I kick the crumpled yellow square into the gutter as I cross the street, annoyed someone left their litter in the middle of the sidewalk, and stalk toward the smoking area where I normally wait for Emma. Expecting her to be behind the nurse’s station, I lean against the corner of the building and flick my lighter open and closed a few times. As I reach for my smokes, a yellow sticky note near my heel catches my attention.
The hairs on my nape stand on end as I recall seeing others along the last block or two, almost as though someone left a trail near places I might linger. Moving on instinct, I bend down and grab the slip of paper without lowering my gaze as I scan the area.
Even without the cutesy drawings on the edges—or even ink on the page—I recognize the indentations as Emma’s messy scrawl. I step closer to the streetlamp and angle the paper to better read it.
My heart seizes.
With four words, she conveys a message so horrific my humanity takes a back seat. I know exactly what happened when I read my brother’s first name, her sister’s name abbreviated, and a subway station number. I curse and close my fist around the paper as I lunge into motion. Running faster than I have in months, I sprint down the sidewalk, not slowing when I reach the end of the block, pushing myself harder as I speed dial the emergency chat.
The call connects. Three people—the boss man, boss lady, and our best soldier—listen in, but Giorgio answers.
“Speak.”
His clipped command is all I need to clear my panic away.
As soon as I found out who Katherine and Emma were, I confessed to Giorgio, knowing I couldn’t protect both my wife and her sister while I staked out Narciso without his help. He had already known about my identity because the boss lady snooped.
I should have known they would accept me into their family without prejudice. After all, their biological families were almost as fucked up as mine.
“My brother is in New York City. He found Katherine and contacted Emma. She’s ahead of me. Alone.” I relay the location and skid around the corner to sprint down the last block.
The sky lightens as the rising sun reveals a mostly empty street, but as I place my foot down onto the first step of the subway stairs, a white rectangle on the outside of the trashcan flutters in the wind, stealing my attention.
A stethoscope hangs above it.
I lean down to inspect the paper.
The handwriting is Emma’s. I snatch it out from between the slats and open my mouth to relay the next location to Giorgio, but fear steals my voice as I turn the laminated paper over.
She’s pregnant. My wife is carrying my child.
Emma knows she’s pregnant with my baby and is running headlong into Seppi’s trap.
I can’t fault her, not when I know how deeply connected she is with her sister, and especially not when I’d do the same for any of the people I consider my family.
A gust of wind tries to steal the ultrasound from me, snapping me out of my shock. I read the next location to Giorgio and tuck the paper into my back pocket as I jump down the stairs four at a time.
The call cuts out on the train, but I hit redial as I step out onto the platform.
When I find another ultrasound tucked into the edge of a wall advertisement, my heart sinks into my toes.
“I know where he’s leading her,” I growl.
My fear and anxiety fade away as I jump on the next train with single-minded focus.
He’s taking her to the nearest private airstrip, which means he has his plane ready to whisk my wife, child, and sister-in-law away to San Francisco.
It’ll never happen.
Even though I know I’m walking into a trap, I slip my phone—which is still on the call—into my breast pocket and exit the train as though I own the platform.
Aurora cuts the lights, washing the entire tunnel in flashing red emergency lights.
I fire three shots, dropping all three goons waiting for me on the platform, and bury an extra bullet in each of their heads as I stalk past their squirming bodies. They lie gurgling their last breaths as I turn the corner to the stairwell.
Two men lean against the railing on the right. Their bullets pepper the ceiling over my head the moment my foot lands on the bottom step. I aim at the crotch of the closest man and pull the trigger.
Debris rains down on my face and shoulders, but I dart up the stairs, dodging the injured man as he tumbles down.
I yank my knife from my belt and punch it into the remaining man’s stomach before pressing my muzzle to his forehead. His wide-eyed surprise remains forever etched on his features as his brain splatters all over the upper stairs.
With a shove, I send him to meet his buddy at the bottom of the stairs and reload before continuing up into the city.
As his men open fire in the streets, I sense Seppi’s desperation. He’s way out of his territory, and by how he tries to cover his back, he knows I’m on his tail.
A bullet lodges in my hip, but I don’t feel the pain. I shoot the culprit in the throat and stalk through the spray of blood.
Before I can ask Giorgio if Nico Russo knows I’m on his turf, a dozen black SUVs speed into view.
When the front vehicle stops in front of me and the back door flings open to reveal familiar faces, I hop inside and slam the door closed. The driver peels out and heads toward the airstrip without a word.
The gate in the chain-link fence opens before we reach it. I scan the runway, but before I can locate my brother’s plane, the passenger calls out and points at the end of the nearest runway.
He’s wrong. The aircraft lining up to take off isn’t my brother’s, but the rising sun glares off every surface and makes it difficult to see.
A plane sits at the wrong end of the second runway. With the lights off but the rotors spinning, a rolling staircase pushed up to the open door, and a gaggle of people at the bottom, I know it’s my brother’s.
As the SUV turns in the opposite direction, I open my door and jump out, rolling to mitigate the impact, and pop onto my feet before sprinting toward the darkened plane.
My phone slips from my pocket and skitters across the road and into the grass. I leave it. Saving Emma and Katherine is my only concern.
The thudding of the plane’s engine signals the pilot’s readiness to take off. A woman screams milliseconds before a misshapen figure starts up the stairs.
When I realize it’s one of my brother’s men with Emma over his shoulder, I shove my emotions into tightly controlled boxes and become the heartless assassin my brother always wanted me to be, except instead of working for him, I’m his worst nightmare.
Five men stand with my brother at the bottom of the staircase. Katherine struggles against him, but her strength is nothing compared to his as he slaps her and pulls her into his arms.
Halfway up the stairs, Emma grabs the railing and bucks so hard the man loses his balance. Her heels flip over her head, and the snapshot of her midair in an uncontrolled backflip with her wrists and ankles bound is the most heart-stopping moment of my life, but she maintains her grip on the railing. As she bangs against the side of the staircase and hangs with her feet dangling high above the tarmac, the goon tumbles down the stairs and knocks three of the others over like they’re bowling pins.
I throw the knife in my left hand at the soldier furthest from the human bowling ball and dart underneath Emma as her fingers slip off the rung. Her squeak of fear ends in a grunt as I catch her. The jarring pain from my wounds doesn’t faze me as I twirl her in my arms and press her back against the underside of the staircase.
I wrap her fingers around the handle of my gun before yanking a knife from my belt holster and cutting the ropes around her ankles in case she needs to run.
As the men recover from their bowling alley stunt, SUVs roll up and surround the group. I grab Emma’s wrist ropes to cut them but freeze when Seppi’s voice rings out above the din.
“Move any closer and la puttana dies. Except for you, mio fratello and the worthless figa you betrayed me over. You two, toss your weapons to one side and come out the other.”
Emma swallows and clenches her fingers around my gun. Her pulse pounds in her jugular. The terror and determination in her eyes as she meets my stare threatens to melt my soul. I cut her ropes and toss the knife aside. As it skitters over the tarmac, I cup her face and run my thumb over her dry cheek, silently encouraging her to remain strong and praising her for being so resilient.
I close my fist around the barrel of my pistol. She reluctantly opens her hand. I unload the magazine and eject the bullet in the chamber before I toss the bundle toward my knife, unwilling to throw a loaded weapon with my wife and child so close.
“I’m no stronzo. All your weapons, mio fratello,” Seppi demands.
I shrug out of my jacket and reach for the buckle of my chest harness. As I unclip and remove the weapon-laden item from my body, Emma reaches up and frames my face with her delicate yet powerful hands.
“I love you,” she whispers.
I toss the harness, grab her nape, and kiss her with the desperation of a dying man, but pull back before Seppi loses patience.
“Don’t give up, mia caramellina,” I snarl.
She pulls the pistol from the holster at the small of my back and unloads it as she speaks.
“I’m not, but I couldn’t let another second pass without telling you. I couldn’t face going out there without saying the words.” She tosses the handgun and drops to her knees. Lust roars through my veins, but I brace my forearms on the back of the stairs and pray for control as she slips the knives from my ankle straps and throws them onto the growing pile.
“Say it back, mio marito.”
Despite the harshness of her tone, she aims pleading eyes up at me.
I pull her to her feet and wrap my arms around her.
“I love you and can’t wait to watch your belly grow, so no more crazy stunts. Capisci?” I whisper against her lips.
Her mouth shifts against mine as she smirks, but her bottom lip trembles.
I chance a quick, reassuring kiss before stepping in the opposite direction as my discarded weapons and tugging Emma behind me so my bulk shields her.
Seven years ago, my older brother by eight years, Seppi Capito, seemed like an unstoppable force with his dark features and evil plans, but the stress lines bracketing his brow and the bitterness shining from his eyes make him seem no better than the fools I tortured over the past few weeks. If I were alone in a room with him, I could make him break.
Except we aren’t alone in a room. Katherine’s expression twists with pain and terror as he presses the muzzle of his gun harder against her temple. Emma stiffens behind me. Fury wafts from her. I squeeze her hand.
Dozens of men, from both Nico Russo and Giorgio Vivaldi, form a circle around the entire plane. They stand behind either their vehicles or their car doors with their weapons ready, but no one dares move with the mania emanating from Seppi.
“Get over here,” my brother snarls.
I step forward. He waits until we’re in the circle of his goons to tell me to stop.
“Hands up where I can see them and turn to face the plane,” he demands.
I can’t force myself to let go of Emma’s hand, so I lift our intertwined fingers and pivot us around to face the side of the plane.
When Katherine gasps and shuffles forward, Emma’s fingers clamp down on my hand so hard her knuckles turn white. I accept the pain, willing to take so much more if she needs me to.
Seppi turns and ascends the steps backward, yanking Katherine up by her throat with his muzzle still pressed to her temple.
Emma and Katherine’s eyes meet, and I struggle to contain the rage boiling in my chest.
When Seppi continues through the plane door until Katherine’s toes hang over the threshold, Emma’s ragged breathing fills me with concern. Her glance relays her fear.
If he shuts the door, we’ll most likely never see Katherine alive again.
“Your turn, worthless figa. Get up here,” Seppi calls to Emma.
She starts forward. I tighten my hand in hers.
“Not you, mio fratello,” he demands.
Katherine grimaces as he flexes his hand around her throat.
“Didn’t you notice, Seppi?” I call out loud enough for everyone to hear. “We’re a package deal now.” I twist my wrist, highlighting the matching wedding rings on our interlocked fingers as I continue, “Plus, you and I have unfinished business. We wouldn’t want your meatheads down here to see you lose face again, would we?”
Angering him may not be the wisest decision, but mentioning the last time I saw him—when I denounced him and walked away despite his attempt to keep me—is the only sure way to goad him into stringing me along.
“Stai zitto! Cuff his wrists behind his back and gag him. If he fights, slap his woman. Bring them both on board.” When the man closest to me hesitates, Seppi demands he move faster with an angry, “Sbrigati!” before tugging Katherine deeper into the plane.
I release my wife’s hand and move my wrists to the small of my back, but the glare I send my supposed captor has him shaking in his knockoffs. He’s one of the few I didn’t slaughter seven years ago, and apparently my massacre left a lasting impression on him.
Terrance, Seppi’s most feared soldier and consigliere, punches the goon and mutters about worthless worms as he slaps the cuffs on me. With merciless hands, he tightens the metal until my fingers tingle from lack of circulation, but I ignore the pain and focus on my wife. With her body angled toward the staircase, Emma looks between the plane door and me as Terrance produces two handkerchiefs and shoves one into my mouth before tying the second over the first and around the back of my head.
I shift my weight, blocking him from moving closer to Emma. He pulls the hammer back on his gun and presses the muzzle at the base of my skull.
“You heard him, puttana. Get up there. Now,” he snarls.
The flash of fear and fury in Emma’s eyes as she starts toward the stairs fills me with pride.
Her hands shake when she first grabs the railing, but by the time she reaches the top of the staircase, she no longer trembles. On her heels the entire way, I duck through the door and stand hunched so close her warmth seeps into my front, the ceiling too low for me to rise to my full height. Terrance’s muzzle digs into my lower back.
Seppi holds Katherine hostage in the cockpit doorway, just out of Emma’s reach.
“Mio fratello gets the chair of honor by the table. Buckle him in, cagna.”
Emma leads me through the posh seating area to the designated chair. Everything in the plane screams of wealth, but I wouldn’t touch a single dirty cent from my brother’s filthy hands.
I lower myself onto the seat. Emma leans over me as she reaches for the three-point seatbelt. The tendrils of escaped hair from her ponytail fall forward and brush my chest and shoulders. As she extends the belt, she tucks her fingers into the breast pocket of her scrubs and pulls out a hairpin.
She meets my stare. I give a tiny nod. Her lips tremble as she offers me a hint of a smile.
As she fumbles with the buckle, she sneaks a hand behind my back. I pinch the hairpin between my fingers and wait until she pulls her hand away before I set to work. By the time she snaps the buckle, I already have the hairpin in the keyhole, and when she stands and turns to face Seppi, Terrance grabs the door handle.
The men on the ground realize they’re being abandoned.
I hide the telltale snick of my cuffs unlocking under their shouting and the heavy thud of the door closing. With a disgusting grin, Terrance tucks his gun into his belt at the small of his back and strides down the center of the plane toward Emma.
“Don’t touch her yet,” Seppi says seconds before Terrance’s fingers wrap around her arm.
Defiance flashes in his eyes, but Terrance curls his extended hand into a fist and sneers as he obeys his don. He comforts himself by eye-fucking Emma before sitting in the chair opposite the table from me.
I’ll gut him for looking at my woman, but Seppi is too far away for me to act now. He’ll hurt Katherine if I’m too rash.
“You’re lucky, stronzo. These are the best seats on the plane. Front row for what’s sure to be my favorite show,” Terrance says as he taps the tabletop.
Icy fury burns through me. I glare at him and bite down on my gag, vowing to tear him limb from limb for his crude suggestion.
They will not touch my wife or my sister-in-law.
Seppi chuckles and pushes Katherine down the aisle. He keeps his muzzle pointed at the back of her head but clearly enjoys watching her stumble her way toward us without his hands on her. Emma vibrates with tension but doesn’t move.
“I guess letting you walk away so many years ago wasn’t such a bad thing, mio fratello,” Seppi says.
I scoff. He didn’t let me go. I left a trail of dead bodies on my way out the door. His eyes flash with fury.
“After all,” he continues, “you led me straight to these runaway whores.”
I stiffen. The flexing of my shoulders pulls the seatbelt to the max. It clicks as the child safety mechanism engages.
“That’s right, stupido, it’s your fault I’m in New York City.” He shoves Katherine closer. She’s almost within arm’s reach of Emma. “When my men started disappearing, I had to investigate. Turns out, only the ones tailing Narciso’s side piece kept going missing.” He pushes Katherine to Terrance. Terrance grabs her nape and bends her over the table without rising from his chair. Her silent tears as she blinks up at me will forever haunt me. The turmoil in Emma’s eyes enrages the beast within me. I close my fist around the open cuff, creating an impromptu brass knuckle, and lean harder against my seatbelt, pretending to fight my bindings as I inch my free hand toward my buckle.
Seppi fists Emma’s hair and yanks her head back. She hisses and jerks but refrains from throwing her elbow back into his sternum as he presses his muzzle against her temple.
“Did you tell him about us, Emma? Does he know how good we could have had it if you weren’t such a stupid puttana?”
She swallows her initial retort and steals my breath as she forces her emotions deeper within her chest and dons a heartless bitch attitude.
“Of course I told him. I just can’t believe you thought what we had was good. He’s so much better with a whip than you could ever hope to be. Why do you think I married him?”
In the stupidest move he could make, he pushes her down beside Katherine with a furious snarl and presses his muzzle against her back, pinning her in place as he reaches for his belt.
In one fluid move, I unbuckle and surge upward, grabbing his gun and jerking it toward the ceiling as I punch my brass knuckles into his stomach. My ears ring and debris rains down on Emma and Katherine, but I swing his muzzle toward Terrance and jab his stomach again, forcing him to squeeze the trigger.
Crimson sprays out the back of Terrance’s head. Leaned forward and reaching for the pistol at the small of his back, he flings backward and paints the surrounding surfaces red as I waste three more bullets on him.
With fury-fueled strength, I twist Seppi’s arm and press his muzzle to the center of his forehead. He screams as the metal burns his flesh.
With the gag still in my mouth, I can’t speak, but I don’t need to as I meet my brother’s gaze.
I should have killed his motherfucking sorry ass seven years ago.
I wedge my finger over his, press the trigger, and watch in cold-blooded delight as his brain becomes pink mist.
As the world becomes a gory mess, I yank my gag off my head and spit out the sour fabric as I turn to Emma. She lies face down on top of Katherine, pinning her sister to the table and shielding her with her body.
Despite my fury over her endangering our child, my respect for her grows to impossible heights.
She’ll protect our children with the same ferocity. Hell, I bet she’d do nothing less for Tristan, even though he isn’t blood related. Although I hope she’ll never have to prove her loyalty in such a way, part of me longs to see her grow possessive over the Vivaldi-Achilles family.
The plane jerks forward. I growl and stomp to the cockpit, wishing I could gather mia caramellina into my arms, but stopping the plane is most important.
When I fling the flimsy door open and point the gun at the pilot’s face while demanding he cut the engines, he stutters in his haste to comply. As the roar dies down, I yank him from his seat and engage the wheel brakes before pushing him by his scruff toward the door.
“Open it,” I snarl.
Every second away from Emma is torture. I need her in my arms. On my tongue. Under my body.
He fumbles through opening the door. I frisk him, shove him into the nearest seat, and wait for him to buckle before grabbing the doorframe and leaning out.
A quarter of the way down the runway, we’re nowhere near the staircase but close enough for me to see Seppi’s goons lying face down on the tarmac. When I wave at the caravan, a cheer rises and several SUVs head straight toward me while a few others disperse to relay news and fetch a tug to move the steps.
I don’t trust the pilot to move the plane another inch, not with such precious cargo onboard.
“You move a finger and you’ll end up just like them. Capisci?” I snarl at the man. His wide eyes and enthusiastic nod are enough to assure me he’ll stay right where he is.
The sound of retching pulls my attention to the table. Emma holds Katherine’s hair back as she vomits from the sight and smell of Seppi and Terrance’s bodies.
I stalk toward them. The moment Katherine pauses, I pick her up and carry her into the cockpit. Emma grabs the back of my shirt and trails along after me without a word.
With both women stashed away from the bloodbath and the threat annihilated, I take what feels like my first full breath in decades and allow Emma to check on her sister before gathering her into my arms.
“He’s dead,” she whispers into my chest.
I hug her tighter, careful not to dig the cuffs still attached to my wrist into her back, and stroke the top of her head. After a full-body shiver, she wraps her arms around me and squeezes.
“I’m sorry, Fiero.”
When she breaks into soul-shattering sobs, an indescribable wave of panic washes over me. I massage her nape and guide her face up to mine with a finger under her chin.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, mia caramellina.”
“Oh, but I do. So many things, but mostly because of how I told you I’m pregnant.”
Katherine gasps. “You’re what?”
“She’s pregnant. Nine weeks. Healthy,” I say as I fish the ultrasound photos out of my back pocket and hand them to her. “Congrats, Zia Katherine.”
Her stunned silence as she stares at the pictures matches my initial response to that bit of perfection. Emma twists her fingers into my shirt and gives me a frustrated shake.
“You’re making it worse! A baby is supposed to be something you announce while smiling and eating cake at a party with everyone happy and excited, not something revealed during trauma,” she cries.
I frame her dainty face with my scarred and tattooed hands and brush my thumbs through the tears wetting her cheeks.
“How are you still so gorgeous when you cry, mia caramellina?”
She tries to shake her head, but I refuse to let her go.
“Don’t fight me on this, amore mio. You’ll always be my gorgeous wife, and our baby will always be my pride and joy, no matter what circumstances we find ourselves in. Capisci?”
She searches my eyes with fresh tears slipping from her lashes, as though a dam broke inside her and years’ worth of emotions stream down her cheeks.
“Why?” she asks.
I drop my forehead to hers and answer with utmost certainty.
“I love you, mia caramellina.”
Her breasts heave against my chest as I wrap an arm around her back and tug her flush against me, slipping one hand to her nape to hold her right where I want her.
“I’ve told you before, and I’ll say it again. I don’t care who you are—Mia Rivera or Emma Lanza—you’re mine and I’m yours. Forever.”
She releases my shirt, reaches up, and sinks her nails into the flesh under my collar.
“I love you, too, Fiero.”
My world rights itself and revolves around mia caramellina as I take her mouth with all the passion, worry, and certainty rushing through me. When a ruckus sounds from the back of the plane, I pull back. Emma’s hard nipples rub against my pecs through our clothes and her ragged breaths warm my collar as she offers me a brilliant smile.
Katherine’s lips tilt with awe and wonder as she quietly sniffles and looks between us and the ultrasound, almost as though she still can’t believe it.
“Good. It’s settled, then. We’re getting married again next week,” I announce.
Emma gives a watery laugh and presses her forehead against my sternum.
“You’re incorrigible,” she mumbles.
“For you? Always,” I whisper into her hair.
As unfamiliar voices announce the staircase’s arrival, I become a living shield in the cockpit doorframe, willing to take on the world if it means protecting my wife, child, and sister-in-law.
I’ll always devote my time and skills to Giorgio, Aurora, and Tristan. They’re family. My wife will no doubt take them under her wing, although it may take some time for her to open her heart to them.
But Emma is mine. Mine to worship, challenge, and adore. Mine to love and protect.
My wife. My lover. My future.
Mia caramellina.
Mine.
Always.
