Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“Only because my boss sold me out,” I mutter.
My uncle glances at me, his voice as dry as bone. “Which worked in your favor. You’re lucky we found you when we did.”
“Lucky?” I echo. “For who?”
“For all of us,” he says. “Including you.”
He turns slightly, his gaze sharp as steel cutting open old truths. “We need you, Lorenzo.”
“Why?” I ask, even though something in me already knows.
“War is coming,” he says simply. “The other side of the family has cozied up to your father’s enemies in Boston. We think they’re going to make a play. We’ve managed so far to keep them down, but we need you.”
“Why?”
“Because your name matters. Your blood matters. It carries weight. And if what we think is coming . . . we’re going to need you with us. Not acting as a servant in a mansion.” His eyes narrow. “You’re an Amante. And you need to live like one.”
The name hits me like a door slamming. Amante. Sharp. Heavy. Dangerous.
A name people fear. A name people follow.
It tastes strange on my tongue, like something belonging to someone else.
Someone harder. Someone colder.
Someone who doesn’t waste his time getting into fights over stupid shit.
And most importantly, someone who doesn’t fall in love.
“I’m supposed to just . . . what?” I ask. “Pick up a gun and join the cause?”
“We’ll train you,” Matteo says quickly, leaning forward like he’s afraid I’ll bolt. “No one’s expecting miracles. But you belong here. You’re family. And we protect our own.”
Family.
The word hits something in me I didn’t know survived the years of running. Years of hiding. Years of pretending I didn’t need anyone.
I look out the window.
The world blurs past. Forests and fences. Miles of private land. A security checkpoint with men with rifles standing at attention.
This is power.
The kind Victoria’s world only pretended to have.
“Still,” I say quietly, more to myself than to them, “fuck it, why not? She left anyway.”
Matteo glances at me, sympathy flickering across his features. “Victoria?”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to.
He seems to get it anyway. “She’s an idiot.”
My jaw clenches so hard I taste iron.
The car slows as we round a corner, and then I see it.
Massive steel gates rise ahead of us, taller than anything I’ve ever seen. Surveillance towers on either side. Armed guards are on patrol.
Where the fuck are we?
Is this how they live?
Past the gates, I see a sprawling estate.
Holy shit.
“Home sweet home,” Matteo says.
My uncle speaks without looking at me. “Welcome to your new life. The life you never should’ve left.”
The gates begin to open. I grip the edge of my seat as the SUV rolls forward. I’m not the same person I was this morning. That boy is gone, buried beneath betrayal.
Everything is about to change.
This is the beginning of something else.
Something darker.
THE MIDDLE
22
Lorenzo
The air inside the warehouse stinks of sweat and stale cigars.
I prefer to conduct my business elsewhere, but I have no choice tonight. It’s payday from our last collection run, and I have to be here to oversee my men.
The dim overhead lights flicker, casting a faint glow over the tables where the bags sit. The four men standing in front of me look like they’d rather be anywhere else. Probably with strippers at the club. Work first, fucking later.
My boots echo across the concrete as I approach the center of the floor. “Are we missing something?” I ask, voice low and controlled. I’m known as being a loose cannon, so whenever I’m the opposite, people take notice.
Vin nods once, flipping open the metal case on the folding table beside him.
Cash. Which is not surprising. There are stacks of it, but right away, I know something is off. There’s a lot less than there should be.
“Light,” Vin responds, his jaw grinding. “By almost fifty grand.”
“Fifty?” I arch a brow, slow and mocking. “What, did we forget to collect from half the city? Or did someone suddenly develop a gambling habit and a death wish?”
“Every venue reported,” Deeks says from across the room, arms crossed. “Bars, lounges, private rooms. Every single one of our books came back clean. Which means . . .”
“Which means someone’s skimming,” I finish for him, tapping two fingers against the edge of the table. My rings catch the light, sharp as warnings.
Rafe leans against a rusted pillar, picking dirt from under his nails, and scoffs. “Always the same story. Someone gets greedy, thinks we won’t notice.”
“News flash,” Vin adds, sarcasm thick, “we notice.”
“Barely.” I drag a hand down my jaw. “They’ve been shaving off the top for a while. Quiet. Careful. Now they’re getting cocky.”
Deeks grunts his approval. “I say we cut off a few fingers. Start a rumor. Fear travels faster than our money does.”
I glance at him, unimpressed. “Cute. Normally, I’m all for chopping limbs, but I’d rather get names before we start a trim job.”