I loathe people. But what I hate more? A party full of them. If I had it my way, Maria and Daniele would have eloped by now. But I have to honor Marcello and his daughter by granting her a wedding for the ages.
The violin strums in the background, setting the mood for a classy and elegant aesthetic. A ballroom filled with drug lords, murderers, and prostitutes—all dressed to the nines to hide the ugly red stains we pretend we don’t carry.
“Fucking boring.” I brood in the corner of the room, away from the hustle and bustle of the mafia elite.
I watch Maria and my son work the room like pros. She smiles and hangs on to him with a light in her eyes that is not only captivating but makes you stop and stare. Something in the way she carries herself draws your eyes to her.
She is beauty personified.
I shake my head and try to rid my mind of these thoughts. This is wrong. I shouldn’t be having these thoughts—not when she’s wearing my son’s ring. She’s meant to be a Davacalli. My daughter-in-law. I take a sip of whiskey and grimace. Surely Marcello could have sprung for the good liquor. I’m paying a hefty fee for this wedding to begin with.
“Enjoying the party, Mr. Davacalli?” Marta Faravelli, Marcello’s wife, comes to stand beside me. She offers me a small smile and a raise of her glass. “I must say, the ring chosen for my daughter is stunning. And her birthstone, no less.”
I know little of the madame of the house, but from what I do know, she has Marcello’s ear and is one of the main reasons he’s been so successful—after the clusterfuck of a head his father was before him. She made the man who now stands in the corner of the room, smiling with the rest of the wolves.
“I must say, you’ve outdone yourself, Marta. The hall looks impeccable on such short notice.” I offer her my appreciation. She’s had less than a week to make this all work, and she’s done well.
“Mhmm.” She hums her agreement. She holds the stem of her wine glass and pats her palm on the skirt of her midnight-blue, floor-length gown.
“Thank you. And I’m sorry for being such a bother, but matters like these require the highest urgency.”
“I’m aware. The murder of my son has left my family… in need of some power. And you just so happen to be willing to lend a helping hand.”
There is accusation in her tone, but I don’t indulge her. I’ve already taken from her. I can take whatever thoughts or grievances she may have. She’s a grieving woman—and her son’s body is still warm.
The crack of the gun and the whizz of the bullet ring in my mind. I have to force myself to remain composed as the memories try to trickle their way back in.
“You know this world we live in, Marta.” I sip the shitty whiskey to keep my mouth preoccupied. “This world is all about power plays and moves. Your husband was once invaluable to me, and now he can be again. My son needs a bride, and I need a trusted ally. We all win here.”
She manages a grimace of a smile. “Yes, everyone wins. My son is dead, and you can’t wait to make a power move. But what am I to expect from the Warlord himself?”
This time, I give her my full focus. It strikes me just how much of her was in her son—the same son who lies dead in a hole thanks to me. Her eyes are locked on our children on the other side of the room, but I know her words are meant for me.
“I’m truly sorry for your loss, Marta,” I say gently. “Losing a child… I can’t imagine that kind of pain.”
She stiffens. Her eyes stay on our children standing nearby, but I see her grip tighten around the glass in her hand. She’s barely holding it together. Planning this wedding has been her distraction—her way of avoiding the grief. But in moments like this, when Antonio’s name lingers in the air, I can see her break a little. The pain hits, and so does the reality—he’s never coming back.
She wipes at her eye and then turns to look at me.
There’s hurt in her eyes, yes—but also something sharper. Anger.
“This world already took one of my children,” she says, her voice low and steady. “And now you and your son want to take the last one I have left. You’re dragging her back into the middle of all this—excuse me—bullshit. Right into the line of fire.”
She steps closer. She’s small—barely over five feet—but right now, she feels ten feet tall. Her rage fills the space around us.
“You may be feared. You may be powerful. But if a single tear falls from her eyes—if one hair on her head is harmed—I swear to God, I will burn your world to the ground. No amount of power, money, or reputation will protect you from me. She is my last child. I carried her for nine months. I labored for eighteen hours to bring her into this world. You better honor that—and keep her safe.”
She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t waver. Every word hits like a strike to the chest.
And for the first time in a long time, I have nothing to say back.
“You have my word that I will keep her safe.”
“I will hold you to that promise.” She gives me a lasting nod before making her way to the other side of the ballroom, where her husband stands with a few of our colleagues. It’s comical, really.
Outside of this event, we’re plotting and planning to kill each other. And yet here we are—congratulating and smiling like I didn’t have a gun to their informant’s head a week ago.
I raise my glass in the direction of Gallagher, the head of the Irish mafia. He’s a man I despise deeply, but I’d rather have him as a friend than a foe. He lifts his glass to me, then turns back to the group he’s speaking with.
My eyes shift to the corner of the room where I see the bride and groom looking rather tense. My son says something in her ear that makes her visibly stiffen. Then, he proceeds to step away and walk out of the ballroom, leaving his bride standing there at a loss.
“Dammit, Danny,” I mutter, downing the rest of the liquor before walking out after him.
I follow him into the hallway and turn left when he does. The Faravelli estate is built more like a castle. It’s a maze of rooms and corridors that make getting lost easy. I keep an eye on my son until he finally breaks out onto a balcony and grips the ledge. I pause for a moment, assessing his body language.
Low shoulders, tense back, and from the looks of it, his fists are clenched tight. A telltale sign that he’s battling something. He’s always done this—even as a boy. I know him like the back of my hand.
I step onto the balcony. The cool breeze hits my face, and the moonlight kisses my features. “Daniele.”
“Leave me alone,” he mutters, not turning to look at me. “I want to be alone right now.”
“This is your engagement party. You can’t be out here while your fiancée is left alone inside. Whatever’s on your mind, we’ll talk about it later. Come.” I allow my authority to seep into the words.
He stays in place. His grip tightens on the ledge, nails digging into the concrete. I can feel the fury rolling off him in waves. Whatever’s bothering him, it’s shaking him to the core.
“Daniele, don’t make me repeat myself.” I walk up to where he stands. “Go back into the room. Now.”
His neck snaps toward me, and the fury in his eyes takes me aback for a second. But I keep my face neutral, unphased by whatever tantrum he’s about to unleash.
“How could you?” There’s a crack in his voice—a telltale sign of emotion lodged deep in his throat. “You knew. All these years, from the very beginning—you knew.”
My heart falters for a beat.
He knows.
That look in his eyes… it can only mean one thing. For decades, I feared this moment. That he would find out the one truth Beatrice and I swore we’d take to the grave.
The betrayal and anguish in his stare make me look away, even if only for a second.
“Look at me,” he seethes. “How long did you think you could keep this from me?”
“Daniele, I—”
“I don’t want to hear it.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “All this time, you played me for nothing but a fool. And now you have me here, cleaning up your mess.”
I glance around to make sure there’s no one within earshot.
“Watch your tongue, Daniele.”
He scoffs. “Oh, forgive me, Father. I know you don’t want anyone finding out that you killed the only heir to the Faravelli fortune.”
“Daniele, that is enough,” I seethe, my voice laced with a bitter kind of fury. “Now is not the time or place to speak about this. You’re getting married in two days, and the last thing you need to be doing is causing a scene.”
“Married? Fuck that. I want no part of this.” He steps away, the anguish in his eyes clear for all to see—and I feel like the biggest dick in the world. It was never supposed to come out this way. “I’m done, Matteo. I won’t be part of this anymore.”
“What do you mean you won’t be part of this? We have a debt to pay, my son. Need I remind you that—”
“I don’t owe shit, Matteo.” His eyes lock onto mine. “You hid this from me.”
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. I’m at a loss. I try to reach for him, but he pulls away from my grasp, and my heart clenches. My son is twenty-four-years old. I’ve watched him grow from the womb to the man he is now, and never in all those years has he looked at me the way he is looking at me now.
“Danny boy,” I try to reach him again, but he’s already shaking his head.
“I need to get out of here.” He sidesteps me and walks off the balcony, leaving me alone in the warm night air of Florence.
I stand there, completely lost for words. I have no idea what the fuck just happened—or how the hell he found out. This was meant to stay under lock and key, and the only people who knew the truth were me and…
I shake my head.
Surely not. Surely he wasn’t stupid enough to go to my son.
The rage simmers just beneath my skin, threatening to break through. I ball my fists at my sides and breathe deeply, trying to calm the urge to kill that laps at my senses.
I want his head on a platter for what he’s done. He’s trying to undo my life, and I refuse to let that little cockroach win. I should’ve put a bullet in his head when I had the chance, and now I’m stuck dealing with the aftermath of a pest that refuses to die.
The blood rushes to my head, the pressure increasing with each passing second. I groan as I try to rub away the tension that’s settled in my face. I close my eyes and lean against the ledge, trying to center myself.
I have a room full of guests who will expect to see the groom, and he is—
“Mr. Davacalli?”
A sweet, angelic voice snaps me out of my reverie.
My eyes rip open. “Maria.”
She stands by the door in her white cocktail dress, her hair flowing in the breeze. The light behind her hits her features perfectly, casting a gentle glow on her face. She shifts from side to side, unsure whether to come closer or stay where she is.
Stay where you are, little dove.
I’m a monster who can’t be trusted.
My unspoken words must reach her, because she remains at the threshold.
“I’m looking for Daniele.” I watch the small ball in the middle of her throat bob up and down. “He left the ballroom suddenly, and the party is about to end.”
“He had some business to attend to. As you know, our world waits for no one.” The lie falls from my lips easily. “He’ll be out shortly, I’m sure. I’ll go and find him.”
She doesn’t seem convinced. “Is… is everything okay?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”
Her hazel eyes take on a much bluer tone under the moonlight. They reflect the hue of the moon in them.
“It’s just… you’re a little tense. If everything is okay, then I’ll just head inside and wait for him to come back.”
I don’t like the way her eyes carry that sad gaze.
What alarms me more is how much I… care for this girl.
I don’t know if it’s because she reminds me of a lamb in a world full of wolves, just waiting to devour her.
You better keep her safe.
Marta Faravelli’s words echo in my mind, and I snap out of it.
“Go back inside. Don’t worry yourself with Daniele. He’ll be in shortly.”
She still seems unsure, but she nods and makes her way inside.
I watch her body retreat down the hallway without so much as a glance back my way. Her scent drifts onto the balcony behind her, and I have to physically stop myself from inhaling it like a starving man.
She is not mine to have. She never was.
It becomes a chant of sorts as I force my gaze away.
I have much bigger issues to deal with—the last thing I need is a brown-haired, hazel-eyed distraction plaguing my mind.
I need this wedding to go off without a hitch.
The future of the mafia world depends on this union going through. And come hell or high water, Maria will become a Davacalli.
Even if I have to drag my son down that aisle myself.
