly what I’m doing, but unintentionally. I can get Christine off
with just a few flicks of my tongue if I want. Unfortunately for her, she isn’t
going to find out until she gets down on her knees and begs for it.
Christine tries to angle her hips and get more friction from my fingers, but I
won’t give her what she’s looking for. Call it cruel, call it punishment, call it
payback for running out of my classroom the other day. Christine deserves
to be held on the edge until she’s willing to beg, plead, and apologize for
lying about not wanting me. We both know the truth and until she’s ready to
admit it, I’m going to make her suffer.
“I can do everything those frat boys can do, dolcezza.” I force myself to
strum her clit slower, bringing her down from the third apex she was about
to reach. “And I can do it better. Just tell me you want me.”
The song seamlessly transitions from one melody to another. Christine
tightens her grip on my arm and shoves it away, driving my hand out from
under her dress. As she turns to face me, her eyes burn with crazed lust and
anger. “I don’t want you, Niccolo,” she spits vehemently.
The scent of her arousal conveys the opposite is true. I bring my fingers to
my mouth and suck on them, licking her excitement off my fingers. “Keep
telling yourself that, sweetheart. But eventually, you’re going to realize that
I’m the only man that can satisfy your desires.”
“I’d rather fuck a hundred college boys than you,” she hisses, putting
another foot of space between us.
If she fucked a hundred college boys, I’d kill every one of them. I’d rip them
limb from limb and set them on fire. I have never been my father’s son,
never wanted to commit a crime against someone to get what I want, but
Christine drives me to my darkest self. She makes me embrace the Terlizzi
traditions without remorse.
“If you fuck even one of those self-obsessed, douchey assholes, I’ll make you
regret it, Christine.”
“Don’t threaten me,” she narrows her eyes and huffs.
“It’s not a threat, dolcezza, it’s a promise. I don’t care about your past
because I’m your future. I’m the only man you’ll fuck from now on; I
promise you that.”
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 Chapter 7
Christine

I
run from Niccolo, and when I make it back to Kaye, she’s as ready to
leave as I am. “The nerve of that man,” she yells as she drags me out of
the bar.
It takes me a couple of minutes to catch up, but I’m not the only one who
received a visit from the ghost of step family past tonight.
“Xavier is a fucking stalker,” she swears. “He had the audacity to show up
at the same bar I was at and-and-and,” Kaye stutters. She stomps her feet
and lets out a little scream. “Chris, he fingered me on the dance floor, and I
had an orgasm. There were a dozen people around,” she exclaims,
mortified.
Lucky bitch. The same thing happened to me, except I wasn’t allowed to get
off. “What a sick and disgusting man,” I agree, loyal to a fault.
“That’s what I’m saying!” Kaye flings her hands up in the air in
exasperation. “To find me at the bars,” she huffs. “And then to touch me like
that. I don’t even touch me like that.”
For a minute, I forget about Niccolo and raise an eyebrow at my best friend.
“You don’t masturbate?” I’ve been in charge of my orgasms since I was
fifteen and found out what an orgasm was. The most embarrassing moment
of my life happened in a Spencer’s gift store when I was trying to buy my
first vibrator, and the guy at the counter asked how old I was. A line of
people behind me listened to the cashier dress me down for trying to buy a
sex toy when I was barely old enough to know what to do with it.
A blush kisses Kaye’s cheeks, but it’s hidden in the dark hues of twilight. “I,
well, it’s different,” she blusters. “I-I touch myself, but it’s never felt like
that.”
Color me shocked that Xavier McCade has magic hands. At least if he
follows through with his threat to take Kaye’s virginity, he’ll make her feel
good while he does it. “What happened to the vibrators we bought a few
months ago when you turned eighteen?”
She covers her face with her hands and groans, shielding her
embarrassment behind the hollow of her palms. “I feel so awkward when I
use it. And I didn’t bring it to college,” she hisses.
I wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her close. “It’s okay. Some
people are more shy about sex than others.” I pat her on the back,
comforting her.
“I’m sorry I ruined our night out,” Kaye moans. “I was having a good time
until Xave showed up.”
She’s not the only one. Until I found out that Niccolo was at Red Dawg, it
was shaping up to be a perfect first weekend at college.
As we get back to the dorm, the halls are buzzing with energy despite the
hour nearing midnight. The air smells of freshly popped, buttery popcorn
and pizza. It’s Friday night, and people are playing games, hanging out with
their friends, and commiserating over the homework they’ve already been
given. Everywhere I look, students gather in small groups, listening to
music and laughing. This was where the party was at all along.
“I’m going to go to bed,” Kaye announces when we make it to our room.
I’m still too worked up over what happened with my stepfather to go to
sleep. I need to dispel some of this restless energy before I implode, and I
know just how to do it. “I feel gross; I think I’ll take a shower. I won’t bother
you when I come back in, right?”
With a yawn, she shakes her head and starts undressing. “I’m so tired that
I’d probably sleep through a tornado at this point.”
“That’s what a good orgasm will do to you,” I tease, elbowing her in the
side.
Kaye tries and fails to keep from smiling. “I thought you were leaving.”
I grab my shower caddy and the fluffy white towel hanging on the back of
our dorm room door. “I am. Don’t miss me too much.” Then, I sneak out and
head to the communal bathroom at the end of the hall.
For all the studious kids poring over dense textbooks and pounding energy
drinks to stay awake, the bathroom is surprisingly empty. I grab one of the
open shower stalls and undress, depositing the evening’s clothes over the
rail that holds up the shower curtain.
Hot showers usually help me relax, but they aren’t doing the trick tonight.
Despite the beads of water soothing the tension in my muscles, I still feel on
edge. It takes me a few moments to realize why. Niccolo’s skillful hands
brought me to the brink of orgasm and then coaxed me off the ledge before
I had a chance to jump. My body is overcharged, and I need the release my
stepfather denied me.
I peek outside the curtain to make sure no one is around. If I do this quickly,
no one has to know what happened in the shower stall.
I lean against the cool tile wall and let my fingers glide through my wet,
waiting center. I trace a seductive path around my swollen vulva, pausing at
each lip to rub the sensitive tissue, caressing it until I gasp with need. My
breath quickens as I explore myself, eyes closing to indulge in my fantasies.
Niccolo’s face is displayed across the back of my eyelids, building up a
powerful arousal within me. I remember his strong arms holding me tightly
even though his touch was gentle and tender.
My body moves of its own accord, hips undulating in time with my thoughts
as I’m brought closer to the edge of pleasure. I skim over my quivering flesh
until I find my clit and use my middle finger to massage it gently, stroking
harder and faster and then slower again in search of the perfect rhythm to
bring me release.
I can still feel the anticipation he built up inside of me. The water from the
shower invigorates my senses, working in time with my hands to erode the
last of my willpower. My breathing grows heavy and urgent in time with my
movements.
His face still swims in my head as an orgasm detonates without warning. A
wave of satisfaction washes over me, coursing through my veins. With a
small gasp of delight, I bite down on my knuckle to keep from crying out as
I arch against the wall and allow the sensations to consume every inch of
me.
It takes a few moments to catch my breath, to remember that I’m in a
college dormitory bathroom, and at any moment, another student could
walk in and catch me. I push off the wall and slip under the shower head,
allowing the hot jets of water to cleanse me of my naughty thoughts.
This is it, I tell myself. This is the last time I’ll think of my stepfather when I
get off.
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 Chapter 8
Niccolo

C
hristine refuses to look at me during the next class and the half a
dozen that follow. She studiously ignores my gaze for two weeks,
making conversation with the girl beside her. Sometimes, she looks
annoyed by her dark-haired seatmate. Other times, they laugh through
discussion questions, and Sienna shoots curious glances my way as if she
knows something that colors her judgment of me.
I’m no stranger to my stepdaughter’s thriving social life. In high school, she
dated football players and brainiacs. I took her to Friday night home games
and Saturday afternoon math competitions. When Christine wasn’t
following a boy around, she was with Kaye or another of her little friends. I
rarely saw her at the house because she had so much going on. It made
parenting a teenager easier, which I appreciated because I had no idea
what I was doing.

W
hen class ends, and Christine finally acknowledges my presence
after two weeks of silence, it’s after most of the students have
filtered out of the room. She lingers near her seat for a few
minutes, pretending to tap away on her laptop while the last group of
people meanders toward the door.
“Christine.” I dip my head in her direction. “Can I help you with
something?”
She purses her lips, putting her laptop away in earnest now. “I was
wondering if you could take me back to Manhattan after classes are over
today.”
My heart palpitates with need. Breathe, I tell myself. Don’t sound too eager.
“Sure. What for?”
“My car is ready to be picked up,” she announces excitedly. “The shop
called yesterday to let me know the final part had come in and was being
installed.”
Her car may be ready, but I’m not. It was only a few weeks ago that I was
sitting with her in the hospital after a car accident that never should have
happened. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to drive?” I ask, my face
creasing with concern. “If you need to go somewhere, I can always take
you.”
Christine rolls her eyes in a single dismissive movement. “So if I want to go
to McDonald’s at 1:00 am, I should call you and wait a half hour for you to
drive to Rosedale and pick me up?” Her voice carries a hint of exasperation;
her words layered with sarcasm.
Fair point. However, the alternative is that she gets in her car, drives to
McDonald’s herself, and winds up in another accident. I’m willing to get up
in the middle of the night to do her a small favor if it means she won’t wind
up dead. I remember how I felt when the police called me that night; I never
want to feel that way again.
“You can always call me Christine. I’m available to you day or night.” For
once, I don’t mean that sexually. I mean it in every conceivable way she
might need me, whether it’s a late-night food run or someone to pick her up
from the library in the dead of winter because it’s too cold for her to walk
home.
The muscles around her eyes twitch as she folds her arms at her chest.
“Yes, you’ve made it clear how available you are to me,” Christine
deadpans. “I’d prefer unfettered access to a car, though.”
“I can be your personal chauffeur,” I offer.
“Nic,” she sighs.
“Chris.”
Her hands fall to her side in frustration, slapping against her thighs in a
loud gesture of annoyance. “I know why you’re concerned, but you don’t
have to be. What happened in July was a freak accident.”
She doesn’t have to tell me about freak accidents. I was the one that got the
call on July 4th. Between one neighbor setting off firecrackers and another
throwing a party, I missed my phone ringing in another room three times.
When I finally answered, the police officer said he’d been trying to get ahold
of me for the last ten minutes. Then he told me what happened, and my
heart felt like it imploded from fear.
“Freak accident or not, I’m concerned about your safety.” Christine was
heading home on an empty stretch of road on Independence Day when
someone came out of nowhere and plowed into the passenger side of her
car. What if Kaye had been with her? Or, God forbid, the person hit the
driver’s side instead?
Panic seizes my chest with its long, sinuous claws, wrapping them around
my heart and squeezing. I have to stop thinking about the what ifs before I
drive myself crazy.
“The more I think about it, the safer I think it’ll be if you just let me drive
you around,” I decide.
Christine gets up and walks across the room, carving out a space for herself
on the edge of my desk. She sits atop unread papers and printouts I haven’t
gotten around to looking at yet. “I get why you’d think that, but I can’t rely
on you forever,” she says gently.
Lie #1. She could rely on me for the rest of our lives if she’d let herself. I
would never hurt her; I would never let anyone else hurt her.
“I need my freedom, Nic. Part of that freedom involves getting my car back
and being able to go wherever I want whenever I want.”
Lie #2. She can still have her freedom while also being my passenger
princess. I’m not kidding. If she says the word, I’ll be on-call 24/7 for her
chauffeuring needs.
“Besides, if I get a job, I’m going to need reliable transportation.”
Lie #3. She doesn’t need a job, and even if she got one, I’m reliable, and I
can provide transportation. I don’t see the problem.
“You don’t need a job,” I remind her. “There’s a trust set up in your name. If
you need money for classes or textbooks, I’m sure the trustee would sign off
on it.”
She replies in a monotone voice, “You’re the trustee, Niccolo.”
I give her a knowing wink. “And I’d sign off on it!”
Christine does not find my charming offer amusing. “Please,” she begs,
inserting more emotion into her tone, “or else I’ll have to ask Kaye to take
me to Manhattan, and she’s got her own crap going on.”
I’m tempted to stall and ask what’s going on in her best friend’s life, but I
decide to save the question for the drive. “If I take you, if,” I emphasize,
“you have to promise me you’ll never get into another accident again.”
“Niccolo,” she whines, “I can’t promise that, and you know it.”
It doesn’t matter if she can promise or not; we both know I’d take her to the
moon if she asked me to. “Fine,” I resign, “I’ll take you. My last class ends
at 2:50. Think you can be here by 3:00?”
Christine hops off my desk with a smile that lights up the room. “I’d be here
at 3:00 am if that’s what it took.”
If we’re ever together at 3:00 am, it better be because I’m behind her
thrusting, not because I’m behind the wheel of a car. Sex is the only good
thing that happens after midnight.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 9
Christine

S
ix weeks ago, I saw my life flash before my eyes. It was a brief
moment, but it felt like it lasted a lifetime. I watched all the forgotten
moments of my life like a movie playing in slow motion—the moments
that made me who I was.
I saw my mother’s smiling face, remembered the way her eyes twinkled
when she laughed, and how she hugged me before I went to bed just to
make sure I felt safe and sound.
I saw the carnival my father took me to when I was seven. The smell of
freshly popped popcorn, the sound of laughter and joyous screams, the
sensation of my feet flying high on the Ferris wheel.
I remembered my first kiss, the feeling of pure happiness I felt when I got
my first car, the way my heart pounded as I walked across the stage when I
graduated high school—and every small moment in between, each one so
precious and unique.
In a single moment, I saw it all pass before my eyes, and I felt a deep
appreciation for all that I had experienced and for my life itself. When I
woke up in the hospital, I felt lucky to be alive.

K
aye and I had gone to the Boomtown USA fireworks display in
Wamego. Thousands of people all over Kansas attended the event
each year. Getting there and finding a parking place was bad enough,
but leaving was a nightmare. It took us an hour and a half to drive fifteen
miles back to town; the traffic was unbearable.
After I dropped Kaye off at her place, I drove around town looking for
something to do. Almost everyone had gone home, and the streets of
Manhattan felt like my own personal playground. I cruised around corners
and through back alleys, the wind whistling through the windows cracked
for fresh air.
I have broken memories of the accident. I’d made it to the outskirts of town,
where turning north would take me back to the hustle and bustle of
Manhattan, and turning south would lead me into the countryside. As I tried
to decide what to do, I approached a 4-way intersection, and a green light
ushered me forward.
I never saw the car that t-boned me barreling down the road. Niccolo told
me later that one of its headlights was out, and the driver was drunk. I only
remember being in the middle of an intersection when glass started
shattering all around me, and my head slammed against the driver’s side
window.
A witness said the car was going at least fifty miles per hour when it ran the
red light. The driver was on his phone texting when he hit me on the
passenger side. He emerged with cuts and bruises; they didn’t even take
him to the hospital before the police carted him off the jail. I, on the other
hand, was not as lucky.
The impact of the collision threw me against the driver’s side door, my head
colliding with the glass and causing cracks to spiral outward. A sharp pain
shot through my skull, and I could feel a warm trickle of blood drip down my
neck. The twisted metal ridges of the car reached out to grab me while
jagged shards of the windshield blanketed my lap. My car radio stopped,
and I could hear the muffled screams of onlookers too far away to help.
My injuries weren’t severe. I was properly restrained, and my airbags
successfully deployed. But I still walked away with a grade 3 concussion,
two black eyes, a broken finger, and half a dozen bruised ribs. I was in the
hospital for two days—long enough for the doctors to make sure I didn’t
have brain damage and to bandage my injuries.
When I left the hospital, I was still in shock from the accident. It felt like a
dream—the paper-thin stitches on my left temple, the dull ache in my hand
from the broken finger, and the sensation of something being off in my
brain. I couldn’t focus on anything for more than a few seconds before
getting distracted by a thought or feeling. I felt like a stranger in my own
body.
Though my car wasn’t a complete loss, it needed a lot of work. Niccolo
recommended selling it for parts and using the money as a down payment
for a new car, but I didn’t like that idea. My Toyota Camry kept me alive on
the scariest night of my life; it deserved the same loyalty from me.
But I’ll admit, looking at it now, I’m scared to get back behind the wheel.
“You okay?” Niccolo asks gently. “If it’s too soon—”
“No,” I cut him off, staring at the metallic blue vehicle that saved my life.
“They color matched well, didn’t they?”
My stepfather reaches out to hold my hand. It’s an intimate gesture but far
from the sensual touches of our night at Red Dawg. With a firm, reassuring
grip, he reminds me why I stayed with him instead of moving to Kansas City
with my uncles after my mother passed. “I can call one of my brothers if you
want,” he offers. “They can drive your car back home, and you can wait
until morning to drive it back to campus. Or, if you don’t feel ready, I can
drive you back to campus tonight or tomorrow. Tell me what you need,
Christine, and I’ll do it.”
I want to take him up on his offer. When we’re in Manhattan, surrounded by
people who know our history, Niccolo is an entirely different person. His
warmth and kindness are infectious; they take root in my chest and make a
home. But if I let him comfort me now, who knows when I’ll summon the
courage to get behind the wheel again?
“Thanks, Nic.” I squeeze his hand in response, showing my appreciation for
his sweet gesture. “But I have to do this for myself.”
My fears are quite ordinary—spiders, roller coasters, and a paralyzing
dread of failure. But I refuse to accept the idea that getting in an accident
should add cars to that list. I am stronger than that.
As I take a step forward, Niccolo reluctantly releases my hand. “Call me
when you get back to the dorm,” he demands. “Let me know you’re safe.”
My pulse gallops as I climb inside my newly refurbished Camry. Everything
feels the same, but I have to reprogram the radio. It was damaged in the
crash and had to be replaced. When I turn it on, I skip through the
frequencies until an Ariana Grande song comes on. She calms my nerves as
I put the car into drive and inch out of the mechanic’s shop.
In my rearview mirror, Niccolo stands watching me. The intensity of his
gaze never wavers; he never looks away. He watches me until I’m out of
sight, and I know we breathe a sigh of relief at the same time.
We’ve gone through the same tragedies. We’ve lost the same people. Our
shared grief binds us like a steel chain, and I find solace in knowing that
we’ve been through the same aches and pains.
We may be stepfather and stepdaughter, but our relationship goes deeper
than that. Whatever people think we are to one another, it has always been
more. And maybe I should consider that the next time he holds me tight and
says we’re meant to be.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 10
Christine

B
y the time I make it back to campus, my fear of driving has been
forgotten. As it turns out, cars don’t come barreling out of nowhere
willy-nilly. People will cut you off and change lanes without signaling,
but accidents like mine are not an everyday occurrence.
In the parking lot outside of Calvert Hall, I fire off a text to my stepfather to
let him know I arrived safely.

Made it back in one piece. Thanks for everything. ❤️

My phone pings before I’m out of the car.

NICCOLO

Always, dolcezza.

I
t’s hard to hate Niccolo sometimes. As I’ve gotten older, he’s gotten
more protective and possessive, but his actions come from a place of
love.
See? You get it. The little voice in my head chirps. Niccolo only wants to
have sex with you because he loves you.
My throat tightens as I swipe the text chain between Nic and me. I glide my
thumb along the phone’s screen, deleting our conversation in one gesture.
“That’s not what I should be thinking about,” I mumble to myself.
The only way I’m going to get over how he made me feel the other night is
by getting under someone else. I need to find a man who can replace all the
delicious, gooey sensations Niccolo made me feel with new, delicious, gooey
sensations.
I return to my room to search for Kaye, but she is nowhere to be found. She
mentioned that she’d be going to Manhattan to speak with her stepfather
about getting a job at his law firm, but I guess she hasn’t returned yet.
My stomach growls. I don’t know when Kaye will return, but I text her I’m
going to the dining hall. I’m too hungry to stay here and wait around. I
could make some cup noodles if I want, but real food is calling my name. I
haven’t been by myself since Kaye and I arrived, but there’s a first time for
everything. Maybe I’ll make a new friend.
The sun has started to set, but the campus is still alive as I make my way to
the dining hall. Students mill about in the after-hours, some alone and
others in groups. Some sit on benches with headphones in, and textbooks
splayed around them. Others lounge on the grass, laughing at inside jokes
I’ll never be in on. I take a deep breath and remind myself not to be
intimidated. Even if I don’t have any friends here yet, there’s no reason I
can’t go out and make some.
I take a deep breath and step into the student union. It is bustling with
people going in all directions. I try to blend in with the crowd as I push past
the double doors leading to the dining hall.
It is a sprawling space full of tables and chairs chaotically arranged. To one
side, there’s a buffet line hosted by the cafeteria, offering a range of dishes
from burgers to salads to pasta. On the other side, there’s an array of fast
food options for those with a few extra dollars.
I scan the room for familiar faces, but I don’t see anyone I recognize from
my classes or the dorm, not even Sienna. That isn’t surprising, though;
everyone has their own activities and friends they hang out with on campus.
I feel slightly out of place but remind myself I’m attempting to make new
friends.
“Hey, gorgeous,” someone nudges me from behind. “I haven’t seen you
around before.”
As I pivot to look at the stranger, I find myself gazing up at a man of
towering stature. He is chiseled and muscular, every inch of his body
rippling with strength, and he’s handsome in the all-American male sort of
way with a clean-cut face, well-groomed blonde hair, and blue eyes that
make my stomach turn to mush. “H-hey,” I stutter, confused by the
intrusion, “do I know you?”
“You do now,” he says with a grin. “Name’s Theo.”
“Christine.”
He steps closer, and I’m met with the faint scent of freshly cut lawns and
warm soil. “I think there’s something wrong with my phone.” Theo produces
a black iPhone out of nowhere, swiping on the screen a few times before
handing it to me. “It doesn’t have your number in it.”
I look down at the phone for a second before bursting into laughter. The
audacity of this man to think I’d give my number to a stranger. “Does that
line actually work for you?”
Theo snorts and lets the phone drop to his side. “Playing hard to get, I see.”
“Playing hard to want, I see,” I return, just as quick-witted.
The corners of Theo’s eyes crinkle as the curve of his smile deepens. “You
got a boyfriend?” Theo asks after a beat.
“No,” I admit. “I just don’t give my number out to strangers.” I’m used to
high school boys putting in weeks of effort to get close to me before
mustering up the courage to ask me on a date. High school boys are shy and
afraid of rejection; Theo is the opposite. He talks to me like he knows I will
eventually give in to his charms.
“What do you want to know, Christine? I’m an open book. Ask me anything.”
Admittedly, he’s attractive. If he weren’t, I’d have already walked away. But
I don’t like his arrogance or the way he assumes he’s hot shit. It makes me
want to take him down a peg. “How about you tell me something about
yourself before I lose interest? You have about ten seconds before I ditch
you for some egg rolls from Panda Express.”
Theo knits his eyebrows together, and I can tell from the look on his face
that he’s judging whether I’m worth the trouble. I bet he’s used to girls
falling over themselves to go on a date with him. He probably isn’t used to
having to work for someone’s attention. But his response takes me by
surprise.
“I know you walked into the union from the west entrance. I was in the
store across the way looking at shirts. I send one to my mom at the
beginning of every year because she likes to wear it to my games. I’m a
football player,” he says, puffing his chest out with pride. “But I saw you
walk by, and I had to follow you. I knew if I didn’t, I’d regret it for the rest
of my life.”
Maybe he sees something in me, maybe not, but he makes me laugh. “The
rest of your life?” I question, certain that he’s blowing smoke up my ass.
Theo is kind of corny, but he might be exactly what I’m looking for to forget
Niccolo.
He holds up a hand in defense. “Swear to God. And I’m not the kind of man
that lives with regrets, you know,” Theo adds with a wink.
“Alright, mama’s boy. Let’s get dinner, and you can tell me more about your
mom and football career.” This might be a mistake, but it’s one dinner in
the student union. What could it hurt?
A lazy, indulgent smile appears on his face; he got exactly what he wanted.
“Did I tell you I’m the BU quarterback?” Theo winks. “You’re walking with
royalty.”
That explains the arrogance, but I’m in too deep now. At the very least, I’ll
have someone pretty to look at while I eat. “Have you considered deflating
your head before you come inside? I’m surprised you can make it through
the doors.”
This could be the start of exactly what I need. I’m not looking for forever; I
just want someone to get my mind off my stepfather. And self-obsessed,
arrogant quarterback Theo might be precisely what the doctor ordered.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 11
Niccolo

I
t’s been two weeks since I took Christine to Manhattan to retrieve her
car. After our intimate moment at the mechanic’s shop, I thought she
would have mellowed out a bit and seen that I only want what’s best for
her. In retrospect, I’m not sure what made me think that. Christine has
never been very willing to do what I want her to.
Instead, she’s made a complete 180 from the moment we shared. It’s as if
getting her car back gave her license to be an even bigger brat. I wouldn’t
say she’s deliberately trying to piss me off, but I wouldn’t put it past her.
She comes into class three times a week and spends the hour chatting with
her little buddy, Sienna. The two of them whisper behind their hands and
giggle the hour away. Sometimes, Christine makes direct eye contact with
me while she’s interrupting the class. It makes me question whether her
conduct is accidental or if she’s trying to incite me to action.
To Sienna’s credit, I don’t think any of the interruptions are her fault. I did a
little digging into her background and didn’t find so much as a detention.
She’s a nice girl from Duluth, Minnesota, with a penchant for reading and a
blue ribbon in quilting from the county fair three years ago. Sienna doesn’t
strike me as the type of person to make waves, which means all the
interruptions are courtesy of my stepdaughter.
Since I can neither confirm nor deny that Christine’s trying to piss me off on
purpose, I bottle up my frustration until I’m ready to explode. At least once
per hour, I have to snap my fingers at the two of them to redirect their
attention. My minute outbursts come with snickers from the other students
as they giggle and laugh at someone else getting into trouble. It often shuts
Sienna up for a few minutes, but Christine is harder to control. Day by day,
I get closer to my breaking point until a single whispered phrase takes me
over the edge.
“Is he a good kisser?” Sienna asks.
“Yes,” I explode in the middle of a sentence, spinning around to face the two
of them like a feline ready to pounce on its prey. “Tell us, Ms. Lucatello.
Who is he?” I demand loudly enough to wake the sleeping students in the
back of the room. “And is he a good kisser? I think this is a more important
discussion than the one we’re having on brain abnormalities and personality
disorders.”
Christine’s face is a mixture of emotions. Her cheeks are flushed pink with
embarrassment, but her expression is one of anger. Her eyebrows furrow
together, and her lips purse tight in disapproval, making her look even more
stern. “Is there a problem, Professor?”
She’s an audacious little thing and prone to outbursts the same as me, but
I’m sick and tired of listening to her whisper and giggle through my class.
“No problem at all. I just figured since your conversation is so fascinating
that neither you nor Miss Richler can pay attention, the rest of the class
should weigh in. Believe me when I say we are all waiting on bated breath
to find out who your mystery kisser is.” I gesture toward the students
behind her, which only causes the blush on her cheeks to deepen.
A tense moment passes before Christine gets to her feet, and I pin her with
a glare. “Oh, no, Miss Lucatello, don’t leave. In fact, please stay while I
dismiss the rest of the class early.” Nobody stirs. The students stare
motionless, their faces blank with shock. There is no scuffling of feet, no
shuffling of papers, not even a whisper or murmur. “Did you not hear me?” I
look around, turning my anger on the rest of them. “You are all free to
leave. Go to lunch early. Take a nap. Work on the paper that’s due next
week. I don’t care. Just get out.”
The sound of closing laptops and rustling papers is almost deafening in the
quiet room. But slowly, the other students get up from their seats,
whispering to each other about my shocking explosion. Christine stays
standing by her chair, facing me.
“You’re an ass, you know that?” She asks before everyone is gone. A few
stragglers wait by the door, eyes wide as they listen in on our conversation.
“You didn’t have to embarrass me in front of the entire lecture hall. You
could have tried to ask me politely to stop talking. Or you could have
dismissed me. You didn’t have to air my dirty laundry in front of everybody
like that.” The accusatory tone in her voice makes me homicidal.
I glare at the group of kids by the door, and they take it as a sign to scurry.
They’re gone within seconds, leaving Christine and me alone. “This is a
classroom; it’s a place of learning. Listening to you and that girl chatter
about boys the entire hour is a waste of your time and mine.”
“You’re just jealous.”
“Jealous of what?” I roll my eyes and curl my upper lip as I fling my arms
across my chest. My mouth is contorted with apathy and defiance, my gaze
hard and challenging as I watch her for a reaction.
Christine narrows her eyes at me and steps forward, dropping her bag on
the ground with an audible thud. “You’re jealous that instead of letting you
fuck me, I’m getting real close and personal with the BU quarterback, and
I’m going to let him fuck me instead.”
I succumb to blind rage. It jolts me forward, and I’m ready to hurt her as
badly as she hurt me, but she raises a hand at the last minute, stopping me
in my tracks.
“Not so fast, Nic.” Christine reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a
cell phone. A few quick swipes on the screen, and she’s pointing it at me.
“You better be careful. Whatever you plan to do, I’m recording. I’m not
letting you manhandle me anymore. I’ll go to HR,” she threatens.
I make a split-second decision to say fuck it. Fuck the stupid camera on her
phone taking a video of this interaction. And fuck her threat to go to Human
Resources. At the end of the day, she is my stepdaughter, and I can do
whatever I want to her.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 12
Christine

W
hen I threaten to report Niccolo to Human Resources, something
inside him snaps like a twig. The air thickens with anticipation as
he rolls up his sleeves and gestures toward the phone. The video
captures him drawing closer to me, his eyes narrowing in a way that makes
my stomach churn. “Give it to me,” he orders.
“No,” I protest, taking a step back. “If there isn’t a camera on you, who
knows what you’ll do?”
I can think of a dozen filthy things he’d do to me if no one were watching.
His frustration reaches its boiling point, and I see where he crosses over
from giving a damn to saying fuck it. Niccolo takes three large, quick
strides toward me unexpectedly. When he grabs my wrist, I’m afraid he’s
going to hurt me. “I’ll keep recording,” he says sarcastically as he rips the
phone out of my hand.
I know I should scream for help. There are people milling about in the
hallway. If they heard me, they’d be forced to stop and see what’s going on.
But sound dies in the back of my throat as Niccolo drags me to his desk. A
part of me wants to fight him off, but something else takes over my body,
telling me that fighting him will only make things worse.
“You want a video so bad, might as well make it a good one.” He shoves me
over the front of his desk before struggling with my shorts. The edge digs
into my stomach, an irritating sensation that becomes a pleasurable ache as
I realize what he’s doing. Though Niccolo isn’t very dexterous with one
hand, he bares my bottom after a few long, exaggerated seconds.
He positions me just so: arched back, bare bottom on display for him like a
dessert platter. A cool breeze whips through an open window in the back of
the room, causing goosebumps to dimple my exposed skin.
Before I can comprehend what’s happening, he lands a stinging slap on my
left cheek that echoes in the quiet room like a thunderclap. The pain flares
up momentarily before being drowned in a sea of pleasure that leaves me
gasping for breath. Niccolo’s hand is warm where it lingers on my skin,
branding me with his commanding touch.
“I think you get a perverse pleasure out of being a brat.” Niccolo senses my
arousal, his dark eyes gleaming with implacable intent and unmistakable
lust. His fingers trail across the pert fullness of my ass, dipping briefly into
the tempting valley between my legs. “I think you want me to spank you. I
think you like it, Christine.”
I counsel myself not to respond, knowing that’s what he wants from me. He
wants me to argue and give him a reason to keep going. His hand lingers on
my skin as the heat fades away, replaced by the familiar pleasure of his
touch. The brush of his fingers stirs feelings in my chest I have never felt
before, and I gasp under their intensity.
“For someone with so much to say during class, you sure are quiet now. Cat
got your tongue?” He asks after a few moments. Again, I don’t respond, but
it only emboldens him.
Niccolo spanks me again. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes in the
room, a primal crack that strips me down to my base desires. His touch
changes, no longer brusque or punishing but sexually teasing. The contrast
between the hard spanking and gentle caresses creates exquisite friction
that torments and brings me closer to the brink of sweet release. I arch my
back in search of more, in search of escape, in search of something I can’t
quite put my finger on. My moans mingle with the sounds of his skin hitting
mine, creating a rhythm that excites us both.
The tension in the room grows palpable, amplified by our heavy breathing
and the soft rustling of clothes as Niccolo adjusts his stance. His arousal is
visible beneath his pants, straining against the fabric as he takes in the
sight of me exposed and vulnerable on his desk.
His rhythmic tempo is a fusion of suffering and sensuality that escalates
with each stroke. My body throbs with need as I dance on the tip of my toes,
desperate to evade each swat while conversely wanting him to spank me
harder. He ignites a heat inside me that makes me moan with barely
concealed desire.
I’m deeply aware of the red glow spreading across my bottom under his
palm, caught on camera for me to watch later. A million sensations invade
my senses as my breath grows ragged.
I reach out to grab the edge of the desk, fingers curling to grip the other
side as I ride out a unique blend of aching satisfaction. His firm hand guides
me to the height of my desire, leaving me trembling with anticipation.
Tension coils tightly around us, a sensual dance that veers on the edge of
insanity.
The slaps slowly become playful yet still leave their mark. His movements
are measured and precise like he knows just how much of him I need to give
in. His roughness is like a drug, and it feels obscene to let him have me like
this.
When he finishes, it takes a few moments before I notice. Niccolo strokes
my skin, grabbing and squeezing my tender bottom to feel the heat of his
discipline radiating back at him. When I look over my shoulder, his eyes are
dark with lust and desire, as deep and devious as my own.
“Good girl,” he growls.
I’m mortified, ashamed, embarrassed to my core, and still, I know my center
is wet. As I move to stand, Niccolo steps back, the camera continuing to
record my every movement.
“You want to take this to HR? Go right ahead. But your wet little pussy is
damning evidence. When you show them this video, they’re going to hear
you moaning and see you shoving your ass back at me, wanting more.”
He tosses the phone back to me, and I barely catch it as I’m trying to pull
my shorts up. “If you want to play hot and cold with me, that’s fine. But
don’t bring that shit into my classroom, Christine. If you walk through my
door again, you better respect me when you take your seat. Otherwise, I’ll
repeat this performance every day until you do. Do you understand?”
I fumble with my shorts and phone until the former are pulled up, and the
latter is shoved in my back pocket. My bottom blushes crimson, throbbing
from our actions, and I bow my head in subservience. “Yes,” I mumble.
Niccolo steps forward to grab my chin, forcing me to look at him. Our eyes
meet, and I see something forbidden staring back at me. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s my good little girl.”
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 13
Niccolo

A
dmittedly, there is something primal about my desire to spank my
stepdaughter. I don’t know what Christine does when she leaves the
classroom, but I lock the door and go to the back corner of the
lecture hall where no one can see me.
My heart races with anticipation as I unbuckle my belt and pull out my
growing erection. I’ve been hard since the second I saw my stepdaughter’s
bare bottom. I’ve fantasized about a moment like this since I gave her a few
swats on prom night for acting like a brat. God, how I’ve wanted to take her
over my knee and watch her squirm on my lap while I turn her ass a
beautiful shade of maroon. But today, I finally got to live out my fantasies
and capture them in HD. Too bad I don’t have a copy of the video.
I spit on my hand, using it to lube up my thick, unyielding eight inches. A
droplet of pre-cum trembles on my tip, providing a warm lubricant that
allows me to glide effortlessly up and down the hard length of my shaft as I
think about what transpired between Christine and me.
Her curvy silhouette splayed invitingly across the expanse of my desk. Her
creamy white skin beneath my hands, flushed with arousal and soft as
velveteen against my rough palms. Her plump bottom lifting towards me,
the sweet pink bud nestled between her cheeks quivering each time my
palm made contact with her ass. Her muffled moans each time my hand
landed on her skin, leaving a pink mark in its wake.
The memory of her writhing in uninhibited ecstasy and pain, every inch of
her exposed and offered up without reservation, acts like fuel to the fire
already raging within me. My breath hitches as my thoughts turn to the
humiliation she must have felt from the powerless position she was in.
Every stroke of my cock electrifies my senses as I commit to memory the
sound of her moans when she sucked her lower lip to keep from crying out.
I focus on our forbidden moment, vivid images filling my head as sensation
after sensation floods my hippocampus. I recall the shades of fear and
desire in her eyes when she looked at me, vulnerable yet aroused, excited
by what was happening even though she knew it was wrong. It’s our taboo
game of house where daddy punishes his little girl for doing something bad
before he makes it all feel better by burying his cock inside of her until she
screams.
It doesn’t take long for pleasure to mount—raw and unabashed. Fast,
shallow breaths come quicker than I want them to. In the quiet room, with
just my memories and hands to keep me entertained, I feel myself rushing
toward climax. I want to hold off, make it last longer, but a clenching
sensation radiates from deep within me, and I know I can’t hold out any
longer.
I grip myself tighter, each downward stroke pulling another groan from my
lips until I explode with a wave of ecstasy that obliterates all thought. I
shoot my load at the back of the chair in front of me, coating its enamel in
my milky white seed.
God, I should have let Christine’s uncles take her after Caterina’s death. If I
had, I wouldn’t have spent another three years watching her grow into a
beautiful, strong-willed woman. I wouldn’t have fallen for her in the quiet
moments of our togetherness. I wouldn’t have her in my Psychology 101
class, taunting me with knowing looks and teasing winks. And I wouldn’t
have to clean my jizz off the seat with some wet wipes before the next hour
of students arrive.
But who am I kidding? My grip on Christine was as unyielding back then as
it is now. She may not understand the depths of my feelings for her, but
there is no denying that I will never give her up. There is no escaping me.
Christine Lucatello is mine.
She is my stepdaughter.
She is my sweetest little girl.
She is my future wife.
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 Chapter 14
Christine

I
f I had a dollar for every time Niccolo Terlizzi pissed me off, I’d be a
millionaire. I could buy him out of the house that he torments me in and
put his ass on the street where he couldn’t get to me. He’d regret ever
agreeing to marry my mother all those years ago. He’d rue the day he told
my uncles he was keeping me in Manhattan instead of sending me with
them to start my life over in Kansas City.
Niccolo disgusts me with his actions and words. Yet, there is an undeniable
pull towards him I can’t seem to resist. A constant battle between my
repulsion and the intense longing he ignites within me. How can I stay away
from someone who simultaneously repels and entices me?

I
regret pulling my phone out to film him as if a camera would change his
behavior. He took my idea and twisted it into something perverse. I
wanted to use the phone as a shield against his actions, but he turned it
around and made it into something dirty.
And I rewatch the video we made every day when I’m alone.
It’s a poorly shot soft-core porno. The camera shakes, and the quality leaves
much to be desired. But it doesn’t need to be in 4K for me to see my
alabaster skin turn a deep shade of red under his touch. Even with his
hands shaking, the arch of my back in pleasure is noticeable. Anyone who
watches this video would see a woman enjoying herself instead of a woman
under duress. I can’t show it to Human Resources; I can’t show it to anyone.
The worst part is how much rewatching the video turns me on, and I can
only do it when Kaye is gone. When she’s in one of her many classes or
going to Manhattan to work at her stepfather’s law firm, I hole up in my
dorm and let the video play.
Shame and humiliation wash over me with every second of the video I
consume. I can’t see Niccolo’s stern gaze, but I can hear the taunting in his
tone. I play the forbidden moment we shared on loop until involuntary sighs
escape my lips, and I have to bury myself under the blanket to hide my
debasement from the world. Then my hand sneaks between my thighs and
dips under the hem of my shorts, and my self-degradation continues.
The incriminating video flickers across my phone screen while I drag my
fingers through my slit, growing hot with anticipation. My breath quickens,
and my legs tremble as I stroke myself faster and faster, desperate for the
pleasure that comes from fantasizing that I’m back in Niccolo’s office. The
rhythm is instinctual—faster, then slow, deep, then shallow—an erotic
symphony conducted by my filthy desires. I can’t recreate how I felt after
my stepfather spanked me, but I repeat this shameful ritual every day.
Then I have to go to class three times a week and see Niccolo’s smug face,
smiling, begging for me to disrespect him again. He wants me to give him
another opportunity to upend me over his desk and do what he wants to me.
He walks around the room with a superior air that makes me want to get
out of my seat and smack the grin off his face. Niccolo takes great
satisfaction from watching me squirm under his gaze. Every movement,
every action, is a reminder that he knows how I felt after he released me
that day. And I hate him for it.

S
ienna, whom I’ve come around to befriending, waits for me after class
one day to ask if everything is okay. “You’ve been off lately,” she says
with a shrug. “You pregnant or something? Dealing drugs? Do I need
to get you into rehab?” She’s just as wild as the first day I met her.
But I can’t admit what happened between Niccolo and me. I can’t admit the
truth for fear of judgment. So, I tell her a version of the truth amenable to
an average person’s conscience.
“After class the other day, Niccolo chastised me for being disruptive. He
said if I did it again, he’d kick me off the roster and make me start over next
semester.” It’s a lie, but it does the trick. She believes me without question,
then swears she’ll never talk to me again.
“During class hours, of course,” she amends with a grin. “I’m sorry I got you
in trouble. I didn’t realize he was such a hard ass. No offense,” Sienna
quickly adds, remembering he’s my stepfather.
“None taken,” I reassure her. I’ve called Niccolo much worse. “It’s not your
fault that he’s crazy. Kaye and I call him Professor Asshole for a reason.
Ever since he started at Blackmore, he’s been acting like a dick.”
We have to go our separate ways when we leave Brewer Hall, but Sienna
gives me a sympathetic half-hug before she parts. “I’m sorry you have to
deal with that.”
I give her a half-hearted shrug before pulling away. She might be a hugger,
but I’m not.
“It’s not a big deal. He’s a jerk, but he’s bearable. Hey,” I change the
subject mid-conversation, “I know Halloween is coming up in a few days.
Would you be interested in coming out with Kaye and me?”
Sienna and Kaye briefly met in the dining hall a few weeks ago. They had a
quick chat, but my best friend was between classes, and Sienna was
meeting up with a study group. It was a five-minute conversation before
they headed in opposite directions. The two have wildly different
personalities but seem to like each other well enough.
“Sure! That’d be great. Are we dressing up or…?” Sienna trails off, leaving
it up to me to decide.
I purse my lips in thought. Kaye and I talked about doing a couple’s
costume, going as salt and pepper, but I wouldn’t want Sienna to feel left
out. “Can I get back to you? I’ll look up trio costumes tonight.”
Sienna’s eyebrow raises, suddenly self-conscious of what she agreed to.
“What did I sign up for?” She jokingly asks.
“Probably the best night of your life. It’ll be fun, I swear.”
Ideas are already flowing. We could go as the trio from Clueless. Or the
Power Puff Girls. Maybe the Hocus Pocus witches. The sky is the limit. This
will give me something else to think about than that forsaken video on my
phone.
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 Chapter 15
Christine

F
or Halloween, our trio costume is a tequila shot. Sienna volunteers to
be the lime, and Kaye dresses up as the salt, leaving me to be a bottle
of Jose Cuervo.
“I definitely couldn’t pull that off,” Kaye announces when she sees my
shimmery gold dress. “Every eye is going to be on you, and that’s too much
pressure for me.”
Kaye wears a little white dress that’s simple but stunning, accentuating her
curves in all the right places. Tiny, metallic strands of fabric catch the light
and make her shimmer like a star. The neckline is cut into a delicate V-
shape that frames her collarbone, and the short hemline adds a playful
element. She is the salt to our tequila and lime, and the dress contrasts
beautifully with her dark features.
“I don’t know why you think no one will notice you, babe. You’re a fucking
catch.” I hate that Kaye doesn’t realize how gorgeous she is. She may not
have the same bold personality as Sienna or me, but she has a quiet
confidence that draws people in.
She blushes prettily under the heavy layer of makeup I applied earlier.
“Thanks, but no one is going to be looking at me when you’re around.”
I’m about to tell her to knock it off when a sharp rap on the dorm room door
indicates Sienna’s arrival. “Come in!” Kaye yells, eager to change the
subject.
Sienna steps through the door, looking just as hot as Kaye. She wears a
short skirt and an artfully arranged top in lime green. With her hair pulled
back into a sleek ponytail, her jawline and cheekbones make her look like a
Greek goddess. “Oh, my god,” Sienna shuts the door behind her, “this was
such a good idea.”
“You’re telling me.” If I could reach, I would pat myself on the back for a job
well done. “Ladies, we are single, we are hot, and we’re gonna get laid
tonight.”
“Not me,” Kaye frowns. “I’m just hoping he doesn’t show up.” ‘He’ only has
one meaning between Kaye and me: her stepbrother, Xavier—Mister Tall,
Dark, and Deranged.
Sienna doesn’t know the whole situation, but I’ve warned her that if a really
good-looking, muscular, tattooed God starts coming toward us, run the
other way. “I think you could still make out with some strangers,” she
offers, oblivious to what Xavier McCade will do if he finds out that his
virginal stepsister is kissing other guys.
“Strangers? Like, multiple people?” Kaye’s eyes nearly pop out of her head.
Sienna giggles. “Yes, multiple people. A few make-out sessions won’t kill
you.”
“Xavier might,” I mumble under my breath.
My best friend points at me. “Yes, there, that,” she agrees. “And if he
doesn’t kill me, then he’ll probably kill whoever I make out with. I’m not
ready for someone else’s death on my conscience.”
If I’d informed Sienna of the whole situation, she might have chosen
something else to say. Instead, she shrugs and asks, “Who’s going to tell
him?”
Kaye and I exchange a look because we both know that no one has to tell
Xavier anything. He finds out whatever he needs to know, with or without
help. It’s his superpower.
While Kaye and Sienna discuss the merits of going home with strangers
from the bar, I open up Snapchat and take a photo of myself in the mirror
hanging on the back of our dorm room door.
I study it briefly before deeming it appropriate to send, but that’s where I
get hung up. I could send the picture to my story and call it a day. The
thirsty boys would roll in with compliments, asking if I’m free tonight and
giving me the attention I’m looking for.
But then my finger hovers over Niccolo’s name—seven little letters and a
skull emoji. The little voice in my head is screaming at me to keep scrolling,
but my heart races as I add him to the list. I hit ‘send’ before I can chicken
out, publishing the snap to my story and sending it to my stepfather
simultaneously. Then I pocket my phone before I can deal with the
repercussions.
“You guys ready to go?” My voice sounds bright. I’m buzzing with
excitement and fear, my pulse skittering with nervous energy. What will
Niccolo say? What will he do? Do I even care?
Kaye grabs a cardigan and pulls it around her shoulders before announcing
she’s ready to go. I give her a frown for covering up the costume I worked
so hard to design—a white dress with a painstakingly sewed-on letter ’S’—
and she explains. “It’s literally freezing outside, Chris. You should get a
jacket, too. It snowed last night.”
The dreaded Halloween snow; it’s all anyone has been talking about for the
last week. I had hoped that the forecast was wrong and we’d avoid an early
snowfall, but the weather reporters got it right for once. “I’m good,” I
decide. But the minute we step outside, an autumn breeze chills me to the
core. Goosebumps crop up on my skin as I pretend to be unaffected by the
cold.
Even Sienna, who swears Kansas weather is nothing compared to growing
up in Minnesota, pulls a sweater tight around her chest. “We can stop by my
dorm if you need a jacket,” she offers as we make our way down Prairie
Avenue.
I shake my head no. In a few minutes, we’ll be at the bars, and they’ll be
shedding the extra layer they brought for the walk. “I’ll be warm once we
get some drinks.” We might be underage, but a pretty girl can get whatever
she wants if she’s willing to flirt for it.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to distract me from the cold.
My fingers slowly swipe over the screen, too numb to work with any haste.
A response from the snap I sent to Niccolo is waiting in my inbox, and I pull
it up with a frisson of nervous energy developing in my stomach.

NICCOLO

Take it off your story.

A
command. I knew I shouldn’t have sent the picture to him. I type as
fast as I can, but my fingers move like they’re weighted down by
bricks.

Don’t tell me what to do. I can put whatever I want on my story.

H
e’s much quicker than I am. I barely have time to swipe out of the
chat and return to my Home Screen before a notification bubble
pops up that he’s responded.

NICCOLO

Take it down, dolcezza. That picture is begging for trouble.

“I ’ll beg for whatever the hell I want,” I mumble under my breath. This
garners Kaye and Sienna’s attention.
“What’s going on?” Sienna asks after a few awkward moments of silence.
I exit the chat with Niccolo and turn off the screen. “Nic wants me to take
down the picture I shared on my Snapchat story,” I reply sulkily.
Both Kaye and Sienna pull out their phones and race to the app. They share
a low whistle when they see the picture I shared. “You’re hot,” Kaye says
with a grin.
“An absolute smoke show,” Sienna concurs.
“That’s what I thought.” Their responses are exactly what I wanted to elicit
from the men I’m friends with. What I didn’t need was my overbearing
stepfather to tell me I’m too sexy for social media.
“Forget Niccolo,” Sienna decides for me. “It’s your body. You can show it off
all you want. Hell, you can get naked on Snap Story if it tickles your pickle.
It’s none of his business.”
“Yeah!” She isn’t wrong. I can do whatever I want whenever I want to. “I’m
going to tell him that.” I’ve told him before, but maybe he needs a refresher.
Kaye clears her throat and asks if that’s a good idea. It’s like she’s the angel
on my shoulder compared to Sienna’s devil. But it’s too late. I’m already
back in our chat and typing out a message.

It’s my body. I can do whatever I want with it.

NICCOLO
For now.

A shiver runs down my spine, and I can’t tell if it’s the cold autumn air or
an unsettling sense of foreboding that makes me shake.

What do you mean?

I wait a few moments for his Bitmoji to appear in the chat, indicating that
he’s responding.

NICCOLO

Someday soon, I’m going to claim you, dolcezza, all of you. And after that happens, you better not
share your half-naked body with anyone but me. Or else.

B ravery takes many forms, but my response is less courageous and more
provocative.

Or else, what?

NICCOLO

Or else a dead body is going to show up on your doorstep.

Ialmost drop my phone.
I never should have asked.
I know who his family is; I know who they’re connected to. His threat isn’t
idle just because he chose a kinder career path than the other Terlizzis.
“I need a drink. Now,” I tell the girls, my voice sounding as shaky as I feel. I
need to forget what I just read.
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 Chapter 16
Niccolo

“W
hy so glum, chum?” Salvatore contorts his lips into an
exaggerated pout. “Sad your little bambina didn’t join us for
Thanksgiving?”
“I swear to God, Sal, I’ll kill you,” I deadpan. This is a man that’s been on
the other end of my threats before. When we were little, it was an everyday
occurrence for one brother to chase another down with a golf club and
threaten to bash their skull in. Our father never got involved; he said it built
character.
Salvatore reaches out to clap me on the shoulder. “Want me to get you
some tea, and we can chat about it over an episode of Dr. Phil?”
An unwelcome smile splits my face in two. “Mark my words. One of these
days, you’re going to get shot for being an asshole.”
“As long as I don’t get shot in the asshole,” he grins.
I want to shake off my bad mood, but even with Salvatore’s light-hearted
humor, a dark cloud hangs overhead. “Don’t ever fall in love, brother. She
will spurn your invitations and break your heart.”
Salvatore lets out a derisive snort and rolls his eyes. He leans back in his
chair, nonchalantly propping his feet up on the table, a clear sign of his
cocky attitude. “You’re not in love, Nic.”
“Come again?” I ask with a frown, taken aback by his statement. “You’re
telling me how I feel?”
My brother looks at me with a weary expression, his head shaking slowly
from side to side. “Now, now, Nic, don’t get angry with me,” he says, raising
his hands in a gesture of peace. His body language is defensive in
anticipation of my reaction. “I’m just telling you how I see it. You have
feelings born out of forced proximity with this girl. You don’t love her. It’s
like Stockholm Syndrome but with someone you agreed to live with. Does
that have a name, Professor Big Brain?”
Salvatore has not been punched in the head for having a smart mouth
nearly as much as he deserves it. “Don’t be philosophical, Sally. It’s
unbecoming of your intellectual status.”
“You calling me stupid?” He asks with a raised eyebrow. “Because if you
wanna fight, just say so. I’ll kick your ass, Nicci.”
I don’t know how we got to this stage, but I’m exhausted. I hold up a hand
in cease-fire resignation. Salvatore and I have never been at loggerheads
before. I’ve fought with Dante for being the oldest and raged at Luciano for
being the youngest and getting treated the best, but Salvatore and I have
always been friends. We were the middle children who got used to not being
the family heir or the baby.
“Seriously though,” I meet his gaze. “What do you mean that I’m not in
love?”
He surrenders his anger as quickly as I do. “Love should be easy,” Salvatore
shrugs. “You and Caterina were in love. You and Christine just want to
hump each other’s brains out.”
“You’re wrong.” I look around for the bottle of beer I was nursing earlier,
but it’s tipped on its side on the end table beside me, bragging in its
emptiness. “I didn’t love Caterina.”
Salvatore clucks his tongue in disapproval. “I disagree.” He leans forward,
placing his elbows on his knees. “You two met and married without so much
as an argument. You had a happy enough marriage. You tried to have kids,
you took care of her when she was sick, and you were a faithful man when
other men in your situation wouldn’t have been.”
“I think that’s called doing the bare minimum,” I correct my brother. “We
met and married without argument because she was an agreeable woman.
Our fathers had already settled on the price; we just had to do our part.” My
dad told me that if I didn’t go into the family business, the least I could do
was strengthen the family by marrying a woman of his choice. I didn’t
expect the woman to come with a premade family, but what was I going to
do? I couldn’t say no just because she was an older woman with a child from
a previous marriage.
“Yeah, but you could have hated her. Dante hated Adalina. The two of them
fought like cats and dogs,” Salvatore points out.
Our oldest brother is a case unto his own. “I don’t think that’s a fair
comparison. Dante and Adalina had a complicated history. Caterina and I
had seen one another in passing, but besides knowing the other’s name, we
were complete strangers.” If Dante had married a stranger, maybe he’d be
a happier man.
“Not to mention father harangued me every month Caterina didn’t get
pregnant.” I don’t bother to mention that Dante didn’t receive the same
treatment. I’m resentful of the way Father handled me because he saw me
as an outsider. I didn’t grow up wanting to be a cog in the Castiglione
family machine, and it burned him inside.
Salvatore offers me a sympathetic look. He witnessed a number of
arguments between Fausto Terlizzi and me over my wife’s infertility. I’ll
never forget the day that I told Fausto my wife had stage IV cancer and
would most likely die within the year. He looked me dead in the eyes and
said, ‘Good. Maybe the next one will give you a son.’ As if Caterina’s life was
useless because she couldn’t bear my children.
“But you never fucked around on her.” Salvatore derails my train of
thought. “You were faithful to Cat. Even when she was on her deathbed and
looking at her final days, you didn’t find a mistress or ask Father to start
looking for a second wife. You took care of Caterina until she was in the
ground.”
My brother’s characterization of me is humbling. I don’t remember being
the man that he says I was. I know that I faithfully waited for my wife to
pass, but it wasn’t out of any loyalty to her or our union. I took care of
Caterina in her final days because it was expected of me.
Christine was in the house, watching her mother die, and she needed
someone to be strong for her. She needed someone to take care of her
mother while she was in school all day. She needed someone to sign
permission slips and listen to her boy drama because she was only a
teenager. Christine wasn’t old enough to do all the things I did for Caterina,
so I did them for her.
“I’ve loved her for years,” I mumble, a frown furrowing my brow.
Salvatore looks around as if searching for the person I’m speaking to. “What
are you going on about?”
“Christine.”
He throws his hands up in defeat before sinking back into the couch. “This
again,” he complains.
This again, indeed. “I’ve loved Christine for years, Sal. You said that love is
supposed to be easy, and it was. I wasn’t in love with her when she was
fifteen,” I explain, “but everything I did for her and Caterina in those last
few months was because I loved her.” The kind of love that grew and
transformed with time.
“Okay. So maybe you love the girl,” Salvatore allows. “But you’re not in love
with her.”
I shake my head in disagreement as soon as the words are out of his mouth.
“No. You’re wrong. I wasn’t in love with her back then, but I am now. That’s
why her spurning my invitation to spend Thanksgiving with the family hurts.
Because I am in love with her.”
Salvatore sighs in disgust. “You’re hopeless, you know that? Just give the
girl up, Nic.”
“I can’t,” I tell him. “I don’t even wish I could.”
Maybe my brother is right. Maybe the only reason I fell for Christine is
because we lived together for the last five years. But I don’t care how it
happened; I’m just thankful it did.
Christine is my soulmate. And it took an arranged marriage to her mother,
the passing of my wife, and three more years of forced proximity to realize
it.
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 Chapter 17
Christine

B
etween an endless stream of invitations to Terlizzi Thanksgiving
festivities and my uncles trying to convince me to come to Kansas
City, I’m burned out on family gatherings.
I’m also tired of studying for finals, which are approaching so fast that I
nearly forget what I spent the first half of the semester learning.
The Psychology book I borrowed from Niccolo’s library remains open on my
bed with highlighted sections and notes in the margins. Bright yellow tabs
crease and mark the pages, reminding me of something I found important
earlier in the semester. I squint my eyes to make sense of my hurried
scribbles, but my brain is too drained to comprehend them.
“I’m headed out,” Kaye announces as she tosses a bag over her shoulder.
I look up from my scattered notes, the corners of my mind still foggy from
hours of intense studying. Blinking, I try to reorient myself to the present
moment and my surroundings. My confusion only deepens as I take in her
appearance—fully dressed and ready to go while I’m still in my pajamas.
“You’re going somewhere?”
“To my mom’s,” she says, as if reminding me of something she told me
before.
“I thought we were going to the foam party at Red Dawg tonight.” It’s
absurd to think she can’t do both, but it’s the first thing that pops into my
head. I’ve been having a rough go of things lately, and I need tonight to
carry me through the rest of the holiday season.
Kaye gives me a wan smile. “We will,” she says hesitantly, “but it’s been a
few weeks since Mom asked Malcolm to move out.” I realize with a pang of
guilt that I’ve been so consumed by my problems that I’d forgotten about
hers.
“She said she was feeling lonely and wanted some company,” Kaye
continues. “I’m sure if I asked, you could come, too!”
Going to Carrie’s doesn’t sound particularly exciting, but I can’t bear
another minute of reading these dry textbooks. My vision is blurring, and
my brain feels like it’s on the verge of shutting down from information
overload. “I’m in. You think she’ll make those snickerdoodle cookies I like so
much?”
My best friend rolls her eyes before offering me a knowing look. I’ve been
complaining about forced family time for the last week, but I conveniently
don’t mind seeing her family. “Do you want to admit that it isn’t family you
want to avoid?” Kaye asks with a raised eyebrow.
I’ve been dropping hints here and there about what’s been going on
between stepfather and me, almost as many hints as she’s been dropping
about her and Xavier. But when she pulls on her know-it-all tone, I turn
away and pretend I have no idea what she means. “I don’t know what you’re
talking about,” I respond with an air of superiority.
She snorts in derision before coaxing me to tell her more. “Come on, Chris.
Just admit that you’re trying to avoid Nic. No one is going to hold it against
you.”
My breathing is the only thing that echoes off the walls, punctuating the
tense silence that envelopes us. I force myself to turn back around, but my
face is a twisted mask of frustration and despair. The weight of defeat
hangs heavy in the air between us. “It’s complicated, Kaye.”
The teasing, the spanking, the touching myself when no one’s around—I’m a
mess of complications of my own making. “It’s like all the sex dreams you’re
having about Xavier,” I remind her that her life is just as strange and
deranged as my own. “Except it’s my reality.”
Kaye’s face remains passive momentarily before her lips curve into a frown.
“Are you having sex with Niccolo?”
There’s a hint of judgment in her tone. I don’t know if it’s intentional or
subconscious. Either way, when I tell her no, it’s the truth. He might have
bared my backside in front of him and let his fingers slip into places they
didn’t belong, but there has been absolutely zero sex to be had. And to tell
the truth, it’s making me cranky. “Are you having sex with Xavier?” I shoot
back at her, trying to change the subject.
A soft blush creeps up her cheeks, a deep shade of pink that hints at her
embarrassment. She lowers her gaze before shyly admitting that she is, at
least in her dreams.
I didn’t see that coming. My jaw falls open, and it takes me a moment to
regain my wits. “I’m not doing that with Nic.” Just seconds ago, I thought
she was judging me for potentially sleeping with my stepfather. Now, here I
am doing the same thing to her over her sex dreams about her stepbrother.
We’re quite the pair.
Kaye interprets my silence as an admission of guilt. “But you’re doing other
things,” she insinuates.
And I realize immediately that the frustration I’ve been feeling is all this
bottled-up resentment at not having someone to talk to about everything
that’s been happening. I’ve been keeping all these emotions pent up, hiding
secrets from Kaye that I should have confided in her weeks ago. We’re best
friends, and instead, I treated her like an outsider. Of all the people I could
have trusted with my indiscretions, Kaye is the only one I know who never
would have judged me.
Overwhelmed by my feelings, I instinctively cover my face with my hands
and fling myself backward onto the soft mattress. My body shakes as I try to
contain the flood of feelings welling up inside me. “You can’t tell anyone,
Kaye.” I am overcome by a surge of emotions as I recount to her all that has
happened in the past few weeks.
“This is disrespectful to my mother, not to mention the rest of the family.
You have no idea what the Terlizzis are going to do when they find out. Or,
God forbid, my uncles.” Giovanni will tear Niccolo apart piece by bloody
piece. And then, when my stepfather is dead, he’ll inflict even worse agony
on me.
As if sensing my distress, Kaye diverts the conversation. She hastily
retrieves her phone and dials her mother’s number. They chat for a few
moments about my attendance while I wallow in self-pity until Kaye
mentions something about me going through her closet. It perks me right
up because I love a good makeover.
Kaye’s fashion sense has always been lacking. Her clothing choices are a
chaotic mix of floral dresses and high-necked shirts that favor conservatism
over comfort. I push aside the thoughts of my stepfather and the illicit
events that have occurred between the two of us in favor of thinking about
how I’m going to makeover my best friend.
Thank God for Kaye. She always knows exactly what to say to make me feel
better. Therapists often have therapists of their own to talk about the things
that stress them out; that’s what Kaye is for me. But she’s better than a
trained professional because we can put on some pajamas and face masks
and talk until 2 am—free of charge.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 18
Christine

W
hen we show up at the million-dollar mansion Malcolm bought for
Carrie as a wedding present, Kaye and I are caught off guard by a
handsome, smiling stranger who looks oddly familiar. I can’t put
my finger on it, but I swear I’ve seen him before.
Bright blue eyes twinkle with delight as he greets us by name, knowing who
we are before we can even process his presence here. He wears a
comforting, warm smile as he introduces himself. I offer him my hand, and
when he takes it in his, my stomach twists with desire. His skin is warm and
inviting, and I swear I feel a spark of electricity between us. Maybe he’ll be
the one to get my mind off Niccolo.
“I’m Jackson, a friend of Carrie’s.” And for the first time in my life, I wish I
was Carrie Pennington. I have guy friends, but none of them look like
Jackson, not even Theo.
Jackson guides us to the kitchen for dinner, where the tantalizing aroma of
homemade pasta and freshly baked garlic bread fills the air. Carrie is bent
over in front of the oven, checking on the bubbling, golden-brown lasagna
inside. My stomach grumbles loudly, a reminder that I neglected to eat
today. The hours of studying consumed me to the point that lunch slipped
my mind. I sneak over to a crudite tray and surreptitiously grab a carrot
while Jackson and Carrie wax poetically about some charity event they met
at a couple of months ago.
The way they look at one another makes me wonder what secrets Carrie is
keeping from her daughter. I know what it looks like when two people want
one another, and I’d be willing to bet that Carrie and Jackson are dating.
She and Malcolm only just split up, but she looks at Jackson like he hung
the moon. If the two of them aren’t banging yet, it’s only a matter of time.
But Kaye doesn’t like him. Her eyes narrow as she pelts him with rapid-fire
questions, hoping to pierce his façade. The tension between them is
palpable, like two cats facing off in a territorial dispute. While she seethes
in uncertainty about her mother’s new suitor, I’m forced to keep the
conversation going through dinner. Carrie sits back and lets her beau do all
the talking, and when Kaye runs out of questions to ask, the bulk of the
transaction is left to me.
I flirt with him. Frankly, it’s hard not to. With his chiseled jawline and
sparkling eyes, he exudes a natural charm and charisma that draws me in.
He effortlessly turns even the most serious topics into lighthearted banter
while knowing when to dive deeper into a subject to share his insightful
opinions. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that Jackson is trying to
impress me. But I do know better, and I have a feeling that he’s this way
with everyone.
After dinner, Jackson leans toward me to whisper, “I’m sure you’ve been in
the garden outside, but how about you give me a tour?”
Kaye gives me a pleading look, and I read in her eyes that she wants to talk
to her mother alone. I get to my feet and hold out a hand for Jackson. “I’d
love to. I’ll show you all the hiding spots in the maze.” The two Penningtons
begin chatting in hushed tones before we’re even out of the house.
“I bet this wasn’t how you thought you’d meet your new girlfriend’s
daughter, eh?” I ask as we head to the backyard. The elaborate garden
maze glimmers in the distance, twinkling beneath the late November moon.
As we approach, the rustle of fallen leaves crunch underfoot.
“She isn’t my girlfriend, Christine. We’re just friends. You know that.”
Jackson isn’t the type to be led into easy confidences, and he smiles while
politely correcting me.
A scoff escapes my lips, harsh and unladylike. Carrie and Jackson might
have successfully fooled Kaye with their lies, but I am not so easily swayed.
“All I know is that Carrie is married to a rich and powerful man who won’t
take too kindly to his wife fooling around with someone younger and more
attractive.” I peep under my eyelashes at Jackson, but the look on his face
never changes. “That’s his area of expertise, if you catch my drift.”
He nods in agreement as we meander across the lawn. Out of the corner of
my eye, I can see him taking in the sights of the well-trimmed, perfectly
manicured backyard. I wonder if he envies the McCade money as much as I
do. My family was never poor, but we’ve never had the kind of wealth to
afford a million-dollar home in the rich part of Manhattan. And Jackson
looks like he grew up even poorer than me.
“So, if you’re not dating Carrie, are you seeing someone else?” I ask when
he doesn’t respond after a while.
Jackson, who’s been holding my hand since we got up from the table, drops
it unceremoniously. His gaze wanders off into the distance, leaving me
feeling exposed and vulnerable. “I’m single at the moment.”
I’m determined to get him to admit what we both know he’s lying about.
“Want to go out with me?” I tilt my head and coyly glance up at him from
the side, flashing an inviting smile. My lips curve into a mischievous grin as
I meet his gaze, the corners of my eyes crinkling with playful intent. But I’m
not inviting enough because he cocks his head and has an almost pitying
look on his face.
“Christine, I think you’re a lovely girl,” he begins.
I don’t need him to finish the rejection. Even though I know he’s rejecting
me because he’s seeing Carrie, it still stings. Despite trying to maintain
composure, I can feel my heart racing and my fists clenching in response.
“What? Not old enough for you, Jackie boy? You looking for a more
experienced blonde? Perhaps one with a rich husband you can exploit?”
Jackson’s easygoing smile slowly fades, replaced with a glare. “Enough,” he
says quietly. “I know you have a relationship with Kaye, and since Kaye is
Carrie’s daughter, I will respect you. But make no mistake, my interest in
you is purely surface-level. You’re not my type. To answer your question,
yes, I prefer older women. I prefer my women to be mature. I like women
who don’t act like they’re fresh out of high school and can seduce any man
they want. I prefer women, Christine, not little girls.”
Heat unfurls in my chest and stretches its sinewy fingers through every limb
of my body. I feel like a puppet formed from my humiliation and shame,
barely able to move my limbs on my own. Turning swiftly on my heel, I head
back for the house before Jackson can see the tears welling up in my eyes
from embarrassment.
I resolve to keep this interaction to myself because of my pride. Jackson
calls my name in exasperation from somewhere behind me, but I keep
walking until I’m back in the house and I see Kaye. “It’s time to go,” I tell
her abruptly.
As we leave, she offers Jackson a forced ‘good night’. I thank Carrie for
dinner but say nothing to her friend.
“Jackson is definitely interested in your mom,” I announce as we climb into
the car. “I tried my damnedest to flirt with him, and nothing. I swear he only
has eyes for Carrie.” Thank God for the darkness because it shields my
embarrassment.
Kaye slams her hands down on the steering wheel in anger. “Damn it. I
knew it. She kept telling me there was nothing between them, and he’s just
a good guy.”
I shrug, more out of insult than indifference. I know I’m not everyone’s type,
but Jackson calling me a little girl hurt my feelings. “I don’t know. Maybe he
is a good guy, and she doesn’t like him back.” I hope Carrie realizes what an
ass he is before it’s too late.
Thankfully, my best friend is over this conversation, and she says exactly
what I’m thinking. “I need a drink.”
I wipe away my surly attitude and agree wholeheartedly. “Great. Because
the foam party starts at 10:00 and we still need to get ready. It’s time to get
down with our bad selves!” I cheer, trying to forget what happened.
But my bruised ego leads me into temptation and drags me down the path
of sin. As we drive back to Rosedale, I text the only man that makes me feel
something. I know that I shouldn’t, but the second I press ‘send’, it doesn’t
matter anymore.
Bad boys, bad decisions, right? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 19
Niccolo

B
efore Christine left for college, I sat her down and told her about the
dangers of alcohol. I was desperate to protect my stepdaughter from
what awaited her at university. I warned her about the manipulative
boys who lurked at parties, waiting to take advantage of young, naive girls.
I cautioned her against making rash decisions fueled by cheap tequila. But
warning a brick wall would have done more good than talking to Christine.

CHRISTINE

Your kinda cute when youre mad

S
he’s been drunk texting me for an hour. I know she’s drunk because
her grammar gets sloppier with every text. It’s something every drunk
person is guilty of, including myself.

Go back to your dorm, Chris.

CHRISTINE

Youre nt my father. You can’t tell me what to do

I don’t even know where she’s at. I was hanging out with my brothers
when she first texted me, and it’s been downhill ever since.

I’m the closest thing you have to a father. Now get your ass back to your dorm.

H
er text bubble pops up, indicating that she’s typing. I watch the
animated gray dots until they disappear, but no text comes through.
“Un-fucking-believable.” I toss my phone, and it sails across the
room toward the other couch. Thank God it smacks into the cushions
instead of the marble fireplace behind it.
“What’s up?” Luciano’s hand shoots out to grab my device, his face
contorting in confusion as he surveys the conversation between my
stepdaughter and me.
“Christine is drunk texting me,” I scowl, my lips pursed in frustration.
Dante’s eyes widen and his eyebrows raise skeptically before he rolls them
upwards, expressing his annoyance and disbelief. “You need to keep your
girl on a shorter leash,” he says. “You don’t see Adalina getting trashed in
bars.”
Salvatore’s nose is firmly planted in a book, but even with his mind on the
historical fiction in his hands, he’s as quick as a whip. “We never see
Adalina, period. Did you kill the girl, Dante?”
“No, but I’ll let her know you’re missing her,” Dante replies sardonically.
“Anything else you want to say to my wife?”
“I’d love to tell her to leave your grumpy ass,” Salvatore mumbles, “but
considering she’s nowhere to be found in her own home, I guess I’ll save
that for next time.”
Luckily, Luciano steps in between. Literally. He gets up to toss my phone
back to me. “Your girl texted back. It’s a pic. I think she’s topless,” he says
with a wink.
With a glare etched on my face, I catch my phone and impatiently look at
what he’s referencing. “Don’t look at my texts.”
“Don’t throw your phone at me,” he snorts.
Dante fidgets restlessly in his chair, his brows knitted. Salvatore, on the
other hand, sits smugly with a smirk playing on his lips as he flips through
the pages of his book. It’s a typical night when the Terlizzi brothers get
together—equal parts tension and amusement always seem to mix.
Unfortunately, Luciano is right. Christine is topless in the photo she sent
me, along with half a dozen other girls. I barely recognize my stepdaughter.
Her red hair is piled on her head in messy curls, she sticks her tongue out,
and pulls her dress down to expose her tits. “Who the fuck took this
picture?” I feel dirty just looking at it.
“What picture? Let me see.” Salvatore asks, setting down his book.
“You stay the fuck over there,” I glare. “I swear to God, this girl is going to
give me a heart attack.”
Dante mumbles under his breath about the leash thing again, and I ignore
him.

What the fuck are you doing?

CHRISTINE

Girls gOne wILD!!*

I
smash the ‘call’ button so fast I nearly crack the screen on my phone. I
swear if some frat boy convinced her and a bunch of other girls to do a
homemade porno, I’ll tear him apart with my bare hands.
Christine answers after three rings, and I’m met by the sound of blaring
music. “Helloooo, father,” she drags out her words. “Whatcha need?”
“Where the fuck are you?” If she doesn’t tell me right this instant, I’m going
to explode.
“Foam party,” Christine yells into the receiver. “Where are you?”
Jesus Christ. I cover the phone and tell Luciano to find out where a foam
party is happening in Rosedale tonight. “I’m on my way to come get you.
What were you thinking, flashing a camera? People are going to have your
naked tits on their phones.” It’s me. I’m people. She’s naïve if she thinks I
won’t save that photo and jerk off to it later.
Christine follows my train of thought and drunkenly giggles. “You have my
naked tits on your phone.”
I’d rather have her naked tits on top of me, but that’s not the point. “I’m
coming to get you,” I reiterate. “Stay put. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“I’m not a child, Nic,” she says with a groan.
“That’s funny because you like being spanked like a child.” The words
tumble out of my mouth like marbles scattering across a hardwood floor. I
suddenly realize I’m standing in front of my brothers, and three pairs of
eyes are now fixed on me with varying degrees of surprise and curiosity.
Christine makes a noncommittal sound on the other end of the line. “That’s
not true,” she pouts.
“Stay where you are,” I command. I don’t have time to argue whether or not
my stepdaughter’s sopping wet pussy means she liked what I did to her the
other day or not. Once I have her safely in my grasp and away from the
predatory college boys, we can debate facts all she wants.
I hang up the phone and ask Luciano for the location of the party. He tells
me she’s at Red Dawg.
Dante’s lips twitch into a grin. “So you’re keeping your stepdaughter in line,
eh, Lolo? I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I point at him. “I gotta go.” I’m not hanging out with
these buffoons anymore. Stupid fucking idiots that always have to give their
opinion about shit they don’t understand.
My step-damsel in distress needs savings whether she likes it or not. And
once I whisk her away from the danger she so willingly put herself in, I’m
going to ravage her until she forgets there was ever anyone else. I’m tired
of waiting for the perfect moment. I’m claiming my woman once and for all,
and there’s nothing she can do to stop me.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 20
Niccolo

T
he foam party taking place at Red Dawg is no surprise. The place is a
cesspool of college boys trying to take advantage of drunk girls. I
swear to God, if I weren’t on a mission to find Christine, I’d round up
all these underage girls and take them home. Unfortunately, I have to find
my drunk stepdaughter first.
How anyone can find anyone in this place is a mystery. The smell of soap
assaults my senses as I fight my way through sudsy adolescents groping one
another while slipping and sliding every which way. This should be illegal. I
feel like I’ve caught a minimum of three diseases rubbing up on these kids.
I find Christine bellied up at the bar next to some tall, tan, blonde-haired
prick who looks like he’s trying to secure her number. “Beat it, pretty boy.”
He stiffens at the sight of me and narrows his eyes. “Who the fuck are you?”
I grab the front of his pristine white shirt and drag him toward me. He
towers over me by six inches, but I could kick his ass with one hand tied
behind my back. “I’m this girl’s stepfather. If you don’t get the hell away
from her right now, you’ll be picking your teeth off the floor one by one. Do
you hear me?”
The color drains from his face as his eyes widen in terror, sweat beading
along his forehead. “Yo, whatever you say, man. I don’t even know this girl,”
his voice shaking as he responds.
“Theo,” Christine chastises. The two of them lock eyes for a moment before
he flees. He doesn’t even have the balls to look back and make sure she’s
okay.
“You can do better than him.”
Christine rolls her eyes as she grabs the plastic cup in front of her. “Relax.
It’s water,” she says when I reach to take it away from her. “Don’t get your
panties in a twist.”
“Are you here alone?” I ask, ignoring her jibe.
She waves at the space behind her. “Kaye is here somewhere. I lost her a
while ago. She went to the bathroom and then never came back. I think she
went home.”
There are two drunk girls out here making stupid decisions, then. “Text
her.”
Christine throws back the last of the water. “You text her.”
I grab her by the arm and tighten my fingers into a harsh band. The skin
creases slightly as she tries to pull away, but my grip on her is tight. “Text
her that I’m taking you home. Now, Christine.”
“You can’t make me leave,” Christine glowers at me. “I’ll scream.”
Someone bumps into me from behind, sending me careening into my
stepdaughter. These slippery floors are going to cause someone to break
their neck.
“Scream then,” I growl. A second later, I hoist her in the air and toss her
over my shoulder.
The crowd around us breaks, backing up to give us room. The blonde
asshole that was talking to her earlier stands at the end of the bar, watching
with wide eyes. Some guy. He doesn’t even race forward to save his woman.
If I ever find out who he is, I’m kicking his ass.
Christine beats on my back as I carry her through the club. It’s a nice
massage that helps get the knots out of my shoulders. The flashing lights
and pulsing music of the club create an almost hypnotic atmosphere as I
navigate through the crowded dance club. “I hate you!” She yells.
I reach up to smack her on the ass, quieting her outburst. “Shut up.”
As disruptive as we are to the party, the second we pass by, the crowd re-
forms, and we’re all but forgotten.
I reach the bank of bathrooms, pick one, and deposit Christine on the
ground before shutting and locking the door behind us. “Text Kaye, now.
See if she wants a ride home.”
Christine petulantly crosses her arms over her chest. “No,” she argues. “I
don’t want to text Kaye, and I don’t want to go home. I’m here to party,
Nic.”
“I don’t care what you’re here to do; I’m here to take you home. When you
text me pics of you and your friends flashing some stranger on camera, the
night is over. You can fight me all you want, but I’m bigger and stronger,
and I will carry you out of here kicking and screaming if I have to.”
Her gaze sharpens, her pretty brown eyes narrowing into slits. “You
wouldn’t dare,” she challenges with a hint of feistiness in her voice as if
daring me to prove her wrong.
I take one menacing step forward and crack my knuckles. “You wanna
fucking bet?”
Something snaps inside Christine. I see the shift in her eyes just seconds
before she closes the gap between us and presses her lips to mine.
I fist her hair, tangling my fingers in her red locks. She is soft and
demanding, her mouth tart from the taste of vodka cranberry, and I swirl
my tongue around hers hungrily.
I slide my hand down to cup her ass cheek while the other cradles the back
of her head possessively. The heat radiating off her body matches mine as
we press against one another, each trying to take control.
I push her into the sink, and she groans into my mouth. As I break the kiss, I
trail my lips down her throat, hunger igniting every fiber of my being. I
reach down to grab her, lifting her onto the edge of the bathroom sink—she
parts her thighs to give me access.
“Hold onto the sink,” I instruct. For once, she doesn’t argue.
I release her and slip between her legs, breathing in the intoxicating scent
of her arousal. She gasps loudly, her body tensing as I pull her panties down
and expose her soft, pink folds.
Christine tosses her head back when I lean forward to bury my face in her
hot, wet pussy. Her moans grow louder as I indulge in every curve of her
flesh, dragging my tongue teasingly through her slit.
“Oh, fuck,” she gasps as I alternate between slow, circling motions on her
swollen clit and sucking gently. Her hips rock against me in response,
causing the sink to groan under her weight. Someone bangs on the
bathroom door, but it would take a bomb detonating to drag me away from
Christine.
As she wraps her legs around my shoulders, I drive her to the height of her
ecstasy. I can feel the walls of her cunt clench around my fingers while
moans spill from her lips like an erotic anthem. “You’re so fucking tight,” I
growl against her skin.
Her trembling thighs tighten around my head like a vice as she explodes on
my tongue. The banging on the bathroom door stops as Christine lets out a
scream of pleasure.
“I need you inside me. Now,” she groans, panting like she’s in heat.
“Don’t tease me,” I glare. “If I fuck you, that’s it, dolcezza. Your pussy is
signing a contract. You’re mine.”
She bites her bottom lip, eyes alight with lust and need. I can see her
weighing the options, trying to decide if this is worth it. “Fuck it,” Christine
whispers under her breath. “Fuck me, Nic.”
With a quick, desperate movement, I push myself up from the ground, my
hand instinctively reaching out to grab her chin and lift her head to meet
my gaze. “Don’t say it unless you mean it.” Her eyes widen in surprise and I
see the reflection of my intensity in them.
Christine succumbs to her desires. “I mean it. I want you to fuck me.”
If I were a better man, I’d make her wait until morning when the alcohol
and heightened emotions from the orgasm have worn off. But I never
claimed to be a good man.
I pull out my cock and tease her opening with the tip. “Once I do this,
Christine, I own you. If you even look at another man, I’ll kill him and
punish you.”
Impatience distorts her hearing. Christine reaches between us and wraps
her fingers around me. “I don’t care. I don’t need anyone else. I need you.”
She may regret this in the morning, but by then, it’ll be too late.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 21
Christine
I’m not drunk; I never was.
A couple of drinks in, I lost Kaye and switched to water, but my head is still
tingling from the alcohol. That’s the only explanation I have for doing what I
did: liquid courage.
When Niccolo drops to his knees in front of me, every bone in my body feels
like it turns to goo. His tongue darts into my entrance, and I grip the edge
of the sink to keep from toppling forward.
My pussy drips with need, moans echoing off the walls as he drags his
expert tongue through my center. The metal tap presses against my lower
back as I undulate my hips into his face.
The smell of my arousal fills the air, turning me on even more than before.
My clit is swollen and hard under his attention, throbbing for his touch. And
when he alternates between gentle swirls and sucking, I can’t hold myself
back. I tilt my hips higher, granting his mouth better access to my body, as
my stomach tightens momentarily before exploding.
“I need you inside me. Now,” I groan, desperate for him.
He looks up at me from the floor, his chin smeared with my wetness. “Don’t
tease me,” Nic glares. “If I fuck you, that’s it, dolcezza. Your pussy is
signing a contract. You’re mine.”
I’d sign my life away if it meant he’d fuck me good and hard right now. I’d
give up everything I have and more if he’d take me in his arms and ravish
me with wild abandon. “Fuck it. Fuck me, Nic.” I can’t wait any longer. I’m
tipsy and horny and needy, and he can take care of me. I’ll deal with the
consequences of my actions later.
With a sudden burst of energy, Niccolo rises to his feet and grabs my chin
with a commanding grip. His intense gaze locks onto mine, searching for
something in the depths of my eyes. “Don’t say it unless you mean it.”
“I mean it.” I’d swear on a stack of Bibles if he wanted me to. “I want you to
fuck me.”
My stepfather fumbles with the zipper on his jeans, and I look down to see
him pulling out his cock. He palms himself before teasing my entrance with
his tip. “Once I do this, Christine, I own you. If you even look at another
man, I’ll kill him and punish you.”
God, I hope he does. Punish me, I mean. I don’t want him to kill anyone. But
I’d do anything to be bent over his desk right now, feeling his stinging hand
coming down on my ass while he fucks me from behind.
I reach down between us and grab his erect member, directing it inside me.
“I don’t care.” Right now. “I don’t need anyone else. I need you.”
My permission is all he wants to hear. He growls my name under his breath
as he guides himself into my hot waiting center. My body eagerly welcomes
him, and I groan as he fills me up. “More,” I beg.
Niccolo’s strong hands seize my hips, anchoring me firmly against the cool
porcelain of the sink. With a tantalizing rhythm, he begins to move within
me. His movements are frenzied and urgent, an unspoken testament to an
insatiable hunger that echoes my own yearning. His body fits with mine as if
we are two pieces of a sultry puzzle, forging a bond fueled by carnal desire
and raw passion.
I toss my head back as he drives into me harder and deeper. Everything
disappears. The people outside demanding to come in. The bass drum
echoing through the floorboards. The bare fluorescent bulbs bathing us in
an unflattering light. It all fades into oblivion, and all that matters is him,
me, and the promise we’re making with our bodies.
His thick, pulsing shaft throbs against my most sensitive spots, leading me
to wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer. The sink creaks under
the combined force of my weight and his thrusts, and water drizzles from
the tap. The air is heavy with the scent of sex and sweat, mingling with the
faint smell of alcohol.
Everywhere he touches me is electric. His lips on my collarbone, as he
marks me with his teeth, send shockwaves of pleasure through my system.
His hands gripping my skin so tightly that fingertip-shaped bruises mar my
skin.
The heat of his body burns under my searching hands as I slip them beneath
the rough fabric of his shirt, my fingers sinking into the solid warmth of his
skin. My nails graze against him, leaving trails of palpable desire that seem
to fuel him further as he crashes into me, relentlessly stealing my breath
away.
My pants echo in the silent room, punctuated by gasping moans and
breathless curses. Every thrust leaves me more entwined in his web of
forced intimacy. He’s an intoxicating mix of savagery and tenderness, and I
can’t help but surrender myself to his tantalizing dominance.
I taste the sweet intoxication of my own arousal lingering on his lips as he
sweeps a hasty kiss across mine, the briefness only sparking an even
stronger wave of longing. The raw taste of us strikes a chord of animalistic
need in me, making me yearn for even more.
“Cum for me, baby,” he growls in my ear, feral in his need for release. “Cum
all over on daddy’s cock.” Niccolo grunts as he thrusts his hips against me,
a primal sound of satisfaction that echoes through the room.
I do as he commands; I couldn’t stop myself even if I wanted to. My walls
tremble around him as I give in to my pleasure, shuddering from the
explosion of my orgasm. “Nic,” I utter, my stepfather’s name on the tip of
my tongue as I reach my peak.
“That’s right, baby girl.” He tightens his grip on me before he comes, too,
filling me with his hot seed. “Milk daddy’s cock. Take every ounce of me.”
He drips down the insides of my thighs, coating the edge of the sink with his
jizz. Niccolo kisses along my jawline, nipping at my skin as he gently pulls
out of me.
My body clenches around the empty space left by him as if yearning for his
return.
He pushes a few strands of hair out of my face as we lock eyes. “Let me
take you home, dolcezza,” he whispers in a husky voice. “Let me take care
of you.”
I’m sore and weak, and I need him. It’s silly, stupid, even, but I need my
daddy to take me home and tuck me into bed.
“Okay,” I resign, feeling more exhausted than I’ve ever felt in my life. “Take
care of me.”
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 22
Niccolo

A
s I drive Christine home, I hand her a bottle of water and watch as
she gulps it down eagerly. She denies being drunk, insisting she was
only slightly tipsy, but I can feel my fingers tightening around the
steering wheel as I focus hard on keeping control of the car. The familiar
streets seem to blur together as my mind races with worry for Christine’s
well-being. It takes all my concentration to navigate through traffic and
safely reach my destination.
The danger of Christine’s admission is that she thinks it makes me feel
better to know she wasn’t drunk. But her confession is provocative and
infuriating, inflaming my anger. If she was only tipsy, that means she
flashed a stranger with a camera when she was still in a state to make good
decisions.
I want to pull the car over right now, march her out on the side of the road,
and turn her ass a violent shade of red to make up for her misbehavior.
But instead, I drive home while she tells me about her night. She starts with
the story about dinner at Carrie Pennington’s house and takes me minute by
minute through the rest of her evening. My anger dissipates in the long
moments down the dark highway, and by the time we reach home, it’s
almost all gone.
“Let’s shower,” I instruct as we walk through the door.
Christine looks over her shoulder, teeth grazing her bottom lip. “If that’s
what you want.”
With a gentle touch against the small of her back, I guide her into the
sanctuary of my bathroom. Christine slowly undresses, revealing her soft
curves in the dim light. I turn on the hot water and watch as steam fills the
room, creating a hazy veil around us. As she slips beneath the jets, water
cascades over her body, tracing every curve and dip with liquid sensuality.
My eyes cannot help but feast upon her naked form—each inch of her is a
breathtaking work of art, flawless and alluring.
I follow her into the warm embrace of the shower. The soothing warmth of
the water surrounds me, washing away the last traces of tension coiled in
my shoulders.
“Come here,” I tell my stepdaughter. And she steps closer to let me soap
her up.
I meticulously clean her, eradicating any memory of another man she may
have. Then I explore her body like I’m discovering new land, dragging a
loofah across her breasts until the mesh hardens her nipples into stiff little
peaks. She presses her back to my front as I venture lower. Caressing the
loofah over her mound, her legs part instinctively. Feeling bold, I swap out
the sudsy sponge for my fingers, which delve deeper into her folds.
She already has one mark on her collarbone, but I suck on her neck until I
leave another. I’d give her a collar of hickeys if she let me; I’d mark her so
visibly that no other man would dare to touch her. Christine doesn’t notice
what I’m doing as my fingers manipulate her core, working her clit back
and forth until she’s gasping.
I push her forward, and she reaches up to grab the wall, holding herself
aloft on the slick shower tiles. As I enter her from behind, her groans are
amplified by the bathroom acoustics–an echo chamber broadcasting our
sex-fueled symphony. I could listen to her sing like this forever, her song the
lyrics of our lovemaking.
Every thrust into her pussy is a testament to my ownership, a declaration of
my claim over her. I whisper into her ear that she is unequivocally mine,
now and forever. Christine only moans, pushing back for more as I touch
every inch of her that I can reach.
“One of these days, I’m going to leave a permanent mark on you,” I tell her.
“In the form of a child growing inside you. When your belly is swollen with
my baby, every man will know that you are a kept woman—that you belong
to me.”
Christine’s hands on the wall turn into fists. “Nic,” she pleads warily. “I’m
on birth control.”
I surge into her, filling her once more. The water washes away my seed, but
she can feel it inside her. I pump back and forth until every last drop has
been spilled into her. “Not for long,” I purr into her ear. “I told you what
having sex with me meant.” The sooner she’s carrying my child, the sweeter
the victory of having her.
As she pulls away from me and turns around, harsh, angry tears spill down
her cheeks. “This isn’t fair,” Christine whimpers.
“Life isn’t fair, sweetheart.” I lean forward to lick away the tears, tasting
fresh water and salty bitterness. A smile plays on my lips as I close the gap
between us. “Cheer up, buttercup. Daddy’s going to take care of you from
now on. You, your sweet little pussy, and the new family we’re going to
create. I promise that you have my full attention from here on out.”
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 23
Christine
Ifell asleep in Niccolo’s bed last night. I don’t remember why.
His menacing words in the shower sent shivers down my spine, causing my
bones to rattle like a warning. I drifted into a fitful slumber, fingers tracing
the outline of the Nexplanon rod buried in my arm, desperately trying to
recall when it was implanted. The uncertainty gnawed at me as I struggled
to remember if it needed to be replaced in three months or fifteen—keenly
aware of the vast difference between the two timelines and the
consequences that would follow if I remembered incorrectly.
But in truth, I couldn’t have pried myself from Niccolo’s clutches even if I
wanted to.
It’s something I could never confess to my stepfather, or anyone else for
that matter, but last night was the first time someone else had ever made
me experience an orgasm. All these years, I’ve been taking care of myself
and convincing myself that it’s fine for high school boys not to know how to
please a woman. But last night, while Niccolo’s face was buried between my
legs in the Red Dawg bathroom, it dawned on me that there are men out
there who want their partners to feel just as much pleasure as they do.
Even if I didn’t want to go back home with Niccolo, I would have. It was like
being trapped under a spell. I’d had two orgasms in that bathroom, and my
pussy was leading me around on a leash, willing to follow the Devil into the
dark if it meant getting a third.
But his threat holds a palpable sense of terror. I want to have children one
day, maybe even with Niccolo, but I can’t consider having them before I
finish college. I have years of studying ahead of me, over a decade of
schooling if my stepfather’s route to get his Ph. D can be replicated. Having
a child now would make that exponentially harder.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sound of pounding jolts me from my reverie.
Niccolo shoots up, his hair in disarray. “So help me God if that’s Dante,” he
swears.
My eyes bulge in alarm, and my stomach turns over. “Your brother can’t
find me here.” I start scrambling out of the bed, taking the sheet with me to
wrap around my naked body.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Another round of knocks forces a curse from Niccolo’s lips as he climbs out
of bed. “Pounding on the door like they’re the damn police,” he mumbles.
“I’ll call the fucking cops on them. I don’t care if they’re my brothers.”
Oh, god. I can’t have the entire Terlizzi clan finding me here. “I have to get
dressed.” I can already feel Dante’s steely, scrutinizing gaze and Salvatore’s
smug, all-knowing smirk. “I’ll hide in my room. I don’t have to come out. No
one even has to know I’m here.”
I look up to catch Niccolo rolling his eyes and mumbling in Italian under his
breath. “It’s fine, dolcezza,” he says after a moment. “Eventually, they’re
going to know about us.”
Not if there’s nothing to find out. If I leave today, change my name, and
move to a different country, I’ll never have to see Niccolo again or tell the
Terlizzis anything. It may seem a bit extreme, but it’s definitely a rational
choice.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“Go get dressed,” he recommends in a sharp tone. “I’ll come get you
whenever my brothers leave.”
I hurry to my room down the hall from his. Luckily, it’s in the opposite
direction of the main staircase. The stained glass front door is pretty to look
at but entirely see-through if someone puts their face right up to it.
Niccolo is yelling as he makes his way toward the door. “I’m coming! Jesus.
Cut that shit out.” But the banging only gets louder.
As I fling the sheet to the floor and search for clothes, I hear voices
downstairs. I look out my bedroom window as I pull on a shirt and see a
dark blue convertible in the driveway that doesn’t belong to one of Niccolo’s
brothers. Who shows up at someone’s door at 8:00 am on a Saturday?
The voices increase in volume as I wiggle into a pair of jeans I left behind
when I left for Blackmore. “God, these are snug,” I groan. The Freshman
Fifteen is real, and I am a victim.
“Fanculo, Terlizzi.” I’m chilled to the bone by the sudden shout. The Italian
‘fuck you’ echoes through the house and sends a shiver through my body.
“I’ll fucking murder you and bury you in your own backyard. Do you hear
me?”
I’d recognize my Uncle Giovanni’s voice anywhere. I quickly run my fingers
through my hair, trying to smooth out any stray strands before hurrying
from the room.
The heated voices grow louder and more intense as I approach the grand
staircase. There, in the doorway, stand Giovanni and Marco, their postures
tense and confrontational as they face off with my stepfather.
“Gio?” I test the waters as I step out from behind the wall and reveal myself.
“Is that you?” I try to sound shocked to see my uncles here, but Gio doesn’t
look like he’s buying it.
“Go back to your room,” Niccolo says tersely.
Giovanni glares at him. “No, she needs to hear this, too.”
I pause halfway down the stairs, a half-humorous, half-strangled expression
on my face. “H-hear what?” I stutter.
Niccolo gives my uncle a hard look. “This is between us. It has nothing to do
with her.”
Marco, as always, stands a few feet behind Giovanni with his arms crossed
tightly over his chest. His towering frame casts a shadow over the room,
and his imposing presence radiates a sense of danger. He’s never been one
for idle chitchat—words are not his weapon of choice. Instead, he makes a
living as an enforcer. He’s all muscle and menacing facial expressions that
would terrify me if I didn’t know he was a sweetheart deep down.
Uncle Giovanni feels safe with Marco as his backup, and he snorts in
derision at Niccolo. “This has as much to do with her as it does with you.”
He looks past Nic to make eye contact with me. “Your stepfather is a
problem, Chris.”
“What kind of problem?” I ask tentatively as I make it to the last step of the
staircase.
Giovanni attempts to come inside, but his eager steps are halted as Niccolo
raises his hand in a firm gesture to stop him.
A flash of irritation ignites in Marco’s eyes at the mere contact between his
brother and Niccolo. Marco’s hands, usually relaxed at his sides, now curl
into bulky, powerful fists. The tension in the room is tangible, with each
man silently asserting their dominance over the other.
Niccolo sees Marco’s response and looks past Giovanni. “What?” He barks.
“You wanna try me, meathead?” My stepfather has a death wish, I think.
“Nic,” I gently prod, “let them inside. We can talk. They’re my family.”
He flares up at that remark, and I know what he’s thinking. For family, they
never give two shits about me until it suits them. But Niccolo takes one look
at my face and softens. “Fine,” he growls at Marco and Giovanni, “but if
either of you piss me off, I’ll kick you in the head.”
Giovanni rolls his eyes as he walks through the door. He makes himself
comfortable, removing his jacket and putting it in the coat closet next to the
entrance.
“I should be the one kicking you in the head.” He offers to take his brother’s
coat, storing it next to his. “I’m in Kansas City. I’m over a hundred miles
away,” Giovanni explains. “So tell me why the fuck I’m hearing rumors
about the two of you.”
My jaw drops open in shock. “W-what rumors?”
He slams the closet door shut. “Rumors that the two of you are fooling
around,” Giovanni explains succinctly. “You’re the family’s prized virgin.
You think any man is going to want you now?”
A sudden, sickening feeling hits me like a punch in the gut. I swear my
stomach falls through my ass, and I don’t know if it’s because my uncles
think I’m a virgin or because the rumors imply that my family has plans for
me that don’t include Niccolo.
“We’re tired of the rumors, Christine. We’re here to settle them once and
for all.”
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 Chapter 24
Christine

N
iccolo clenches his fists, the sound of his knuckles cracking through
the quiet living room. “Start talking, Lucatello,” he orders as he
paces back and forth with an air of impatience.
Giovanni and Marco share a look, clearly hiding something from us. Their
eyes sparkle with mischief, intensifying my curiosity. Gio’s lips curl up into
a sly smile as he taunts, “I think I’d like it if you begged, Terlizzi.”
Instinctively, I step forward, positioning myself between my stepfather and
my uncles to prevent a violent confrontation. “Stop,” I hiss at Niccolo. “It’s
not worth it.” I can sense the tension in his muscles, his eyes ablaze with
anger.
“Listen to your stepdaughter, Niccolo,” Giovanni grins. “I could sic Marco
on you and solve all my problems. You want that?”
Niccolo’s hands tighten into menacing fists at his sides as he cracks his
neck. “Get to the point before you make me do something I’ll regret.”
Giovanni nonchalantly props his feet up on the coffee table, feigning
relaxation. But beneath the facade, his face reveals a snake ready to strike.
His stretched-out posture belies a hidden restlessness. “I think I’d be more
inclined to talk if I had a drink. I know you’ve got good taste in bourbon,
Niccolo. Why don’t you pour me a glass?”
Interrupting the growing tension, I step forward, urging Gio to reveal his
purpose for coming here unannounced. “Gio, please, just tell me what you
came here to say.”
My uncle rolls his eyes. “You’re too sweet, Chris. And too kind to that
bastard of a man that isn’t your stepfather anymore.”
Niccolo returns to pacing the floor, never taking his eyes off my uncle.
“Noted.” I cross my arms over my chest self-consciously. “Why are you
here?” I know they want to squash the rumors they’re hearing, but how do
they plan to do that?
With an exaggerated stretch, Giovanni’s relaxed facade dissipates, replaced
by a look of unease. “Your grandfather has arranged for you to marry.”
My body grows cold, and the room starts to darken. I reach out for
something to stabilize me and find Niccolo’s hand. He whispers in my ear,
but his words are drowned out by the sound of waves churning in an
invisible sea.
Time seems to stand still as I struggle to regain my composure. Someone
snaps their fingers in front of my face, drawing my attention. It’s Giovanni,
standing before me, engaged in a petty argument with Niccolo. They bicker
like children, their dispute drowning out my own thoughts.
“No,” I mumble, my voice building in strength as I push away from Niccolo
and Giovanni. “Stop. No.” Determination fills my expression as I stand my
ground. “I’m not ready.”
My uncle straightens his back, drawing up to his full height. “If you can to
fuck around with your stepfather, you can marry a Castiglione.”
In a daze, I try to step back, only to find myself colliding with the couch. “I
can’t. I won’t,” I assert, forcing a look of defiance onto my face. “You can’t
make me marry anyone, Uncle.”
A mask of rage twists Giovanni’s features as he takes a step forward. Before
I can react, his arm swiftly rises, delivering a brutal backhand across my
face. The force of the blow snaps my head back, sending a searing pain
radiating through my skull. “That’s where you’re wrong, Christine. I am in
charge of this family, and you are obligated to listen to your elders when
they know what’s best for you.”
Tears burn the back of my eyes, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of
seeing me cry. Niccolo’s hand finds my lower back, the other gently
brushing my swollen cheek. “Are you okay?”
Giovanni snaps his fingers, and a second later, Marco is pulling Niccolo
away from me. “Hold him for me, Marc,” Gio orders.
He steps forward and grabs me by the chin. His fingers digging into my
newly bruised cheek cause me to wince; his icy glare as he looks me in the
eye sends chills down my spine. “You made your bed, and now you have to
lie in the filthy sheets. You will marry Rocco Castiglione this summer. It will
be a joyous occasion for the Lucatellos. It will forge a new alliance between
our families. And when Fausto Terlizzi dies,” he looks back to smirk at
Niccolo, “the Castigliones will look to our family to find a replacement
Consigliere.”
“You keep my father’s name out of your fucking mouth, Lucatello.” Niccolo
is foaming with rage. If Marco hadn’t caught him off guard, Nic would be
ripping Giovanni apart.
My uncle shoves me away from him, his fingers momentarily digging into
my bruised flesh. “You only have yourself to blame for this, Nic. If you had
let Chris come with me after Caterina died, you wouldn’t have thought you
could get away with fucking someone who doesn’t belong to you. Now the
Lucatello family has to marry her off to an enforcer with a notorious history
of abusing his wives. Yes, wives,” Giovanni emphasizes with a cruel sneer.
“The first two died at his hands when they tried to escape. The third took
her own life. So, if you know what’s good for you,” he glares at me, “you’ll
be a compliant little wife to Rocco.”
Niccolo elbows Marco in the gut, but the larger man merely grunts and
tightens his grip. “You would willingly marry off your niece to a known wife
killer?”
Giovanni locks eyes with me, ensuring that I understand what he’s about to
say. “I would kill Christine with my bare hands before I let her continue
tarnishing the family name with the likes of you, Terlizzi.”
My breath catches in my throat, fear seizing my vocal cords. I can’t say
another word, but I flee from the room. I wrap my hand around the handle
of the front door and run until I can’t see my home anymore. But even
though it’s out of sight, I still hide behind a bush as I pull out my phone to
call my best friend. “Kaye, I need you to pick me up. Something bad
happened.”
Throughout the drive to Manhattan, Kaye remains on the line, her voice a
steady anchor in the storm of chaos and confusion. She provides me solace
and a sense of safety amidst the turmoil.
In this world of constant change, Kaye is my one unwavering constant.
There is no one I trust more than her to guide me through this darkness.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 25
Niccolo

C
hristine runs from the room before I can stop her. When we hear the
front door open, Giovanni laughs. “She’s a sweet girl, but she’s like
her mother,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “She stole that Irish prick
from Francesca and then had to be forced down the aisle.”
Caterina never told me much about her first marriage, but we’ve all heard
the rumors. Francesca Lucatello was to marry Liam Byrne, the son of a
prominent Irish gangster. My father called the Lucatellos foolish for
wanting to strengthen their family by marrying outside of Italian tradition.
In the end, Caterina seduced Liam the night before his wedding and the two
of them ran off together. Their affair ended with a shotgun wedding, and
everyone who was there remembers Caterina crying as she made her vows.
Ten years later, he disappeared without a trace, never to be heard from
again.
“Let him go,” Giovanni thrusts his chin in my direction, ordering his brother
around. Marco releases me a second later.
I pull my arms back in front of me, mumbling under my breath about their
brutish behavior.
“Shut up,” Giovanni barks dismissively. He strides over to the bar stationed
in the corner of the opulent living room, pouring himself a generous
measure of Scotch. The liquid cascades into the glass, its amber hue
gleaming under the soft glow of the early morning lighting. “This is all your
fault anyway,” he asserts, a tinge of bitterness coloring his voice. “Word has
it that you were seen with her at some college dance club a few weeks ago.”
A jolt of panic grips my chest. Fuck. The night at Red Dawg. I thought we
were safe because I didn’t recognize anyone. “Are you following her or me?”
I ask, suddenly feeling paranoid.
Marco imitates his brother’s actions by grabbing himself a drink as well.
Giovanni observes him with casual interest. “Wrong question, Nic. I
shouldn’t have to have either of you followed.”
One of these days, Giovanni is going to mouth off to the wrong person and
wind up getting himself killed. I pray to God I’m in the room when it
happens. “So why are you having us followed then?”
Giovanni swiftly downs the expensive Scotch, savoring its taste on his lips
as he smacks them together. The sound echoes through the hallways of the
mansion, carrying with it a sinister air that freezes the blood in my veins.
“Because it’s odd that you would want to keep your stepdaughter around
after she was no longer legally your stepdaughter.”
“This all goes back to three years ago?”
“Precisely,” Giovanni confirms. “You should have made her come to Kansas
City. She had a duty to fulfill. Instead, you kept her here and filled her head
with nonsense. She thinks she’s free, but she will learn the hard way that
she isn’t. She is a Lucatello, and her future has been determined for her
since the day she was conceived.”
A surge of revulsion rises within me at Giovanni’s callous disregard for
Christine’s autonomy. “You may arrange your own daughters’ marriages as
you see fit,” I retort, my voice seeping with indignation. “But you do not
have my consent to arrange a marriage for Christine. Nor do you have
hers.”
Giovanni’s laughter reverberates through the room, a booming sound that
echoes off the ornate walls. It carries a malevolence that makes my skin
crawl, a haunting chorus of darkness that will undoubtably haunt my
dreams. “I don’t require your consent, Niccolo,” he jeers, a smirk on full
display. “You are well aware of our ways. You know our laws. You know that
she is the family’s property until she is married off, then she becomes
another man’s property. She does not own her freedom or her
independence.”
I grew up under the same tutelage as my brothers. I was taught the weight
of familial expectations and the unyielding grip of tradition. I knew that my
father was made the Castiglione’s Consigliere when I was just a little boy. I
didn’t reject their teachings; I chose a different path. And though my father
never understood why, he let me do it without punishment.
Christine doesn’t have the same choice. Her family’s darkness runs deeper
than mine, their insatiable hunger now threatening to ruin her life. They
want everything from Christine, and they’re willing to break her to get it.
“She is my daughter and—”
“No,” Giovanni cuts me off with a glare as he gets to his feet. “She was only
ever your stepdaughter. She does not bear your name. If she did, the two of
you carrying on as you have would be even more despicable. She is a
Lucatello, and therefore, as the elder of the family, she is mine.”
A frown furrows my brow. “Leonardo is the elder,” I correct. “Is this what
your father wants?”
“Father is… retiring…from leading the family.” Giovanni’s jaw tightens in
time with his fists, and the vein in his forehead throbs. “I’m taking over.
Whatever he wanted is no longer important. All that matters is what I
want.”
Did Leonardo Lucatello envision a future where Christine would be bound
to marry a ruthless killer?
Giovanni continues. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll send Christine
back to me. If I have to hunt her down myself, there will be consequences.
She might not get off lightly with a slap on the face next time.”
The primal beast within me claws at the surface, craving release, yearning
to dismantle Giovanni piece by piece. “Touch her again, threaten her again,
and mark my words, Giovanni, you will suffer. I will chop your dick off, burn
it to a crisp, and force it down your throat. Are we clear?”
He smirks like my threat is meaningless. Then he looks at me in a way that
reminds me of Dante, a look that says he doesn’t think much of me. “You
finally sound like a real Terlizzi. Too bad it’s too late.” The smirk fades from
his face, replaced by a thin line carved into his lips like granite. “Christine
will marry Rocco, whether you accept it or not. If you play your role as
expected, perhaps I will even grant you the honor of walking her down the
aisle and giving her away.”
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 26
Christine
“J esus Christ,” Kaye exclaims in disbelief as I climb into her sleek Model
3 red Tesla. “What the hell happened to you?”
I reach a trembling hand up to touch my throbbing cheek, wincing as my
fingers graze the swollen flesh. A sharp, searing pain shoots through my
face like a bolt of lightning. “God damn it,” I grumble, my voice laced with
frustration, “can we please stop somewhere to get some ice? This hurts like
a bitch.”
Without taking her foot off the brake, Kaye glances at me, her eyes filled
with concern. “Seriously, Chris, what the hell happened?”
My impatience gets the better of me as panic sets in. If my uncle leaves the
house now, he might see us. “Just drive, Kaye! Before Giovanni finds me
here.”
“Giovanni?” Her voice quivers with uncertainty as she eases off the brake.
“Your uncle? I thought Nic did this to you.”
Fumbling with the visor, my hands shaking with anxiety, I open it to reveal
a compact mirror. As I catch sight of my reflection, Kaye’s concern makes
sense. My lip is bleeding, and my cheek is swollen and turning an ugly
shade of purple. Panic pulses through my veins. “Nic would never hurt me,”
I tell her quietly.
Kaye snorts her disapproval and ignores me when I shoot her a glare. “Why
did your uncle do this to you then?” She asks.
Ignoring her judgmental gaze, I slam the visor shut with a frustrated thud.
How could I have been so blind? How did I let myself get that close to
Niccolo? I should have trusted my instincts and listened to the inner voice
screaming at me to stay away from my stepfather. But I let pleasure cloud
my judgment, and now I’m paying the price.
“Hello? Earth to Chris.” Kaye’s voice cuts through my racing thoughts like a
blade, snapping me back to the present moment. “Tell me what’s going on.
You can trust me.”
Trust her. I repeat the words in my mind, desperately searching for the
courage to confide in my best friend. Taking a deep breath, I realize it’s now
or never. “My family wants to marry me off to a man who’s killed his other
wives, and Giovanni said he’d rather see me dead than with Niccolo,” the
words tumble out in a frantic blur, my voice barely above a whisper.
Kaye’s jaw drops open, her eyes widening in shock and disbelief. In a
moment of distraction, she carelessly runs a stop sign without even
realizing it. “What the fuck!” she exclaims, but there’s no time to dwell on
the revelation I just dropped on her. The sight of red and blue lights fills the
rearview mirror, followed quickly by a blaring police siren.
It’s a fitting break in the conversation. Kaye pulls over, her jaw still agape in
astonishment. As we wait for the police officer to approach her window, she
stares at me, trying to process what I just opened up to her about.
“Ma’am,” the police officer taps on Kaye’s car door. “Do you know that you
ran a stop sign back there?”
Kaye, flustered from both the unexpected pull-over and my disturbing
confession, stammers out a response. They chat briefly, and then the officer
bends down to look at me in the passenger seat. “Here’s my insurance
card,” Kaye offers, extending a thick, plastic card to the police officer.
His eyes barely register the card, his gaze fixated on my bruised face.
“Miss, are you okay?” He disregards Kaye completely. He leans in closer,
his expression filled with concern. “Do you need to be seen by a doctor?”
Instinctively, I turn away from him, shielding my bruised cheek, and feel a
rush of embarrassment flood through me. “I’m fine, officer.” The last thing I
need is the police getting involved in my family troubles. If I bring a
suspicious cop home, Giovanni is likely to kill us all.
The police officer moves around to my side of the car, taps on the window,
and waits for me to roll it down. He crouches down until we’re at eye level,
leaning on the door for support. “Ma’am, would you feel more comfortable
getting out of the car to chat?”
I’m barefoot because I didn’t think to put on shoes before going downstairs
in my own home, and then I ran away without grabbing a pair of flip-flops.
The last thing I want is to get out of this car and try to explain to a police
officer that everything is alright. “I’m fine, Officer. We went out last night,
and I got into a fight with some girl at a bar. It’s no big deal.” If I’d said I’d
gotten in a fight with my boyfriend or a family member, it would have been
considered a domestic dispute. Saying I got hit by a stranger in a bar gives
him no reason to investigate further.
But he surprises me. Instead of pressing the matter, he simply reaches into
his breast pocket and pulls out a business card. “If something like this ever
happens again, you call me,” he says, his voice tinged with a note of
authority. He hands me the card, and his eyes hold a depth of
understanding that catches me off guard. “I know things can escalate when
you kids are out partying, but there’s no reason to be getting into fights.
You should put some ice on that and take some ibuprofen, okay?”
Relief washes over me as a small smile graces my lips. I nod quickly,
grateful for his unexpected empathy. “We were just on our way to the store.
Thank you, officer.”
He glances across the car at Kaye, giving her a weary smile. “Keep an eye
out for stop signs in the future, alright? You two have a good day.” And just
like that, he walks away, allowing us to continue on our way without
reprimand.
“That was crazy,” I laugh nervously.
Kaye puts the car in drive and merges back onto the road. “Chris, should I
be worried about you? Who is this guy that your family wants to marry you
off to? And why does your uncle think you’re seeing Nic? Are you two
together?”
I want to answer her questions honestly. I know I owe her that much after
dragging her into this mess. But the weight of my situation presses down on
me, leaving me overwhelmed and unsure of what to say. The truth feels
convoluted and messy, while a lie seems like too much effort.
“I don’t know everything. Gio showed up this morning and said that he
heard some rumors about my conduct. He said the best way to squash the
rumors was for me to get married.” Half-truths slip from my lips, my gaze
fixed on the passing scenery outside the car window.
Kaye wrinkles her nose, her face a picture of disappointment. “An arranged
marriage, though, Chris? That can’t still be a thing, right?” She does not
sound impressed.
“It’s complicated,” I mumble, wishing I had a simpler explanation to offer.
Arranged marriages aren’t common in the United States, not even among
Italian families anymore. But my mother grew up in a very different culture
than I did. Her family’s roots in the cosa nostra dictated how her life would
be led. She hoped that my life would be different, but it’s shaping up to be
eerily similar.
“I think you should stand up to Giovanni,” Kaye suggests as she pulls into a
gas station parking lot. “You don’t have to marry some stranger if you don’t
want to. Especially now,” she adds, concern etching her features. “You’re
only eighteen, Chris. You have your whole life ahead of you. What happened
to bad boys and bad decisions?”
I wish it were that simple. I wish standing up to Giovanni would solve
everything. But there are forces at play that go beyond my will. If the bruise
on my cheek is any indication, Giovanni won’t stop until he gets what he
wants. But my heart sinks, knowing that explaining this to Kaye isn’t going
to be easy. She won’t understand.
“You’re right,” I lie, forcing a smile on my face. “I’ll talk to Giovanni. I’ll tell
him I don’t think this is in my best interest.”
Kaye smiles, her warmth radiating through the car. “Good. I’ll get some ice
for your face. You need anything else while I’m inside?”
Shaking my head, I watch her retreat into the store, a mix of gratitude and
uncertainty swirling within me. I’m thankful for her steadying presence, but
her plan won’t work.
There will be no telling Giovanni that I don’t want to do as he says. It was
only a tap on the cheek this time, but what if it’s more next time?
What if he follows through with killing me?
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 Chapter 27
Christine

T
he bruising on my cheek where Giovanni hit me the night before has
turned a deep purple and is painful to touch. I alternate between ice
packs and hot water bottles in an attempt to reduce the swelling, but
my face still feels puffy and heavy. I take Ibuprofen every four hours and
pray for a miracle.
The sharp sting of Giovanni’s ring slicing the corner of my lip lingers as the
only visible wound that hasn’t worsened. Though it stopped bleeding and
formed a scab by the next day, it remains crusty and sensitive to touch. The
skin surrounding the cut is a patchwork of red and pink.
Niccolo calls me, texts me, and even pops up in my Facebook messages
uninvited to threaten to show up at my dorm if I don’t respond to him. I tell
him I’m alright and I just need time to think.
In truth, I can’t face him yet; I’m afraid that he’d see the bruise Giovanni
left, and he’d try to kill my uncle. Giovanni is a force of nature, and Niccolo,
on his best day, wouldn’t stand a chance against him.
When Monday rolls around, my face is still too mangled to go to class. It
isn’t until Niccolo calls me and demands to know where I am that I realize I
should have said something to him in advance.
“Where are you?” He barks into the phone.
“I’m sick, Nic.”
But he knows that’s not true. “Liar. I left you alone yesterday because you
asked me to, but it’s been two days since you ran out on me. Tell me what’s
wrong.”
Instinctively, I guard the truth of the deepening bruise and lingering
swelling. While the latter gradually recedes, it will require a formidable
amount of makeup to mask the repulsive shade of purple blossoming across
my face. I’m hoping that some of it will have faded by tomorrow so I can
return to class without too many questions.
“I just don’t feel well, Nic. I’ll be back in class on Wednesday, okay?”
The sound of shattering glass breaks the silence like a gunshot, echoing off
the walls of Niccolo’s classroom and vibrating through the phone. “I need to
see you, Christine,” he begins with desperation creeping into his tone. “You
ran away so quickly the other day. I need to know that you’re okay.”
Am I okay? My heart pounds in my chest like a drumbeat, the weight of my
future now tied to a man responsible for the untimely deaths of three
women. And if I were to do a little digging, I have no doubt that I would
uncover a trail of bodies left behind by Rocco Castiglione. The thought
alone is enough to send fear shivering down my spine and make my skin
crawl. “Physically, I’m fine, Nic. It was just a little slap.”
An unspoken truth hangs heavily in the silence, its burden shared between
us. If I am physically fine, then it logically follows that my mental state
remains anything but.
My stepfather knows what I mean without me having to say it, and I’m
thankful that he doesn’t force me to talk. Instead, he clears his throat and
says, “We should discuss what happened before you make any decisions. I
know it might look like you don’t have options, but I told you the other night
that I would take care of you. It wasn’t just pillow talk, Christine; I was
serious.”
I know what he’s going to say, or at least the gist of it, and I’m not in the
mood to hear it yet. He’ll wax poetically about how much he loves me and
cares for me and how he’ll save me from this nightmare of our own making.
But I’m wallowing in self-pity, and I feel terrible despite the pain meds and
ice packs. I need another day to feel this way before I let Niccolo come up
with a solution.
“I’ll swing by your classroom tomorrow,” I offer. Technically, my class
schedule dictates that I see him on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, but
I can carve out some time in my day tomorrow. “I have a free hour around
2:00. Would that work?”
“Of course,” he reassures me. “I’ll clear my schedule.”
When I hang up the phone, a wave of relief washes over me. I expected my
stepfather to push back against my suggestion, but he caught me off guard
by accepting it instead.
It just gives him more time to plot, the little voice in my head says.
Two days ago, Niccolo thought that my giving myself to him would change
everything, but neither of us expected Giovanni to show up and ruin it all.
My stepfather won’t take kindly to his plans being changed. In fact, I
wouldn’t be surprised if he was passively giving me another day to myself
because he needs it to plot his revenge.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 28
Niccolo

C
hristine shows up at my lecture hall on a gloomy Tuesday afternoon
just as my last class for the day is about to begin. Following our call
yesterday, I immediately sent out an email to the 2:00 pm students
canceling the lecture.
No one is around when she walks in and thank God for that. The mere sight
of Christine’s face seizes my breath, encasing my lungs in a suffocating
grip.
“It looks worse than it feels,” she says, her voice tinged with a mix of
weariness and defiance as I rise from my chair.
“Porca puttana. Giuro su Dio che ucciderò quel cazzo di tuo zio.” I walk over
to her and we meet in the middle.
Christine heaves a sigh, her shoulders slumping. “You’re not going to kill
my uncle,” she argues, her voice holding a note of resignation.
Running my thumb across her cheek, a thin layer of powdered makeup
appears on my pad. “It’s worse than it looks,” I glare. “It already looks bad,
but you covered it up.”
“Of course I did,” she retorts, pushing my arm away. “I don’t need people
asking questions. If they do, I can just say I got in a bar fight this weekend.
It worked on the cop.”
The lump that forms in my throat feels like it’s the size of Texas. “You spoke
to the cops?”
Christine dismisses my worries with a wave of her hand. “No, not like that,”
she groans, frustration evident in her voice. “Kaye got pulled over when she
was picking me up, and the cop saw my face. He asked what happened and
I told him I got into a fight with some girl at the bar. It’s fine, Nic.”
Confusion washes over me, leaving me adrift in a sea of untold secrets.
There’s more to this story, I sense it, but I don’t know where to begin
probing.
“Anyway, we should talk,” Christine shifts gears, her tone tempered with a
mix of determination and trepidation. She grabs a seat in the front row and
settles down. “I think what happened between us the other night was a
mistake.”
“No,” my response spills forth instinctively, thudding between us with an
unwelcome weight. “What happened afterward with Giovanni was a
mistake, but what happened between us was meant to be. We are meant to
be, Christine.”
She remains resolute, unfazed by my insistence. Our eyes lock, and for the
first time in a long while, I don’t detect the expected blend of desire and
anger in her gaze. Instead, a steadfast confidence shines through. “I’m
going to figure out what to do about Giovanni and this forced marriage
they’re imposing on me,” she declares. “But in the meantime, this thing
between us has to end.”
Enraged, I reach for the nearest item on my desk and hurl it across the
room. The stapler explodes upon impact, scattering staples and mechanical
fragments into a chaotic display.
This is becoming a bad habit. Yesterday my anger drove me to destroy a
glass plaque that had been given to me to celebrate my graduation from the
Master’s program. If I keep this up, the janitor is going to raise questions
about all the broken glass in my trash can.
“Take that back,” I demand, my voice laced with a mix of desperation and
anger.
“I can’t,” she replies calmly, her composure unshaken. “If there are rumors
getting back to my family, the only way out of this marriage is to squash
them.”
I slide on my knees in front of her, grabbing the edges of her chair so she
can’t escape. “That’ll get you out of this marriage, but not the next. They’ll
force you to marry someone else, Christine. Eventually, they’ll make you
marry someone of their choosing. If it isn’t Rocco, it’ll be someone else.”
Christine reaches up and grazes my cheek, her touch a soothing balm after
the searing sting of her words. “Not if I leave. If I can stall them until I
graduate, I can escape. I can leave Kansas and disappear somewhere they’ll
never find me.”
I don’t know what hurts more: the thought of Christine leaving me or the
thought of never seeing her again. Both of them make my soul ache. “I
know you think this is the only way, but it’s not. You could marry me.”
She shakes her head, vehemently refusing my suggestion. “They would kill
you. If not Giovanni, then Marco. Or, to keep their hands clean, they’d send
one of their men to do the job. I can’t lose you, my freedom, and be married
to a murderer. I’ve considered it, Nic, and I have to choose the least
offensive of the two options.”
“Losing me isn’t offensive?” I counter, grappling with a complex mix of
emotions.
Christine sighs heavily as if she regrets beginning this conversation.
“Losing you will be hard, but at least you’ll still be alive. That’s what
matters. You’ll find someone else one day. You’ll move on when I’m gone.”
I grab her hand and bring it to my lips, brushing the skin with the gentlest
butterfly kiss. “Give me a few weeks. I’m going to take care of this. I talked
to Dante already, and we’re going to figure something out.”
Her bottom lip finds itself caught between her teeth, leaving a faint
indentation in her peach-colored flesh. “I don’t want your family involved in
this, Nic. I don’t want your brothers to get hurt.”
“They’ll be fine,” I reassure her, my voice gentle yet determined. “Just give
me a few weeks. If we can’t find a way out and your only choice is to let me
go, I’ll understand. But I won’t let you go without a fight. If I have to swear
allegiance to the Lucatello family and pay a King’s ransom for you, I will. I’d
do anything for you, Christine.”
Her shoulders sag as if a weight has been lifted; I think my words are
getting through to her. “I’m scared. I’m terrified that this plan might
backfire, and someone will get hurt.”
Someone is going to get hurt, but it won’t be me. “Stop worrying. I promise
everything is going to be okay.”
My phone starts ringing a second later, interrupting us. I want to ignore it,
but Christine tells me to answer.
Retrieving the device from my back pocket, I curse myself for not silencing
it when I knew Christine would be here. But on the screen, I see Dante’s
name. I answer hopefully, thinking that he might have come up with a
solution since we spoke on Saturday night. “Hey. I’m with Christine. What’s
up?” I smile at her as I put the phone on speaker so we can both listen in.
“Did you come up with a solution for her problem?”
Dante’s reply is slower than usual, laden with an unspoken weight that tugs
at my core. “Nic, Dad is dead.”
Christine covers her mouth, eyes widening in horror.
I frown at my phone screen even though my brother can’t see me.
Resentment and relief blend together in a bittersweet cocktail. “I’ll have to
call you back,” I say, abruptly ending the call.
“Nic, we should—” but I cut him off mid-sentence by hanging up.
“My father is dead,” I announce aloud, even though Christine could hear my
brother as well as me. I’ve wished for his death a dozen times, all in anger,
never in truth. But now he’s gone, and I feel a strange mix of emotions.
“Nic,” Christine breathes, her voice laden with sympathy, “I’m so sorry for
your loss.”
For a minute, I forget all about Christine’s crisis and become embroiled in
my own. They say when it rains, it pours, and right now, it feels like it’s
storming. “Maybe you should leave. I-I need to-to call…” I trail off.
Who am I going to call? My brothers are my best friends and my worst
enemies. They’re the only ones I would call; they’re the only ones that
would understand my complex feelings.
Leaning forward, Christine presses her lips against my cheek. “I’ll check on
you later, okay? I love you, Nic.”
Twenty-four hours ago, hearing those words would have meant the world to
me, but now they resonate through my mind like a distant echo bouncing off
the walls of the Grand Canyon.
Funny how tragedy can change everything.
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 Chapter 29
Niccolo
M y sister, Lucia, lives in Topeka, but even she shows up to the Grey
Goose to mourn our father’s loss.
“The doctors aren’t sure what happened,” Dante explains, his face etched
with discontent. The grim line tells us that he isn’t impressed by the
doctor’s explanation. “Fausto woke up a couple of days ago extremely sick.
He attributed it to food poisoning from a restaurant he’d gone to the night
before. But by the afternoon, his bodyguard was concerned because he was
too emaciated from vomiting to stand. The man coaxed Fausto into the car
and took him to the hospital.”
I take a sip of my whiskey and coke, the comforting burn sliding down my
throat as I wait for the bomb to drop. Fausto Terlizzi did not die of food
poisoning; it seems impossible that a man who tormented me my entire life
and chastised me for picking a different path would be killed by some bad
fish.
“When he got to the hospital, it was determined that he was severely
dehydrated. This is where the timeline gets a little hazy,” Dante sighs. “One
nurse said that she gave Fausto an IV for dehydration, while another said
that she gave him an IV to help with the nausea and vomiting. However, at
some point, he allegedly ripped out the IVs and left. There is no paperwork
that denotes what medication Fausto received. I told the hospital that I
would be suing for negligence.”
“But what happened after father left the hospital?” I frown, my mind
grappling to process the chain of events.
Dante shakes his head, weariness filling his gaze. “The bodyguard was
nowhere to be found, so Fausto tried to drive himself home. He died en
route after hitting a guardrail at 60. Luckily, no one else was involved in the
crash, but police officers mentioned charges of reckless endangerment and
driving under the influence. Apparently, he had a metric shit ton of drugs in
his system.”
My otherwise prim and proper sister snorts into her soda, her disbelief
resonating through the room. “As if. Father doesn’t even take Aspirin when
he has a headache. There’s no way he was under the influence of anything.”
“That’s what I thought,” Dante concedes with a nod. “We had our own
autopsy done, and a toxicology report showed benzodiazepines, methadone,
propoxyphene, and PCP in his system.”
Salvatore gets to the point before Dante does, his voice dripping with
suspicion. “Father was drugged.”
My brain feels a little slow. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the shock still
setting in, but my thoughts refuse to race at their usual speed. While my
brothers start volleying ideas back and forth, it isn’t until Lucia asks, “What
about Chrissy or whatever your deceased wife’s daughter’s name is?” that it
dawns on me.
“No,” I protest, my voice laced with disbelief, feeling like all the sensation
has drained from my body. “Christine never would have done something like
this.”
“What about her family?” Luciano chimes in. “Her uncles are pretty
fearsome or something, aren’t they?”
Father died on Tuesday, four days after Giovanni showed up. He threatened
me, but only me. He didn’t threaten to hurt my family, only me. Right?
Dante speaks for me. “There has been some controversy between the
Lucatello brothers and Nic, but let’s not rule out Father’s other enemies.
The Lucatellos had a problem with Nic, not a problem with the Terlizzis.”
“What’d you do?” Salvatore asks, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.
“You get their little angel pregnant?”
God, I hope so, but I don’t think that’s it. “No, Sally,” I shoot him a glare.
“Her uncle wants to arrange a marriage between her and some Castiglione
enforcer. He said it’ll strengthen their alliance.”
Dante’s brow furrows as he pieces together an imaginary puzzle. He runs
his finger around the rim of the glass in front of him, lost in thought. “Why
does he need to strengthen his alliance with the Castigliones? The
Lucatellos are a cog in the machine. It would be a step down for the
Castigliones to marry off one of their enforcers to Christine.” His mind
churns, attempting to conceive every possible scenario. This is why he’s the
prized Terlizzi; Dante can see all sides of a problem at once.
“Unless said enforcer is a known murderer and no one of note wants to
marry their daughter to him.” Dante knows this; I’ve told him everything I
know about Rocco Castiglione, and I’m sure he’s found out even more in his
research.
“Which would strengthen the Lucatellos’ relationship with the Castigliones
by showing their trust and loyalty. Saverio would want to show his
appreciation, but the Lucatellos aren’t hurting for money,” Dante mumbles,
lost in his thoughts. His mind works like a detective unraveling a complex
case.
“Which means Leonardo Lucatello would ask for a position among the
leadership. His counsel and wisdom are widely revered; he would have a lot
to offer the Castiglione family. But if no position was open…” he trails off,
his voice tinged with realization.
“Giovanni told me that his father was retiring, and he’d be in charge of the
Lucatello operations from now on,” I remind my older brother.
That’s the final piece of the puzzle Dante needs. His head snaps up, his eyes
widening with the weight of his realization. “Giovanni killed Father so
Leonardo could take up the role of Consigliere. That puts Leonardo in a
cushy position that doesn’t require him to get his hands dirty and gives
Giovanni leadership over the second most important family in the
Castiglione machine. They’re no longer cogs in the machine; they are the
machine.”
That does not bode well for the Terlizzi family. If Dante is right, after Fausto
is laid to rest, Saverio Castiglione will announce his successor. When it
comes to Consigliere, a position known for counseling the head of the
family, nepotism is forgotten. The Consigliere must be wise but not willing
to undermine their boss. They must achieve a delicate balance of wanting to
see the family succeed without seeking power for themselves.
“Lucia, we’ve allowed you to go your own way,” Dante begins, “but
whatever you hear at this table must never be repeated.”
She rolls her eyes at Dante, a lingering hint of her teenage rebellion still
present. “Okay, Dad,” Lucia exaggerates the word, her sarcasm dripping off
her tongue. “Tell me something I don’t know.” Sometimes I envy her for
being granted the freedoms that our father detested me for taking without
his permission.
Dante gestures at the bartender, and in no time at all, a round of bourbon is
brought to the table. Shot glasses are placed in front of each of us,
brimming with dark amber liquid, emanating a smoky aroma.
“Things are going to change going forward,” he addresses us, his voice
authoritative. “If the Lucatellos are making a play for power, we have to be
ready. Father thought that marrying Niccolo off to Caterina would create an
alliance between our families, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.”
The moment Caterina died, I became useless to the Lucatellos. If I had been
more involved in the family business like Dante, I might have seen this
coming.
“I think it’s no surprise that I will take over the family now that Father has
passed.”
Luciano slaps his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide with mock
astonishment. “Oh, my God, I did not see this coming.”
Dante retaliates by throwing a used napkin at him. “Shut up,” he says with a
grin. “The Lucatellos are positioning themselves for a war, which means
we’ll need to adjust our ranks to keep everyone safe.”
“Including Christine,” I add before he goes on. “She doesn’t want to marry
Rocco. She’s being forced into this. We talked about it, Dante.”
He raises a hand to silence me, and the weight of the gesture sends
shockwaves through the room. Dante commands all the respect and power
that our Father did. “Nic, we’ll talk about her later.”
I slam my fists down on the table, defying him in the same way I defied our
father for the past three decades. “No. We talk about her now. She’s being
used as a pawn in Leonardo and Giovanni’s games. I will not watch her be
forced into a marriage that will break and destroy her.”
Dante’s head tilts ever so slightly, barely noticeable to anyone else at the
table who watches the two of us spar. “How far are you willing to go for this
girl, Niccolo?” His gaze intensifies as he enforces the question. “What are
you willing to lose for her?”
“Everything,” I answer, my voice firm with determination. “I’d die for
Christine if it meant saving her life.”
A menacing grin spreads across my older brother’s face, sending a shiver
down my spine. “Dying is easy, Lolo. It’s living with the consequences of
your actions that will haunt you forever.” His words drip with malice as he
leans in close, lowering his voice so our brothers can’t hear him. “If you
want to save Christine, you must be prepared to descend into the darkness
and confront what lurks within. Are you ready for what that means?”
I grab the shot glass, its smooth surface cool against my fingertips, and
bring it to my lips. I never break eye contact as I toss it back, letting the
sharp liquid burn its way down my throat. “I’m ready to do whatever it
takes to keep Christine safe. Come hell or high water,” I nod solemnly, my
voice filled with resolve.
“Good,” he leans back in his chair. “Because hell is more likely.”
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 30
Christine

I
would be more worried about Niccolo if Finals weren’t right around the
corner. The end of Thanksgiving weekend means we are less than three
weeks away from the biggest test of the semester—and we have one in
every class.
Ever since Niccolo sent me away after finding out about his father’s
passing, he hasn’t answered my texts or calls or even come to class.
Suddenly, I find myself empathizing with his previous struggles to get a
response from me.
I didn’t know Nic’s father well, nor was I familiar with their relationship.
But losing a parent is never easy.
The first time I met Fausto Terlizzi was when Niccolo married my mother.
He grabbed my hand, brought it to his mouth, and told me I was the
prettiest little girl he’d ever seen. But he said it in a way that made my
stomach ache.
Niccolo advised me to stay away from Fausto after that, but by the time I
turned sixteen, it didn’t matter anymore. The Terlizzi family events were
attended by girls much younger than me, and Fausto had moved on to
harassing them. No one ever stopped him, and I thought it was weird. But
everyone turned a blind eye to his creepy behavior, and there was nothing I
could do.
I think about that in between studying for Finals and spending my days in
the library. I wait for Niccolo to text back, and try to figure out what I was
doing during Calculus because none of my notes make sense.
Kaye effortlessly progresses through her Finals prep, informing me that if I
had dedicated the semester to studying rather than fooling around with
Theo from the football team, I would have a stronger grasp of the material.
I playfully respond that if she had spent more time studying instead of
fucking her stepbrother, she wouldn’t be pregnant. It’s a fun little game we
like to play where we both wind up angry and frustrated. Finals have a way
of driving people crazy.
Studying with Sienna is more my speed. She has flashcards and she bites
her nails down to the quick while reviewing them.
“I’m not dumb,” she swears, “I just don’t test well.” But I appreciate the
realism of our study sessions because it reflects my own fears: that I spent
the entire term learning material but will still somehow bomb the test and
fail the class.
I’m almost thankful for Niccolo’s absence for the week because it gives me
more time to ponder my upcoming nuptials and figure out how to get out of
them without hurting anyone. With each passing day that I don’t find a
solution, I feel a growing sense of dread in the pit of my stomach.
But as I make my way to the library on Saturday night, students filling the
seats around me with only one weekend before Finals remaining, my
stepfather finally reappears via text message.

NICCOLO

Hi beautiful

A
s my phone lights up with a new notification, my heart jumps into my
throat. I feel a rush of emotions flood through me as I see his name
on the screen—excitement, nervousness, and a tinge of sadness. It’s
been so long since we’ve spoken, and I didn’t realize how much I missed
him until now.

Hey. How are you?

NICCOLO

Im gnna need you to pick me up

A
s my eyes scan the screen, I frown in slight annoyance at the easy
misspellings. It’s 8 pm on a Saturday, so maybe he’s getting drunk
with his friends. But then again, why would he want to do that when
he could be spending time with me? The thought nags at me, and I can’t
push it aside. The sound of distant laughter filters across the room, adding
to my frustration. A pang of longing hits me, wishing I could be there with
him, wherever he may be.
“Don’t think like that,” I chastise myself. “I don’t want to be with Niccolo.
Being apart is for our own good.”
“Miss,” some guy at the other side of the table whisper-yells at me, “can you
keep it down? I’m studying.”
I shoot him an apologetic wince, my cheeks burning with embarrassment,
before hastily typing a response to my stepfather. My fingers fumble over
the keys as I write a message and then delete it, my mind racing with
excuses and explanations. The bright glow of my phone screen illuminates
my face, casting a shadow across my features as I desperately try to salvage
our conversation.

Where are you at? Are you okay?

NICCOLO

biker bar hurry

He’s down the street? And he didn’t even drop by to say hello?
“Stop,” I mumble under my breath as I begin to pack up my things. Just
because we had sex and he made some promises that he hasn’t followed
through with doesn’t mean I’m going to fall head over heels for the guy.
He’s my stepfather, and soon, he’ll be nobody to me. Once I convince
Giovanni to let me finish college before I get married and I run away to
Argentina after graduation, I won’t even think about Niccolo anymore.
But right now, he needs me to pick him up. And right now, it’s okay that I’m
thinking about Nic. Right now, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be
with him.
I tug my thick, woolen jacket snugly around my body and sling my heavy
backpack over one shoulder, bracing myself for the biting winter weather. I
didn’t get anything done, but I haven’t spoken to Niccolo in almost a week.
Maybe it’s for the best that I pick him up, get him sober, and make sure he’s
alright. I remember what it was like when my father walked out on our
family and the emptiness that filled me when my mother passed. If Niccolo
feels even half as bad as that, I need to be there for him.
“I can be his shoulder to cry on,” I tell myself. “He’ll appreciate that.”
I’m patting myself on the back for being a good friend and stepdaughter
right up until the moment I make it to the bar district and walk into Leather
& Lager. I’ve stepped out of my calm and quiet life right into the middle of
an action movie. The Terlizzi brothers are fist-fighting with a bunch of
dudes in leather, and I don’t think they’re winning.
What the hell did Niccolo get himself into, and why did he call me to get
him out of it?
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 Chapter 31
Christine

I
almost catch a fist trying to break up the fight. It’s enough to send me
reeling backward, jaw-dropping in shock. “Un-fucking-believable,” I
mutter to myself, the words escaping through clenched teeth.
My gaze fixes on a security guard standing by the door. With his arms
crossed over his chest, he watches the fight unfold with the detached
enthusiasm of a spectator at a prime-time show. My frustration boils over,
and I confront him. “Are you going to do anything about this?”
Rolling his eyes, the security guard inserts two fingers into his mouth and
lets out a harsh whistle, cutting through the chaotic commotion. The fight
momentarily freezes, as if someone hit the pause button on a movie. “Hey.
Knock it the fuck off.”
One of the leather-clad bikers scowls in disappointment. “Bryan, he started
it,” the man complains while pointing at Niccolo, who stands at the center
of the turmoil.
“Well, this little lady wants it to stop,” Bryan shrugs, his indifference
palpable. “Do whatever. I don’t care.”
“No!” I yell over the cheer the bikers let out. I force myself through the
mess, and men back up, throwing their hands into the air so they can’t be
accused of touching me. “Nic,” I plead, “let’s go.”
Niccolo looks worse for wear. Blood drips from his nose, a gash above his
eyebrow oozes crimson, and a bruise darkens his right eye. But Niccolo is
undeterred. “Lemme at’em, Chrissy. I can take any of these fuckers.”
The temperature in the room rises, the air crackling with newly formed
tension. Fists tighten, the crowd inches closer, and restless voices intensify.
“Let’s go, baby,” I coo, desperately trying to pull Niccolo away from his
opponent.
Thank God one of the Terlizzi brothers has common sense. There’s a small
scuffle a few feet away, and I look over to see Dante shoving someone off
him. He adjusts his shirt before walking over and looping an arm around
Niccolo’s waist. “C’mon, bambina, we can take him to my place,” he grunts
at me.
I don’t want to argue, not when the tension in the room threatens to
consume us before we get through the door.
Salvatore and Luciano extract themselves from their own fights and follow
in our footsteps.
“Is Lucia gone?” Luciano asks when we’re blasted with a blast of frigid
winter air.
Luciano and Lucia are the twins of the Terlizzi family, the first in a century.
Niccolo once told me they were inseparable as children, but they’ve since
grown apart.
“Yeah,” Dante grunts as he pushes Niccolo forward, mirroring my lead.
“She left an hour ago. Said she had papers to grade or something. On a
fucking Saturday night. Stand the fuck up,” he changes the subject by
yelling at Niccolo. “Christ, who let you have that fourth shot?”
“Four shots?” My cheeks drain of color. “What the hell, Dante?”
We reach my car, and Dante practically tosses his brother into the backseat.
Niccolo lands with a groan. “He’s a big boy, Christine. He can make his own
choices.”
“I don’t want to be in the car when he throws up,” Salvatore declares.
“Want to split an Uber?” He asks his little brother.
Luciano simply shrugs. “You guys going to be okay if we head out?”
Dante shuts Niccolo’s door and climbs in the front passenger seat. “If we’re
not, it’s because that one got us T-boned,” he gestures toward me.
“It was one accident,” I seethe, glaring at him. “And it wasn’t even my
fault.”
Salvatore snickers and elbows his little brother. “Let’s go. They’re probably
fine.”
I mumble under my breath, “Not if I kill them first.” I should have stayed in
the library and studied instead of responding to Niccolo’s 911. What a
fucking nightmare.
“Do you know where I live?” Dante asks once I climb inside. “Out by the
airport, between—“
“Yeah, yeah, I remember.” He resides in a beautiful compound halfway
between Rosedale and Manhattan. It’s impossible to miss—it’s the only
structure in the area that breaks up nature with its utilitarian design. “What
happened back there? Nic texted me to pick him up. I haven’t heard from
him since Tuesday.”
Dante fiddles with the radio, transitioning from Taylor Swift to Kenny
Chesney. The melody of ‘No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problems’ fills the car,
pulling us back to the early 2000s. “We’ve been dealing with shit. Shit
you’re probably responsible for.”
My grip tightens around the steering wheel as I speed through a yellow
light. “What? I just told you I haven’t spoken to Nic since Tuesday. How am
I responsible for any of what you’re going through?”
“Your uncles,” he explains matter-of-factly. “You know they killed our
father?”
I open my mouth to respond, but I can’t seem to form words. My brain is
telling me to apologize and offer whatever I can to make amends for my
uncle’s mistakes, but I can’t wrap my lips around the sentences.
Dante watches me struggle for something to say for a long moment before
letting me off the hook. “Relax, little Lucatello.” He leans back in the chair
to make himself comfortable, reclining the seat until he’s stretched out. “I
think it’s one big orchestrated event that will effectively take the Terlizzis
off the map by replacing our family with yours. Nic assures me you aren’t
part of the family making these decisions.”
“I’m not part of the family at all,” I swiftly correct him. “My mother never
wanted this for me.”
Dante extends a hand to pat my lap, a gesture that’s meant to be comforting
but feels condescending. “That’s tough, cookie. You’re a part of it now. And
luckily for you, you have Nic. He wants to keep you safe.”
I shove Dante’s hand away and shoot him a glare. Niccolo groans in the
backseat and makes a few mumbled remarks, but I can’t understand him. “I
have a plan already. I don’t need you.”
“Sure you don’t,” he chuckles. “What’s your plan? You gonna kill Giovanni?”
My stomach churns. “N-no,” I stammer. “I was going to leave after
graduation.”
“Well, that won’t do our family any good. How about you wait until we kill
Giovanni, and then you can bask in the benefits?”
I’m going to be sick. I don’t like what my uncle is doing, but I don’t want
him dead. “You can’t be serious.”
“Serious as a heart attack, little Lucatello.” He motions toward the road.
“You’re about to miss my exit.”
As I get off the highway that leads to Dante’s house, we finish the rest of the
drive in silence. I’m afraid if I say anything else, I’m going to hear more
about the Terlizzi plan than I want to know. I’ve always accepted that my
mother and stepfather were part of a sinister organization, but it wasn’t
what I wanted for myself. I’ve always maintained a distance from my
family’s crimes and avoided asking any questions about them. Now, I feel
thrust into a scandal that has nothing to do with me.
“He loves you, you know,” Dante says as we pull off the road toward his
place.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens. “I know,” I respond, my voice shaky
with emotion. But the realization that he had confided in his brother about it
catches me off guard.
Dante yawns as we pull up to the gate surrounding his compound. A
bodyguard comes to my window, and when he sees Dante in the front seat
and Niccolo in the back, he bows his head and clicks a button that forces
the metal barricade to open. “Power has its perks.” He tosses me a lazy
grin.
“Is he okay?” I look in my rearview mirror to check on Niccolo in the
backseat. He’s curled up, snoring softly.
Looking over his shoulder, Dante smiles fondly at his sleeping brother.
“He’ll sleep it off. We made some decisions tonight that I think are weighing
heavily on his soul, but he’ll be alright.”
I’m tempted to inquire about those decisions, but I know it’s not my place to
ask. “I mean, is he okay after the death of your father?”
The grand courtyard unfolds before us, a dazzling display of lights
streaming in every direction. The warm glow casts a mesmerizing spell,
beckoning us deeper into the heart of the estate. Rows of sparkling lanterns
line the pathways, leading to hidden alcoves and secret gardens. Dante has
a beautiful home.
“Nic had a complicated relationship with Fausto. I think he’s glad Father’s
dead but also upset that he’s glad about it. He’s confused,” Dante explains.
“I think we all are. Fausto Terlizzi was a hard man to get along with. There
were things that he believed in that the rest of us did not. While we went
along with him, it was because we had no choice, not because we agreed
with him.”
That only makes me worry about Niccolo even more. He put a great deal of
space between himself and his family. What happens now that Fausto is
dead? “Do you need help carrying him inside? Will Adalina be upset that
he’s here?”
With a charming smile, Dante readjusts his seat back to the way he found it.
“I’ll be fine, so will my wife. If you see your uncles in the next few days,
don’t mention anything I told you. You understand?”
“I-I didn’t have plans to see them,” I frown. “Well, sort of. I did,” I correct
myself, “but only to discuss the marriage they’re trying to arrange.”
With a devil-may-care attitude, Dante offers, “If you’re up for it, I can add
Rocco to our hit list.” His nonchalant tone belies the gravity of his words.
“Nic filled me in on what went down last weekend and I’ve been looking
into Rocco Castiglione. He’s not someone to be trifled with. He’ll probably
kill you within the first year.” The weightlessness of Dante’s voice catches
me off guard. I don’t know if he’s joking or if he’s serious. That’s the
problem with Dante: you never know where you stand because he’s sweet
and kind until he’s not.
“That’s what I’m going to talk to Gio and Marco about. I’m going to see if
they’ll change their minds if I offer to give up—” I stop mid-sentence,
realizing that I’m about to admit to Dante that I’ve been having a
relationship with his brother.
A smile, mischievous and alluring, plays on his lips as he indulges himself by
leaning forward. The movement is slow and deliberate as if savoring every
moment. His eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief, and his lips curl up in a
playful grin. “I know about you and Nicci,” he whispers. “It’s a little
scandalous, but I’ve done shadier things than you fucking your stepfather.”
A pink stain spreads across my cheeks. “There’s nothing going on between
Nic and me.” Not anymore. That’s what I’m going to promise my uncles in
exchange for my freedom.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Dante shrugs. “But if you love him the way he loves
you, you’ll give me a few days to figure something out. The Terlizzi family
may have lost their head, but we will come back stronger. And I promise, if
you give us a few days, we’ll figure out how to protect you from your
family’s wishes. Nic insists on it, in fact.”
I haven’t heard from him in five days, but somehow he spent that time
juggling his grief and figuring out how to save me from a fate that we
inflicted upon ourselves. “I’ll, uh, I’ll leave it alone for now. Thank you,
Dante.”
He climbs out of the car and opens the passenger door to haul Niccolo out
of the backseat. “Don’t thank me. Thank Nicci. He was willing to trade his
life for yours if that’s what it took to keep you safe. Big heart, this one.”
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 Chapter 32
Niccolo

W
hen I wake up, everything is a disorienting whirl. I’m also not in
my room, which is concerning. The only thing I know for sure is
the sound of Dante angrily yelling in Italian at someone means I’m
in good hands.
As I attempt to sit up, a wave of pain surges through my body, radiating
from my skull to the tips of my hair. I groan and quickly lie back down. “I
have a hangover.” Which seems fitting, since the last thing I can remember
is throwing back shots in a bar that smelled like stale beer.
Dante’s footsteps echo on the marble floor, gradually growing closer. “Nic?”
he calls out, his voice tinged with both worry and amusement. “Oh, shit,” he
chuckles upon coming into the room. “Your face is messed up.”
With aching fingers, I reach up to touch my throbbing forehead, realizing
that the excruciating discomfort is not solely due to the effects of alcohol
but also the consequence of the gash above my eyebrow. “Did you do this?”
I ask, my voice tinged with accusation.
Dante snorts dismissively as he takes a seat on the couch across from me. “I
wish I had, little brother. Alas, it was some biker at the bar who did this.
Lucky bastard.”
I vaguely remember going to Leather & Lager. “Didn’t we start drinking in
Manhattan?” I frown as more of the night’s events come back to me. “How’d
we get to Rosedale?”
“Uber,” Dante replies nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. “Lucky was
trying to get lucky, and Sally tagged along. Meanwhile, you rambled on
about calling Christine. Which must have been some kind of bat symbol
because she showed up at the bar.”
Christine. Fragments of her image flit through my mind, accompanied by a
flash of red, but that could have been blood. “What’d I say to her?”
Dante busies himself with his phone, his fingers rapidly swiping across the
screen. The sight makes me dizzy. “I don’t know,” he responds, his voice
laced with disinterest. “I don’t even know when you called her. One
moment, we were downing shots, and the next, she walked in just as you
were taking a swing at some behemoth of a biker.”
That wasn’t smart. I don’t remember why I wanted to fight the bikers, but I
vaguely recall getting punched in the stomach. “Where’s Luc and Sal?”
“Home, probably. Unless they went somewhere else after Christine showed
up.”
Dante makes a sound of amusement before casually discarding his phone
next to him on the couch. “Listen, Nicci, are you sure you want to protect
this girl?” He probes, a trace of concern creeping into his voice.
“Where is she?” I ask. I’m afraid to sit up again because the pain from the
last time I tried is only just now starting to recede.
Dante repeats his previous statement with a shrug. “Home, probably. I don’t
know, Nic. She dropped us off last night and left. Just answer the question.”
The drive home was a blur. Dante threw me into a car, and the rest of the
trip was a blur of stoplights. “She saved me.”
Dante sits there quietly, staring at me with a rage that I can feel simmering
beneath the surface. “Niccolo, listen to me.” He takes a no-nonsense stance
by leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees. “She said she was
going to give you up. Is that really the kind of girl you want, Nic?”
My stomach churns, an unpleasant reminder that we skipped dinner last
night. It explains why I feel utterly miserable. “Christine’s uncles want her
to get married, and—“ I start explaining.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dante interrupts dismissively. “I know all about that. You
want to fight for her and blah blah blah. But I’m telling you, she was ready
to give you up to secure her freedom. Is that the kind of woman you want to
fight for?”
He doesn’t have the whole story. If the two of them talked last night, that
means she didn’t tell him everything. “She was doing it to protect me,” I
interject, stubbornly defending her. “She believes that if she marries me,
Giovanni will kill me.”
Dante mutters a curse, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Gesù Cristo,” he murmurs, pacing across the living room. “You’re
discussing marriage with the Lucatello girl?”
I shrug my shoulders, watching my brother intently as he paces back and
forth. “I love her, Dante. If you’re not going to support me—“
He cuts me off again. “I’m going to help you. I already told you last night I
was going to help you. We discussed this in great detail. I just wanted to
make sure you knew what you were getting yourself into with that girl.”
I don’t enter into things that I haven’t fully vetted. Just because I haven’t
embraced the family traditions doesn’t mean I didn’t learn at our father’s
knee like the rest of my brothers. “Did she seem mad last night when she
picked us up?”
Dante dismissively waves off the question. “No, just concerned. If I had
allowed her, she would have helped me carry your sorry ass inside,
prepared a late-night snack, and stayed with you until you woke up.”
“But she didn’t do any of that?” I lament, yearning for the sight of
Christine’s beautiful face instead of Dante’s exasperating presence.
“You don’t see her around, do you?” Dante retorts irritably. “I sent her on
her way. I was perfectly capable of carrying your drunk self to the couch,
wasn’t I?”
I wish it would have been a bed, then perhaps my back wouldn’t hurt so
much, but I guess this is better than the floor. “We didn’t wake Adalina or
anything last night, did we?” I wince. “I can apologize if we did. Where is
she?” I make a concerted effort to sit up, and even though my head feels
like it’s going to explode, I hold myself aloft while I look around for my
sister-in-law.
“Don’t worry about my wife,” Dante replies, his tone indicating irritation.
“She’s fine. She doesn’t even know you’re here.”
I can’t remember the last time I saw Adalina. Was it at Thanksgiving? Or
was she visiting family? “I can go. Call an Uber or something,” I mumble. “I
don’t want to interrupt your Sunday.”
Dante returns to his seat on the couch, a serious look in his eyes as he
speaks to me. “I talked to a guy this morning. He’s been keeping his ear to
the ground since Father died. There’s been some talk of the families turning
against us. They see us as weak without Fausto in charge.”
I don’t have time for this. I have about a million other tasks to focus on, the
least of which is worrying about my brother trying to navigate the waters of
organized crime now that Dad is dead. “Do you need me to do something?”
“Be careful,” he warns. “Everyone thinks you aren’t involved in this thing of
ours; they’ll probably leave you alone. But if some lowly button man gets the
bright idea that knocking you off will get to me,” Dante shudders just saying
the words out loud. “I don’t want to have to call your daughter and tell her
that her daddy-boyfriend is dead.”
“Stepdaughter,” I clarify with a glare. “And no one is going to do anything
to me or to the family.” If they did, they’d be asking for a war, and no one
wants that.
Dante remains skeptical, yet he helps me to my feet. “Still, be careful out
there. I don’t want you getting shot. I love you or whatever.”
“Awww,” I tease, a faint smile forming on my lips. “Say it again.”
He tries to suppress a smile, but I can still make out the corners of his lips
twitching. “Never mind. I take it back. I hope they shoot your dick off.”
I sling an arm around his shoulder, leaning onto Dante so he can support
my weight. “I love you too, brother.”
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 Chapter 33
Christine

D
ante told me not to visit with my uncle, but I have to. I already
contacted Giovanni to see if he’d be interested in discussing his
decision to arrange a marriage between Rocco and me. To change
my mind now would be tantamount to slapping my uncle in the face and
spitting on his shoes.
I gird my loins and force myself to drive to Manhattan, giving myself a pep
talk along the way.
“Gio would never hurt me.” When he backhanded me, that was different. It
was a show of discipline intended to keep me in line.
“Gio wants what’s best for me.” Ultimately, he wants me to distance myself
from Niccolo because people will think poorly of us if we carry on this way.
“Gio will see my side and change his mind.” He isn’t so mad at me that he’d
force me to marry Rocco Castiglione if I really didn’t want to.
I repeat the sentences to myself over and over again, trying to find a flaw in
my thinking. But any reasonable person would view this situation through
my eyes. I messed up by fooling around with my stepfather, but I can rectify
the situation. All I have to do is promise Giovanni the moon, and he’ll
dissolve the arranged marriage. Then I’ll give Dante and Niccolo free rein to
figure out everything else.
As I enter Nico’s, a charming Italian restaurant in the bustling heart of
Manhattan’s business district, my eyes immediately fall on Giovanni. He is
ensconced at a table with a beautiful waitress, her white shirt crisp and
pristine against her olive skin. His hand rests confidently on her waist, his
fingers gripping possessively as he dissolves into a peal of laughter. The
discomfort on the waitress’s face is evident, yet Giovanni either fails to
notice or simply doesn’t care as he tightens his hold and continues to revel
in his amusement.
As soon as I sense the uncomfortable tension between the waitress and my
uncle, my body shifts into protective mode. If this were some guy hitting on
Kaye and making unwanted advances on her, I’d punch him in the throat.
But that kind of behavior would get us kicked out of Nico’s, and Giovanni
wouldn’t listen to my pleas if I embarrassed him like that.
Instead, I approach the pair with a forced smile and interject myself into
their conversation with a loud and friendly greeting.
Giovanni releases the trembling girl and stands, offering me a hug. His
embrace is surprisingly warm and tight, a rare display of affection from him.
But I can sense his eyes on the waitress, trying to impress her with his
tender gesture.
“This is my niece,” he introduces me to the girl with the notepad.
“Christine, this is Ariel. She’s a junior at Blackmore. Have you two met?”
I pull away from my uncle and take a seat, shaking my head at the question.
There are 20,000 students on the BU campus. Does Giovanni really think
that I know all of them?
“I’m Ariel, your waitress for today. Can I get you something to drink?” Her
eyes, glinting with unspoken emotion, remain fixed on mine as if trying to
convey a message without words.
I’m not sure what happened before I arrived, but I wish I could assure the
girl that she has my support now. The most Gio would have done in front of
everyone was make her feel uneasy, but I’ll put a stop to that now. “I’ll take
a water. Thank you.”
Ariel nods her head before running from the table. I wouldn’t be surprised if
she never came back; I wouldn’t.
“How have you been?” Giovanni’s lips pull back, revealing a wolfish grin.
His eyes sparkle mischievously as he leans back in his chair, his posture
relaxed and confident. He looks put together with his slicked-back hair and
designer suit.
“I’m alright, Uncle.”
“And how are your classes? Are you missing any today?” The corners of his
lips never falter, forming a flawless smile that conceals his thoughts and
emotions.
As another woman approaches our table with a tray of drinks, she quickly
sets them down and mentions that Ariel will be back soon to take our order.
Before walking away, I catch her giving Giovanni a quick once-over with a
disgusted expression on her face.
“No, Uncle. I scheduled lunch around my classes.” Not that I have too many
classes to schedule around.
Giovanni ordered a draft beer before I arrived. He grabs the glass and
downs a quarter of it, smacking his lips together when he’s finished. “That’s
good. I would hate to be responsible for you falling behind in your classes.
Speaking of classes,” his lips pull tight into a frown, “will you have any
classes with Niccolo after the break?”
I hope my face doesn’t reflect the fear that tears through my body at the
mention of my stepfather. I try to wear a neutral expression, but I’m afraid
my emotions are visible. “I believe so. Nic also teaches an Experimental
Methods in Psychology course in the spring and a Cognitive Psychology
course each semester. Both of them are required for my degree.”
“Have you ever entertained the idea of pursuing a different career?”
Giovanni proposes, his voice laced with skepticism.
My expression contorts into a scowl, and a surge of irritation courses
through me. “No, I haven’t because this is what I want to do. I want to work
with children.”
Giovanni raises a slender finger, attempting to downplay my passion. “Ah,
then perhaps you should consider becoming a teacher.”
My teeth grind together in exasperation, my frustration manifesting in the
clenching of my jaw. The tension builds, causing my cheeks to tighten. “No,
Gio, you’re missing the point entirely. I aspire to do more than simply
educate children. I want to make a transformative impact in their lives. I
want to help them.”
“Teaching, helping,” he nonchalantly waves his hand in dismissal, “it’s the
same thing.”
If I scream at him, I’ll lose whatever goodwill he’s saved up for this
encounter. And God, how I want to kick and scream and yell until he gets it
through his head that I’m not going to become a teacher. But I have to be
the mature one. I have to swallow my anger like a bitter pill and let it sour
my stomach instead of releasing it on Giovanni. “Thank you for the
suggestion, Uncle, but I don’t think that’s the right option for me at this
time.”
A mischievous grin spreads across his face as he lifts his beer to take
another swig, but our conversation is suddenly interrupted by Ariel’s return.
She takes our order without looking at either of us. Giovanni asks her what
she’s majoring in while reaching out to grab her again. In a clumsy attempt
to avoid his advances, she bumps into our table and hastily excuses herself
with an apology. “Sorry. I’m a little busy at the moment. I’ll be right back.”
She’s never coming back.
“Can we talk about the marriage that you and Grandfather are arranging
for me?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Of course, we can. We’re thinking a June wedding will be pretty. The
weather would be warm but not yet burdened with the suffocating heat of
the Kansas summer. And yet, far enough into the season that a rainstorm is
unlikely. You don’t mind having an outdoor wedding, do you?” Giovanni asks
after a moment as if remembering I still have a say in the matter.
I have to force a smile on my face. Inside, I’m angry that all the details have
already been planned out, but I can’t tell my uncle that. “I was actually
wondering if you might reconsider the marriage,” I offer as cheerfully as I
can muster. “I understand why you and Grandfather were upset, but I’ve
ended things with Niccolo and—”
“And, what?” Giovanni raises an eyebrow. His fingers dance along the
tabletop, patiently tapping on the dark wood. “What can you offer me that
will please the Castigliones more than your marriage to Rocco?”
I gape at him, not knowing what to say. “What can I offer?” I echo his
words.
“Yes. The Castiglione family is delighted that we’ve offered a union for one
of their prized enforcers. Saverio says that there will be a reward for our
loyalty. Can you offer me something better?”
He’s gone mad. His actions are beyond rational thought and are evidence of
insanity. “Please, Uncle,” I desperately plead, my voice barely above a
whisper as I glance around the crowded restaurant. “Rocco is a monster.
He’ll hurt me, maybe even kill me.”
Giovanni purses his lips together in a show of mock disappointment.
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you snubbed your family
to stay with Niccolo after your mother’s death. Or perhaps you could have
considered it when you were whoring yourself out in high school to any boy
that would have you.”
“That’s not fair!” I argue. “I dated, but no more than your daughters will
date when they’re in high school.”
“My daughters won’t date in high school,” Giovanni glares. “They know
their role. They know that they are to be the pride of the Lucatello family.
They are well-trained. They won’t throw their virginity away on a sixteen-
year-old boy that can’t tell the difference between fucking a woman and
sticking his dick in an apple pie.”
My face burns with humiliation as Giovanni’s characterization of me
humbles me to the ground. “I’m not a part of the ‘family’, Giovanni. My
mother didn’t want that for me.”
My uncle rolls his eyes. “I don’t care what my sister wanted for you when
she was alive. It’s bad enough that she married an Irish prick who ran out
on her because he couldn’t handle the family he married into. She won’t
control your life from beyond the grave. I want you married to someone of
my choosing, and that’s what will happen.”
The churning in my stomach intensifies, leaving me feeling nauseous and
lightheaded. As if on cue, a tantalizing whiff of freshly baked rolls wafts
through the air as a kind soul places a basket brimming with warmth in
front of me. However, the mere thought of breaking bread with my uncle is
enough to make me want to vomit.
“I will not be coerced into marrying Rocco,” I assert, my voice trembling
with fear and uncertainty.
He reaches out to open the bread basket, pulling out a fluffy roll. As he bites
into it, he savors the flavors on his tongue. Giovanni enjoys every bite,
allowing the tension between us to rise until I think I will explode if another
second passes.
“Did you know I married my wife right out of high school and was
responsible for overseeing her education. I chose not to let her attend
university because I didn’t want it to fill her head with nonsense.”
“I don’t know what this—”
He cuts me off before I can finish my sentence. “Your mother should have
chosen to do the same with you because now you have it in your head that
you have some kind of power here. But make no mistake, Christine, you are
a second-class citizen. You have no rights.”
“This is the United States,” I protest, “not a third-world country. I have
every right—”
“No!” Giovanni slams his fists down on the table, causing the glasses to
shake. Every eye in the restaurant turns towards us as he leans across the
table and whispers sharply, his voice dripping with disdain, “We are not
governed by the same rules as society. The sooner you realize that the
better off you’ll be.”
Are my hands shaking? My hands feel like they’re shaking.
“You’ve had your fun, Christine. You can finish out your second semester of
college. You can do whatever you want. Hell, if you continue fucking your
stepfather, I’ll look the other way. But come June,” he menacingly narrows
his eyes, “you’re done with all that. You’ll marry Rocco and move to Kansas
City. You’ll be his to order around as he pleases. And if you don’t like it, you
can argue with him and see what happens. But I guarantee he’ll leave your
pretty pale skin with fist-sized bruises.”
The restaurant has the heat cranked up, but I still shiver with fear. My
blood feels like it turns to ice, freezing in my veins.
Giovanni leans back in his chair and smirks at me with satisfaction. “I heard
that Fausto Terlizzi died last week. Send my condolences to your boyfriend.
It took us a while to figure out the perfect concoction of drugs to give him;
then, we had to figure out a delivery method. But in the end, everything
worked out. Tell Niccolo he had a chance to deliver what I wanted, and he
failed. Now he and his pissant brothers can deal with the fallout.”
Sometimes, when traumatic events happen, your brain tries to shield you by
blocking them from your memory because they’re too painful to handle.
As if in a trance, I rise from my chair without thinking. I walk away from
Giovanni, leaving behind the classical music playing overhead and the buzz
of people chatting about their Christmas plans. I step into the cold and let
the breeze bring me back to reality.
My uncle is a ruthless monster who murdered Niccolo’s father and now
plans to use me as his next sacrifice. He has no regard for human life, only
his own selfish desires. I am nothing but a pawn in his twisted game of
power and control.
The thought of being tied to Rocco Castiglione for the rest of my life fills me
with dread. But I refuse to go down without a fight.
My uncle thinks he’s the king of the castle, but even castles fall when
they’re under siege.
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 Chapter 34
Niccolo
T ime feels like it’s moving at double speed, leaving me disoriented and
disconnected from the days and my responsibilities.
As much as I hate to take off time during Finals week to help arrange my
father’s funeral, the Dean of my college says that this is the best-case
scenario. All they need to do is find someone to proctor the test, which is far
easier to do than finding someone to teach Psychology to first-year college
students.
Christine is just as easy to please. When I ask her to meet up, she tells me
that she’s studying for Finals and helping Kaye with her pregnancy. The
latter catches me off-guard because I didn’t know that my stepdaughter’s
best friend was pregnant. Unfortunately, I’m too busy consoling Mother and
discussing hors’d oeuvres options to give it much thought.
Dante promised to assist with Father’s funeral arrangements, but I only
catch glimpses of him rushing in and out of his office, his bodyguard trailing
closely behind. Two men stationed at the entrance of the Terlizzi compound
scrutinize IDs and license plates before granting access. I can only assume
that ramping up security means the family is in danger.
My saving grace comes in the form of Salvatore, who deals with all the
logistics of who should be an usher and what church we should host the
funeral at. I can plan a party from a checklist, but Salvatore possesses a
deeper understanding of the intricate dynamics within the Terlizzi family
organization. When I suggest one of the cousins help as a pallbearer, I’m
lectured on the nature of the man’s personal activities for ten minutes
before being told no.
My sister meticulously organizes floral arrangements for the funeral—a
wreath, a spray, and even memorial plants to be taken home by
distinguished guests. Initially, I fail to appreciate the significance of her
contribution, but I received another lecture when I dare to voice my
opinion.
In the end, Salvatore, Lucia, and I emerge as the heroes of the day.
The only person I don’t see is Luciano. Dante insists that our youngest
brother is working on something important to the family, and I can’t help
but envy him for finding a way out of the family get-togethers.

A
fter what feels like an eternity, the day of the funeral finally arrives.
It’s a somber Sunday, the 10th of December, with the ceremony
commencing at 11:00 am in the familiar setting of St. Thomas More
Catholic Church.
“It’s what he would have wanted,” Salvatore assures me, reminiscing about
our childhood visits. “We came here a lot as kids.”
“For Easter and Christmas,” I scoff. “I can’t remember the last time Father
attended Mass.”
Salvatore shrugs his shoulders before waving at someone in the distance.
An older woman whom I swear I’ve never seen before is sending us pitying
looks and a small wave of acknowledgment. “I think that’s our Great Aunt,”
he explains, interpreting the confusion on my face.
Dante does what we should be doing. He walks right up to our alleged Great
Aunt and gives her a hug. We watch as the two of them exchange
pleasantries.
“What a suck-up,” I roll my eyes.
Salvatore stifles a laugh by pretending to cough into his elbow. “Come on,
we should be doing more.”
“What more can we do?” I retort, waving off his suggestion. “We’ve
organized the entire funeral while Dante and Lucky managed to wriggle out
of their responsibilities with flimsy excuses about helping the family. I’ll
stand here and look mournful, but I won’t engage in small talk with long-
lost aunts, uncles, and cousins I haven’t seen in a decade. That’s Dante’s
job, anyway. He’s the new head of the family.”
Salvatore shoves his hands into his pockets and gazes downward. “Speaking
of Lucky, have you heard from him lately?”
“Maybe in the group chat?” I frown, trying to recall the last time we spoke.
“But not for a couple of days. Where is he, anyway? He shouldn’t be allowed
to get out of organizing the funeral and attending it.”
Salvatore anxiously looks in both directions, clocking what everyone around
us is doing before responding. “He’s uh, he’s locked up.” I almost ruin the
funeral for everyone when I turn to sharply yell ‘what’ at my brother. “Hey!”
He hisses at me, “Keep your fucking mouth shut. Jesus.”
Dante casts us a disapproving look as though we are misbehaving. It feels
as if Father is still alive, silently admonishing us.
“Come here.” Salvatore grabs my arm and hauls me to the back of the
church. “First, keep it the fuck down. I can see why Dante said not to tell
you.”
“Fuck Dante,” I glare. “What the hell happened to Lucky?”
Salvatore punches his fingers to his temples and starts rubbing like I’m the
source of his headache. “A few nights ago, a group of guys cornered Luc in
an alley. You know Lucky as well as I do. He wouldn’t have backed down
even if there were a hundred of them.” There’s a desperation in Salvatore’s
voice that tugs on the strings of my heart. “He doesn’t remember all the
details because they beat him up pretty bad. But they broke his hand and
branded him.”
The room starts spinning. I haven’t eaten anything today, but I feel
nauseous. “I don’t-I can’t-I don’t understand.”
Salvatore reaches out to grab my shoulder, steadying me. “You okay, Nic?”
I manage to nod, but it does little to alleviate my uneasiness. My feet feel
numb, and the spinning sensation persists. If it doesn’t stop soon, I’m going
to vomit. “So, the police locked up Luciano?”
Salvatore guides me to a nearby chair, helping me sit down before I
collapse. “No. The Lucatellos left Lucky for dead, but fortunately, he had
enough strength left to call Dante. Dante got him to the family doctor in
time, but the damage had already been done.”
The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. No wonder Luciano hasn’t been
present to assist with the funeral arrangements.
“It was the Lucatellos?” I ask, confused. “How do we know?”
“Don’t lose your shit, okay?” Salvatore prefaces. “The image they burned
into Lucky’s skin was the Lucatello family crest.”
The phrase ‘I’m seeing red’ finally makes sense. I think I literally see blood.
I know I can taste it because I’m biting the inside of my cheek.
“I think you’re on the verge of losing your shit, so I’m going to need you to
breathe.” He’s like a little league coach, telling me to breathe in and
breathe out as if I don’t know how to control my anger.
“Lucky’s okay, Nic. Dr. Stone put him under before burning over the brand.
It’ll lengthen the healing time, but at least he won’t have the Lucatello crest
on his chest forever.”
The doctor burned over the brand. Jesus Christ. I got a second-degree burn
on my hand once, and I wanted to chop it off. I can’t imagine what it must
feel like to be burned twice in the span of a few hours. “Why did you say
Lucky was locked up?”
Salvatore laughs before stretching to his full height. His knees pop as he
moves, and he cracks his back from being hunched over. “Oh, he’s
murderous. Even drugged up at the hospital, the doctor had to restrain him
so he wouldn’t leave and try to kill any Lucatello he could get his hands on.”
“I’d keep your little girlfriend away from him for a while.” Dante walks into
our secluded area, his face filled with a dark mix of despair and loathing. “I
don’t know if Luc has the self-restraint to keep from strangling her just for
being related to the Lucatellos.”
I rise from the chair, the room spinning once more, but I push through the
dizziness. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? He’s my brother, too.” Despite
our infrequent conversations, we’re still family.
Dante purses his lips for a long moment before deciding that I’m strong
enough to handle the truth. “You are not in the family, Nic. Everyone knows
that. They leave you alone because of that fact. And I felt that it would be
more beneficial to keep you out of the loop until Luciano regained his wits.”
“Where’s he locked up?”
“In the dungeon,” Dante answers matter-of-factly. “He was a danger to
himself and others. The others part isn’t quite as concerning. If anything, it
might work in our favor. But he isn’t strong enough to confront the
Lucatellos just yet, and neither are we. We’re amassing our forces, but it
will take weeks before we’re ready to reclaim what’s rightfully ours.”
This is all happening because of me. If I had been a good little boy and
followed Leonardo and Giovanni’s orders, Luciano would be safe, and
Christine wouldn’t be forced to marry a murderer. I did this; I have to fix it.
“I’m in.” I’m not going to hide anymore; I’m not going to stand on the
sidelines and watch as my brothers start a war they can’t finish.
Dante and Salvatore share a laugh between themselves. “What do you mean
you’re ‘in’?” Salvatore questions, feigning confusion. “In what?”
“I’m in the family, asshole,” I tell him with a glare. “Add me to your army.”
Luciano is the last straw. If Giovanni touches someone I care about again,
I’ll kill him.
“Slow down, Professor,” comments Dante, his words dripping with sarcasm
and disdain. “Don’t go volunteering for wars you’re not prepared to fight in.
You’ve always been the softest one in the family. No offense.” But it sounds
like it was meant to be offensive. “You’ll get yourself killed if you’re not
careful. Mom is already burying her husband. Let’s not make her bury a son
next.”
I clench my fists at my sides, once again feeling like this family doesn’t take
me seriously. They never have, and perhaps they never will.
“I’m not going to die, Dante. I want to be included in the next family
meeting. I’ll do whatever it takes to join or sign up, or whatever it is you
people do. This is my family, too, and I’m tired of seeing the Lucatello
brothers hurt the people I love.”
Dante exchanges a glance with Salvatore, and they communicate silently
through gestures and raised eyebrows, a conversation I will never fully
comprehend. “Why the hell not?” Salvatore finally speaks after a moment.
“Give him a shot.”
Trusting Salvatore’s judgment over mine, Dante nods in my direction.
“Revenge and security are good enough reasons,” he decides. “And maybe
that’ll even be enough to keep you safe.”
All I need is a baseball bat to protect myself. Point me in the right direction,
and I’ll come out swinging.
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 Chapter 35
Christine
I chose not to attend the funeral, not out of disrespect but because both
Niccolo and Dante asked me not to.
I expected Niccolo’s request. As close as we’d gotten, Giovanni’s
reappearance and Fausto’s death lobbed a grenade at our relationship that
was straining the intimacy we shared.
I didn’t expect Dante’s request. Niccolo’s came via text; Dante’s came with
a personal phone call. He was polite, the nicest to me he’d ever been. I
could hear the weight in his tone as he pleaded for me to stay away for
Niccolo’s sake.
“He loves you, Christine, but this is very complicated. He needs time.” And
though I wanted to be there for Nic, I respected the Terlizzi family’s wishes.
But a few days later, with Finals behind us and the students packing up to
go home for the holidays, my stepfather showed up at my door.

I t starts with a knock, and Kaye gets up to answer. “I gotta pee anyway,”
she complains.
She opens the door and I can’t see around her at first. “Hey, uh, Chris.” She
steps aside so I can see. “Your father is here.” Her eyes twinkle with
amusement, and she double-checks her pockets. “I’ll be back in a bit. I
should call my mom or something. Nice to see you, Professor,” Kaye nods at
Nic as she walks past him.
Niccolo wears a bemused look on his face as he steps inside. “I think a few
of your dorm mates are students of mine.”
“Former students,” I correct as I sit up in bed. “The semester is over.”
Nic gracefully settles onto the bed next to me, his presence both comforting
and intimate. I instinctively curl my feet under me, finding a sense of ease in
his company. He reaches for a nearby pillow and arranges it behind his
back, making himself comfortable as he prepares to settle in for a
conversation. “Or maybe they’re like you, and they’ll be with me next
semester.”
I shudder to think of another semester in Niccolo’s class. These last four
months have been difficult for the two of us. We’ve butted heads and
succumbed to desires we wouldn’t ordinarily allow ourselves to indulge in.
What will happen next semester? Where will we be in another four months?
“Sienna will be back next semester,” I announce, changing the subject
before I drive myself crazy thinking about the what-ifs and possibilities.
“Oh, god,” he groans. “I swear you two are going to drive me into an early
grave.”
“We aren’t that bad,” I argue. “We know the material.”
Niccolo lets out an exasperated sigh, his eyes rolling in frustration. He
reaches over and gently lays his hand on my ankle, a small gesture to
comfort and ground me amidst our banter. “That you do,” he says with a
squeeze. “What’s Sienna’s plans, anyway? Is she majoring in Psychology or
something? Why is she in my class?”
The cadence of our conversation feels natural and almost mundane
compared to the last few weeks. And for a few minutes, I forget about all
the bad things that have happened to us.
“I don’t think she knows, really. She’s talked about therapy, law, and
becoming a teacher. I think she’s exploring her options.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Niccolo shrugs. “You’d do well to follow her
lead.”
I tilt my head at him with a knowing look. “You know I want to be a Child
Psychologist one day,” I remind him.
“Of course,” he replies smoothly, “but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t
check out other options. Take a creative writing class, or dabble in web
design. There could be something out there that fills your well that you
haven’t even considered yet.”
Since I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks, I haven’t filled him in on the
latest. He doesn’t know that Giovanni is taking me away after the spring
semester or that I won’t be allowed to come back to Blackmore. I’m still
hoping that Dante finds a suitable alternative, but in lieu of a reprieve from
this marriage, I should lower Niccolo’s expectations.
“About next semester,” I begin.
“I should tell you about something,” Niccolo starts simultaneously.
For a minute, we laugh, and he scoots closer to me. “You go ahead,” I usher
him forward, wanting to enjoy the comfort of our shared tranquility for
another minute before I tear it all down.
But Niccolo’s face changes. A dark cloud hovers overhead, shadowing his
features. “There was an incident before the funeral. Luciano was caught in
an alley by some Lucatello thugs, and they hurt him pretty badly.”
Announcing my news first wouldn’t have fared any better. Instead of me
breaking into a cold sweat, he would have. “He’s-he’s alive, right?” I stutter,
feeling like someone pulled the rug out from under my feet.
“Yes, of course,” Niccolo reassures me with a warm smile and another
gentle squeeze. “But it’s escalating this thing between our families, and I’m
afraid this won’t have a happy ending.”
I’m sure he’s right. In what universe does the back and forth between the
Lucatellos and the Terlizzis end with a happily ever after?
“I’m sorry about Luc. I don’t know what’s come over my family. I-I’m not
even involved with them. I don’t understand.”
Niccolo nods solemnly, shifting his weight in my direction. “It’s okay.
Nobody blames you for what’s happening. Family alliances change all the
time, and peace is expected but rarely achieved. Even when there aren’t
full-scale wars, there are skirmishes like ours.”
“I wish my mother hadn’t died,” I groan. “She could have protected me from
this. Maybe if she were still alive, the Lucatellos wouldn’t be fighting with
the Terlizzis.”
“Maybe.” Niccolo voices with uncertainty. “But if your mother were still
alive, we wouldn’t have found each other.”
My lips part in an attempt to correct him, but the words become trapped in
my throat.
Losing my mother meant finding the love of my life; keeping her would have
meant spending the rest of my life searching for someone who could only
ever make me feel half as alive as Nic has. No matter which course my life
would have taken, I would have lost someone important to me.
“But you’d have been safe,” Niccolo adds after a moment. “And maybe your
safety is more important than what the two of us have.”
As he says it, I know that he’s wrong. I’m sad I lost my mother, but I needed
to. It would have hurt more to spend the rest of my life hoping to find what I
have with Nic.
“No,” I reach out to lay my hand on top of his. “It’s not. What matters is you
and me.”
At the beginning of the semester, all I wanted was to get away from my
stepfather. Now, I would give anything to keep him by my side forever. He
is flawed and complicated, and our relationship is messy, but I love him.
Before Nic can respond, the door opens and Kaye returns. “Do you want a
Christmas tree or a Santa cookie? Both are sugar.” She offers, shoving a
plate our way.
Niccolo draws his hand from my leg and places it in his lap. “I think that’s
my cue to go. Have a good Christmas if I don’t see you before then, Kaye,”
he chirps. “And take care of my girl.”
“I always do.”
He stretches as he gets off the bed. “These mattresses are trash. You should
come home for the holidays, Christine.”
He sounds like my father again, but maybe that’s okay. With my best friend
watching, I’d rather he be fatherly than sensual. “I’ll think about it. If Kaye
goes back to Manhattan, I will, too.”
“She’ll be back for Christmas then,” Kaye announces as she sits at her desk.
“I’ll be spending the day with my mother.”
Niccolo bows his head respectfully at her on the way out. “Tell Carrie I said
hello.”
As he leaves the room, Kaye gives it approximately 0.02 seconds after he
shuts the door before announcing, “Do you want to set your stepfather up
with my mom? I like him better than Jackson. If you’re okay with it, I’ll give
Carrie his number.”
“Over my dead body.”
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 Chapter 36
Christine

N
iccolo’s departure gives us something to talk about. Though Kaye
jokes about setting her mother up with my stepfather, she isn’t as
upset about Jackson as she was when she first met him.
“Xavier’s looking into him for me,” she announces proudly.
I scrunch my nose in distaste, surprised by the newfound alliance between
Xavier and Kaye. “This is all just a ploy to get in your pants,” I caution her.
“Xavier has never done anything nice for the sake of being nice.”
Kaye looks unsure. We’ve been saying this for years, but for the first time, it
looks like she might not believe it. “I mean, he picked me up from the bar
the night I met Jackson,” she mumbles.
That night preceded my entire world blowing up; I like to pretend that it
didn’t happen.
“Didn’t he make you throw up?”
“No,” she argues. “It was probably the hangover and the smell of eggs that
did it.”
Raising a skeptical eyebrow, I divert my attention back to the Santa-shaped
cookie on my plate. “Who’s distributing these anyway?” I inquire with a hint
of suspicion.
Kaye shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. “I don’t know. There was a bunch
of them in the lounge with a sign that said ‘take me’.”
“So we’re eating cookies from an unknown source?” I tear off Santa’s head,
narrowing my eyes at his jolly little smile. “How do we know these aren’t
poisoned?”
She chuckles dismissively while popping the Christmas tree-shaped cookie
into her mouth. “This is college, Chris. They’re just cookies. Someone’s
grandma probably sent them.”
“Oh, so we’re eating someone’s stale re-gifted cookies then. These will be
delicious,” I deadpan.
“You’re so dramatic.” Kaye rolls her eyes at me before finishing her cookie.
“Do you want to talk about why Nic was here?”
The air catches in my lungs, and I have to counsel myself to confide in my
best friend because I know how irritable I become when I don’t. But how do
I tell Kaye about Italian traditions even I’m not familiar with? I barely
understand them. How is she supposed to?
“So, how are things with your uncle?” she changes her approach. “You met
up with him a few days ago, right?”
I nod my head miserably and recount the horrible experience I had with
Giovanni, starting with the moment I arrived. “As if his inappropriate
behavior towards the waitress wasn’t enough,” I begin, my voice heavy with
bitterness, “he had the audacity to tell me that I can’t—“ The words get
caught in my throat like glue, refusing to be spoken.
Sensing my distress, Kaye moves closer, sitting beside me on the bed and
rubbing my arm up and down in soft, soothing waves. “You can’t what?” She
asks gently.
I haven’t said these words out loud yet. I’ve thought about them nonstop,
but I haven’t given a voice to my uncle’s orders. I have to force myself to
say them, even though my heart hammers in my chest. “He said that I’m
getting married in June, and I have to move to Kansas City.”
Her brow furrows in surprise. “Wh-what?” Kaye stops stroking my arm, her
hand remaining on my bicep. “What about your education? What about
me?”
I’ve been turning this over in my head for days, trying to understand what
the ramifications of Giovanni’s words will be. And I still have no clue. “I
don’t know,” I slump into the bed, feeling as helpless as I look. “I don’t think
anyone cares.”
“I care!” Kaye glares. “Giovanni can’t make you marry a tyrant and move
away. Can’t Niccolo do something about this? He kept you here when your
uncle wanted you to move a few years ago. Can he say something? He has
to be able to stop this.”
Tears burn the back of my eyes, and I struggle to blink them back.
“Unfortunately, Nic is part of the problem. Giovanni is doing this because
Nic and I have been sort of seeing each other.”
“What!” Her voice raises an octave. “And you didn’t tell me?!”
The term ‘seeing each other’ is too vague.
“We aren’t dating or anything,” I explain. “But I guess Giovanni heard that
we were together at Red Dawg once. And maybe he has a spy in Nic’s class
because he knows about Nic asking me to stay after to chat. Gio’s been
hearing rumors about our behavior, and that’s part of the reason this is all
happening.”
Kaye looks flabbergasted, and I think it’s partly because I haven’t told her
about the extent of my relationship with Niccolo. She doesn’t yell at me for
keeping secrets, though. Instead, she squeezes my arm and says we’re
going to take care of this. “We can’t let your uncle do this. It has to be
illegal. We could go to the cops or—”
But I cut her off before she finishes her train of thought. “We can’t go to the
cops, Kaye. Gio as good as admitted to me that this thing of his follows its
own laws, not the ones made up by our society. If I go to the cops,
something bad will happen. I just know it.”
“We’ll get you into witness protection,” Kaye decides. “He can’t threaten
you, Chris. What aren’t you understanding about this?”
What isn’t she understanding about this? I’m not turning down her notion
because I’m being difficult; I’m turning it down because there’s no other
way. “You know how Malcolm said he’d ruin your career before it ever got
started? Why did you believe him?”
Caught off guard by the change in direction, Kaye stammers her response.
“He’s rich. He’s got the money and connections to blackball me in the law
industry before I even finish my undergrad.”
“That’s precisely it,” I explain, the weight of the situation evident in my
tone. “Giovanni may not have Malcolm’s wealth, but he has powerful
connections. That’s why I can’t go to the police. I might find myself in an
even worse situation than I am already.”
Kaye opens her mouth to argue but quickly closes it. We sit in silence for a
few minutes, the echo of laughter from the hallways occasionally breaking
the tension.
“I reached out to Dante Terlizzi for help,” I confess softly.
“Niccolo’s brother?” she asks, her brow furrowing. “What can he do?”
I shrug my shoulders because, truly, I don’t know. Maybe he can change
Giovanni’s mind. Maybe he has more power than Nic does. I don’t
understand the structure of everything; I just know that if anyone can
protect me, it’ll be him.
“God, this sucks,” Kaye groans. “I thought finally being adults and getting
away from Manhattan was going to be fun.”
“The grass is always greener or something.” For a moment, we laugh, and
everything seems like it’s going to be alright.
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 Chapter 37
Niccolo
Ihaven’t decorated for Christmas since Caterina passed away.
I remember the first year I married her. Cat and Christine spent an entire
weekend bringing boxes downstairs from the attic. Every time I thought
they were finished, a new box appeared. In a matter of hours, the house
transformed into a winter wonderland.
Layers of shimmering fake snow covered every surface while the scent of
freshly cut pine filled each room. Sparkling lights twinkled from the trees
they set up on every floor, casting a warm glow throughout the house. Even
the staircase was adorned with elegant tinsel and delicate ornaments,
adding to the festive ambiance.
My parents weren’t really into the holidays when we were growing up. We
put up precisely one tree in the living room the Sunday after Thanksgiving.
Each of us kids took turns hanging an ornament on the tree until we ran out
of space. And that was it. There was no Christmas music playing through
the house or decorations strewn across the cabinets in the kitchen. We got
our single Christmas tree and gifts on Christmas Day; then, the holidays
were over.
But I tried to recreate the Christmas spirit this year. My heart ached from
loss and longing, and I needed something to occupy my mind.
I started by hanging a wreath on the front door. Vibrant red berries and
lush greenery instantly added a touch of holiday cheer. Then, I carefully
draped fragrant strands of garland along the railing of the porch.
Slowly but surely, I brought down a box of decorations and dispersed them
throughout the house. A miniature 3-foot tree adorned with sparkling lights
in the kitchen. Lights framing the windows on the outside of the house. A
framed photo above the mantle of the one happy Christmas I had with
Caterina and Christine before my wife got sick.
It isn’t much, but it lightens my mood as I crawl through December.
Between hours spent studying the family dynamics to better understand my
role within the Terlizzi dynasty and holing up with Dante to figure out a
solution to Christine’s impending arranged marriage, I feel like I’m
suffocating. The weight of it all feels like an anchor on my chest,
threatening to drown me before I can get a handle on what’s expected of me
and what I want to accomplish.
I’m thankful that Christmas is a reprieve from it all. Dante is spending the
day with his wife, and my single siblings are taking the week off to go on a
booze cruise.
I texted Christine last night, and she said she’d be here bright and early. I
wake up at the crack of dawn in anticipation of her arrival. There’s nothing
for me to do in the early hours of the day except turn on a Christmas movie
in the living room and put a ham in the oven. I’m not making a large feast
for Christine and me. Though I’m sure my family would be more than happy
to eat the leftovers, I don’t want to spend the next three days trying to
figure out how to repurpose ham into sandwiches and soups.
When 9:00 am rolls around, Christine texts that she’s on her way. I pace the
living room for a few minutes while waiting for her to arrive, but I feel like
I’m going to crawl out of my skin. I’m anxious, and I don’t know why.
I move to the parlor where the grand piano Caterina used to play sits in the
corner. The ghost of our memories flees from the room as I near the bench.
Once upon a time, the two of us would sit here at the end of a long day and
play together. Back when I thought I could grow to love her, back when life
was simpler.
I blow a thin layer of dust off the cover and settle onto the bench. As I
stretch my fingers, I’m transported back to when I was ten years old, and
my parents forced me to learn an instrument. Dante was a musical prodigy,
and our piano teacher praised him every chance she got. It took me longer
to figure out how to play, and I resented the constant comparison to my
older brother.
But I am no longer ten years old. When I press my fingers to the keys, it
takes a minute for it all to come rushing back. The first few musical notes
sound tentative and unsure, but grow more confident with each passing
stroke. I recall the first composition I ever managed to perfect, Für Elise,
and let muscle memory lead me through it.
I stopped playing the piano when I was fifteen, much to the disappointment
of my father, even though he only ever liked it when Dante played for him.
At our wedding, Caterina played a flawless rendition of Can’t Help Falling
In Love With You, and it inspired me to take the instrument back up. Only
long enough to make a few memories side-by-side before she was too ill to
get out of bed.
Somewhere in the middle of the Moonlight Sonata, the front door slowly
creaks open. My fingers falter on the keys as I glance up to see Christine
standing in the doorway, illuminated by the sun’s mid-morning rays—the
smile on her face tugs at the strings of my heart.
“I’d forgotten you played,” she announces when I stop abruptly in the
middle of the composition.
I stretch my fingers again, anxious. “It’s been a while. The last time was
with your mother, I think.” Maybe I shouldn’t mention Caterina. It brings to
light the nature of our relationship: two souls brought together by chance
and unlikely circumstance.
Christine closes the door behind her, twisting the deadbolt to lock us away
from the outside world. “Mom tried to teach me when I was younger, but I
was rubbish. I didn’t have the patience to learn and couldn’t appreciate my
feeble attempts at playing. I only liked the piano when she played it.”
Knowing Caterina, she wouldn’t have gotten upset if her daughter chose to
walk away from learning an instrument. My father beat me once because I
said I didn’t want to learn how to play The Nutcracker March for his
Christmas Eve festivities. We grew up very different than one another,
which is what makes being together all that more enjoyable.
The family we build together will be a reflection of hers, not mine. Our
children will have the privilege of growing up with two devoted parents who
will love them unconditionally. We won’t impose strict rules or expectations
on our kids, except for the annual tradition of taking cringe-worthy family
photos at Christmas in matching flannel pajamas. Our home will be filled
with warmth and love, a safe haven for our family to grow and thrive in.
“Sit,” I pat the bench beside me. “We should talk.”
She sets her bag down at the entrance and walks over, nestling beside me
on the piano bench. “If you’re going to try and teach me piano, you’d have
better luck teaching a fish to ride a bike. I can’t do anything with my
hands.”
Caterina could knit and sew; Christine has never been the crafting type. But
it isn’t fair to compare the two of them. I was forced to marry Caterina to
appease my family; I want to be with Christine because she makes me feel
like anything is possible.
“I’m not much of a bicyclist myself, so maybe you can just settle for
listening,” I offer with a teasing grin.
She leans her head on my shoulder in a moment of unexpected tenderness.
“I’d love to.”
In the last few weeks, Dante and I have talked through a dozen different
ways to save her from marrying Rocco Castiglione. I’m still in favor of
killing Rocco or Giovanni, but my brother said both ideas would lead to a
war that the Terlizzi family isn’t ready for.
My fingers gracefully glide over the smooth ebony and ivory keys, each note
of the Moonlight Sonata filling the room with its melancholy melody as I
pick up where I left off. “I think we should get married.”
Christine’s body stiffens beside mine, but she doesn’t outright reject the
suggestion. “What if Giovanni sends Marco to kill you?”
I shrug my shoulders, continuing along in the composition. I make a mistake
that my father would have screamed at me for making two decades ago, but
Christine doesn’t even notice.
“We’re going to make Giovanni an offer, kind of like a dowry,” I explain.
“Dante thinks $25,000 isn’t enough to sway Gio, and I think he’s right. But
we’re going to make him an offer and if he says no, we will use that money
to throw the biggest wedding this side of the Missouri state line.”
A small, subtle smile twitches on her lips; I can feel the corners of her
mouth tugging upwards against my shoulder. “An extravagant wedding is
going to save you from Giovanni trying to kill you?”
“It’ll be insurance, yes,” I explain. “The larger the wedding, the harder it’ll
be for your uncles to get away with murder. If we can give the Midwest
families a show, killing me will backfire on Giovanni. They’ll demand
retribution for my death, and it’ll be the end of the Lucatellos.”
The tension in her body pulls as tight as a garrote around the neck of our
enemies. Dante warned me that the hardest part would be convincing
Christine to go along with the plan because she values her independence.
“Can I keep going to university?” She asks quietly.
I stop playing mid-key, letting the tune hang in the air. “Of course, you can.
Why wouldn’t you?”
Christine takes her head off my shoulder but refuses to look at me. Instead,
she taps a finger on the keys before her, testing the notes. The piano bench
creaks beneath her weight as she shifts slightly, deep in concentration.
“Giovanni said when I marry Rocco, I have to move to Kansas City, and I
can’t go back to college.”
“What?” I demand sharply. “When did he say this? When have you been
talking to him?”
She doesn’t raise her gaze to meet mine. “Just before Finals week. He was
going to be in town, so I asked him to meet for lunch.”
My knuckles turn white as I ball my hands into tight fists, my nails digging
into the flesh of my palms. The urge to slam them down onto the keys in
frustration is almost overwhelming, but I force myself to stay still.
“H-he said that we could do whatever we wanted in the meantime. We could
be together,” she whispers, desperation in her voice. “We could have the
next few months. You’ll get bored of me, anyway. By the time June rolls
around, you’ll be glad Rocco is around to take me off your hands. Then,” she
pauses. Christine clears her throat of the thick emotion building up. “Then I
wouldn’t have to worry about becoming a widow at 19. I don’t want my
uncles to hurt you, Nic. I’ll trade my freedom for your life if that’s what
Giovanni wants.”
The vulnerability in her voice cracks my heart wide open. I wrap my arms
around her waist and pull her closer, forcing her onto my lap, and it still
doesn’t feel close enough. “Listen to me, dolcezza,” my voice a raw whisper,
“I won’t let you do this. I won’t let you trade your freedom for mine. You’re
not a pawn in their twisted game. You are my heart and my soul, and I won’t
let them take you away from me.”
She stiffens in my grasp, and I continue. “I will never get bored of you,
Christine. You are everything to me. More than the beats in my heart, more
than the blood in my veins. I can’t—no, I won’t—imagine a life without you.”
My hands move to cradle her face, wiping away the tears that have begun to
fall down her cheeks. “I will not let you become a sacrifice. Not for me, not
for anyone. I’ll be damned before I let Giovanni or anyone else dictate our
fate. I choose you, and I choose us. No matter the consequences.”
In a moment of recklessness, I seize her lips with an urgency that mirrors
the intensity of my emotions. The kiss is not a tender promise; it’s a fervent
affirmation of my love for her. Our mouths meld together, tongues dancing
in a fiery embrace that conveys my hunger for her. It’s a desperate
exchange, a clash of passion that leaves no room for uncertainty. When we
part, breathless and entwined, I rest my forehead against hers, and our
rapid breaths mingle in the sensually charged air.
“We’re in this together. I will find a way to rewrite our destiny and defy the
fate your uncle seeks to impose upon us. I promise.”
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 38
Niccolo
6.5 Weeks Later • February 10th

“T
he Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre of 1929 is the most infamous
of all gangland slayings in the United States.” Muffled yells echo
through the abandoned building as I pace from one end to the
other. “Seven members of a Chicago gang were lined up in a garage and lit
up with over 90 bullets from submachine guns, shotguns, and a revolver.
The four men who did the job were dressed as police officers.”
When I got up this morning, I thought about asking Dante to get me a cop
uniform for what was supposed to be tomorrow’s event. But Giovanni ruined
our plans.
Instead, I had to settle for my wedding suit with a meticulously tied double
Windsor knot, lapels, a neatly folded kerchief in my breast pocket, and a
pair of expensive cufflinks passed down from my father. Just hours ago, I
was wearing this while I pledged to love Christine for the rest of our lives.
Now it’s covered in blood.
“People think Al Capone ordered the hit. Did you know that?” I turn sharply
in my worn dress shoes. There are scuffs along the toes from our fight in the
parking lot. “I feel like that’s something you would know.”
In the center of the room, Giovanni sits tied to a metal chair. His suit from
the wedding reception has been stripped and torn. The tie he was wearing
now acts as a gag, muffling his arguments. Blood trickles from a cut above
his brow. I had intended to bring him here unscathed, but unforeseen
complications arose when we were kicked out of the reception.
“Speak up, Giovanni,” I shout at him, my voice echoing off the walls of the
empty room. “I can’t hear you.”
Dante snickers in the corner. He leans up against a wall next to a strung-up
Marco. With a pair of chains wrapped around his wrists, he remains
helpless. Every time Marco displays a flicker of anxiety, Dante lands a
measured blow to his gut, exacerbating his torment.
“It’s really disappointing that you aren’t more attuned to the history of this
thing of ours. You,” I point at him with the metal baseball bat in my hands,
“who have been a part of this longer than I have.”
Giovanni looks murderous. If he weren’t tied up, he’d have his hands around
my throat. Unfortunately for him, Luciano got his cast off last week.
Luciano, the little brother of mine that Giovanni thought he’d teach a lesson
by branding him with the Lucatello crest.
Luciano, the literal Boy Scout of the Terlizzi brothers with a badge in knot
tying. Giovanni isn’t getting out of that chair until we say he can.
I cast a nod in Salvatore’s direction. “Remove the gag.”
Sal walks up to Giovanni and crouches down to be at his eye level. “If you
bite me, I’ll knock your teeth out,” Salvatore warns, seizing the tie encased
within Giovanni’s mouth and gradually extracting it.
To his credit, Giovanni doesn’t bite my brother. He waits until Salvatore
drops the saliva-soaked tie into his lap before he spits on him.
My brother reaches up to wipe the glob of spit off his face, nonchalantly
smearing it across Giovanni’s once pristine white shirt. “Animale del cazzo.
Pagherai per quello che hai fatto.” You fucking animal. You will pay for what
you’ve done.
“Go to hell,” Giovanni glares at Salvatore before turning his attention to me.
“And fuck you, Terlizzi. When I get out of here—”
“If,” I interject, my voice icy and devoid of mercy. “If you get out of here. I
haven’t decided if you should live or die just yet. So if I were you, I wouldn’t
be making plans for breakfast with one of your underage mistresses.”
A vivid scarlet hue permeates Giovanni’s face, his anger morphing into a
kaleidoscope of rage. Under his breath, in a barely audible whisper, he
utters a string of death threats barely loud enough for me to hear.
“I thought long and hard about what to do with you. Marco is pretty
innocent.” I toss the enforcer an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry you have to be
here for this. I always liked you.”
Marco’s glare deepens, but he remains stoic, refusing to dignify me with a
response.
“You, on the other hand,” I turn back to Giovanni, “you’ve always been a
prick.”
Giovanni hasn’t flinched since we approached him at the reception. I have
to give it to him: he isn’t a man who backs down from fear. If we were on
the same side, I might actually admire him.
“I told my sister you were a lecher when she married you,” Giovanni spews,
his voice oozing contempt. Despite the chill of the February air, sweat forms
rivulets on his brow. He might face fear head-on, but he isn’t stupid—he’s
still afraid.
“I told her if she ever caught you cheating, I’d cut off your balls. When she
told me you wanted to become a professor, I thought about doing it
anyway.”
I tap the baseball bat against my shoe, feeling rage well up inside of me like
a hot spring. I force myself to do nothing, but every bone in my body is
screaming at me to take the bat to his head.
“I knew the second you went off to college that you’d be fucking around on
my sister with barely legal teenage girls. Color me shocked that the barely
legal teenage girl you targeted was her own daughter.”
Sometimes I swear Dante knows me better than I know myself. Like now,
for instance, as he steps toward me with a look on his face that stops me in
my tracks. “Don’t kill him,” is all he quietly implores.
I cock my head, knowing that even though it wasn’t a conscious thought, it
was in my plans. And Dante somehow knew.
With a curt nod, I agree to his request. Then I raise the bat, bring it down
on Giovanni’s knee, and watch the bone explode with a shower of blood.
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 39
Christine
6 Weeks Ago • December 30th
Setting up a meeting between the Lucatellos and Terlizzis was not easy.
My grandfather wanted reassurance that nothing would happen to him or
his sons if he agreed to come.
Dante offered a hostage, a lesser-known Terlizzi cousin I’d never met.
Leonardo required more, demanding that Salvatore stay with the Lucatello
family in exchange. He said that it was to ensure if we drew first blood, they
could avenge the loss with ease.
Then, there were debates over where the meeting should take place. I
foolishly suggested our home, but Grandfather said that wasn’t a neutral
enough location. In the end, someone rented out the backroom of a
restaurant as if this were a celebration instead of a sit down to discuss my
future.
Once that was decided, Niccolo didn’t want me to attend. “If you’re in the
room, they might try to take you. Or they’ll force you to leave with them.”
I had to get all the Terlizzi brothers involved in order to secure a place at
the table. Niccolo was willing to fight every one of them to keep me safe,
but ultimately, Dante won.
“She has to be there, Nicci. If she isn’t, they’ll send someone to the
university to find her. By the time we leave the meeting, who knows where
she’ll be.”
I never thought about my family kidnapping me to keep me safe, but when
Dante brings it up, I fight the static feeling that slithers down my spine and
enters my bloodstream. I’ve learned through all this that my family isn’t
who I thought they were.
But a week and a half after Christmas, we finally sit down in a private room
in the back of Nico’s to discuss everything.
“The wine here is shit,” Leonardo complains.
Dante looks at the glass in front of him before calmly asking, “Didn’t you
bring the wine?”
Never willing to take the blame, Leonardo squares his shoulders,
straightens his back, and meets Dante’s gaze head-on. “Yes. And it’s shit.
What do you want, Terlizzi?” Leonardo shifts his weight in the chair from
one hip to the other, causing his weathered leather boots to scuff against
the hardwood floors. A subtle wince of discomfort creases his face, a
reminder that the battle-hardened veteran has been in the game longer
than most of us have been alive.
Dante informed us last week that while Leonardo’s presence means he still
has some control over his family, Giovanni is the one to whom we are
presenting the offer. However, out of respect for the older Lucatello, Dante
nods his head deferentially to Leonardo before addressing my uncle. “It has
come to my attention that my brother would like to marry your niece. We
are aware of her arranged marriage to Rocco Castiglione, and we respect
that you are making moves that will benefit your family.”
“Then why are we here?” Giovanni sprawls back in his chair, shifting his
body until he finds the perfect position. “If you respect it so much, why call
a meeting?”
“As I said, my brother would like to marry your niece.”
Giovanni parts his lips, ready to speak, but my grandfather holds up his
hand to interrupt. The atmosphere in the room shifts, quieting to a tense
hush as all eyes turn toward the two men locked in a silent battle of wills.
“Five years ago, I was at a similar table with your father, Dante. He and I
brokered what should have been an advantageous marriage between his
son and my daughter. Unfortunately, my daughter passed away. Instead of
coming to me and asking if there was anything he could do to benefit my
family, Niccolo stole my granddaughter and went his own way.”
My grandfather paints an interesting picture of how the events after my
mother’s death played out. I don’t remember Niccolo stealing me away. I
remember my uncle offered to take me back to Kansas City, and I made the
decision to stay where I had a community of friends.
Dante seems to remember it the same way as I do and speaks in his
brother’s defense. “If I’m not mistaken, it was Christine’s choice to remain
in Manhattan. She was in high school at the time, and it was agreed upon
that disrupting her education would be detrimental at that phase in her
life.”
“It’s funny you use the word ‘detrimental’,” Giovanni reenters the
conversation. “That’s precisely how I’d describe how her reputation is
affecting the family.”
“What reputation?” Niccolo snarls. “She’s done nothing.”
Giovanni’s anger boils over as he slams his fists down on the sturdy wooden
table, causing it to shudder and creak in protest. “She’s done you, Terlizzi.
That’s the problem. Now, no man of substance wants her.”
A playful smirk dances on Niccolo’s lips as he leans in closer, chest pressed
against the table. “Are you saying Rocco Castiglione isn’t a man of
substance?” His eyes glint mischievously as he speaks, his voice low and
velvety.
Tension settles in the room, putting everyone on edge. We all know what
he’s alluding to—Rocco’s very public image as a wife killer. Giovanni might
have told me to my face that he’d rather see me dead than with Niccolo, but
that’s because there weren’t any witnesses. With Niccolo’s brothers around
and the Lucatello family here to witness the interaction, Giovanni doesn’t
repeat his earlier outburst.
“Marriage to Rocco Castiglione is a fine outcome for a woman of Christine’s
reputation,” he says between gritted teeth.
I didn’t think I had much of a reputation, but I guess I was wrong. I feel like
I’ve kept my private life pretty quiet, but not according to my uncle.
“Disregarding her alleged reputation,” Dante dismisses the notion with a
wave, “we would like to buy out the marriage contract to Rocco
Castiglione.”
Once again, Leonardo cuts off Giovanni before he can speak. “The marriage
contract between Rocco and Christine has already been signed and sealed
by Saverio Castiglione. He has already announced certain rewards for this
gracious gift of marrying my granddaughter to his most fearsome enforcer.
Can you match those benefits?”
“Does this thing of ours have a 401k now?” Niccolo glares. “A retirement
plan? An arrangement where you get to live out the rest of your days in
Boca Raton? Just come right out and tell us what you want.”
“So that’s a no.” Leonardo settles into his seat, sinking back as he crosses
his hands over the broadest part of his stomach.
Niccolo abruptly begins to stand up, but Dante and I swiftly place a hand on
his shoulder, halting him in his tracks. He pauses and then slowly sits back
down, muttering curses in Italian under his breath.
“$25,000,” Dante offers. “And we’ll pay it today.”
Giovanni snorts at the number, unimpressed. “That’s a pathetic offer, and
you know it.”
“What I know is that your dealings with the Castiglione family depend upon
Rocco and Christine getting married, which isn’t happening until June. So, if
something were to happen to either of them, it would be a shame you didn’t
get your coveted spot. Wouldn’t it, Leonardo?” Dante has been dancing
around the edges since the meeting began, but now he’s taking the gloves
off.
To their credit, no one on the Lucatello side of the table even flinches. I
think Giovanni pales slightly, but he defers response to his father. I don’t
think he expected Dante to know about Leonardo’s temporary role within
the family, a role that will escalate to a permanent position once I’m
officially Mrs. Rocco Castiglione.
Leonardo recovers quickly enough, and he gives Dante a nod of respect. “As
to your offer,” he returns, “we get the $25,000 whether or not she makes it
down the aisle?”
“Correct.” Dante shoots a look at Luciano, who pulls a briefcase out from
under the table. “You can walk away with it today. All you have to do is say
the word.”
I’m holding my breath, crossing my fingers, and praying my grandfather
agrees. I can’t marry a wife killer. I won’t survive if I’m forced to stay at
home and bear Rocco’s children for the rest of my life. I’ll die if I’m required
to be submissive and obedient.
“You’re a good replacement for your father,” Leonardo begins. “You drive a
hard bargain. I expect that one day, you’ll be less of a pup and more of a
wolf, but you’re just starting out. You don’t have the experience my sons do.
You don’t have their killer instinct. But I expect you’ll learn it. One day,
you’re going to be a formidable adversary.”
With a controlled and deliberate movement, Luciano gradually lowers the
sleek, black briefcase back to the floor. The air around us seems to shift,
and I can sense the tension mounting. As my eyes scan the faces of those
gathered around the table, it becomes clear that the tides of power are
shifting.
Niccolo’s normally confident demeanor fades, his face paling with worry,
while Marco’s features betray a hint of amusement.
“But you overplay your hand. What you’re offering is an insult; I expect
you’re aware of that. It’s a lowball offer meant to warn me, but I’m not
afraid of you, Terlizzi. You are not yet a formidable opponent. So take your
$25,000 and your warning, and shove them up your ass.”
I’m as good as dead. I’m going to have to marry Rocco. I know Nic says he
has another plan, but how will he ever get it past my grandfather?
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 40
Niccolo
I lean in close to Christine, whispering soothing words in her ear. “It’s
okay,” I reassure her, my voice barely audible. “It’s going to be okay.”
Dante, irritated, glances at us from the front seat. “What’s wrong with her?”
In truth, I have no idea. When Leonardo rejected the money, something
inside of Christine snapped. Since then, she has been staring off into the
distance, lost in her own thoughts. Even as I guided her from the restaurant
to the car, her gaze remained fixed ahead, devoid of expression.
“Shock, maybe.” I speculate. Taking her hand, I gently bring it to my lips,
pressing kisses to her knuckles and fingertips. “What’s wrong, Christine?
Tell me how I can help you.”
Luciano interrupts our conversation, announcing, “Sally’s free. He claims
he’s best friends with the guys who were keeping an eye on him.”
I can hear Dante roll his eyes; that’s how sarcastic the air in the car
becomes. Though I smile at the two of them, I give my full attention to
Christine. “We anticipated this, dolcezza. We knew all along that your uncle
would refuse our offer. This is not the end.”
Something I say breaks through the wall she’s built up. Slowly, Christine
turns her head to meet my gaze. There is a deep sense of longing in her
eyes, a hollowness that threatens to shatter me into a million pieces.
“Someone is going to die,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “They
will kill one of us.”
I wrap my arms around Christine and pull her into me. She’s stopped by the
seatbelt, but I don’t care. I unbuckle mine and scoot closer until her head is
on my chest. “No one is going to die,” I respond in a soothing tone.
But something about her prediction makes me uneasy. I fight the
uncomfortable feeling growing in my chest for the rest of the drive to
Dante’s; I pretend not to notice it when I put Christine to bed in one of the
spare rooms. But the minute the door closes behind me, the weight of her
words weighs me down.
“Is she okay?” Dante’s voice startles me, causing me to jump nearly a foot in
the air.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” I hiss at him, realizing he has been
lurking in the hallway without my knowledge.
“It’s my house,” he deadpans as if that’s enough of an explanation.
I shush him, gesturing for him to follow me down the hall. “For starters,
don’t ever scare me like that again. What if I was carrying a gun? I would
have shot you.”
Dante snorts, slapping my back. “That’s cute, Lolo. Keep thinking you’ll
shoot me in my own home.”
We make our way downstairs, where Luciano waits in the living room with
Salvatore. They speak in muffled whispers as we descend the staircase, but
when they see the two of us, they suspiciously stop talking.
“What?” I ask, glaring at them. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Luc replies. “What’s wrong with you?”
I narrow my eyes at the pair, distrusting Salvatore and Luciano with every
fiber of my being. “You two were whispering about something. What was
it?”
“Let it go, Nic,” counsels Dante. “It’s just speculation.”
He knows? He wasn’t even down here when they were talking. “Someone
better tell me what’s happening right now.” I refuse to be kept in the dark.
There is too much to contemplate, too much happening, for me to remain
oblivious about the events unfolding within my own family.
My stepdaughter is upstairs having a mental breakdown, and we have to
start planning the wedding that will save her life. Classes resume in a few
days, and I have yet to make any preparations for the new semester. I’m
exhausted, beat down, and there is no stopping the reality train from
barreling down the tracks.
“I think she’s right,” Luciano finally confesses after a pause.
Confusion creases my forehead. “Christine?” She’s the only ‘she’ that comes
to mind. “Right about what?”
Tension weaves through the room like silent, odorless gas, leaving
devastation in its wake. My three brothers exchange weary glances as if
arguing over who has to break the news to me.
Dante, always willing to seize any opportunity to assert his dominance,
offers to shoulder the responsibility. “I think her uncles might attempt to kill
you.”
I need a stiff drink and a sunny beach. Stat. I can’t handle this. I know I was
brought up in the same household as the three men in front of me, none of
whom even bat an eyelash at the talk of murder, but I can’t handle it. My
life was always supposed to be easy. I wasn’t supposed to have to deal with
shit like this. Picking a career outside of the Terlizzi family’s reach was
supposed to protect me.
“You’ll be fine,” Luciano interjects, breezily dismissing my concerns. “You’ll
be on campus for the next few months. They can’t kill you on campus.”
With my jaw agape, I blink uncomprehendingly at him. “I come home every
night, Luc. Are we assuming that if they can’t get me on campus, they won’t
attempt to kill me in my own home?”
A lengthy silence engulfs the room. Eventually, Luciano purses his lips and
throws himself onto the couch, propping his feet on the coffee table. “You
know, you might be onto something. I take back what I said. You probably
won’t be fine.”
“This is why I don’t like you.” I give my little brother the fiercest glare I can
muster. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Mom says I’m perfect just the way I am,” Lucky grins.
He’s got huge little brother energy. One of these days, it’s going to get him
popped in the mouth. “Don’t talk to me.”
A wave of laughter rolls through the room, dispersing some of the tension.
It doesn’t make me feel better about my impending murder attempt, but it’s
enough to pierce the nervous energy and get us talking.
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 Chapter 41
Christine
4.5 Weeks Ago • January 10th

C
lasses started a few days ago, and Kaye’s schedule is still packed
from dawn until dusk. I asked her if she wanted to slow down since
she is pregnant, but she told me this is the best time to put her foot
on the gas.
“In the fall semester, I really will have to slow down because we’ll have a
baby, but I’m not going to let a baby bump or some morning sickness keep
me from achieving my dreams.”
It’s an inspiring little speech that convinces me to add four more hours to
my week. I wanted to double it, but Nic convinced me not to.
“We need to plan a wedding,” he reminded me. “And you need to tell your
best friend because she needs to be fitted for her bridesmaids dress.”
Ignoring him seemed like the easier path to take, so that’s what I did. I’d
tell Kaye about my impending nuptials eventually—maybe the morning of
the dress fitting.

T
he wedding is in a month—the weekend before Valentine’s Day. I
asked to push it closer to spring, but Niccolo insisted that we do it
sooner rather than later.
It seems like just yesterday it was Christmas. Nic and I were eating ham
and potatoes on the couch, watching Jim Carrey’s The Grinch. Everything
seemed like it would take care of itself, and I didn’t have a care in the
world.
Now, the bitterly cold January wind whips me in the face, taunting me with
its icy clutches. Each gust stings my cheeks and numbs my nose, making it
hard to catch my breath. I dart from Seaver Center to the McCade Library,
trying to cram homework in between classes.
My watch buzzes when there are ten minutes left before Niccolo’s class,
and I pack my bag and bundle up to face the harsh winter wind again. It’s
supposed to be 30 degrees outside, but the Kansas wind chill has gotten it
down to 15. Exposed skin can get frostbitten in weather like this, and I
make a mad dash for Brewer Hall.
The once lively and bustling campus grounds lay deserted today. The usual
gathering spots are eerily still, devoid of chatter and laughter. Everybody is
afraid of the cold, and they hole up in the library or their dorm room to
hang out and study. It’s the perfect weather for curling up by the fire with a
cup of cocoa.
Instead, I’m walking from one class to another. I momentarily consider
cutting through the Student Union building for warmth, but it’ll add an
extra five minutes to my walk, so I decide to go around the building.
As I round the corner, my heart jumps into my throat as I come face to face
with a pair of looming figures. Clothed entirely in black, they blend into the
shadows of the building behind them. It takes me a second to get my
bearings after I spin around, but I recognize one of the men standing before
me.
“Gio?” I look up at my uncle. “What are you doing here?” The nagging voice
in my head says to turn around and run, but I ignore it because my uncle
would never hurt me.
“Chrissy,” he smiles, “am I glad to see you.”
A sharp and sudden surge of fear grips my chest, causing my heart to race
and my thoughts to scatter like frightened birds. Did they hurt Nic? Is he
safe? Will I arrive at his classroom to find him lying in a pool of his own
blood on the cold tile floor? The possibilities swirl in my mind, each more
terrifying than the last.
“I wanted to introduce you to your fiancé. Chrissy, this is Rocco,” he
gracefully steps to the side, gesturing towards the well-dressed gentleman
standing behind him. “Rocco, this is your future wife. Isn’t she pretty?”
The enforcer is just as fearsome in person as he is in the pictures I’ve seen
of him. His face bears thick scars from past battles, a testament to his
strength and brutality. But it’s his eyes that truly strike terror into my heart.
They hold a crazed look, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. The
intensity of his gaze makes me want to run for cover. This man is not
someone to be trifled with, and I can’t help but feel small and insignificant
in his presence.
As he extends his hand to shake mine, my courage falters. I am paralyzed by
fear, unable to move or speak as his outstretched hand lingers between us.
“Don’t be disrespectful,” Giovanni chides. “Shake his hand, Christine.”
My palms grow clammy at the thought, but I force myself to reach up and
place my hand in his.
Rocco’s grip is like a vice. He clasps my trembling hand and holds it tight,
his rough, weathered palm sending a shiver straight through me. His grip
tightens briefly, the only warning before the interaction turns sour.
His eyes roam over my body, studying my curves with cold detachment. The
weight of his gaze is heavy with insidious intent, and before I can pull away,
I’m met with a twisted smile that reveals his yellowed, uneven teeth. “Treat
this as a lesson,” he announces. Then, without warning, his fist shoots out at
lightning speed and crashes into my cheekbone.
Pain explodes through my entire body as I stagger backward, the coppery
taste of blood filling my mouth. My uncle speaks, but I can’t make out his
words over the buzzing in my ears as I try to understand what just
happened. The world spins around me, stars dancing before my eyes.
Rocco lunges forward with the grace and ferocity of a wild animal, his
movements swift and precise. His next blow connects with my rib, and the
bones cracking under his force make a sickening sound. Rocco’s eyes glint
with primal intensity as he continues his assault, each hit calculated and
ruthless. The scent of his blood and sweat fills my nostrils. I instinctively try
to recoil, but I am no match for his brutal strength.
Agony grips me as I gasp for air that refuses to enter my lungs. Each breath
is a sharp intake of searing pain as I fall to the ground. I try to summon the
strength to crawl away, but Rocco is on top of me, his thighs pinning me in
the dirt as he rains blow after blow into my stomach. His fists are like
hammers, relentless and unyielding as they pummel my defenseless body.
Through blurry, tear-filled eyes, I see Rocco towering over me, his eyes
gleaming with sadistic satisfaction. I can feel his hot breath on my face and
hear the faint sound of his deep chuckles. He looks down at me with a cruel
smirk, relishing in my vulnerability as if it were a delicacy. He revels in
every whimper that he pulls from my lips with his well-placed fists. He
enjoys my pain.
His knuckles are stained with crimson, evidence of his violence, and still,
his thirst for dominance remains. He grazes my jaw with a blow, then my
temple. The pain lasts for an eternity, and all I can do is endure and hope
that it will end soon.
But just as darkness threatens to swallow me whole, my uncle’s voice cuts
through the silence. “Shit. Someone’s coming.”
A figure materializes from the periphery of my shattered vision—a stranger
silhouetted in murky grey. He’s tall and imposing, no match for Rocco, but a
witness to the savagery, and my savior.
“Leave her alone,” he growls, the man’s voice resonating with chilling
authority as he approaches.
Rocco’s face contorts with rage and frustration as he forces himself to his
feet. He stumbles back, momentarily unsure of himself. But it only takes a
moment for my uncle to command the scene.
Giovanni grabs Rocco by the arm and pulls him away from my mangled
body. As the stranger yells at them to stop, I watch them begin to sprint.
My head is spinning, a sensation that sends sharp pains radiating through
my limbs. Through the haze of my blurry vision, I see a figure crouching
beside me, his concerned face coming into focus. It takes a moment, but I
realize that I recognize him. “Jackson,” I choke out his name. Carrie’s little
boy toy. He is as handsome as I remember, while I have never looked worse.
“Shh. It’s okay.” With one hand under my legs and the other behind my
head, Jackson effortlessly lifts me off the ground. My legs dangle loosely in
front of me as I am cradled against his chest, feeling safe and secure in his
arms—a distinct difference from how I felt moments before.
The echoes of soothing words are the last sounds I hear before succumbing
to unconsciousness. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice a gentle lullaby in
the chaos. “I’ve got you, Christine.”
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 Chapter 42
Christine
I open my eyes, wincing as the harsh fluorescent lights pierce my groggy
state. Blinking several times, I try to clear the fog that clouds my vision.
Where am I?
The rhythmic beeping of machines echoes through the sterile room,
blending with the soft whispers of nurses and the distant hum of medical
equipment. Each chirp and blip is a steady rhythm, stretching endlessly
through the clinical and detached room. Methodical, monotonous, surreal.
I’m in the hospital.
I feel like I was run over by a truck. My body feels like it’s encased in lead,
heavy and unresponsive. I try to move, but a surge of agony shoots through
my limbs, effectively immobilizing me.
I am hurt. How did I get hurt?
I force myself to take small, shallow breaths as panic threatens to consume
me. Closing my eyes, I focus on the sound of my own ragged breathing,
trying to calm the pounding of my heart that echoes in my ears.
I am okay.
Somewhere just beyond the door to my room, I hear arguing. The urgency
in their voices fuels the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
My uncle. Rocco. Jackson?
Fleeting remnants of memory flood my mind in disjointed waves, like a tide
that never fully recedes. My fingers twitch involuntarily, trembling with a
mixture of fear and uncertainty.
I force myself to sit up despite the pain, wincing from the aches of protest.
As I scan the room with bleary eyes, I take in the unfeeling white walls
adorned with impersonal artwork. The scent of antiseptic lingers in the air.
The room is a degree cooler than I’d like, causing goosebumps to form on
my arms.
A nurse, her pale pink scrubs crisp and clean, bustles through the door with
an air of efficiency. Her face is etched with lines of compassion, but they do
little to ease my trepidation. My heart races as she approaches my bedside.
“You’re awake,” she announces with a gentle smile. “You gave us quite a
scare. How are you feeling?”
Little tubes and wires protrude from my body, leading to the machines that
make up the symphony of my nightmare. “What happened?”
With a sense of purpose, the nurse strides over to my bed and snatches the
clipboard from its perch at the end. “Your vitals look good.” She makes the
rounds to each of the computer screens behind me. My health is displayed
in numbers and lines, none of which make sense to me.
Before she can answer, the door creaks open, revealing my unlikely savior.
“Morning, sunshine,” Jackson greets with a smile.
“Your boyfriend here saved your life.” The nurse points at him with her pen.
“If he hadn’t found you when he did, those thugs might have killed you.”
Thugs. Rocco. Giovanni. Might have killed me.
Gently, Jackson’s hand settles on my forearm in a comforting gesture. “Can
you give us a minute?” His voice is smooth as honey, but his words carry a
hint of command as he politely requests the nurse to leave.
“Of course,” she replies. “I’ll go let the doctor know you’re awake. He
should be in shortly.”
As the nurse leaves the room, Jackson removes his hand. “Sorry,” he
apologizes with a wince, “but I had to lie. When we got here, the doctor
asked about your family, and you started freaking out. They had to give you
a sedative because you were yanking out your IVs. I called Carrie, and she
said you have a stepfather in Manhattan and some family up in Kansas City,
but I figured it was safer to lie and say I didn’t have their info. At least until
you woke up and could tell me what happened.”
The last time I saw Jackson, he was blowing me off at the Pennington estate.
I had forgotten that he worked on campus; I had forgotten that he existed at
all. “You saved me,” I frown.
Jackson nods. “Of course I did. I was headed to lunch when I saw you go
behind the student union building. I guess I was nosy,” he blushes, cheeks
filling with a light shade of pink. “I followed you. I figured if you caught me,
I could apologize for my behavior a few weeks ago at Thanksgiving. But I
rounded the corner of the union and saw those two guys beating you up.
One was just watching, but the other looked like he was going to kill you.
When I yelled at them, they ran away.”
“Rocco wouldn’t have killed me.” I don’t think so, anyway. He needs me to
marry him, but I don’t have to walk down the aisle to do it. If I’m in a
wheelchair and someone is pushing me, I’m sure that counts, too.
“You knew those guys?” Jackson looks at one of the machines next to me,
his eyes narrowed in concentration. “Why did they do that to you?”
I open my mouth to reply, but it turns out I don’t have anything to say. I
don’t know why Giovanni and Rocco cornered me on campus, I only know
that they did. I assume they were there to issue a warning to Nic and me.
“Thanks for not getting my family involved,” I change the subject.
“You seemed really upset when the doctor brought them up.”
I don’t remember that. The last thing I can recall is Jackson’s voice cutting
through the onslaught of blows raining down on me. The rest is a blur.
Luckily, the doctor knocks on the door and makes his entrance. He’s an
older man with salt and pepper sprouting from his beard and a kindness in
his hazel eyes that reminds me of warm hugs on a cold day. “Miss
Lucatello,” he greets, “I’m Dr. Stone, Head of Emergency Medicine. I was
on-call when this young man brought you in last night. Do you remember
me?”
I shake my head no.
“That’s okay.” His smile is compassionate and sympathetic. “You had a mild
concussion and three fractured ribs. There was some internal bleeding, but
we isolated the source and embolized the blood vessels. You had to have a
blood transfusion and antibiotics, and you’re on pain meds for now, but
you’re through the worst of it. You have a lot of superficial injuries, several
facial lacerations, muscle strains, and some torn ligaments, but I don’t think
any of them will need surgery. Considering what you looked like when you
showed up with Mr. Reid, this is all positive news.”
What universe is this clown living in? In what world are three fractured ribs,
multiple facial lacerations, and torn ligaments positive news?
The doctor pauses for a minute before breaking more news. “Now that
you’re awake, I should tell you that I’ll be reaching out to Dante Terlizzi to
update him about your condition.”
A frown blossoms on my face. “Wh-what?” I turn to Jackson to pin him with
a glare. “I thought you said you didn’t tell them about my family.”
Dr. Stone clears his throat. “He didn’t, Miss Lucatello. However, Niccolo
Terlizzi is named as your emergency contact. I am very familiar with the
Terlizzi family… if you know what I mean.” He pauses to give me a knowing
look. “And I made a personal call to Dante after you were out of critical
condition.”
I shouldn’t be surprised. Why else would the Head of the ER be interested
in my case? I’m sure the hospital gets drifters like me coming through their
doors every day. I’m not special; I am just related to important people.
“While we are happy to respect your wishes and allow your boyfriend to
stay, I feel like it’s my duty to inform you that I will be sharing progress
updates with Dante.”
That means Niccolo is going to know what happened if he doesn’t already.
I’m surprised he hasn’t busted down the door to see me.
“We’ll need to monitor you for a couple of days, Miss Lucatello. In that time,
if you’d like us to reach out to any of your family members, we’re happy to
do so. Do you have any questions for me?”
I guess he already answered when I’m getting out of here. “No,” I reply
sulkily.
It’s only a matter of time until Niccolo shows up. He won’t care if I’ve
specified no family allowed. I reckon he’ll fight every doctor and nurse that
stands in his way to get to me.
“Can I tell Kaye now?” Jackson asks in a stage whisper. “She’s called you
twelve times.”
I look over at Jackson to see him waving my phone in the air. “Oh, god,” I
groan. She’s going to lose her shit when she finds out what my uncle did.
“If you think that’s bad, wait until you see how many times your stepfather
called.”
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 Chapter 43
Niccolo

“I
’m going to find her and kill her,” I growl, my voice dripping with a
blend of anger and desperation. The living room serves as my
battleground, my restless pacing back and forth from one end to
another amplifying my frustration with every step.
Dante’s been here for hours. I called him after class was over to let him
know that Christine hadn’t shown up. At first, he said he wasn’t my
stepdaughter’s babysitter, and he didn’t care about her whereabouts. But as
every phone call went unanswered, when even Kaye had no idea where she
was, Dante was willing to admit that something was wrong. He showed up
after dinner and has been steadily plying me with drinks ever since.
“You won’t kill her,” Dante interjects calmly, his voice a steady balm to my
raging storm. “Especially if her being gone is through no fault of her own.”
I ignore him. “And after I kill her, I’m going to chain her to her bed and
never let her leave again.”
Dante chuckles, amusement dancing in his eyes as he gets up to pour me
another Scotch. “Careful, brother. You’re starting to sound more and more
like me every day.”
With a wrinkle of my nose, I take the glass from his hands and sip. The
familiar burn of the amber liquid provides a temporary respite from the
chaos swirling within me. “What if she’s hurt, D?” I finally vocalize the fear
gnawing at my insides.
“She’s not hurt,” he announces with a suppressed yawn. “Her phone died or
something. She’s probably in the library.”
I pause in my pacing to give him a pointed look. “It’s 11:00 pm. The library
is closed.” Besides, my class was at 2:00. There’s no way her phone’s been
dead for nine hours. “Also, Kaye said she’d let me know the second
Christine returns.”
Dante looks like he doesn’t think much of my relying on one college girl to
inform me about another’s whereabouts. “Our greatest concern should be if
her uncles had anything to do with this. But considering she was on campus
all day, someone would’ve noticed if the two of them were forcibly dragging
a screaming redhead into their car.”
His words may lack comfort, but the logic behind them is sound. If someone
had been kidnapped from campus, we would have heard about it by now.
“So you’re saying she’s fine.”
“I’m saying if Giovanni taking her to Kansas City is our primary concern,
we’re probably in the clear.”
A moment later, Dante reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. I
didn’t hear it go off, but apparently, he did. “Let me take this call.”
I swear at him under my breath when he walks out of the room as though
he’s unbothered by this whole situation. The bastard has never been
worried about anything a day in his life; that’s what makes him a good
leader. I worry too much. Salvatore parties too much. Luciano doesn’t care
enough. Father would never have expected the three of us to run the
business as long as Dante was around.
In my older brother’s absence, I consider what I want for my child one day.
Christine doesn’t want kids yet, but I can’t imagine marrying her next
month and not starting our family as soon as possible. I want a brood of
Terlizzi children, half a dozen at least, running around the house and
keeping us busy.
I want to teach my sons how to fish, how to throw a football, how to respect
a woman. I want to teach my daughters how to protect themselves, how to
play the piano, how to say no to a man that doesn’t treat them like a queen.
I don’t want my kids to grow up the same way that me and my brothers did.
I want them to see that their mother and father love each other. I want
them to know that they could come to us with anything. I want them to
believe that anything is possible if they’re willing to work hard enough.
I will respect if Dante and Adalina have kids one day and choose to bring
them up in the traditional Family lifestyle, but I don’t want that for my kids.
I never even wanted this for myself.
Dante’s return jolts me out of my reverie. “Hey, there’s news,” he declares,
a tinge of uncertainty coloring his words. “Well, maybe it’s not entirely good
news, but it’s better than nothing.”
Maybe it’s the Scotch that’s muddling my head, but I don’t think Dante
makes a lot of sense right now. “How about you tell me what the news is,
and I’ll determine if it’s good or bad?”
“See, you’re going to think this is bad news, but it’s really not.” There’s a
look of apprehension on his face that wasn’t there before. Dante
uncharacteristically walks over to the portable bar and pours himself a
drink.
I narrow my eyes at him. I’ve been around my brother long enough to know
when he’s keeping something from me. “What aren’t you telling me,
Dante?”
He sips on the amber liquid, his nose scrunching with distaste. “This stuff is
terrible. I should’ve gotten you something better for Christmas.”
“Dante,” I snap my fingers, demanding his attention. “Who was on the
phone?”
He tosses back the rest of his Scotch, slamming the glass on the bar when
he finishes. “You’re going to want to freak out, but I suggest that you don’t,
okay? There’s a lot of factors in play and too much at stake to lose your—”
“Just spit it out,” I cut him off.
“Christine is in the hospital, but don’t worry, she’s alright!” He hurriedly
adds. “Just a few broken ribs, lots of swelling and bruising, the usual for
when someone is attacked.”
His admission takes me right back to July 4th, when the police called and
told me that Christine was in an accident. They said she’d be fine. They
comforted me with facts about her health. They told me she was on her way
to the hospital, and I could see her anytime. But their cold, unfeeling
delivery only served to make me feel worse.
“I have to see her,” I mumble.
Thankfully, Dante moves quicker than my whiskey-laden mind, stepping in
front of me and gripping my shoulders firmly. “No, Nic. Silas said when he
brought up her family during intake, she started having a panic attack. They
had to sedate her, and she hasn’t woken up yet. When they asked her
boyfriend about contacting her family, he said he didn’t have anyone’s info,
and he’d wait until she woke up first to make any decisions.”
The unfamiliar name sends my anger spiraling. “Who the fuck is Silas?”
“Silas Stone,” Dante states calmly. “He’s the Head of Emergency Medicine
at the hospital, and he’s on the Family payroll. He saw your name on
Christine’s intake paperwork as her emergency contact. He called me
because he was worried after her reaction when she arrived.”
I was threatening to kill her and lock her up when all along she’d been at
the hospital. I’m a terrible human being. I’m the worst man in the world. I
deserve every bad thing that’s happening to me. “You said her boyfriend
was with her. Who is with her, Dante?” I demand, dark clouds of jealousy
thundering inside me.
His face morphs into a wince. “I don’t know, honestly. Silas said the intake
paperwork was filled out by a man named Jackson Reid.”
The name doesn’t ring any bells. But the good news is that it means he
probably isn’t related to her uncles.
“I know that the two of you have become really close lately,” Dante begins,
carefully picking and choosing his words. “But could it be that she was
seeing someone else?”
“No,” I declare with unwavering conviction. If Christine had been seeing
another man, I would have known, and I would have eliminated him before
he had the chance to touch her. “We need to go to the hospital. I need
answers. I have to—“
But my brother cuts me off with a shake of his head. “Right now, she isn’t
accepting visitors. Silas said when she wakes up, he’ll see if he can get her
to change her mind. But for now, all we can do is wait.”
“Wait?” The word echoes off my tongue with uncertainty. “I can’t wait,
Dante. I feel like I’m going crazy. Every fiber of my being is screaming at
me to rip you limb from limb until you can’t stop me from going to the
hospital. I want to hurt you. I want to hurt you to make myself feel better.”
In an uncharacteristic move, Dante takes a step back and spreads his arms
out. “Then do it,” he declares. “If hitting me would make you feel better,
then hit me. I’ll let you hit me until I can’t take it anymore.”
His acceptance dulls the painful throbbing of fear and anger in my chest.
“Why would you let me do that?”
“Because right now, we don’t have all the facts. All we know is Christine
arrived at the hospital badly beaten, accompanied by a man we’ve never
heard of. We don’t know what we’d be walking into if we went to the
hospital right now. So if staying here and waiting makes your skin crawl,
take it out on me. I can handle it. Whatever you need, little brother, you just
tell me, and I’ll make it happen.”
Dante’s speech stops me in my tracks. I don’t think I’ve given him his due.
For years now, I’ve hated him because everyone likes him so much. I
thought because I didn’t like him, he was probably kissing everyone else’s
ass to make them like him. I never considered that everyone liked him
because he’s a stand-up guy.
“Let’s find out who this Jackson guy is,” I decide, determination morphing
my expression.
He lowers his arms, but the look on his face never changes—sincerity mixed
with genuine concern. “If that’s what you want, Nic.”
I nod my head slowly, feeling the itchy feeling in my chest begin to fade.
“Reid, you said?”
“Jackson Reid,” Dante confirms. “You want to start making phone calls?”
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 Chapter 44
Christine
3 Weeks Ago • January 20th

“W
hen we were kids dreaming of our future weddings, I never
anticipated security guards standing watch,” Kaye grumbles,
casting an anxious glance at the two men in black stationed at
the entrance of the bridal shop. “And I definitely didn’t imagine the bride
looking like she went three rounds with Mike Tyson.”
I’m healing rather quickly, except for the ribs. Every time I laugh too hard,
a searing pain radiates through my entire body. It’s a truly unique
experience, and I hope I never have to experience it again.
“Bonus. Every shade of white seems to go with faded bruises,” I observe
with a lopsided smile. “Just look how well the soft purples and yellows go
with this cream dress.”
Kaye does not look impressed. Her eyes travel the length of my body with a
sour expression on her features. “You know, when I suggested a few weeks
ago that you should tell your uncle you didn’t want an arranged marriage, I
didn’t mean you should have chosen to marry Nic instead.”
“Pretty judgmental considering you’re wearing your stepbrother’s
engagement ring around your neck, and you’re pregnant with his child.” I
retort, glancing at her belly. Lately, she’s been putting on more weight.
Perhaps not to the untrained eye, but I’ve known her since kindergarten,
and I can tell that she’s pregnant. Anyone else would just assume she’s put
on the freshman fifteen.
Kaye sweeps her hand across her stomach with a small smile playing on her
lips. “Okay, yeah, fair enough. But I love Xave.”
“You’ve grown to love Xave,” I correct her. “A few months ago, you would
have run him over with your car if given the chance.”
“And wouldn’t you have done the same to Niccolo?” she challenges.
Yes. No. Maybe so. “I wouldn’t have run him over,” I decide with a frown. “I
might have hit him with the car door, but I wouldn’t have run him over.”
Kaye doesn’t respond. Instead, she dismisses the dress I have on with a
wave, changing the subject. “You’ve never been a mermaid-style kind of
girl. Try another one.”
With only three weeks remaining until the wedding, I have to pick a dress
today. Niccolo said that he would make sure any alterations were completed
in time, but I have to make a choice if I want someone to start working on it.
“Sorry, I’m late!” Sienna rushes through the front door. “Those guys outside
had my name down as Sierra, and I swear to God they ran a full background
check instead of just poking their head inside and asking if I belonged
here.” She drops her bag down on a chair and sizes me up. “Cute dress.”
“No. Terrible dress,” Kaye glares. “If she has to hightail it out of the church
because she realizes that marrying her stepfather is a mistake, she needs
less restrictive material around her knees.”
Sienna waves off Kaye’s concern with a dismissive hand gesture. “All we
need in the event of a runaway bride is a waiting car. If we scoop her up
and toss her in the backseat, she doesn’t have to run anywhere.”
The two of them eagerly chat about the best way to whisk me away from the
mistake they think I’m making while I reenter the dressing room to try on
another gown.
My best friend reminds Sienna that if we run from this wedding, we’ll be on
the run for the rest of our lives. “So we’ll probably have to pack a bag or
two in advance. You know, Xavier is going to be upset if I go on the lamb
with you, but I think if we make him the getaway driver, he’ll get over it.”
Xavier and I have a begrudging relationship with one another built solely on
our mutual love and respect for Kaye. I’m sure he’d love to be the getaway
driver at my wedding because he’d see it as another way to curry favor with
the mother of his child.
“You think we’ll all have to disappear?” Sienna asks, her voice tinged with a
frown. “Because we have mid-terms two weeks after the wedding. If we
aren’t going to be here, I’m not going to study.”
I poke my head out from behind the curtain concealing the dressing room.
“I’m not running away from my wedding. I love Niccolo.”
“Pretty sure the first time we talked about him, you said he had a stupid,
ugly face,” Sienna recalls.
I let the curtain fall shut, glaring at the wall instead of Sienna. “I’ve
changed my mind. People are allowed to change their minds.”
In a stage whisper, Kaye adds, “Kind of like how I changed my mind about
Xavier when we fell in love, except she’s marrying Nic for safety.”
This is what I get for all the half-truths. If Kaye and Sienna could
understand what I’m running from, they wouldn’t be so nonchalant about it.
But it’s my fault for not confiding in them that the man who assaulted me is
also the man I’m supposed to marry in June. I didn’t want them to freak out,
and Nic thought we could spare them some concern if we fibbed. Now look
at the mess we’ve gotten ourselves into.
I throw back the curtain and stand before them, partially clothed in a
wedding dress that I haven’t pulled up past my waist. “Listen because I’m
only going to say this once. My relationship with Niccolo is not
conventional. We’ve blurred a lot of lines together, lines that society frowns
upon. And yes, I’m marrying him to get out of another marriage, but it
would have happened eventually. Nic understands me on a level so much
deeper than anyone else ever has. And whether we get married next month
or five years from now, nothing will change. I love him. Our journey might
have been a little messy, but who has the perfect love story? Really? Tell me
one couple that didn’t have to go through struggles.”
Silence falls upon the room. For a long minute, we stand there staring at
one another, tension mounting with each passing second until finally,
Sienna breaks the quiet with a whisper. “That’s a really nice bra. It makes
your boobs look great. Where did you get it?”
We dissolve into fits of giggles, the gravity of the moment shattered by our
laughter. I pull up the dress, covering myself while shaking my head at the
two of them. “I should’ve picked more serious bridesmaids.”
Kaye and Sienna walk over to assist with fastening the dress’s closures,
their hands moving with tender grace. “But where would be the fun in
that?” Kaye remarks.
I wince as the dress cinches tight against my ribs, a reminder of why we’re
doing this.
In the beginning, I thought Niccolo came up with the idea of getting
married so he could claim ownership over me. Getting married would mean
that no other man could have me. I’d have a ring on my finger and an MRS
that warned off the boys.
But my uncle deliberately allowed a man with a notorious mean streak to
beat me until I blacked out. My future fiancé took great pleasure in
delivering every blow in an effort to teach me a so-called lesson.
If I have to marry into this lifestyle, I’d rather marry into it for love.
Love with a man that respects me.
Love with a man that would do anything for me.
Love with a man that would never put his hands on me the way Rocco
Castiglione did.
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 Chapter 45
Niccolo
My mantra has become: Never let Christine out of my sight.
My brothers insist that it’s impractical to watch her every second of the day.
But I know better. For the right price, you can do anything.
I have carefully selected security guards who are constantly on high alert,
their eyes trained on Christine’s every move.
Sometimes she’s aware of their presence, like now as she embarks on
wedding dress shopping with her bridesmaids. The guards stand outside in
their crisp black suits and earpieces, reporting back to me every ten
minutes.
But occasionally, the guards seamlessly blend into the sea of students at
Blackmore, remaining unrecognizable while she is oblivious to their
presence. They go to class with her and make sure she is safe at all times—
and she is none the wiser.
After finding out she was in the hospital, every second felt like an eternity
as I waited for her call. I thought that I would go crazy and rampage
through the city before she called. Silas Stone got back to Dante with news
that she was awake. She called me a few minutes later.
I wasn’t mad at her for what happened. How could I be?
According to Christine, her uncle and Rocco ambushed her on campus. She
had been going about her usual routine, nothing out of the ordinary, when
she decided to take a shortcut behind a building that she usually didn’t
take. And that’s where they appeared, blocking her path with sinister grins
and menacing intentions.
I almost had to take Dante up on his offer to beat the shit out of him when I
hung up with Christine. I was so upset by what her uncle had allowed Rocco
to do to her that I was murderous. I knew it was retaliation for going
against him. I knew it was a response to the Terlizzi family putting out an
announcement that we would marry in February. I knew it was a message.
Yet, I found myself relegated to the sidelines, my anger festering helplessly.
It didn’t matter if it was a message, a warning, or a lesson—as Rocco so
graciously called it. I couldn’t do anything.
But as it turned out, Christine’s savior, Jackson Reid, is connected to Kaye’s
mom. I offered him a reward for saving Christine’s life, but he graciously
refused, deeming it a fair repayment for insulting her on Thanksgiving. I
didn’t know what he meant by that, but I let it go because whatever
happened at Thanksgiving couldn’t possibly have been as bad as what
would have happened if he hadn’t stood up to Giovanni and Rocco.
Christine tells me that she’s getting better day by day, but every time I
catch a glimpse of the dark bruises that mar her beautiful face, I get angry
all over again.
When Giovanni backhanded Christine for disrespecting him, I let him get
away with it. I warned him not to touch her again; I told him what would
happen if he put his hands on her again. He may not have been the savage
beast that beat Christine, but he gave the order. And he’ll pay for it.
In the silent moments in between classes…
In the early morning hours before my alarm pierces the silence…
In the late nights when I delve into the depths of poorly written psychology
papers…
I am consumed by thoughts of revenge.
Dante says that marrying and protecting Christine is all I need to do, but no
one has ever hurt the woman he loves. He doesn’t understand the primal
need inside me to make Giovanni pay.
Like a predator stalking its prey, I will find out his weakness. I’ll study his
routines and habits to find out when and where he’s most vulnerable. Then I
will meticulously plan my retribution.
Giovanni Lucatello will soon find out that all of his money and connections
offer no sanctuary from my wrath. I will bring him to his knees and revel in
the cries of his suffering.
No one hurts Christine and gets away with it. Not now. Not ever.
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 Chapter 46
Niccolo
1.5 Weeks Ago • February 1st
Ten days. The wedding is in ten days.
Ten days until I stand at the end of the aisle, heart pounding as I wait for
my beautiful bride.
Ten days until I place a ring on Christine’s finger and lock her down forever.
Ten days until the bounty on my head raises exponentially.
“Hey. Lover boy,” Dante snaps his fingers at me, bringing me back to the
present. “Are we planning our revenge or daydreaming? Get over here.”
I move away from the window, cheeks dressed in a hue of embarrassment.
“Sorry. I was just thinking about how much my life is going to change in ten
days.”
Dante shoots me an exasperated look. “It’s going to change even more in
eleven days when you’re dead if you don’t get the fuck over here and help
us figure out the plan.”
I walk over to the kitchen table to find it littered with pizza boxes and empty
beer cans; it’s like a frat party threw up in here. “The plan is simple. The
morning after the wedding, Sal and Luc will grab Giovanni. While my wife is
having a nice brunch with her bridesmaids, we’ll be beating the shit out of
her uncle. By the time we clean up and make it back home, he’ll have bled
out in an alley, and all our problems will be behind us. What else is there to
figure out?”
“Contingencies.” Dante’s expression remains stern. “What if Sal and Luc
can’t find Giovanni? Or worse, what if one of them gets injured? Or there’s
an unexpected security sweep at the location where we’re planning to take
Giovanni?” He leans back in the chair, his body language rippling with
unspoken tension. “What if he takes a shot at you, and you show up the day
after your wedding with a black eye?”
Dante thinks he’s so smart because he plans for every eventuality; there
isn’t a spontaneous bone in his body.
“If I get a black eye, it’ll be the least of our concerns,” I retort, trying to
alleviate the tension.
My brother snarls, “Then why don’t I give you one right now?”
“Touchy, touchy,” I click my tongue at him playfully. “What crawled up your
ass and died?”
Dante stands up so fast that he flings the chair into the wall. “You, actually,”
he says with a glare. “You were all ‘let me be part of the family’ and ‘I’ll do
whatever it takes for Christine’. To the point that you might be bringing the
wrath of the entire Castiglione family down on our heads. All because you
want to fuck your stepdaughter. I knew there’d be some reconfiguring after
Father died, but I didn’t think it would end with us breaking off from the
Midwest faction.”
I don’t think I understood half of what he just said. “What Midwest faction?”
He roars like an injured beast. “The fucking Castiglione family, you dumb
fuck. You think we’re strong enough to withstand a war? All because you
want to protect your stepdaughter?”
Salvatore gets to his feet, anxiously laughing. “Dante, leave him alone. This
isn’t his fault. He’s just doing—”
“Shut up,” Dante snaps at Salvatore before turning his attention back to me.
“Do you understand the predicament we’re in? I’m arranging troops like I’m
a god damn war General.”
I curl my hands into fists, urging myself to remain calm. Dante and I need to
find common ground amidst our frustrations; fighting only weakens us. “I
never intended for it to escalate like this, and you know that,” I say, meeting
his gaze head-on.
He takes a menacing step towards me, his ire palpable. “Forget your good
intentions, Nic. You have no idea the pressure I’m under right now. I’m
trying to resolve your issues with the Lucatellos, predict the actions of the
Castiglione family when we defy Saverio, and my wife is—“ Dante pauses
mid-sentence, his anger biting off his words before they fully form.
“What about your wife?” Luciano chimes in. “Is everything all right with
Adalina?”
Dante is strung tighter than a bow. The look in his eyes makes me unsure if
he wants to confide in me or kill me. “She’s pregnant,” he admits with a
begrudging half-smile.
The room erupts with congratulatory sentiments from our younger brothers.
Salvatore starts rummaging through my fridge, looking for champagne,
while Luciano starts making bets on the baby’s gender. But Dante and I
continue staring at one another, locked in a stalemate of our making.
“You’re afraid,” I accuse. “The Dante Terlizzi I know would have taken on a
hundred armies for his family. But now you’re afraid.”
His jaw ticks, biceps rippling as he clenches his fists. “Watch yourself, Nic. I
don’t care if your wedding is next Saturday. I’ll knock you the fuck out right
now.”
But I press my luck. “You’re having your first child, and that’s why you’re
afraid. You don’t want to do anything that might get you killed before the
kid’s birth. You’re going to be a father, Dante,” I place emphasis on his new
responsibilities. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to take a lesser role if
it means protecting the ones you love.”
“You would know all about changing roles for the ones you love, wouldn’t
you?” Dante’s eyes flicker with a mix of emotions.
“I do, actually. I took up a mantle I wanted no part of because the person I
care about, the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, is in danger.
I’m doing things and hearing things I never wanted to be a part of. I
stepped the fuck up because that’s what I have to do.” I don’t realize I’m
shouting until I hear my voice echo back to me from other rooms. “If you
want to do the opposite and take a step back because that’s the safest route
for you and Adalina, then do it. But I understand better than anyone how
you feel about making a choice that contradicts who you are.”
Salvatore returns with his keys out. “I’m going to run to the liquor store so
we can celebrate properly. You guys need anything? Beer? A ‘Get Along’
shirt?”
His joke breaks the spell between us. Dante smiles despite himself and
reaches forward with an open hand to take mine. “There’s a lot of pressure
on me right now. Forgive me, brother.”
I take his hand, and he pulls me into a hug. “Forgive me for making your
burden heavier. What do we need to figure out about next Sunday?”
Family has its unique way of weathering storms—the ability to disagree
fiercely one moment and stand united, ready to die for each other, the next.
Family means being there for each other through the good times and the
bad—without judgment, without conditions.
I’ve never quite felt like I completely fit in with my brothers, but I’ve always
known that if I needed them, they’d be there for me. No questions asked.
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 Chapter 47
Christine
Present Day • Morning of the Wedding

B utterflies would be a blessing right now. I feel like there are elephants
stampeding through my stomach.
“Technically,” Kaye begins as gently as she can, “you’re underage, and no
one will buy you liquor. I asked one of Niccolo’s brothers, and he laughed at
me.”
I don’t know which one it was, but I hope someone knocks him out. “Go
back out there and tell him I just need one drink to settle my nerves. Or a
Valium. Whatever he’s got. I’m not picky.”
With a quick, graceful movement, Sienna springs up from her spot on the
couch, her hands clapping together to redirect our attention. “No, babe, you
don’t need either of those things. You’re marrying the man you love today.
You’re going to be okay. You have nothing to worry about.” She pauses in
the middle of her monologue to ask, “But for funsies, can you tell us why
you’re feeling this way? Maybe talking about it will ease your nerves.”
Any other day, I might keep my thoughts to myself to protect them, but it’s
my wedding day. If I don’t share what’s going through my head, I might
explode.
“I had a dream last night that my uncle showed up at the wedding and shot
everyone. I’m worried that one of these days, he’s going to walk on campus
and kill Niccolo in his classroom. I’m afraid that Rocco is going to show up
at my dorm room when I’m alone and kidnap me. I’m worried that my uncle
will follow through with killing me because he said he’d rather I be dead
than happy with Niccolo. I don’t know what people are going to think about
my relationship with Nic, and I’m scared they’re going to judge us when
they find out that he used to be my stepfather. And I think I’m most terrified
that this entire crazy plan of Nic’s is actually going to work out, and all this
worrying is for nothing.” As I finish and catch my breath, I feel my heart
pounding.
Kaye and Sienna stare at me for a long minute, both of them trying and
failing to hide their shock. After a long moment, my best friend turns on her
heel and leaves the room. We can hear snippets of her conversation with the
man outside, and I think she’s talking to Salvatore.
When she returns, Kaye is red in the face and holding her swelling stomach.
“He said he’d get mimosas,” she announces proudly.
My eyebrows shoot up, impressed by the way Kaye stood up to Niccolo’s
brother. “What?”
“I thought it was cold feet or something,” she explains with an apologetic
wince. “But what you’re worried about are real problems.”
“Scary problems,” Sienna adds in a dramatic whisper.
Kaye nods her head in agreement. “So if you’re thinking about all that and
the only thing you need to settle your nerves is a little liquid courage, then
I’ll make it happen. I’ll make anything happen for you today, Chris.”
Their comforting words help, maybe more than the mimosas will. My heart
rate slows, and I don’t feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a panic attack
anymore.
I walk over to the couch in the bridal suite and flop down. “I don’t think I
could do this without the two of you.”
Sienna and Kaye rush to the nearest chairs, taking their responsibilities as
bridesmaids seriously. “You don’t have to do anything without me,” Kaye
assures me.
“You’ve had a pretty good life without me in it,” Sienna adds, “but your life
is going to be even better now that I’m here. Just think about it: me yelling
at some cousin of yours because he looks at you judgmentally for marrying
your stepfather. No one is messing with you today, chica. Not on our
watch.”
A few months ago, I didn’t even like Sienna. Her confidence and unfiltered
honesty intimidated me. But now, she’s someone I rely on for emotional
support. She’s my best friend, second only to Kaye. “I love Niccolo, I really
do. I’ve thought about marrying him, but I didn’t think it would happen until
I was finished with my Bachelor’s degree, at least. This,” I pause, struggling
to find the words. “I didn’t expect any of this to happen.”
Kaye reaches out to take my hand, entwining her fingers with mine. “In life,
you are never going to expect the moments that change your life. They’re
going to happen to you whether you’re ready for them or not. Life is lived
forward, but we only understand it in reverse. One of these days, this is all
going to make sense. I promise.”
There’s a question on the tip of my tongue, a dozen of them. How can she
promise that this will make sense? How can she be so calm about it? How
can she act like there isn’t life or death waiting on the other side of this
madness?
But I don’t ask any of my questions. Because maybe she’s right. Maybe I
need to live through today and a thousand days just like it before it all
makes sense.
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 Chapter 48
Niccolo

“L
ast chance,” Dante reminds me as we line up outside the church
doors and wait for the music to begin. “If you want to back out,
tell me now. I’ll get Lucky to cause a diversion.”
Since Christine only wanted two bridesmaids, I had to make the difficult
decision of picking between my brothers. When I didn’t pick Luciano, he
wasn’t hurt. Instead, he got it into his head that he should officiate the
wedding instead. He made a big deal out of getting ordained online in less
than ten minutes; Mother did not approve.
If anyone can cause a diversion so I could run out of here without being
noticed, it would be Luciano.
“I’m good. I’m ready for this,” I tell him. This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten
married, but it’s the first time I’m marrying someone of my choosing. If
Giovanni came through the doors right now and offered me a million dollars
to walk away from Christine, I wouldn’t even look at him twice.
Dante turns to fuss over my tie, his hands shaking with secondhand
nervousness. For what feels like the hundredth time in the past hour, he
straightens the knot and tucks in a stray strand of fabric. Every time he
makes eye contact with me, he looks like he might burst into tears. It’s a
side of Dante that I’ve never seen before—raw, vulnerable, and emotionally
charged.
“I’m proud of you, Nicci,” he begins.
We’re going to miss our cue. The music is going to start playing, and we’ll
need to walk through the doors to the waiting audience, and we’ll miss it.
Then Lucky will think I ran away, and he’ll start freestyle rapping. I have to
divert this conversation before it causes a scene.
“This isn’t my first wedding,” I remind him with a tight smile. It isn’t even
my first wedding to someone in the Lucatello family.
“I know.” Dante continues to fuss over my tie. “But this is the first time
you’re marrying someone you love. It is an extraordinary feeling, isn’t it?
Life changing, some say. When I married Ada…” his voice trails off,
breaking into a whisper as his throat constricts with emotion.
I place a gentle hand on his arm, urging him to continue his story. He
doesn’t talk about his wife much, even though he says they’re deliriously
happy. “What happened when you married Adalina?”
He runs his thumb across the knot of my silk tie before raising his gaze to
meet mine. “Marrying Adalina was the single most beautiful moment of my
life. I’ll never forget the way she looked in her dress or how I felt walking
back down the aisle with her hand in mine.”
Their marriage, which happened a year ago, was a touching affair. I stood
next to Dante as his best man and watched him recite his vows to her in
Italian—a declaration of love so deep and intense that I felt like I was
intruding.
“I hope you, Sal, and Luc find what I have. When you see Christine walking
down the aisle, I hope you realize how much you’d be willing to sacrifice for
her. And most of all, I hope you’re happy, little brother.” Dante’s hands drop
to his sides as the sketch of a smile blooms on his lips.
Despite all the teasing and jokes my brothers and I make about Dante’s
contentious relationship with his wife, we don’t know what happens behind
closed doors. Maybe they’re tender to one another; maybe they’re happier
than we know.
“Christine is everything to me, Dante. She is the sun and the moon, the
stars that guide my path. She’s the only person that could have made me
turn my entire life upside down.” My love for her has changed me, and she
never asked for any of it.
Dante brushes invisible particles of dust off my shoulder before playfully
tapping my cheek, his affection for me evident in the gesture. “I don’t
pretend to understand your relationship, Nic, but if she is the one you want
to be with, then so be it. I don’t have to understand it; no one does. It’s your
marriage, and the only person that needs to understand it is you.”
The swell of music from inside the church breaks the spell.
Salvatore, who had been standing off to the side, unnoticed, throughout this
entire conversation, now steps forward and claps a firm hand on both my
and Dante’s shoulders. “Well, kiddos, it’s time to go on a walk. Unless
you’re talking about running away. In which case, I wish someone would
have told me so I could have brought my running shoes.”
I chuckle and sweep away my brother’s grip. “I’ll never run from Christine;
I’ll only ever run to her.”
“Well, if you don’t start running down that aisle, people will start thinking
that you skipped out on your bride,” Salvatore reminds me.
Dante gestures me forward. “What’s the over-under on whether or not she
runs out on him?” My face turns sheet white until my big brother bursts into
laughter. “I’m kidding, Lolo. That girl loves you. Now go get married; it’s
time to begin the rest of your life.”
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 Chapter 49
Christine

T
he wedding happens in the blink of an eye. One minute, I’m getting
dressed with Kaye and Sienna; the next, we’re lining up to walk down
the aisle.
“Last chance,” Sienna whispers loudly, “we can still run away if we need
to.”
But my nerves have long since settled. Once I pulled on the wedding dress,
a simple white strapless gown, I realized there was nowhere else I’d rather
be.
I walk through the doors of the church, and everyone stands, turning to
stare at me with all the love and affection of newfound family and friends.
But the only person I see is Niccolo.
He waits on the altar, his face breaking into a smile when he sees me. And I
realize in that moment that whatever comes next, it’s all worth it.
We recite the usual vows and promise to love one another for as long as we
both shall live, and then Niccolo places the ring on my finger, and it’s over.
The ceremony takes no more than twenty minutes from start to finish,
including a prayer of safety composed entirely in Italian by his mother. It’s
quick but meaningful. We bound ourselves with oaths, promising each other
the rest of our lives.
The line of well-wishers consists of Terlizzi men hugging me and welcoming
me to the family. Of cousins kissing my cheeks and telling me how excited
they are for us. Of my best friends laughing and crying as they send us to
the hotel in a bulletproof SUV.
“My love,” Niccolo whispers in my ear as we step into the hotel’s ballroom
where the reception is being held, “this is all for you.”
The room erupts with cheers when they see us. For a minute, I almost
forget that this hastily arranged marriage was to save me from another.
While we’re sitting down to eat, I pretend I’m not bothered by the fact that
I’m the only Lucatello in the room. When Niccolo spins me around the
dance floor, I barely notice my aching ribs—a wedding present from my
uncle and former betrothed.
The scent of wine hangs thick in the air, blending with the pounding beat of
the music that brings couples to the dance floor. As our wedding guests
party and mingle, their laughter and voices fill every corner of the room.
And I never feel alone, not even for a second. When I excuse myself to go to
the bathroom, Kaye and Sienna are there to help me hold my dress.
“How are you doing?” Kaye asks as we wash our hands.
Despite all my fears and concerns, I’m fine. The mimosas from earlier in the
day did their job, calming my nerves and leaving behind a pleasant warmth
in my stomach that helped to carry me through the wedding. But a nagging
sensation in my chest puts me on edge.
“Is it weird that this day has been almost perfect?” I check my makeup in
the mirror, half expecting to see mascara trailing down my face or a hair
out of place. “Given the reason we had to get married so quickly, isn’t it
weird that nothing bad has happened?”
Sienna hops up on the bathroom counter, her legs swinging back and forth
as she waits for us to finish. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“It just makes me nervous,” I reply with a frown. I feel like I’m waiting for
the other shoe to drop; something always goes wrong at a wedding. The
photographer gets stuck in traffic, or the mother of the groom wears white
to the wedding. Something bad always happens, and then the wedding goes
on. But nothing has gone wrong yet, and it makes me wary.
“What if the bad thing is the SUV blowing up when we leave or someone
setting our house on fire when we’re sleeping tonight?”
“Jesus,” Sienna whispers under her breath. “Morbid much?”
It brings a smile to my face despite the nerves beginning to rear their ugly
head again. “Sorry,” I apologize. “I would feel better if someone vomited on
the dance floor or something.”
Kaye offers to be the sacrifice, her face appearing a little green in the dimly
lit bathroom. “I’m feeling queasy anyway. Did you guys have to have a
seafood option?” She complains with a smile.
We make our way back to the reception, shaking hands and accepting hugs
along the way. I didn’t realize Niccolo’s family was so large. I meet what
feels like a dozen aunts and uncles and a hundred cousins. Not to mention
Nic’s friends among the Blackmore University staff and people close to the
Terlizzi family who have been invited out of respect. There are over 300
guests, and they’re all happy to see us.
“You mind if I go dance with Xave?” Kaye asks. “I keep seeing the same
busty Italian girl over there trying to climb into his lap.”
I look at her baby bump and raise an eyebrow. “You think he cares about
one of Niccolo’s cousins when you’re carrying his child? He only has eyes
for you, Kaye. Go on,” I gesture with my head. “Go enjoy time with your
man.”
I quickly spot my husband in the bustling crowd. Niccolo and his siblings
stand around a table together, throwing back celebratory shots. As I walk
over, Lucia spots me and comes running up, squealing. She wraps her arms
around my neck and excitedly says, “I’m finally going to have a sister!”
“Hey!” Dante glares. “What about Adalina?”
She releases me and squares her shoulders, meeting her brother’s intense
gaze with one of her own. Kudos to Lucia for having the courage to stand up
to him because Dante Terlizzi scares the shit out of me. “I can’t be friends
with a ghost, Dante. Maybe if Adalina showed up to a family event, we could
—” but she stops mid-sentence when the brunette beauty appears, as if
summoned because her name was spoken too many times.
“Lucia, a pleasure.” Adalina walks up, slipping into Dante’s arms like they
were made just for her. Her gaze flickers toward me, and a curious smile
curls around her lips. “Welcome to the family, Christine.” She pauses for a
moment before chuckling, “Again, anyway. Wife is a more fitting title than
stepdaughter, don’t you think?”
Dante’s arm tightens around his wife’s waist, his jaw tightening as his lips
form a hard line. “Ada,” he chastises, “stop.”
She turns to look at him with all the poison of a rattlesnake ready to strike.
“You finally let me out of my cage, darling. Let me have a little fun.”
If his hands dig into her skin any harder, he’s going to leave bruises.
“Excuse us for a minute.” Dante looks like a man trying to smile through
getting stabbed. He whisks his wife away, leaving us standing there in
awkward silence as we watch them retreat.
Maybe this was the bad thing that has been gnawing at me all day. I mean,
Adalina being bitchy wasn’t on my bingo card of things that could have
ruined the day, but I’ll accept it.
Luciano clears his throat, garnering the attention of everyone in the Terlizzi
inner circle. “I don’t want to rain on anyone’s parade, but I imagine you
didn’t send your uncle a wedding invitation, right?”
I snort because I can’t help myself, shoulders shaking slightly as I try to
stifle my amusement. “I’m sure he’s aware it’s happening. That was the
whole point, right? But no, I didn’t invite him.”
“Alright. So I have some bad news.” Luciano uses his chin to gesture to the
entrance of the banquet hall. “I think we’ve got wedding crashers.”
Our heads turn in unison as Giovanni and Marco stroll into the room,
dressed to impress in their finest attire. Gio’s hair has been freshly cut and
dyed, adding to his polished appearance. Their presence commands
attention, drawing all eyes towards them.
“Congratulations, Chrissy!” Giovanni announces, his face erupting with a
wide, beaming grin. With a confident stride, he weaves through the parting
crowd with a bottle in hand. The glass glints in the light as he shakes it, the
liquid inside preparing for an explosion. “My niece just got married! It’s
time to party everyone!” He removes the cork with a satisfying pop, sending
a spray of bubbles and liquid into the air.
My heart sinks as I realize Adalina wasn’t the worst thing to happen on my
wedding day. It is my uncle arriving uninvited and wreaking havoc by
showering our guests in champagne.
The celebratory atmosphere quickly turns chaotic as Giovanni tosses the
bottle, and glass shatters across the dance floor.
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 Chapter 50
Niccolo

I
should have seen this coming; the Lucatellos have been quiet for weeks
now. Ever since Rocco put Christine in the hospital, I’ve been waiting for
a second attack, but it never came.
I was beginning to think we were out of danger because we said our vows
and made a promise to one another, but I was wrong.
I wrap my arm around my wife’s waist and pull her close. “Don’t worry,” I
reassure her, “it’s going to be okay.”
But terror sparks in Christine’s eyes as she flashes back to the last time she
saw Giovanni. In a desperate attempt to ground herself, she reaches out and
tightly grasps my hand, her fingers trembling as her nails dig into my skin.
“You have to make them leave, Nic,” she whispers, her voice full of fright.
Salvatore cracks his knuckles. “Let me be the one, Nicci. It’s your wedding.
You don’t want to get blood on your suit.”
“No!” Christine hesitates. “I don’t want you to hurt them.”
I keep my eyes trained on my bride, not daring to look at Giovanni and
Marco. “Do you trust me, dolcezza?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Giovanni pouting on the dance floor. “No
one wants to party?” He tosses the champagne bottle into the air, and it
lands on the ground behind him with a sickening display of glass shards. “I
think my invite got lost in the mail, Chrissy.”
She leans in closer to me, almost hiding behind my frame. “Yes,” she
whispers. “I trust you, Niccolo.”
That’s all I need to hear. I bring her hand to my lips and place the gentlest
of kisses on the back of it. “Lucia, take care of her.”
My sister reaches out to grab Christine’s other hand. “Let’s go freshen up,”
she announces with a smile. “They’ll have it all taken care of by the time we
return.”
Hotel employees arrive to clean up the mess, and our Event Coordinator
tries to politely explain to Giovanni that his behavior is grounds for removal.
Marco bullies his way between the two of them as if silently demanding an
explanation. Guests are in an uproar, shouting at the staff and the uninvited
guests for ruining the party.
I wait until Lucia has dragged Christine to the bathroom before I take
action. Salvatore, Luciano, and I step forward to mitigate the fight brewing
between the Lucatello brothers and the Event Coordinator. She’s a tiny,
docile little thing, and they’re ganging up on her.
“Enough, Gio.” I am as cordial as I can be, but there’s venom coursing
through my veins. “If you want to talk, we can go outside. These people are
not responsible for—”
“All of you are responsible,” Giovanni cuts me off. “Responsible for
upending an arranged marriage you had no business dallying in.”
We planned for a fight. Dante and I knew that no matter what happened
between the Terlizzis and the Castigliones as a result of this marriage,
Giovanni would come for me.
Our hope was to strike first in the quiet hours of dawn when the dust had
settled, and I had formally claimed Christine as my wife. But these are the
unpredictable events Dante wanted to prepare for.
“We can discuss it outside,” I suggest again, more forceful this time. “This is
between you and me, not you and any of my guests.” I turn to the brother
on my left, hissing at Luciano to find Dante.
Giovanni’s laugh echoes off the walls of the reception hall. “You scared of
me, Nic? Afraid I’m going to rip you limb from limb in front of all your
family and friends?” He takes a menacing step closer, his eyes narrowing in
the process. “Because I am.”
“This has been a delight,” Salvatore booms, interrupting us with a
boisterous laugh. “Marco, buddy, why don’t we chat?” When he steps
forward and slams his fist right into the larger man’s chest, the wedding
party goes nuts. Women scream, babies cry, and men start rolling up their
sleeves for a fight. Giovanni walked into a lion’s den when he decided to
show up here; he’ll be lucky to make it out alive.
Thankfully, Luciano returns with Dante a few moments later. The four of us
are enough to bully the Lucatellos out of the banquet hall and into the
parking lot. The Hotel Manager follows behind, threatening to call the
police if we ever step foot in the hotel again.
“You think marrying Christine was smart?” Giovanni shouts, his voice
echoing through the parking lot. “She’s going to get you killed. You signed
your death certificate today, Terlizzi. As for her,” he shoves a finger at the
hotel building, gesturing wildly at his niece within, “she’ll be crippled
before the week is up. You’ll be lucky if Rocco doesn’t kill her. When he
finds out that she married you, he’ll make sure she never walks again.”
My blood runs cold, amplified by the winter wind whipping around us.
“That little beating a few weeks back was supposed to teach her a lesson. It
was supposed to show her what would happen if she ever, EVER disobeyed
me or her future husband again.” He clenches his jaw and twists his neck, a
primal growl escaping through tightly gritted teeth. His eyes flash with feral
intensity, like a rabid dog ready to pounce. “You Terlizzis are so fucking
stupid. Saverio is going to kill you,” he says as he points at Dante. “He
won’t have to kill you since I’ll do the job,” he glares at me. “Your two
brothers,” Giovanni sneers, “will probably wind up being ground into
chicken feed for the cock fighting rings. So you can internalize and deal
with that however you want. You fucked your whole family, Niccolo. Not to
mention your little sister.”
With a fierce snarl, Luciano lunges forward with all his might, his clenched
fist connecting with Giovanni’s brow in a sudden burst of violence. The
unexpected attack catches us all off guard, even Marco, who stands frozen
in shock.
“Don’t you dare threaten my sister!” He roars at Giovanni.
The man’s eyebrow splits open, and a dribble of blood trickles down the
side of his face. Giovanni looks at Luciano with begrudging respect in his
eyes. “I’d have done the same thing for my sister when she was alive. But
you’ll regret that, kid.”
“Thank fuck,” Dante announces under his breath. He looks past the
Lucatello brothers to a van coming our way with its lights off. As it pulls up
beside us, the window rolls down, and the Lucatellos duck, afraid the driver
has a gun.
Instead, I see Adalina behind the wheel, and she tosses a metal baseball bat
out the window at Dante. He catches it with ease, turns, and bashes Marco
in the back of the skull.
“Get in the fucking van,” he orders Giovanni. “Unless you want to wake up
with a knot the size of Texas on the back of your head, get in the
motherfucking van.”
Dante uses the bat to escort Giovanni into the backseat while Luciano and
Salvatore pick up Marco.
“He’s still breathing,” Luc announces as they throw him into the van beside
his brother.
“You’ll regret this. All of you.” Giovanni kneels next to Marco, checking his
pulse. A look of fear clouds his features, but it’s gone as quickly as it
materializes. “We’re the second most powerful family in the Midwest.
We’ll—”
Dante slams the door on Giovanni before he can finish his sentence. “Get in
the front seat,” he barks at me. “You two, get a car and follow us. We’re
going to an abandoned building off Poyntz. You know the one,” he nods at
Sal.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I look back at the hotel, thinking about
my wife waiting for me inside. She’s going to be worried if I don’t come
back soon.
“We had a plan, and it backfired,” Dante replies gruffly. “Now we’re taking
matters into our own hands. This is why you always have a backup plan,
Lolo.”
I hate to admit it, but he’s right. None of us predicted that Giovanni would
show up at the wedding reception to wreak havoc—no one except Dante.
Adalina climbs out of the driver’s seat and walks around the van. “You owe
me,” she smiles at her husband.
Dante walks up to her, grabs her face with both hands and places a kiss on
her lips that makes all of us shift with unease from the intimacy. “I’ll never
stop owing you, cara mia.”
She saunters away, heels clicking against the concrete as she walks back
into the hotel.
Dante transforms before our eyes. Gone is the intense emotion Adalina
brought out in him, replaced with anger and ferocity. “Let’s go.”
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 Chapter 51
Christine

L
ucia leads me down the narrow hallway that leads to the restrooms,
with Kaye and Sienna trailing close behind. The overhead lights cast a
harsh, unflattering glow on my anxious features. While my new sister-
in-law checks her hair in the mirror, my heart feels like it’s beating in my
throat.
“What do I do?” I start panicking. “Do I tell everyone to go home? Do we
call the cops?”
Kaye reaches out to stop me as I begin to pace, but I glide past her waiting
arms. If I stop moving, I’ll scream. “I’m sure the hotel is used to unruly
guests,” she voices. “They’ll get the security guards to escort your uncles
out of the building. It’ll all be okay, Chris.”
“I think we should call the cops,” Sienna argues. “I’m sorry, but your uncle
is scary. Kaye’s lucky she got off the dance floor when she did. What if,
when the bottle exploded, you would have been cut by the shards of glass?”
Kaye looks like she’s about to disagree, but then shrugs her shoulders in
defeat. “Xave was really upset. He’s actually standing outside the bathroom
right now.”
I scrunch my nose in disgust, momentarily caught off guard by the
admission. “Gross. Give us some privacy, Xavier!” I yell at the closed door
as if he can hear me.
My best friend swats at me, telling me to hush. “Leave him alone, Christine.
He’s an overprotective soon-to-be baby daddy.”
“And prospective fiancé,” Sienna points out. “Can’t have his baby mama
bride-to-be getting killed at her best friend’s wedding.”
Lucia, who’s been relatively quiet throughout this whole conversation,
clears her throat with a sharp cough to draw our attention. “Listen. I know
what happened out there was scary, but don’t get the cops involved. My
brothers know what they’re doing.”
Sienna, who had forgotten Lucia was in the room, jumps a foot in the air
and clutches her chest like she’s about to have a heart attack. “Oh, my god.
I forgot you were here. You know,” she shifts the conversation, “you look
just like the pretty brother that officiated the wedding. Can you introduce
me?”
“That’s my twin,” she deadpans. When Sienna continues to wait expectantly
for an answer about the introduction, Lucia turns her attention to me. “You
know Niccolo,” she emphasizes with a pointed look. “You know that if
there’s a problem, he will take care of it. Luc, Sal, and even good ol’ Danny
Boy will help when he gets back from wherever he went with Adalina.”
Lucia calmly adds, “Whatever you do, do not get the cops involved. My
brothers will handle it.”
An eerie silence settles in the room, the only sound being the faint echo of
tension bouncing off the walls. Then two sharp knocks upend the stillness,
echoing through the bathroom. They’re quickly followed by the quiet creak
of the door opening.
A head pokes through the gap, cautiously peeking inside before fully
entering the room. “Hey,” Xavier smiles awkwardly, “just checking on Kaye.
Is everything alright? There’s some commotion out here. I think everyone’s
being asked to leave.”
With a firm and confident tone, Lucia takes control of the situation. “Let’s
go upstairs to our rooms,” she announces, eyes scanning the group for any
sign of hesitation.
“I don’t have a room,” Sienna interjects. “It was expensive for one night,
even with the room block. I can just—”
But my new sister-in-law holds up her hand to cut Sienna off. “I’ll get you a
room. Consider it a gift from the Terlizzis.”
“No offense, lady,” Xavier glares at Lucia, “but why should we do what you
tell us to? Who even are you?”
“Xave!” Kaye hisses.
Lucia pulls on a patient smile, and it’s obvious that she works with kids by
how she handles Xavier. “Xave, I take it?” Her voice is steady and
unwavering. “I understand your skepticism because you don’t know me.
However, going upstairs to our rooms will give us a chance to regroup and
figure out what we’re dealing with. It’ll also allow my brothers, including
Christine’s new husband, to take care of the situation. If in an hour or two
you want to leave, I won’t stop you. But for everyone’s safety, especially
your pregnant girlfriend’s, I recommend going back to your room for the
night and letting this all blow over.”
The sound of her voice is like warm honey, soothing and calming the tense
atmosphere in the room. A hush falls over the crowd as her words linger in
the air. Her composure speaks volumes, reassuring us that while this
outcome was unexpected, it will sort itself out. And she acknowledges
Xavier’s need for control, giving him the opportunity to leave in a couple of
hours if he still wants to.
Xavier’s anger wanes, replaced by a flicker of acceptance and reluctant
respect. “Fine, but only because I want to protect Kaye and my unborn
child.”
“You’ll be okay?” My best friend asks me, her eyes wavering with
uncertainty.
I try to harness Lucia’s ability to remain calm under pressure, but there’s an
air of doubt in my tone that rings regardless. “Of course. I’m sure Nic will
be back soon.”
Lucia instructs Xavier and Kaye to take Sienna to the front desk and charge
another room to her bill. “Whatever room you’d like,” she insists, “even the
Presidential suite. I don’t care. I just want you to be safe.”
As they leave the bathroom, I’m left alone with my sister-in-law. The serene
expression on her face gradually dissipates, revealing a well of anxiety as
deep as my own.
“Everything will be alright, right?” I ask, feeling the frenetic energy in my
nerves begin anew.
Lucia doesn’t pretend to know the answer; she shrugs and loops her arm
through mine. “My brothers have faced worse than your uncles. They’ll be
fine. But if Nic doesn’t come back tonight, don’t freak out, okay?”
Just a few hours ago, we stood together in front of all our family and friends
and promised to take care of one another until the day we died.
Could Niccolo’s promise be fulfilled so soon?
Will I wake up tomorrow a widow?
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 Chapter 52
Niccolo

C
rimson gushes from Giovanni’s fractured knee, staining the bare
concrete floor beneath him. In less than a second, his face contorts
through a kaleidoscope of emotions—a moment of understanding,
followed by the realization that he is in excruciating pain. Agony and
suffering twist his features, etching lines of fear into his once calm face. His
eyes widen, and a guttural scream rips through the air, echoing off the walls
around us. The sound is primal and filled with torment, sending a delightful
shiver down my spine.
“Do you know how I felt when I found out Christine was in the hospital?” I
don’t wait for Giovanni to respond; it’s a rhetorical question. “I thought my
entire world was shattering around me. I was black with rage. I wanted to
kill you.”

I
n a matter of hours, Dante had pieced together the events that led to
Christine’s hospitalization. We anxiously waited for her to be cleared for
visitors, and when the time finally came, we filed into her room in pairs.
Jackson stood mute in the corner while the love of my life lay there, hooked
up to an IV and a morphine drip, trying her best to recount what happened.
As she struggled to fill in the gaps, Jackson chimed in with whatever
information he could offer.

M
arco stands in the corner, his chest heaving with anger and
frustration. His arms are bound tightly above his head, but he
struggles and thrashes against the restraints like a wild animal
caught in a trap. His eyes burn with a mixture of pain and fury as I
monologue to his beaten brother.
Dante tells Marco to keep it down, but his efforts are futile. The enforcer
kicks around like a child stomping their feet to protest being forced to eat
peas.
“Let me take care of this,” I decide. Bat in hand, I approach Giovanni’s
bodyguard and tap him on the chest to get his attention. “If you don’t stop
in the next five seconds, I’m going to break your jaw.”
I say a silent prayer that the man keeps fighting. I’m sure God disapproves,
but he reluctantly answers. Instead of falling silent in the face of physical
violence, Marco rages like a cornered animal, his muscles tensing and his
eyes blazing with defiance.
I take slow, methodical breaths and count to five in my head before
following through with my promise. “Batter up, Marco.” I pull back, aiming
at the hinge of his jaw like a baseball. As the metal makes contact with
Marco’s face, I am slightly off-target. The sharp edge connects with his chin
instead, and he crumples with pain.
“Sorry about that,” I wince apologetically. “I was never really good at
baseball. I hit the catcher in the head once in middle school. The coach was
really upset.”
Blood dribbles down Marco’s chest, the light in his eyes extinguished from
the blow. Maybe that’ll teach him to be on the wrong side of history.
I turn my attention back to Giovanni, who is attempting to scoot across the
floor in the chair, but his mangled knee refuses to cooperate. The muscles
in his face are contorted with determination as he desperately tries to find a
way to escape the fate that’s coming to him. Sweat beads on his forehead,
highlighting his fear of what’s to come.
“Gio, where ya going, buddy?” It takes me half a dozen strides to reach his
chair. I place my hand on the back of it and stop him in his tracks. He’s only
made it a couple of feet from where he began, but he won’t make it any
further. “We have more to discuss.”
He grits his teeth and stifles a cry, unwilling to let us see his weakness. “Let
me go, Terlizzi. You’ll regret this if you don’t. My father will come for you.”
I walk around to the front of the chair, using the tip of the bat to shove him
back. “That’s what I’m banking on. You think I’m afraid of Leonardo
Lucatello? You think I’m afraid of a frail old man?”
“You were when you married Cat,” he taunts.
“I have a healthy respect for Leonardo. I don’t have any respect for you.
Especially not after the stunt you pulled with Rocco. Tell me. Did he enjoy
beating my wife?” I pull back the bat again, aiming it straight at his chest.
The weight of the bat in my hands is both comforting and intimidating, a
tool of protection and destruction. “Did he like watching her writhe in
pain?”
Giovanni meets my gaze with raw, unadulterated panic in his eyes. And yet,
despite his trepidation about what he’s about to face, he spits on the floor
and puffs out his chest confidently. “He fucking loved it. I wish I’d have
taken a video.”
As I bring the bat down, it cracks his ribs with a sickening blow. Giovanni
coughs, and blood sprays from his mouth, painting the concrete in a
Rorschach inkblot. “I think I see a butterfly,” I announce with a smile. “I
wonder what other animals you can create.”
My brothers watch from the perimeter as I treat Giovanni like a human
piñata. Every swing of the bat brings a new explosion of blood. My wedding
suit is ruined. The expensive cuff links will be stained with contrasting
memories from this night: marrying the love of my life and nearly ending
the life of her uncle.
Giovanni loses consciousness at some point. His face is unrecognizable, a
mosaic of black and blue bruises from the bat. Blood pools and spatters in
the ten-foot radius around him. His body slumps over, limp and lifeless, as if
death is already beginning to creep in.
I drop the weapon, and the metal echoes through the room as I crouch
down to get on Gio’s level. I grab him by the chin and force him to meet my
gaze, his lids fluttering open despite the swelling. I can barely make out the
white of his eyes from the broken blood vessels. “You think you’re so tough,
don’t you? But the only reason you get to live today is because of Dante’s
goodwill. If it were up to me, you’d be dead.”
He doesn’t say anything but instead wheezes, struggling to catch his breath
with broken ribs threatening to puncture his lungs. The stench of sweat and
urine fills the space between us. He’s bloodied and broken, and I should feel
a sense of satisfaction, but instead, I feel hollow and numb inside.
“But since I can’t kill you, I want you to watch me beat your brother into a
bloody pulp. If you fall asleep, Giovanni, trust me when I say you won’t like
what you see when you wake up.”
I walk over to the hanging sack of skin and bones that once resembled
Marco Lucatello and unleash the rest of my anger with my fists. Every time
I make contact with his body, he releases a crescendo of pain and suffering
in the form of grunts and groans. With each hit, I can feel myself letting go
of some of the rage that has been building up inside me for so long. But it’s
not enough. It will never be enough. Not until Christine is safe.
“Dante,” I nod at my brother, breathless from exertion.
My older brother knows me so well that I don’t even need to speak my
desires aloud. He takes a step forward, confidently replacing me and
unleashing a flurry of blows into Marco’s already bruised and bloodied
body. My eyes wander lazily, the fight going out of me with each passing
second.
Adrenaline forced my hand. Revenge made me do this. And now that I’ve
sought the blood price for what these mongrels did to Christine, I’m too
exhausted to go on.
“Nic!” Someone yells.
It’s the last thing I hear before I pass out.
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 Chapter 53
Niccolo

M
y consciousness returns a few moments later, and I wake to find
Dante on the ground beside me, slapping my face. “Wake the fuck
up, Nic. God damn it. Luc, help him!”
I turn my head in the direction Dante is pointing and see Salvatore trying to
lift Marco off the floor. “Someone cut him down,” I frown.
My older brother breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. You’re awake. Help me
get Giovanni into the van.”
My head feels dull and sluggish as I struggle to push myself off the ground.
Dante extends a hand towards me to help but quickly abandons the gesture
in favor of helping Salvatore.
I notice that the heavy metal bat I was using earlier has disappeared. The
chair Giovanni was tied to is spattered with his blood but left in the center
of the abandoned building. “Should we take this?” I frown.
Dante smacks my arm. “Grab his feet, Niccolo.” His tone is patient, but he
looks at me with a sense of urgency. His eyes plead with me to understand
the importance of what he’s saying, urging me not to waste time.
Though my head feels like it’s full of scrambled eggs, I force myself to put
one foot in front of the other. While Salvatore and Luciano struggle to get
Marco out of the building and into the van, Dante and I whiz past the two of
them and toss Giovanni in first. My hands are covered in blood, my knuckles
are bruised, and they’re swelling. I look down at my shoes to see red
droplets dried onto the leather. Even the once-pristine white fabric of my
wedding undershirt is stained with Lucatello blood.
“You’re in shock.” Dante places his hands on my shoulders. “This is the first
time you’ve done something like this, so that’s normal. Let Luc take you
home, and Sally and I will drop these two off at the hospital.”
I start shaking my head in disagreement. “I need to see this through.” I
have to be there when we throw them out of the van at the hospital. I need
to make sure when I go back to Christine, I can tell her that her uncles are
alive.
Dante huffs in frustration as he walks over to help Salvatore and Luciano.
“Nic, you did your part, and you did a great job, but let me handle the rest. I
promise I will take care of it.”
My brother, with his broad shoulders and determined gaze, has always been
our protector. I wonder if he knows how much it means to all of us that he’s
stood by our side no matter what.
But shock or no shock, we’re in this position because of me. I need to get
my shit together and follow through with my responsibilities. “I can handle
it, Dante. This is my mess. Let me help clean it up.”
He doesn’t have time to argue. The two men in the back of the van are a
liability that needs to be taken care of immediately. “Fine. You can drive,”
he gruffly replies.
I slide into the worn driver’s seat, my hand automatically reaching for the
keys in the ignition. I’m relieved that the van wasn’t taken while we were
inside. Manhattan isn’t exactly riddled with crime, but when a car is sitting
outside with the keys in it, you’re asking for it to be stolen. But luck seems
to be on our side tonight.
The back doors of the van shut a second before Dante jumps into the
passenger seat. “Alright. Let’s go.”
St. Francis Hospital is a seven-minute drive from the abandoned building
we were in. The neon lights from the Emergency sign beckon us into the
parking lot, but Dante directs me past the entrance and to the staff-only
door in the back.
“I told Silas I’d leave the bodies here. He said it was the best-case scenario
because someone is always coming out for a smoke break. Which means we
need to hurry up.”
I pull the van up next to the hospital, its tall brick walls looming over us like
a fortress. A single door made of thick, heavy metal leads into the back of
the building and has a small window that peers into a dimly lit hallway.
I glance around nervously, but there’s no sign of anyone coming, so Dante
and I climb out of the van and carefully begin unloading the bodies from the
back. The air is chilly and breezy, carrying the distinct scent of antiseptic
and illness. We move quickly, our footsteps echoing against the quiet
exterior of the hospital.
“God, he’s so heavy,” Dante groans as we dismount Marco. “I’m surprised
we were able to get the jump on him.” When Marco groans, we pause our
actions for a minute before moving on to his brother.
With a grunt of effort, we manage to hoist Giovanni’s limp body on top of
Marco’s. His mouth hangs open, his lips forming silent words as if he’s
desperately trying to communicate with us. But his eyes are crusted shut
with blood, making it clear that he is in no condition to speak or see what is
happening around him.
“Do you think he’s going to die?”
Dante takes a look at Gio’s bruised and beaten body and shrugs. “Frankly, I
don’t know. He’s breathing, and that’s a good sign, but he probably has
internal bleeding and a punctured lung, minimum.”
“Christine had internal bleeding.” Does it make me a sociopath if I don’t feel
guilty? Or a psychopath if I wish I could do it again?
My brother gestures for me to get back in the van before we’re caught out
here with two half-dead Lucatellos. He waits until we’re a safe distance
away from the hospital before asking if I’m okay.
I grind my teeth against one another, feeling my jaw tick with indescribable
rage. I’m not sure if there’s a right answer to Dante’s question; I’m not even
sure how I feel. “I don’t know,” I finally reply after what feels like an
eternity. “After you took over, I felt all the anger go out of me. But looking
at Gio again just now, remembering that that piece of shit ordered Rocco
Castiglione to beat my wife senseless, made me want to do it all over again.
I hate him. I hate his entire family. What kind of sick fuck watches his niece
get beaten bloody without trying to save her?”
My voice cracks with desperation, and anger engulfs me. I feel every
emotion vividly and painfully in every limb of my body.
“The first time I ever hurt someone as badly as you hurt Giovanni, I was
fifteen years old.” Dante stares straight ahead, his face a block of granite as
he recounts the first person he nearly killed.
“Father asked me to come with him to deal with some guy that owed him
money. When the man refused to pay up, Father told me it was my chance
to prove myself. He said if I ever hoped to take over the Terlizzi family and
be a valuable member within the Castiglione regime, I would beat the man
until he was blind.” The way he recounts the events is chilling, devoid of
emotion or remorse.
I don’t know where to go, but I keep my foot on the gas pedal and continue
driving.
“I was fine for the most part. I tuned out the little voice in my head saying
this was my last chance to turn back and become an honorable man, the
kind people write books about and women romanticize. Then I beat on that
man until I had nothing left inside me.” Dante pauses for half a second.
“Father said he was proud of me. He bought me a high-end escort to show
his gratitude. Have I ever told you that? Father paid for me to lose my
virginity as a thank you for almost killing a man whose only crime was
borrowing money he couldn’t pay back.”
When Dante laughs, there is no joy in the sound, only misery. “I went home
that night and threw up. I was sick for the next three days. At one point, I
thought I’d have to tell Father I couldn’t do this anymore. But then I got up
on the morning of the fourth day, and everything felt okay again. I felt
okay.”
“Am I going to go through that, too?” I ask. I keep waiting for regret to set
in, but all I feel is vindication for my actions.
Dante shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe, maybe not. I only tell you this story to
highlight the differences between what I did and what you did. I was doing
Father’s bidding. I didn’t hurt that man because he deserved it; I hurt him
because Father said I had to.” He turns to face me, his eyes full of
determination and pride. “Your foray into this lifestyle has been because
you wanted to protect the people you loved. I think, in some ways, you
exemplify the traits of our ancestors. You did this for your family the same
way men in the 19th century did for theirs. When the law allowed people to
hurt our ancestors and their families, they sought justice the only way they
knew how: they formed the mafiosi to combat the injustice.”
I never would have joined the family if it wasn’t for Christine. If her life
hadn’t been in danger, I would have been content with my current
existence, without any ties or obligations to the Terlizzis. But fate had other
plans for me.
“You’re a good man, Niccolo. However you feel in the morning, know that
what you did tonight was justified.” His arm stretches across the front seat
of the van, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder; the touch grounds me to
reality and soothes my frazzled nerves. “You protected the woman you love;
nothing is more honorable than that.”
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter 54
Christine
L ucia escorts me to the honeymoon suite, and I stare at my phone for
hours, waiting for it to ring. But Niccolo never calls.
As I stand under the hot, steaming water of the shower, it washes away my
carefully applied makeup and rinses the hairspray from my locks. My sister-
in-law stands guard, sitting on the couch and waiting for my return. I spend
my wedding night playing cards and trying to avoid talking about my absent
husband.
When I crawl into bed around midnight, Lucia tucks me in like a child. She
can’t be much older than me, but her experience teaching elementary
students has taught her how to take charge in the middle of chaos.
“I know this isn’t how you expected to spend your wedding night, but thank
you for trusting me. I don’t know what my brothers are doing; they live by
their own codes and laws. But I’m sure whatever it is, they are trying to
protect you.”
I slip into a dreamless sleep, punctuated by an endless opening of doors. I
am too exhausted to make sense of it all.
Lucia leaves, then she returns a couple of hours later with Niccolo in tow. I
roll over onto my side and curl into a ball because I’m freezing despite the
comforter, only to see them standing in the bathroom doorway, arguing in
hushed whispers. The little voice in my head screams at me to wake up and
investigate, but exhaustion pulls me under.
When I wake the next morning, I find Niccolo sleeping on the tiny little
couch in front of the electric fireplace. He’s still wearing his wedding
clothes. Dark, scuffed shoes peek out from the arm of the couch. His arm is
tossed over the edge, the black suit stretching toward his wrist.
My heart stops when I see a spray of crimson on the white shirt underneath
the suit jacket. “Nic.” My voice sounds hesitant and unsure, and I’m too
quiet to wake him up. I reach forward to touch his blanketed form, shaking
his ankle gently before calling his name even louder. “Niccolo, wake up.”
His eyes shoot open in fear, and he instinctively recoils. It takes him a
moment to track his surroundings before he realizes he’s safe; he’s in our
shared hotel room, and nothing bad is going to happen to him.
“Is that blood on your shirt?”
Niccolo sits up on the couch, making a face of unease as he strips off the
blanket and tosses it on the floor. “Probably,” he groans. “This couch has
very poor lumbar support.”
But I can’t hear him over the sound of fear crashing in my ears. There is
blood everywhere, decorating his suit in a macabre pattern. “Whose blood is
that?” I manage to squeak out.
He looks down at his chest, and realization dawns on him. “Christine, this
isn’t what it looks like.”
“I-I don’t know what it looks like. You didn’t come back last night. You left.
You left, and you didn’t come back,” I start stuttering. “What happened?
Where did you go? Why are you covered in blood?”
Niccolo jumps off the couch and strips off his suit jacket, tossing it on the
ground with the blanket. “We took care of your uncles last night,” he
admits. “They won’t bother you anymore.”
Are they dead? Is that why he looks like this? “Your knuckles,” I breathe,
trying to make sense of it all. “What happened to your hands?”
“Nothing is wrong,” he says gently. “It’s just some bruising from using my
fists to beat the shit out of Marco. I’ll be fine.”
Nobody wanted my uncles at the wedding last night, but I didn’t want them
dead, either. “Tell me what happened. I need to know.”
He offers me a seat on the couch. Though flecks of blood stain the sofa, I
reluctantly sit beside him. “For starters, Giovanni and Marco are alive.
They’re at St. Francis receiving life-sustaining care. They are alive,
Christine.”
Relief floods through me knowing they’re okay, but a tinge of
disappointment prickles in my chest. “So this was just another setback,” I
voice.
“No,” Niccolo cuts me off. “This was not a setback. This will ensure your
safety. We were going to do this today,” he manages with an awkward
smile. “I wanted to have my wedding night with you before getting my
hands dirty, but we didn’t anticipate Giovanni and Marco showing up to the
reception. I mean, maybe Dante anticipated it, but I didn’t.”
I wish they wouldn’t have come; their appearance ruined the rest of the
night. “What did you do to them?”
He reaches up to rub the back of his neck anxiously. “You can’t be mad,” he
prefaces. “We didn’t kill them. Remember that.”
I’m not mad; I’m nervous.
“I beat Giovanni with a bat, and then Dante and I took turns using Marco as
a punching bag. But again,” he adds as he sees my face begin to contort
with shock, “neither of them is dead. They’re both alive and well at the
hospital. Well, not well, per se,” Niccolo shrugs, “but not in the ICU.”
I can’t believe Nic. I don’t understand why he’d do this. “How is this
supposed to help us?” When Grandfather finds out, he’s going to want
revenge. He’ll have Niccolo killed, and I’ll be a widow by next week. I
haven’t even had sex with my husband yet, and I already have to say my
goodbyes.
Niccolo reaches forward to take my hand in his, bringing it up to his lips to
kiss away the tension in my muscles. All I can focus on is the black and blue
of his knuckles, swollen from his ministrations.
“Leonardo will hear about what happened this morning. Dante is sending
emissaries to your grandfather with a peace offering. If Leonardo agrees to
take no revenge, Dante will give him the $25,000 he originally promised for
you and sign an agreement that says the Terlizzi family won’t go after
Giovanni and Marco again.”
“This is insane; this plan is madness. He’ll never agree. You nearly killed his
heirs. Both of them,” I emphasize. “He’ll never forgive you.”
“I don’t need him to forgive me,” Niccolo’s tone hardens. “I need him to
promise he won’t seek revenge against you or the family. Because you’re
one of us now, Christine. And I swear to God, if he hurts you or sends
someone to hurt the Terlizzis, I will end the entire Lucatello line.”
His words chill me to the bone; this is a side of Niccolo I’ve never seen
before. He’s always been sweet and tender with me. Even when he was
fucking me up against the shower wall, it was with all the sweetness of a
lover.
This murderous man, the one willing to kill if that’s what it takes to keep me
safe, is someone I’ve never met before.
“I love you, Christine. Yesterday, when you said for better or worse—this is
it, this is the worse. Everything from here on out can only get better. I had
to do this for us, dolcezza; you have to understand that.”
He gets off the couch, falling on his knees in front of me. “How we got here
doesn’t matter. What we went through is in the past. All that matters from
here on out is you and me, forever, for the rest of our lives.”
In this moment, I can see past the violence and chaos. I understand why he
fought for me. I appreciate that he risked his life for us. All the fear and
doubt that threatens to consume my mind dissipates like mist in the
sunlight.
I lean forward to press my lips to his, telling myself that if it could have
happened any other way, it would have.
Niccolo had to meet and marry my mother…
My mother had to get cancer and pass away…
I had to spend three years as his stepdaughter…
He had to follow his shameful desires for me…
We had to be together at the university…
Giovanni had to arrange my marriage to another man…
I had to be beaten by my new fiancé…
Niccolo and I had to get married quickly…
He had to bludgeon my uncle with a baseball bat…
Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here right now.
His rough, calloused hands cradle my face, leaning into the kiss like a
lifeline.
Our story couldn’t have happened any other way. And looking back, I
wouldn’t have wanted it to.
Every touch we share, every moment we get to be together, is a reminder of
the journey we had to take to get here. We fought a thousand fights to wind
up in each other’s arms, and it turns out Kaye was right: it all makes sense
looking back, even when it didn’t make sense while it was happening.
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 Epilogue
Christine • 1 Week Later

I
pull my hair into a tight bun at the top of my head. The anticipation and
nerves make my hands tremble as I rest them back in my lap, trying to
steady myself. “And you’re sure this is safe?”
“If it weren’t, I wouldn’t let you be here,” Niccolo insists. “But Dr. Stone
said that Giovanni is still too weak to do much of anything, let alone hurt
you.”
I remember Dr. Stone from my stay at the hospital. He seemed like a very
nice guy up until he told me that he was reporting my injuries to Dante. “I
shouldn’t be nervous, right? He can’t hurt me. I should feel safe.” I say the
words to Niccolo, but I’m speaking them to myself.
My husband’s warm hand reaches out, brushing against the sleeve of my
shirt before finding its place on my arm. His touch brings a sense of
reassurance that immediately calms my anxieties. “It’s okay to be nervous
about this. The last few times you saw your uncle were traumatizing. He
brought Rocco to your school, and you wound up in the hospital. Then he
showed up at your wedding reception and upended the party. Being nervous
about seeing someone like that is perfectly normal.”
I repeat his words in my head. Perfectly normal. Perfectly normal. Perfectly
normal.
“I’ll be by your side no matter what, and we can leave any time. We don’t
even have to go in if you don’t want to,” he assures me. “This is up to you.
Whatever you want to do, we’ll do it.”
My gaze lingers on the imposing visitor’s entrance of St. Francis Hospital,
my mind already playing out the next few minutes in vivid detail.

I
can see myself walking through the doors with Niccolo by my side,
signing in at the visitor’s station as Christine Terlizzi. They’ll ask my
relation to the patient and I’ll tell them I’m his niece, newly married.
They’ll send us to the fifth floor, where my uncle is being held, and I’ll check
in at another desk. The nurse on duty will lead us to his room, quietly telling
us on the walk that he hasn’t had any visitors.
I will ignore his broken body lying motionless on the bed and tell him that
it’s over, that Grandfather agreed to the terms Dante set forth. I’ll tell
Giovanni that he can never put his hands on me or Niccolo ever again, or
else he’ll pay with his life.
“Let’s go home,” I decide.
I don’t need to witness Giovanni lose his mind if I follow through with my
plan. Dr. Stone has been updating us on his progress since he was admitted
to the hospital a week ago, but the news has been far from reassuring.
Though my uncle shows slight improvements each day, one arm and both
legs remain encased in traction, rendering him immobile. A thin wire holds
his jaw shut, preventing any form of communication. He’s hooked up to a
dozen machines that keep track of every breath he takes and every beat of
his heart. Though he can’t talk, I know that underneath the surface, he is
going insane.
Niccolo twists the key in the ignition with a satisfying click. The car springs
to life, music filtering through the speakers as the heater blows hot air at
us. “Are you sure? You really wanted to see him yesterday.”
I wanted to see Giovanni, so I could rub it in his face that his plan didn’t
work.
I wanted to see the look in his eyes when I told him that despite how much
he wanted to control my life, he would never see me again.
And I wanted to thank him for driving me into the arms of the man he hated.
If he hadn’t shown up Thanksgiving weekend to announce my newly
arranged marriage, I would have tried to flee from Nic. I was ashamed of
how I felt about him, and I hated his threats to get me pregnant against my
will. If it wasn’t for Giovanni, there’s a chance that Niccolo and I would be
nothing more than former stepfather and former stepdaughter.
But Giovanni’s actions forced us into each other’s arms. He is responsible
for the outcome he so desperately wanted to avoid. And I wanted to see the
look on his face when I told him so. It was a matter of pride and revenge,
but I don’t need it. Not anymore.
“I’m sure.” I don’t need to cause Giovanni more pain just to prove a point.
All I crave now is my husband by my side. His presence brings me the peace
and comfort I’ve needed since this ordeal began.
Niccolo leans over, his warm breath tickling my skin as he presses his lips
gently against my cheek. “If you change your mind, even if we’re already
home, just tell me, and I’ll bring you back.”
“I need you to take me back to campus, actually,” I announce with a wince.
“I need to study for mid-terms next week.” We might have married a week
ago, but weddings don’t delay tests.
His warm eyes darken as he narrows them at me. “You can study for mid-
terms at the house.”
“But Kaye is on campus.” I’ve gotten away with sleeping in our dorm once
this week by telling Niccolo I needed to study. He was reluctant at first, but
he gave in when I told him I needed to pass my mid-terms if I wanted to
continue on my career path.
With a soft hum, Niccolo shifts the car into reverse and slowly eases out of
the parking spot. “Tell Kaye to come here,” he offers.
“Sienna is also on campus,” I remind him sweetly.
His knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. “She can come to our home as
well. I like Sienna. She’s a good counter to Kaye.”
I knew we’d have to have this conversation eventually, and I take a deep
breath before launching into my planned argument. “Nic, I love you, but I’m
still a student. I still have friends I want to see and study groups I want to
participate in because I still want to become a Child Psychologist one day. I
have goals and things I want to achieve, and I need to be an active
participant in my own life to do so. This little love bubble we’ve been in
these last few days has been wonderful, but I need more. I need you
alongside every other aspect of my life that I had before everything was
blown up by my family. Can you understand that?”
He puts the car in drive and navigates the visitor parking lot, turning onto a
busy street as he pulls out of the hospital. We drive in silence through
Manhattan as he makes his way to the highway. I start to second guess
having this conversation so soon after our wedding, but eventually, Niccolo
sighs and agrees.
“I understand. I just want you all to myself, all the time,” he adds. “But I
have a job, and you have homework, and I guess I can let you go for the day.
But don’t make a habit of this,” Niccolo warns, shooting a glare across the
car. “If you aren’t home a minimum of 3 nights a week, I’ll walk into your
dorm, throw you over my shoulder, and make you come home.”
I laugh and roll my eyes at his caveman behavior. “I think I’d like you to do
that anyway. It sounds hot.”
He shoots a look across the car, his gaze hot with desire. “Don’t talk like
that when I’m taking you back to school,” Niccolo orders. “Or I’ll have to
pull this car over and fuck you in the backseat.”
I drag my tongue across my bottom lip, feeling lust bloom in my stomach. “I
bet you won’t.”
“Don’t tease me, little girl.” He eases off the gas and begins to pull over.
“I’m a simple man with simple desires. And if I want to fuck my wife on the
side of the highway, believe me, sweetheart, I will.”

Coming Soon:
Sweet Revenge: Jackson and Carrie’s story
Ruthless Sinner: Dante and Adalina’s story
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 Thank you!

Thank you for reading Dark Obsession. If you have a moment, please leave a
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 Also by Cora Kent

It isn't about right or wrong; it's about how far you're willing to go despite the consequences.
Humiliation is the sweetest revenge.
If I want to see my father's reputation in tatters, then I have to take his most prized possession: his
new wife.
I've waited 25 years to make him pay for what he's done.
I don't want to hurt Carrie, but she's collateral damage.
This world has branded me a bastard...
And it's time for me to embrace it.
Sweet Revenge
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 About the Author

Cora Kent's first love was Scar, and she was devastated when he didn’t get a happily ever after.
That's why all her books feature villains, dark romance, and a hint of the forbidden.
Ever since she was a kid, Cora has rooted for the bad guy. If the Big Bad Wolf ate out Little Red
Riding Hood, it would have made for a better story—which is why all her books have a happily ever
after for the morally grey anti-hero who will move heaven and earth for his woman.
When Cora isn't living out her fantasies through writing, she's hanging out with her cat, drinking
margaritas, and reminding her husband that the trash goes out on Sunday nights.
www.corakent.com
www.facebook.com/groups/corakent

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