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ISABELLA

“ A drink for the lovely lady?”

“No thank you, I'm fine.” I smile, shaking my head.

Another bar, another small town. This is the last one on my trip. Not only is it getting old, my funds are getting low.

Bankrolling my own private vendetta against the Diamantes is wearing me thin, but with the last tip I got placing Alessandro Diamante at that private airport in France, I couldn't resist. I pulled out all the stops, called in every favor I could.

My brother had contacts at Interpol, and his best friend Lucius was able to send me the photo of him at the airport. They’ve apparently been monitoring the Diamantes for a while, but without any real evidence, that’s all they can do.

Watch.

But an independent contractor, well, I can do things they can’t. Or won’t.

It only took a relatively heavy amount of guilt-tripping Lucius to give me the info.

Still, the trail kept running cold after I made it back into Italy, to a little town where I found clues in the public record of a holding dating back three generations to a cousin of Quinto Diamante, Alessandro’s great grandfather.

Two other little villages were contenders for my last-ditch effort, but this one seemed the most likely.

Now, it’s a matter of thinking I see him every time a tall, broad-shouldered, or remotely good-looking Italian man walks by me.

The two photos I have are decent but leave a lot to be desired for IDing someone.

How this guy has managed to go nearly his entire thirty-something years of life in the digital age without a fingerprint or current photo online somewhere is beyond me. I guess that’s one of the benefits of being a member of one of the most powerful families in the world.

And a mob boss.

That little tidbit is still tied to a lot of speculation.

Lucius dropped another hint that a war is brewing between various players in the criminal underworld, and that they are on high alert. Mostly I think he was trying to warn me to steer clear of this situation, and to quit bugging him for info.

He’s not wrong.

I’m poking around in dangerous places, looking for dangerous people.

And I only have a vague idea of what I am going to do when I find him. My mother would absolutely kill me if she knew.

But the fact that my brother was killed by these men, by this family, makes it all the more crucial that I do this. My mother lost everything when Giorgio died. Dad was already gone, years of stress and a bad diet leading to a heart attack.

So I am all that’s left.

The only one who can do something to stop them.

It sounds ridiculous when I put it that way, I know. One woman against a mafia family.

Yet I am capable. Driven.

I can and will make sure that at least one of them, hopefully Alessandro himself, never sees the outside of a jail cell again.

The pub I chose to stay at in the mountain town is cheap, but cozy. Good thing, too. It just started snowing when I got into town.

My cover is that I am here visiting my family’s old hometown. I did my research, providing a good enough story to fool even the Diamantes. A very distant relative of theirs, a great-step-aunt-in-law used to live here, near the town on an old estate.

She had children who have all passed away now, and their kids are all scattered and out of touch with their past. I was able to learn enough to sound plausible.

Just like the Diamante’s distant properties listed under names most people wouldn't recognize, I incorporate details no one would bother looking for. It sells the persona without having to try and pretend and lie too much.

It’s a trick my dad taught me about going undercover.

Thanks, Dad.

“Come on, bellissima ! You better order something, it’s cold out there.” An older man chuckles, nudging my elbow with his.

Normally, in Rome, I would give him a much colder response. A clear indication that I am not interested in talking or his advances.

But out here, everyone knows each other, and the people have been nothing but warm and kind to me since my arrival.

“Let me buy you a glass of wine, eh?”

“I suppose. Thank you. And may I order a bowl of soup as well, Mr. Polis” I ask the man behind the bar who pauses to smile my way. He’s the owner who checked me in.

“Should I add it to your bill?”

“May as well. Should I also plan to stay for a few more nights?” I joke, looking over my shoulder at the crowd making their way inside, dusting flakes off their coats.

“Not to worry. With a blizzard coming, I doubt your room will be in demand. I won’t kick you out if you need an extra night or two.”

“In that case, I’ll take a shot and a glass of wine.”

Which turns into another glass. I make a pass around the pub, eyeing its patrons. A few of them are younger and could fit the bill. The place is busier than I would have expected on a weeknight, or for a small town in general.

It’s also a gamble to linger too long and stare. More than a few of the younger men, and the older, give me a wag of their eyebrows, an inviting smile.

I do not want to invite their attention too much. Especially if I have to head upstairs for the night. Mr. Polis would probably see to my safety, but it would sour the mood and throw off my search.

I’m about to call it a night and start fresh in the morning when I spot them, two men in their thirties sitting in the back room behind the pool tables.

“Another game?” I hear one of them ask.

“So you can make an ass of me again? No thanks. Let me have a few more drinks.”

“Then you can just make an ass of yourself!”

“Exactly.”

They’re already pretty inebriated, barely noticing when I meander into the corner of the room and take a stool to keep an eye on them.

That has to be them.

Even with the hat and glasses on, the older one—the incredibly good-looking one—matches my photos. As best as anyone could from a distance.

Both have that attitude, like they own the place. They’re clearly related, and while their clothing suits both of their muscular figures, something about it seems off. Not worn in enough.

Listening is easy from here, and there’s a soccer game playing on the TV near me, giving me an excuse to be where I am. So I sit quietly, unnoticed as they get wasted in the back corner. Right up to closing time, when the taller one, wearing that absurd newsboy hat and fidgeting with his glasses, heads to the bathroom.

I wait in the hallway, trying to catch a glimpse of his face when he exits the restroom, pretending to exit the ladies’ room myself.

Our eyes meet and my heart stops.

They are dark, deep.

I’m instantly drawn to him, his presence. And I hate how good-looking he is and how it makes my pulse beat quicker.

His face, that jawline, and the muscles bulging under his button-up. He’s incredibly tall in the small space, easing back against the wall to let me pass.

I try to ignore the shape of him in his tight pants so near me.

Why am I thinking about that right now?

Must be the wine.

He stares blatantly, and it simultaneously makes my body temperature rise and makes my skin crawl. Thoughts sprout out of the intense look in his eyes; thoughts of him throwing me up against the wall right here in the hall, kissing me.

Taking me.

Get your head out of the gutter, girl!

This guy is the worst of the worst. A crime lord. A murderer.

I linger near the stairs to the rooms, waiting to see them leave. The younger brother helps Alessandro out the door and they spend some time clearing their car. Sneaking out after them is a simple thing. I blend in with the few others leaving and the crowd heading home.

My own rental car is fairly buried, but I manage to slip in, start the engine, and warm it up while they laugh and stumble around in the snow.

“This is it. Just need to follow them to where they’re staying, and then I can go back tomorrow to see what I can find,” I mumble, needing to bolster my courage. The snow is pouring down now.

Their vehicle is way better equipped for the weather, but I manage to keep up, the taillights guiding me through the whiteout.

Soon, we’re ascending right up the mountain, and I clench the steering wheel in a death grip, regretting my decision. It’s all I can do to keep up, keep my wheels from spinning out on the road. There’s no way I can turn back now, or even turn around on this narrow road.

“ Merda, merda, merda !” I yelp as I lose sight of the red lights ahead of me.

The next turn levels off onto a drive, and I nearly cry with relief. Warm, orange lights glow faintly ahead. Windows.

I kill my headlights and ease to a stop once I spot the SUV across the way. A few minutes pass, and I hope they’ve made their way inside.

“What the hell am I going to do now?”

The blizzard is blowing snow sideways, piling against the car, the front of the house. It’s so cold that the heater in my car can’t keep up. My feet are freezing. My hands are numb.

This was a huge mistake.

I’m trapped up on this mountain. I’m going to die in this stupid economy car.

Panic threatens to choke me, making it hard to breathe. I have to do something, or I’m in big trouble. There’s only one thing to do.

I stumble out into the blasting winds, clutching tight to my scarf and coat. The house looms across the drive, feeling so far away. More like a mansion. I can barely make out the profile of the building, but I can tell it’s huge.

It takes me several minutes just to tromp through the drifts, taking care not to slip and checking frequently if I’m still heading the right way. I’ve never been in weather like this before. Terror and bitter cold rip away all my reason. Only self-preservation matters.

My knuckles feel like they’re going to split when I knock the first time.

By the third attempt, I’m pounding on the door with both hands.

“P-please…” I chatter out.

The door opens a sliver and I feel blessed warmth seep out.

“M-may I—” is all I manage before a gust hits me, nearly bowling me over. In an instant I feel a hand at my back, steadying me, guiding me inside.

Instantly, I’m jarred by how hot it feels inside, so perfectly, life-savingly hot.

Shivers still wrack my whole body, and I take a few moments to just stand there catching my breath. I realize after a second or two that whoever opened the door is standing in front of me, watching me.

“Th-thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” His voice is gravelly, deep and dark. Despite the warm relief to my aching bones, fear claws at my spine, making me clench my fists. Compose myself.

I raise my eyes to meet his.

And what I find is shocking. Stunning.

He’s only wearing a robe and some warm, comfy pants.

The crease of his chest peeks out from the split in the soft garment, right at my eye level. Above that, he’s steady, intently gazing with narrowed eyes.

Like a predator deciding how to bring down his prey.

“What are you doing here?” It’s a simple question. One he shouldn’t even have to ask me, I should be offering him excuses, an explanation.

“Um, I…” Every story I planned flutters away, my mouth going dry. “Got lost in the blizzard, followed the only set of lights I saw.”

“So you followed us a half hour up the mountain?”

My mind is trying to catch up, the flickering fire in the next room thawing my thoughts out, beckoning me to find a way to stay and get warm. “I couldn’t turn back once I realized I was going the wrong way.”

“Hmm.” His posture relaxes slightly and he cocks his head to the side, a sharpness to his expression making me second guess how drunk he seemed just an hour ago. “What’s your name?”

“Isabella Bianchi.”

“I’m Alessandro,” he offers hesitantly. “Bianchi? Like the Cortino Bianchis?”

Recognition sparks in his eyes.

“Um. Yes. Distantly. I’ve been traveling through several mountain towns, researching my heritage on vacation.”

Hopefully it doesn’t sound too rehearsed.

His stance is relaxed, but there’s a tension to the air. He’s suspicious.

“I’m so sorry to intrude; I feel so foolish. Thank you for letting me in. If you’ll let me warm up for just a moment, I’ll be on my way.”

A part of me truly wants that, to run, get back to my hotel room and hide.

Alessandro takes a deep breath, crossing the distance between us. He looks angry, put out. His shirtless, chiseled muscles flex in the shadowy firelight cast on him through the doorway.

My entire body locks up, my mouth bone dry as he looms over me. Instinct is screaming at me to flee.

He’s going to throw me out.

Or snap my neck.

He's inches away, looking down at me.

And I just know that I'm done for.