Prologue
He has me pressed against the wall, his breath mixing with mine, those dark blue eyes filled with fury as they hold me captive. In three weeks he was marrying my sister, and I just ruined everything. Their marriage was supposed to bring peace between our two families, and because I’ve always had a hard time keeping my mouth shut, I’ve ruined that too.
My name is Theresa “Tessa” DeMarco and my father, Ignazio DeMarco, is the Don of the Chicago Outfit. His name is Dominico Falcone and he’s the Capo of the New York Famiglia, the youngest head of the Commission in decades, and he’s supposed to be my future brother-in-law. Now, I might have just become the reason why the feud between the Outfit and the Famiglia will never be settled.
With one hand he has my wrists pinned above my head, his other is curled around my throat, squeezing ever so slightly. I know he can kill me in seconds, that he could squeeze the breath right out of me until my heart stops beating, or he could snap my neck like a twig between one breath and the next. But he doesn’t. He just holds me there, staring into my eyes, daring me to say something else, do something else. But I’ve learned my lesson, finally I’ve learned, so I keep my mouth shut and swallow, and I know he can feel me doing it.
I hold my breath as he leans in even closer, so close our lips are brushing and I can feel my heart pumping a hundred miles a minute as blood rush to my brain.
“I should kill you for your disrespect,” he whispers against my lips and for the first time in my life I feel an inkling of actual fear, “but it would be a terrible waste to destroy such beauty.”
I swallow again, painfully this time, and watch his eyes roam my face as his hand around my throat slides higher until he’s cupping my chin and his eyes watch as his thumb trails along my bottom lip.
“Terrible waste,” he repeats in a murmur. Then he lets me go and my body slides down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, staring up at him as he takes a step back and straightens his jacket before running one hand through his thick dark hair.
I stay silent, not moving a muscle as his head turns and his eyes settle on me, and something about the look in them, the way they roam over my body unapologetically make shivers run down my spine. Then he turns and walks out of the room, and it’s a long time later that I stagger to my feet and suck in a huge breath.
“My god, what have I done?”
