Prologue
Makenna
There's a slight tremble to my hands but I try hiding it. The Famiglia are in my father’s office, the Capo sits in front of my father. His son, the Capo Bastone sits beside him, while his brothers stand behind them, all of them tense and ready to start killing if need be.
The darkening of Dante's eyes tells me that he's seen my hands tremble. My breath hitches as I take in his gorgeous green eyes, the sadistic grin and the dark stubble that surrounds it. "Makenna," he says and I raise my eyes to his.
"Makenna..." my father says and I turn my gaze to him. His tone is harsher than it usually is with me and I know that it's due to the men that are sitting in his office. My father is head of the Ceannaire ar chách, the Irish Mafia here in New York. He has been since my grandfather took a bullet to the heart from the Bratva. He was lucky and survived; I don’t know how. Granda says that no way on this earth were the Russian’s going to be his downfall. He’s living life to the fullest in Dublin, Ireland where he’s the head of the Mafia. "Matteo Bianchi..."
My body tenses, I hate the Capo, have since I was twelve years old.
Nobody knows about my hatred of Matteo and no one ever will. I know the consequences of what will happen if anyone finds out the truth about that night.
My father carries on talking, "And I have agreed that our families being bonded is the only way to guarantee peace." I hide the scoff, this is absolute bullshit, there's no way that anything can be guaranteed. It'll be put on hold for a while, but something is bound to piss one of them off at some stage and then all hell will break loose. "You and Dante will marry."
I grit my teeth, I knew one day I'd have to marry, it's the way our world works. A woman in the Mafia doesn't have the life like a normal woman, we're to be seen and not heard. We're to be at the beck and call of our father and then our husband. I've been lucky, my father isn't a monster to his family, unlike some of his men. From what I've heard most of the made men beat their women and children to submit to their wishes. Break the woman so they won't disobey them.
I take a deep breath. "Yes, father." My gaze moves to my brothers who are standing in the corner of the office, they are looking at me with a weird expression. Did they think I'd object? I've not got a death wish. I'm not stupid. I'd never disrespect my father, not in front of his men and definitely not in front of men that are our enemies.
My father nods his head, "You are fourteen, Makenna, and the wedding will take place when you are of age." His tone is darker once again, this isn't for my benefit, this is for the Famiglia.
"Of course," Dante says harshly.
Matteo shakes his head, "As soon as you're of age, we'll have the wedding." He turns his gaze to me, "You can go."
My brothers tense, their hands on their guns, all of them eager to be the one to shoot him. There’s no love lost there and the tension in the room becomes thick.
"Makenna, go to your mother." My father demands and I hold back the protest. I give my brothers a smile as I leave the office.
My mother is waiting for me in the living room. Her hands by her side and a smile on her face. She rushes over to me. "You're finally getting married," she says and to anyone else it would be as though she's congratulating me. To me, I know better, she's been waiting for this day for a long time. Waiting for me to leave the house where she knows that the secret I carry will no longer risk being spilled.
One
Dante
The looks I get as I walk into the bar are nothing unusual. The women's eyes are full of arousal, want and fear and the men’s are either full of fear and respect, or fear and hatred. It's always been like this, since I was twelve, when I had my first kill. The fucker had it coming, he had his knife to my mother’s neck, by the time my bullet had entered the asshole’s head my mother had her throat slit. The next day, I became a made man.
"Dante," Alessio my youngest brother growls and I smirk when I see three of the Irish Mafia men sitting at the bar. "Fucking hate those Irish bastards."
"We're at peace now," I tell him, even though I'd love nothing more than to put a fucking bullet in their brains.
He scoffs, "Please don't tell me you believe that shit."
Of fucking course I don't. "Do I look like I'm stupid?"
He laughs, "No, but then again, you're marrying the Gallagher girl."
The mention of her name has my gut tightening. I've not seen her in five years. Seamus Gallagher, the Ceannaire ar chách, the head of the Irish Mafia here in New York, thinks he's the leader of all; hell, he's not even the leader of New York. That would be us. He's managed to keep his daughter out of all the rags and newspapers. Not a fucking picture of her anywhere, not even online. I feel like I'm walking in blind.
"I am."
Tomorrow I'll see her again, and in three days, we'll be married. Fuck.
One of the Irish men lifts their cell to their ear, not once have they taken their eyes off of me. I smirk, I don't give a fuck if they're on edge that we're here. When he puts his cell in his pocket I raise my brow, "What's the matter, boys?" I grin as their bodies tense. "We're going to be family soon." I'm taunting them and they fall into the trap, their fingers edging closer to their guns. "Reach for them and I'll rip your fucking heads off." I grit as I walk toward them. Their eyes narrow, but they're not quick enough to hide the fear that seeps into them. I know they see the demons that lurk in my eyes, the darkness that stalks my heels. It’s a darkness that wouldn’t have me hesitating to kill each and every one of them, and I'd do it without remorse.
"We're here for a drink, not to kill you." The threat of ‘yet’ hangs in the air as Seamus walks up behind me.
"You'll not be harmed while you're in my establishment." His Irish brogue is thick as he walks over to his three men. "Why aren't you at the airport?"
They straighten their backs, the respect shining in their eyes. "Boss, she told us that she wasn't arriving until morning."
Seamus narrows his eyes, "Finish your drinks, we're leaving."
They're instantly on edge, something is going on and I’m not sure what.
"Need any help?" I ask quietly and Seamus grins. "I’ll take that as a no. But if you change your mind, you've got my number."
He nods, "I'll see you tomorrow, Dante." Just as I thought, he wouldn't ever accept my help. It would be seen as weak. "Enjoy your evening." There's a reproach in his voice, is he warning me to behave? I grin darkly at him, I’m not a man who can be controlled. I'll do whatever the fuck I want, whenever the fuck I want.
Romero slides beside me, his face deadpan but I know him, he's boiling with rage as we watch the Irish leave.
"Not now," I warn him.
"It'll be a bloody wedding yet." He grins.
There's not been a bloody wedding in the Famiglia for over a decade. "They won't start a war, not at a wedding."