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GLORIA

T o say that I’ve walked right off the deep end would be a cliché, in every sense of the phrase.

And in every sense of my entire life, it’s absolutely a fact.

In. Over. My. Head.

My head, which until a few weeks ago was firmly attached to my body instead drifting off in a haze of sensual-soaked euphoria. Stupid whiskey, stupid wine.

Stupid, foolish girl.

Adriano’s scent still lingers around me, although I ditched his pants in a bin along the hallway as I made my exit.

He’s more intoxicating than the liquor by far.

Not to mention disarming, quick, and terrifyingly dangerous.

Everything that sets me spinning and longing for one more word, quip, and now one more touch of his hands. Don’t even get me started on his…

Shaking my head I rush to the car, slipping in and ordering my driver home.

It barely occurs to me that Dad is going to flip, the two of us disappearing from the party and then straight up leaving. But I had to get out.

Any longer and I would have let Adriano take me right there, bent over the dryer…

Heat flushes my cheeks and I nearly slap myself to clear my head.

At the same time, a voice, sultry and feigning innocence argues with honeyed words that he is my fiancé, he is my future husband. Why shouldn’t I enjoy him?

Why shouldn’t we give in to a little fun?

And sweet heaven I could have fun with him.

But I hardly know him and certainly cannot trust him yet. If ever.

He’s my father’s pawn, and likely in his pocket. It’s too risky to get too close.

The drive home is blaringly quiet, as is my room in my father’s compound estate. And hot. So fucking hot.

Or maybe it’s just the fact that I can’t get the thought of Adriano out of my head. Those eyes, dark and storming, those lips, always on the verge of a secret smile, those shoulders and that chest.

And his hands, broad and strong, grabbing me places that make my legs squirm under the sheets, clenching my thighs together to alleviate the ache in my center.

I’d love to say that sleep offers relief, but my dreams are just as lurid.

Almost like stepping into this world of crime and danger awakened something in my psyche that was dormant. Longing for the risks and thrills that my life lacked before.

I shouldn’t want any of it.

Most of the time I regret responding to my father’s letter.

Not that I had much of a choice at the time. When I awoke the next day, I decided to call him, the number on his card tucked into the envelope.

Only to find that he was in Paris, waiting for my response. We had breakfast that day.

The next, he saw to my debts, buying me out of Claude’s credit nightmare without my knowledge, and dropping the bomb on me at dinner that he took care of my things, had them packed, ready to ship.

I should have protested more.

I should have second-guessed his intentions.

But the opportunity to settle my accounts and set up my sister safely for several more years was too tempting. So I threw caution to the wind. Took the job. Took the flight.

Little did I know at the time how right that man from the FBI was. Or how deep I would become involved and how fast.

“Good morning, Miss Gloria.”

“Good morning, Nina.”

“Don Vipera is waiting for you if you want to take breakfast in the study.”

As if it’s optional, a suggestion.

One thing about my father that I learned very quickly, was that he rarely commands anything. He asks. But you’re expected to know how to respond in a way he approves of or insinuates.

Much like the nature of his organization and parts of the business I now effectively manage, he is subtle, invasive, and demanding of every ounce of loyalty and attention. Which is especially worrisome for someone with a secret.

Like me. And my little sister in France.

Every day I’m thankful that I didn’t tell him about her, that I’ve always been careful about who I tell. I was also extremely careful when I sent the rest of the money for her boarding school covering the next few years, making sure that the money would be untraceable.

At least there are benefits to having access to a worldwide underground crime syndicate.

Of course, Dad still plays things off like we’re a legitimate business.

Exports.

Shipping.

Investments.

Like I haven’t seen the duplicates, the shredded files, the falsified manifestos covering guns, drugs, and the careful laundering of all of those funds associated with both the businesses and the collections made by his army of street gangs.

“Gloria, have a seat. How did you sleep?”

“Good. Great.” I step into the room, quick to smile. Next, I cross to him, leaning down to kiss his cheek, then his ring. Daughter, but never just his daughter.

We all work for Dom.

“Where’s mine?” a deep voice mutters from the other side of the table, making me nearly jump out of my slippers.

Adriano’s cool gaze locks onto mine as I look up, schooling my features into a coy little smirk before I circle the table toward him. Take me off guard will he?

He’s not the only one who can play at this.

Until I reach him and he stands, wrapping his arms around me without warning, pulling me into an embrace, followed by a quick stolen kiss at the corner of my mouth.

It’s everything I can do not to melt in his arms.

Or yelp in shock at the casual touch and kiss.

Oh. He’s making me pay for last night, alright.

The look in his eyes as we pull apart confirms my suspicions, as well as the tight-lipped smile plastered across his strong-jawed face.

Connard .

I almost say it to his face, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. But I clamp down on my emotions, smiling back and taking my seat next to him.

“Good to see you two finally making an effort.”

“It’s been hard to find the time, but it was only a matter of time, I suppose.” Adriano shrugs innocently.

Dom doesn’t miss the jab but plays it off.

“Such is our life, Adriano. We’re all busy. You must make time for your wife if you want to have a successful marriage. And I know you two will make it work.”

“I’m sure we will,” I offer, resting my hand on my father’s.

He snatches his out from under it, however, not flagrantly, but fast enough so I know he’s displeased. His face remains pleasant.

“As long as you don’t make it a habit of slipping off for alone time too often at important gatherings.” The words are saccharin, but razor sharp. “Or leaving abruptly.”

“You can blame me for that,” Adriano admits, sounding genuinely guilty. “I was nervous and took too many shots.”

“That explains why half the party caught a flash of the future groom in his shorts running for the door, eh?” Dom bursts out laughing at that, his anger at our slight momentarily forgotten.

Thank goodness for his juvenile sense of humor.

“A practical joke by one of the staff, no doubt.” Adriano sips his coffee, staring at me fondly. Yeah. Like a wolf is fond of a rabbit.

Oh, he’s mad.

And I had better avoid him for a bit if I know what is good for me.

“Oh, and thanks for letting me crash here. I didn’t need to drive in my state.”

“Anytime, my boy. You’re family, always have been.”

Just for a second, I think I see a flash of anger in Adriano’s eyes, a fleeting glint of hate. But it’s gone too fast to be sure. Probably just imagining things.

Being around mobsters starts to make you a bit paranoid when you’re not used to it.

We pass the rest of the meal in small talk, the news, the weather. It’s almost pleasant.

“Well, I have to meet with a colleague at the golf course. You’re welcome to join.” Dom rises, his dismissal clear. As is the insinuation that he does not, in fact, want us to join him.

“Thank you, Dad, but I have plans to get some shopping done.”

“Likewise, I should catch up with some of the guys. I appreciate the invite, Dom. Maybe another time.”

“Ah, you kids enjoy your weekend.” He grins, pulling me into a tight hug.

“Maybe let the governor win this time, huh?” I tease, giving my best Vipera sneer and raising my eyebrows.

Dom tosses his head back, chortling. “Can’t show them weakness, though. They’ll think they can walk all over us.”

“No one would dare. Unless they wanted to increase their handicap .”

“Oh, she is wicked, just like her old man.” Dom shakes his head, wandering through the door.

Adriano gestures for me to lead the way after, and I swear there’s a disappointed look on his face despite his calm demeanor. It bites into my chest, making me regret my comments.

Anger roils up to take its place as I head back to my room, ignoring his farewell.

What right does he have to make me feel that way when I’m just trying to weather the storm that is my father?

The benefit of having a driver in New York almost outweighs the irritation of being constantly accompanied. And I will admit that this posh and easy lifestyle holds a certain appeal.

Even if it is a bit much.

Okay, it’s way too much, most of the time.

I miss my simple apartment, my freedom.

So, I drive myself today, even though I’m not used to doing it around here yet.

At least I’m not alone all the time here. Just lonely.

Because none of the people around me here knows what I am dealing with. I have no one to confide in. No one to trust.

In place of that confidence, I’ve taken to spending my off days at the office when no one is there. The blessed solitude of the empty building that Dom took over in Brooklyn near the river on a Saturday shouldn’t be comforting, but it offers me something distinct that I don’t have anywhere else in my life.

A moment without any of the maids at the compound or the guards that taxi me around the city.

It also offers me purpose.

Pastimes.

Even if they are solely devoted to researching the old Diamante files in the archives and digging up dirt on my father and trying to dig up any information I can on Adriano’s older brother, my father’s predecessor. Not too surprising that no one will tell me much about him.

What is odd, is that there doesn’t seem to be much info on him, Adriano, or their younger brothers who I have only spotted once in my weeks here. It’s like they’re ghosts.

Unlocking the basement door, I click on the lights, letting the fluorescent bulbs warm up and brighten while I make coffee in the lounge, listening to a mix on my headphones.

Following my routine, I gather my notes, stashed in a closet at the bottom of the basement stairs, and let myself into the big, sterile cement room filled with rows of file folders and lock boxes. It still shocks me that they even have a place like this, with records that could incriminate them on so many fronts. Except that since I’ve been here, I have yet to find anything that hasn’t been carefully curated to look absolutely, flawlessly legal.

Setting out my caseload for the day, I pause my music, listening for any sounds before pressing the call button and the other reason for heading to this room.

It’s the only room in the building, or in the compound, I am sure is not bugged.

So I can call my sister.

Hear her voice.

When she answers, that is. The time difference doesn’t always suit us having a conversation, and her schedule doesn’t always permit it either. But I always leave a message for her, and I call the secret remote voicemail box I set up for her to leave me messages on.

Hearing her voice makes this all worth it.

Even my impending marriage to Adriano.

Intrusive thoughts much?

As the line rings out, clicking over to voicemail, I hang up, deciding to try again after a while.

Still, thoughts of last night keep wiggling into my head, making my pulse quicken and my face blush.

I’ve never been particularly shy when it comes to guys I like.

But I’ve also never grabbed a guy and shoved him up against a wall and grabbed his…

Whoa, there, Glow.

Slow down.

Except that I can’t. My idiotic heart and my treacherous body keep driving me toward him, making me want him.

And I so badly want to let myself, want to trust him.

The man I agreed to marry. An arranged marriage by my mafioso father.

It sounds even more outrageous when I lay it out like that. It’s the truth, though.

He blindsided me with it just before he blindsided Adriano with the news, and he made it clear that he needed me to play along. It’s just that the closer we get to the event, and everything that leads up to it, the more nervous I’m getting about having to get to know Adriano, and how much I want to.

Not to mention the fact that I am starting to have doubts about Dad’s intentions for the wedding. Like I might actually have to go through with it.

On the flip side, what does it mean for Adriano if he doesn’t make me do it?

Is my father’s plan to eliminate the brother of his ex-best friend—former head of the family?

It would make sense, except for everything he’s put on Adriano’s shoulders so far. It doesn’t make sense to make him the right hand of the family and then immediately kill him.

Unless he suspects Adriano’s planning something.

And here I am, caught in the middle of schemes and plots, with plans of my own, and more than enough to worry about without having to wonder if there’s anything even more sinister going on!

“In. Over. My. Head.” I grumble, shuffling toward the last of the shelves along the back wall. It’s right then that something catches my eye, a recess in the corner.

The lights back here are dimmer, some out completely.

But it’s definitely a cubby.

Concealing a door. A locked door, at that.

“Which shouldn’t be a problem at all…” I snicker, tugging a bobby pin out of my hair and kneeling. “Old building, old locks.”

Anna was right when she said I used to sneak out a lot when I was a teenager. And sneaking back in was just as much of the challenge.

A tiny click precedes the door screeching open on tired hinges, revealing a closet, lined with filing cabinets.

“Well, well.” I tap my lip as I peer inside, leaning to look around as I tug the door farther open and wiggle inside.

Face first into a cobweb.

A shriek slips through my lips, and I stumble back bumping a shelf and tumbling forward as a cascade of papers avalanche down on me. Catching my hands in front of me I push up, wincing at the pain in my head and the worse pain to my pride.

“ Empotée ! Klutzy girl,” I growl, trying to rise from my awkward, bent position.

But I can’t.

My blouse is caught on something.

And I’m pinned by the filing cabinet behind me, tipping over to rest against my backside.

Now, I’m not claustrophobic, but…

“Breathe and take it slow…”

Panic starts to coil in my stomach at the thought of being trapped in this dark, tight space, when I hear it, a whistle out in the archives. As I stop pulling, the drawer I’m caught in clunks loudly as I flop back against it.

The whistling stops.

“Hello?” a deep voice echoes nearby.

With an inner groan and a thousand curses, I close my eyes, knowing exactly who that voice belongs to and knowing that I need help more than I need my ego to stay intact.

“H-hi. In here. I’m stuck.”

Footsteps.

Then a snort that has my face burning hot in a flash.

“Gloria. You need a hand?” Adriano asks, laughter in his voice.