Page 2

Chapter One

Rafael

“Are you sure?”

The doctor glances at the floor nervously and pushes his round glasses further up the bridge of his nose. I wait, glaring down at him, seething with anger.

“Yes, Mr. Romano,” he says quietly. “I can show you the toxicology reports.”

I smash my fist on the desk, sending papers and pens flying across the room. The doctor jumps and backs up a little, knowing well to avoid me when I’m angry. I take a deep breath, trying to center myself. It’s not his fault. Listen to the damn man.

“Show me.”

He reaches into his briefcase, rifling through stacks of papers. I can see his fingers shake. A bead of sweat slides down his thin nose, making his glasses slide down again. I grab his shoulder, and he flinches, looking whiter than a ghost.

“Relax,” I say, trying for an even tone and failing. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

He nods, gulping down some air, and continues to flip through papers. I watch him closely, knowing I’m making him nervous, but that’s what I do to people. This man has known me my entire life, and he’s still scared as shit.

They don’t call me The Wolf for nothing. I’m the stealthy, lethal loner of the Romano family—plus, I like to play with my dinner before I eat it.

Of course, the only ones who actually know who I am run in the same circles as me. Crime families, gangs, and criminals know me and fear me. Civilians? They wouldn’t take a second look at me. After all, wolves look a lot like dogs until you take a closer look at them.

Let’s just say I like to keep a very low profile.

Finally, he plucks a paper out of the stack and shakes it in front of me with a triumphant look on his face. I snatch it from his hands and scan the report.

Lethal levels of cyanide.

“As you can see,” the doctor says, pointing to the glaring truth, “he was most definitely poisoned.”

“Enzo,” I growl at my associate, shoving the paper back into the doctor’s hands. “Get everyone who was with him into my office. NOW.”

Enzo nods and slinks out of the room as I fall into my leather wingback chair. Pain radiates across my forehead, circling my temples and threatening to turn into a full-blown migraine. I reach for the crystal tumbler near me, pouring myself a hefty glass of bourbon.

I throw it back and let it burn through the pain. The doctor shifts nervously from foot to foot, staring at the floor. I bet he’s wishing it would open up and swallow him right now.

“You can go,” I say, waving him away. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

He nods and scurries out of my office, the heavy wooden door slamming behind him. I lean back in my chair and close my eyes, trying to steady my breath.

Poison. Fucking cyanide.

Whoever killed my father wanted it done quickly and without room for error. The amount of cyanide in his system was more than enough to kill a full-grown man. Who would do something like this?

I make a mental list of his enemies. It’s a long list, too long to keep track of in my head, but I discount almost every name I think of. None of them would be ballsy enough to go for the kill.

Dominic Romano. Head of the Romano crime family. The scariest motherfucker in town, killed by a cup of cyanide-laced coffee.

Something hot sticks in my throat, threatening to choke me. I push the unfamiliar feeling down and scrub my face with my hands. It makes me ponder how easily kingpins can fall in the world of organized crime.

If this happened to my father, a feared criminal mastermind, what’s to say it won’t happen to me? Now, more than ever, I need to watch out for that bright red target on my back.

There are too many small fish setting their sights on a bigger pond in this town.

I need to keep it together. After all, he trained me for this moment.

“Stay strong when I’m gone, Rafael,” he had told me more times than I could count. “Everyone will see it as an opportunity to move in—to strike while the iron’s hot. You need to show them who you are. The son of Dominic Romano. Powerful. Lethal. Bullet-proof.”

He wasn’t the type of dad who taught me to ride a bike or throw a softball. There were no bedtime stories, or I love yous in our house. Hell, he wouldn’t have known a soft emotion if it punched him in the face. But he was a good dad nonetheless.

A firm knock interrupts my thoughts, and Vince lets himself into the room. “I’m sorry, boss. Dominic was a good man. A good leader.”

I nod, adopting a neutral expression. I’m the son of Dominic Romano. Powerful. Lethal. Bullet-proof , I remind myself. I’m not feeling tears clogging my throat or a bone-deep worry for my own safety coursing through my veins.

“We have a lot to do,” I say, gesturing to the chair across from me. Vince sits down and I slide the bourbon over to him. “Where is everyone?”

“On their way, boss.”

He throws back a glass of the amber-colored liquid and pours another one for both of us. Thick silence stretches between us. I study Vince’s passive, cold face. I can’t take it anymore. I need to know.

“What the hell happened, Vince?”

“Boss, I…”

A fist pounds on the door and the other men wander into the room, looking like lost sheep without a shepherd. Ten of my father’s closest associates surround me, varying degrees of pity in their expressions.

Maintain control.

I stand, straightening to my full height, and throw my shoulders back. If there was ever a time to look like I could kill anything that moves, it’s now.

“My father was poisoned,” I say, matter-of-factly. “What can you tell me about this?”

A clamor of gasps and protests floods the room.

“Who would…”

“I bet it was…”

“…thought it was a heart attack…”

“Must be…”

Everyone starts talking at once, throwing names and theories at me. Only Vince is quiet, lost deep in thought, his chin perched on his hand. I ignore the others and walk over to him.

“What are you thinking?”

“Well…” he starts, then hesitates like he’s choosing his words wisely instead of spouting some nonsense. And that’s why he was my father’s right-hand man. “I don’t know for sure, but…there was this waitress.”

“Someone saw her do it?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” He shrugs. “She was extremely attentive though, if you know what I mean.”

“She was,” Uncle Joe cuts in, nodding wildly. “She was at our table every few minutes.”

“She was acting pretty strangely,” Rocco confirms.

A waitress. A useless, weak little pawn in someone else’s game, surely.

“Tell me more,” I command, turning away from the crowd of men so I can think more clearly. I wander over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and stare out at the skyline. It sparkles and shines like a jewel.

My jewel, now. But I didn’t want it like this.

Voices ring out around me and I can’t understand a single word they’re saying until Vince cuts in. Everyone quiets down for him. He carries my father’s deepest respect like a weapon.

“She was young,” he says slowly, his voice low and controlled. “Friendly enough at first, but she started lingering by the table too often. It seemed like she was trying to listen in—not that our guys would share anything worthwhile in a public place, of course.”

“You think she’s a spy? Working for someone?” I ask, spinning around to face him.

“I think that seems like the most logical answer.”

“Thank you. Vince, I need you here. Everyone else, you can go,” I tell them, keeping my voice level while my blood boils. A fucking waitress killed my father.

The men filter out of the room, giving me their condolences as they go. Finally, it’s just me and Vince. We sit in silence for a minute, both of us contemplating what to do next.

“Rafael,” he begins, his eyes meeting mine. “I know your father prepared you for a situation like this. But I also know he would’ve wanted me to help you with the transfer of power…regardless of whether or not you’ll keep me on as your right-hand man.”

“Please, Vince,” I say, cracking a rare smile. “You think I’m just going to throw you out and promote Enzo? My father placed the utmost trust in you, and I’ll follow his lead.”

Vince nods his head graciously and flashes me a tight smile. He might be cold, calculating, and kind of dead inside, but my father trusted him with his life. Besides, if I’m going to maintain control of this city, I need him by my side.

“I need to see her,” I say suddenly. “I want to see the woman who thinks she can kill Dominic Romano and get away with it.”

All of the anger and hurt I hold simmers below my skin. I’m ready to destroy, to kill. It’s my natural instinct, but I push it down. I need to play this right.

If she’s a spy or working for someone, I need to know who. She might prove to be useful—before I destroy her life. Besides, a quick kill isn’t good enough for her, and putting her through my little torturous game will make it more satisfying for me.

Vince rises, a grave look on his face. We head into the parking garage in silence, both lost in thought. As we pull up to the curb across from Rocky’s Cafe, Vince nods at the door. We watch customers go in and out through the tinted windows of my armored SUV.

“Maybe she already left?” Vince asks when half an hour has gone by. I shrug, but somehow, I feel like she’s there. And when she finally shows her face, I’ll be ready.

A few more people enter and exit. Finally, Vince sits up straighter and taps lightly on the glass. I watch as a woman exits the restaurant, golden hair with streaks of pink spilling around her shoulders.

I study her as she searches through an oversized bag. She’s standing framed in the doorway, like an image from a spread about the daily life of people living in the city. She’s of average height, athletic yet curvy, with vivid blue eyes that catch my attention even from across the street.

A man walks out of the cafe, hitting her with the door and making her jump. He smiles down at her in an indulgent way before passing her an ancient-looking flip phone. She laughs, smacking her forehead, and gives him a one-armed hug before she floats away down the street.

Her smile burns into my memory. It lights her up from the inside out, making her glow golden—like a ray of fucking sunshine in this gritty neighborhood. The need to destroy that happiness, that inner light, hits me hard in the gut.

“Follow her.”

Vince nods, starting the car, and does a quick U-turn. We creep at a snail’s pace down the street, staying far enough behind that she doesn’t notice us. She takes a left down a small side street, and we make an illegal maneuver to keep up.

Finally, she stops at a crumbling three-story walk-up. The bricks are crawling with ivy and the first-floor windows have bars on them. Whoever she’s working for isn’t paying her enough, that’s for sure.

As she disappears into the pitch-black lobby, Vince glances at me, waiting for instructions. I consider my options.

I could burst in there and kidnap her without a hint of struggle. Take her to the basement where we bring all the suspects. I could torture the fuck out of her and get answers. It would be easy and pain-free—no fuss, no mess.

But a voice inside my mind tells me to play the long game. There’s something about that smile, that golden hair. Something that makes me want to mess with her.

To find all of her weaknesses and exploit them.

To burn down her entire world.

“We wait.”

Vince, a man of few words, nods and leans back in the driver’s seat. I settle in as well. My mind races with ideas and next steps. How do I get inside her mind?

Only a few minutes later, she bursts out of the front doors. Her hair is up in a bouncy ponytail and she’s changed her clothes. Gone are the denim overalls and sneakers she wore earlier. She hustles down the street in a tiny black dress and black boots.

Interesting. Where are you going now, waitress?

Vince pulls us out of our parking spot without a word and heads down the street after her. When she stops at a bus stop, nervously tapping her foot and checking her phone, we slip into a tight spot across the road.

She’s so close I can see the smattering of freckles across her nose. She’s wearing eyeliner now, and her lips are painted a deep blood-red. I stare at her, unable to drag my gaze away from her face.

She’s studying the street around her and her eyes sweep over me. I hold my breath, even though I know the tinted windows obscure our faces completely. A gigantic grin breaks out across her face and I forget how to breathe.

Did she see me? Why is she smiling at me?

“Did you want me to follow the bus?” Vince interrupts my insane train of thought.

Right. The bus. She’s smiling because the bus came. I watch her climb abroad, the doors closing behind her.

“Follow it,” I finally manage. “Let’s see what this bitch is up to.”

We follow the bus slowly across town. With how many stops it makes, I’m shocked we make it there in less than an hour. I watch closely at every stop, waiting for the flash of golden hair. Finally, she all but trips and falls out of the vehicle at a downtown stop.

“There,” Vince points out, and I nod. We watch her cross the street, nearly getting hit by an oncoming minivan. She curses and shakes her head before ducking into The Velvet Room.

Vince whips his head around and stares at me. I’m shocked as shit, too. The Velvet Room? Really?

“The fucking Mancinis,” I spit out.

Our biggest rivals. My father’s arch-nemesis.

It could be a coincidence. She might just be unknowingly going in for a drink. Maybe she has a date tonight.

I don’t even know why I’m trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. Deep down, I know that a girl who lives in that piece of shit apartment building can’t afford a drink in Mancini’s swanky VIP bar.

I get my confirmation an hour later when she emerges from the bar, an apron tied around her waist. She ducks into the alley off to the side, and I see her light up a cigarette.

Not only is she part of their shady-as-shit crime ring, but she’s also employed at their legitimate business front.

“I’ve seen enough,” I tell Vince, motioning for him to drive.

I pull out my phone and dial Enzo. “Get me everything you can on that waitress from Rocky’s Cafe…and send someone to rearrange her furniture.”

I lean back in my seat, shutting my eyes. All I can see is that smile—glowing, warm, drawing me in.

I can’t wait to wipe it off her face forever.