Chapter One
Diego
“This has to be a fucking setup,” I mutter under my breath, creeping closer to the partially opened door in the darkened side alleyway. I clutch the gun in my hand, my eyes sweeping the damp pavement for any signs of life.
I jump as a stray cat leaps from a dumpster with a piercing meow. Filthy fuckers. If it comes any closer, I’m gonna have bigger problems than figuring out who’s inside this restaurant.
Like death by asphyxiation.
It stares at me, paws creeping over the rain-soaked cobblestones. Like it knows what kind of damage it can do to me in a hot second. Then, by some miracle, something spooks it and the cat runs in the opposite direction. I roll my eyes and return my focus to the door, edging into the blackness. I can’t tell exactly where in the restaurant I am right now, and judging from the line of expensive cars pulling up to the front, I won’t be alone.
Via. The ruthless bitch who gives sleeping with the enemy a whole new meaning. She sent me here on a wild goose chase, knowing there was an event happening when the place was supposed to be empty except for my target. She wants me to get caught. I can’t believe I ever trusted her, especially after what I already let happen.
I should have learned my lesson.
I never do, though. And it’s the reason why I’m standing here in this crowded restaurant, seeking out the man who killed my father.
An eye for an eye.
That’s how we work.
Especially when you’re the one responsible for the death in the first place.
My throat tightens.
This ends tonight.
I peer into the dark corridor, inching forward toward a sliver of light. This was supposed to be a simple hit. No parties, no patrons. Just Salvatore Chiaza and his inside crew, stuffing their fat faces with prosciutto and sopresata before they bring in the goomahs and have their dicks sucked dry, pretty much the same thing they do every other night of the week while their enforcers do their dirty work.
Exactly what they did to my father.
My teeth clench as I think about that day. What were Salvatore and these other assholes doing? Who the fuck were they doing while their thugs were plugging my dad in broad daylight in front of his only daughter?
I want to make sure they can’t ever do anyone else again.
And since the fish stinks from the head, Salvatore is my first target of the night.
I can hear muffled voices coming from a doorway about fifty feet ahead of me. My feet vibrate on the cement floor, pulsating beats from some other area of the restaurant humming as I investigate the snippets of conversation escaping from the room.
“…party…millions…pussy…buyers…”
I furrow my brow. I missed most of what they’re mumbling behind that closed door, but something tells me there’s a lot more going on in this place than some drunken celebration.
When I left Monaco three years ago, it was because justice had been served. We found the men who had ordered the hit on my father and avenged his murder. Except there had been others, something I didn’t figure out until after I got back home to Sicily.
But the betrayal…that was the hardest pill to swallow. Because the people who killed my father weren’t known enemies. They were family, led by my rat bastard Uncle Gio.
I pride myself on being the Marcone who sees and knows everything, but I missed a shit ton leading up to the hit on my dad. As usual, I was distracted by a woman, which translates to I was balls deep inside of one of our nightclub dancers. Because of her, I didn’t show up to the meeting where our lives were thrown into a tailspin.
I could have stopped it. I could have saved him.
Not a day goes by that I don’t wonder what might have happened if I’d made it to the meeting on time.
Or made it at all, for that matter.
I remember getting the call from my younger sister Gianna, who’d been with him when he was gunned down in broad daylight. It was supposed to be a quick meeting to contract with a local farmer who agreed to become a supplier for our specialty foods company.
But the truckloads of money my father promised the farmer wasn’t enough and he sold out my family with one phone call. Too bad for the farmer that he never got to collect his cash once my brothers and I found out it was him who let my dad’s enemies get close.
The tears, the anguish, the fear…I can hear Gianna’s quivering voice clear as fucking day, even though it’s been years since that fateful afternoon.
I could have prevented it. I could have done something!
But it was too late. I was too late.
Because of her.
The dancer.
Fucking whore. I fell into her goddamn trap. It’s because of me that my father is dead, something that haunts me on a daily basis.
My private dancer ironically fucked me harder than I’d ever thought possible when she told me she wanted to advance in our organization.
Dancing wasn’t her life, it was her way inside. She tempted me, told me she could give me something I needed, something valuable.
She saw dollar signs and wanted to collect.
Problem was, she wasn’t planning to collect from me.
She had another boss, a vindictive cocksucker who wanted to take everything from my family.
The fucking farmer.
I bit into the carrot she dangled, acted without thinking, and Dad paid for my oversight with his life.
The guilt sits in my gut like a lead weight, a heaviness that I can’t ever seem to unload. The remorse and regret continue to ravage me, even though I know Dad already had a pretty damn big target on his back.
It’s hard to fly under the radar when you’re a ruthless asshole who pretty much owns the coastlines of Europe and Asia. You want to import and export guns, cars, or drugs? You had to play nice with Joe Marcone.
But my father was a bastard, albeit a very rich one.
And there were a lot of people who didn’t like being owned by him. They didn’t like him controlling their livelihoods. They didn’t appreciate the way he did his business.
They wanted him dead.
Plenty tried to take him out and failed.
But if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.
It’s the mantra of our enemies.
If today you miss your shot, just come back tomorrow, gun cocked and loaded.
They may miss once.
They may miss twice.
But no matter who you are and how lucky you may be, there is one guarantee in this life.
You can’t outrun death.
It will always find you.
Case in point, Via Fortunato.
I lost focus. Again.
I just hope I don’t fall into the same trap as my dad.
Because that trap has a one-way ticket in…and the destination is six feet under.
One of the doors along the hall creaks open and the clouds of cigar smoke that escape practically choke me from a few feet away. I can’t make out the face of the guy who staggers into the hallway. I swing my body around a corner and quietly screw on the silencer.
I don’t want to alert anyone that I’m here.
After all, I wasn’t invited to this party.
But I’m about to crash it.
I clutch the gun in my outstretched hand as the heavy footsteps get louder and louder. The flick of a lighter makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Once, twice, three, four times. Jesus Christ, asshole. How drunk are you that you can’t even light a smoke?