Chapter One
Sofia
We’re raised to love as hard as we war. There are monsters in all of us.
Dresses in every hue and style were strewn over the table, waiting for me to choose. I could lose myself in fashion design and creation, my passion, and sometimes even block out the dark world I existed in. Born into one of the Five Families of the Italian American Mafia, I was no stranger to pain, blood, and death. The omnipresent sense of loss was the worst. It weighed on my soul. At night, haunting images of those close to me who had died would return to torment my dreams. One of my best friends, Marissa, had died in December of our senior year of college. And her brother Alfonso’s death when we were children took our innocence with him.
But in my studio, I could block my reality, if only for a little while.
With pins pinched between my lips, I circled Eva, Lil’s cousin and one of my closest friends, along with Emiliana. Dropping to my knees, I bent to the hem of the sexy-as-hell red evening gown, transferring the pins to the fabric, marking where I needed to shorten it by half an inch. I rocked back onto my heels then smiled up at Eva. “You’re going to own the runway in this dress.” She was a knockout with a body that stopped men in their tracks—literally. I’d witnessed it a time or two.
Eva pursed her full red lips then pivoted from side to side in the mirror in front of her as I got to my feet. A rare flash of self- consciousness clouded her dark eyes. “Are you sure? I’m not runway worthy.”
“Christ, Eva.” I rolled my eyes. “Remember your bloodline. We can do whatever the hell we want. And I don’t want starving models wearing my line. With your curves, this dress is you.”
A half smile curved her lips, and she tilted her head, her dark mass of long brown hair spilling over her right shoulder from the movement. “True. I forget sometimes. We’re not royalty, not like you.”
She was referring to herself and the other cousins. “Stop. All it means is that the target on your back isn’t quite as large. Embrace it.” Eva was the life of the party, but for some reason, she’d shown insecurity about being a cousin and not a Mafia princess like Liliana, Emiliana, and me. There had once been three more of us, but Marissa had been murdered, another was assumed to be dead after being married off to a Russian—I repressed a shudder—and then there was Elena. Everyone thought she was dead too.
She wasn’t. I was one of the only people who knew the truth.
“I’m counting on you, Eva.” I paused in adjusting the bodice. “I want you in Milan with me, wearing this dress.”
“When would I ever turn down a trip to Milan?” She grinned, and I had to laugh with her.
Eva was a party girl, and Fashion Week would be another opportunity to have fun. She did a little shimmy that drew attention to her perfectly round ass and the way her breasts were close to spilling out of the crisscross bodice, exactly how I’d designed the dress. “I can already see the paparazzi.”
I rolled my eyes, knowing she would eat the publicity up. “You’ll flirt with anything with a pulse, even death.”
“Mmm, I’d make an exceptional honeypot.”
Bile climbed my throat, and I ducked my head so she wouldn’t see my reaction to the term of a Russian spy who gained intel by using their body. “We’re not Russian.”
“Oh!” Her fingers curled around my arm in an excited grip. “Remember Ivan Pavlov? The super-hot Russian who went to our college that one semester?”
Suspicious for sure. None of us had forgotten him. “What about him?” I couldn’t have kept the wariness from my voice if I wanted to. I motioned for her to turn so I could unzip her.
“I saw him the other day.” Eva stepped out of the dress, and I hung it on the clothing rack with a few others that needed alter‐ ations. “Hey, is Enzo coming to Milan?”
I shivered at all the blows she was inadvertently delivering. Ivan wasn’t sexy—he was dangerous, and I didn’t like him being in town. Nothing good would come of that. The double punch of her mentioning a member of the Russian Mafia and Enzo in the same conversation did unpleasant things to my mind. I traced the scar on my right palm with my index finger, traveling back in my memory as I touched its slightly raised edge.
My studio faded, and in its place, soft grass tickled my little- girl sandal-clad toes. The sun made everything brighter, more exciting, as I slipped from my mom’s arms and ran to play with Enzo by the swings. Tony and Alfonso were with him. Tony was mean. I tried to stay away from him because he pushed me down a lot.
My brothers didn’t want to come, which made me happy. If they had, Enzo might not play with me. I worried he still wouldn’t because of the other boys. Alfonso didn’t like girls, even though he had two sisters, Marissa and Camila, who were on the swings, and I waved. Elena skipped over, her ponytail swinging from side to side.
“I like your dress!” Marissa shouted, pumping her legs to go higher.
My smile widened. It was a pretty dress, one of my favorites with its ballerina skirt and tiny flowers. Liliana would have loved it, too, if she’d been able to come play.
I caught Alfonso’s smirk and Enzo grabbing his arm when he made a move toward me. Alfonso’s papa didn’t stop him from pushing his sisters or me. That was why I liked Enzo so much. He was nice to me, like my brothers. One day, I would marry him.
“Where’s Em?” I stopped in front of Enzo, careful to stay out of Alfonso’s reach and far from Tony.
“Home sick.” He shrugged then pushed Alfonso in the direction of the slides. Tony followed.
I tried not to be sad. Then Camila fell and burst into tears. Her mom came over, pulled her into her arms, then called Alfonso and Marissa. I rocked onto my toes, unsure of what to do. Elena edged away from them, her eyes teary. Camila was bleeding. She’d scraped her knees badly. I wanted to cry too.
Elena slipped her hand in mine, and I leaned into her as Camila’s mom snapped at Alfonso to join them. Enzo came running with him, but Tony stayed on the slides. He never listened. I didn’t like him or Alfonso, but they were sort of family, just with a different last name and parents. At least that was what Mom said. We were the Five Families, and that linked us together.
When Elena’s fingers tightened, mine did too. I felt it. Something was wrong—not with Camila but with the men daddy had sent to watch over us. One fell. There were popping sounds.
The moms were shouting, screaming for us to come to them. Everyone was running or shooting. It was like when my brothers played war, but I knew it wasn’t pretend. Elena’s fingers bit into mine. I couldn’t move. Things were going too fast but also too slow. Enzo grabbed my arm, jerking me with him. I pulled Elena. Alfonso was there. His mom clutched Marissa and Camila as she tried to grab Alfonso.
He was just out of reach, but not from me. So close that I could touch him. My hand lifted as his eyes went wide, his body stumbling forward into Elena and me. He jerked again and again. Red colored his shirt, splashing his neck. I screamed. Elena’s hand slid from mine as Alfonso fell against her. I followed, my hands bracing my fall, and a sharp pain sliced through my palm. Then Enzo yanked me to my feet. I couldn’t look away. They didn’t move.
“Don’t look!” Enzo shouted in my ear, turning me away with a pull so hard it made my shoulder hurt. Enzo forced me to run with him. I didn’t look back.
Scary men in black with guns were everywhere. Tears streamed down my face, and my side and hand hurt. When Enzo stopped by the tunnel slide, he pushed my head down and shoved me in. My knees skidded on the plastic, and then he was behind me, his hand on the back of my leg, urging me to move.
I climbed, slipping a few times on the hem of my dress. Enzo caught me then tugged on my skirt to stop it from getting tangled under my feet and also to stop me. I turned to see his face, to make sure he was real. My body shook hard like it was cold outside, but it wasn’t. My teeth chattered. I couldn’t make them stop. Then his arms wrapped around me while his legs braced us in the middle of the slide, hidden from the men swarming the playground.
“You’re okay,” he whispered close to my ear.
I wanted to believe him, but Elena and Alfonso—the red that covered them, the vacant look in Alfonso’s eyes, and my throb‐ bing side said otherwise. When I looked down, the same color had spread over the pretty pink of my dress and down the ballerina skirt, and a sob broke free from my chattering teeth. I wanted my mom. I lifted shaky hands. I’d cut myself when I fell. Blood pooled along my palm, dripping down my wrist. I was afraid I would throw up.
I hated to throw up. Last time I was sick, I threw up five times. My head hurt, and so did my stomach. It was messy and smelled. I didn’t want to do that in front of Enzo. He would think I was a baby, when all I wanted was for him to play with me as he did with the other boys. When he did, it was the best day ever. That day wasn’t like that, even though we were together.
“Shh.” Enzo put his finger to his lips then looked at my palm. He got that serious face of his. Brown eyes met mine, and the strength in them slowed my tears a little. He dug in his pocket and pulled out the knife he’d showed Alfonso last time we went to the park. He’d said his dad had given it to him. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
I shook my head. “They’ll come for us.” I didn’t know who they were, but I meant the men who’d hurt our friends. The shivering worsened. I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t know why, but the bad men had gone around my mom and Nicole, Tony’s mom, then shot at us. We were who they wanted—the kids.
“No. I won’t let them take you.” He opened the pocketknife then held the tip of the blade at the palm of his hand. “You know what a blood oath is, right?”
I nodded, and the tremors lessened. Marco, my oldest brother, had once pricked the tip of my finger, squeezing it until a drop of blood showed. He’d repeated the steps with his own finger then pressed it against mine, making the blood smear together. He said it was a promise that could never be broken because we’d sworn it in blood.
What Enzo was doing felt like a big deal. I watched, fascinated as he drew the blade across his palm until he bled. Then he grabbed mine, the one that was cut open and bleeding, and pressed them together.
“I swear to protect you.” His warm brown eyes were fierce, determined. And I couldn’t help but be swept up in the moment as he repeated the oath my oldest brother had said to me that one time. Enzo would save me, that day and always. I knew it in my blood as it pumped and mixed with his. “I’ll always be there for you, come for you, and keep you safe.”
“Sofia.” Eva snapped her fingers in front of my face, and as I jerked back, the past faded away and my studio came into sharp focus.
I drew in a steadying breath as the horror of that day when I was six and Enzo was eight left the forefront of my mind. We’d lost Alfonso that day. Elena had survived. They’d thought she wouldn’t make it—a bullet that had pierced her side. She’d lain in a pool of Alfonso’s blood with his body half on her, and they’d thought she, too, was dead.
The attack had been meant for her. The Russians wanted her dead, or so I’d overheard from my parents. But I’d never learned why. After that day, Elena’s mom dyed her hair from brown with caramel highlights to black to help keep her safe. It was something they did together over the years, and I’d thought it was a cool mother-daughter-bonding thing. While it might have been, the main reason had been to make a disguise. Elena stopped going to parks, and as we grew up, she stayed close to Nicole’s side, only playing with Marissa and me in our homes, rarely outside.
“Sofia.” Eva grabbed my shoulder and gave me a shake.
“Sorry.” I forced a half smile. “I need more coffee. What did you say?”
Eva rolled her eyes. “Is Enzo coming to Milan?”
Agitation made me itch, and I rubbed my arms. “Why would he? He’s not my protector.” He wasn't mine. Not anymore. Even if I wished he was.
