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Zara

“ H ey, sexy.”

“I’m busy,” I reply from where I’m kneeling on the dirty, rock-hard floor in my ratty jean shorts. I don’t bother to look up, because I unfortunately recognize the entitled bastard’s voice. Praying he’ll take the hint and go away, I continue restocking the discount store’s shelves with four-packs of cheap toilet paper without pausing.

Nothing good ever comes from an unexpected visit from Izaiah Rovina, the oldest son of Emilio Rovina, mob boss of Brooklyn. Which is exactly why I live and work in Queens.

From the corner of my eye, I can make out the filthy rich jerk’s wrinkled, charcoal designer suit and his black silk tie loose at the neck as he comes closer. His messy appearance was my first red flag that he was nothing but a spoiled, self-destructive, insensitive jerk who loves heroin almost as much as he loves himself .

When his knees are nearly touching my face, he leans a shoulder against the shelves, as if he’s too wasted or lazy to hold himself up. He jerks on one of the auburn curls that’s fallen from my messy bun. “So, you don’t want to go to the zoo with Oriana tomorrow morning?”

My head falls forward, chin touching my chest to free my hair from his grimy fingers. We both know I want to see her and that I’d do anything to spend an entire morning with my daughter. And I do mean absolutely anything.

The Rovina family is one of the richest and most powerful in New York City. Three years ago, the sons of bitches ripped my newborn daughter from my arms when she was only a day old, knowing I could never afford an attorney to fight against their legion of lawyers for custody. I don’t even know which of their dozens of properties they’re keeping her at, but I’m sure she’s locked up behind towering walls and dozens of security guards, safeguarded like Fort Knox.

And their sole reason for taking my daughter from me, refusing to let me spend a minute of unsupervised time with her, is because they deemed me unfit to be a mother. One failed drug test, even though I’ve been clean since the day I found out I was pregnant.

So, while the Rovinas can spend millions of dollars of their blood money spoiling my little girl, it will never add up to my love for her. Love that I’ve felt since the moment the damn stick turned blue.

Inhaling a deep breath, I get to my feet and finally face the asshole. The first thing I notice is that Izaiah’s glassy brown eyes are more bloodshot than normal, and his suit hangs a little looser than usual from his lanky frame. “I wish I could go to the zoo tomorrow, but…I can’t.” I hate turning down the offer. Taking time off from work is not a luxury I can afford at the moment. “I have to open tomorrow, and I’ll be here until closing. ”

Izaiah stabs his fingers through his short brown hair as if he’s growing impatient. “Then how about Sunday?”

Blaring sirens accompanied by red and blue lights start flashing in my head. They’re so bright and loud, I can barely think over them. “Why are you being so damn…accommodating today?” I ask the prick.

“Because I need you to do me a favor. An urgent one.”

I release the breath I was holding. Thank god. I can do urgent favors all damn day. That’s a million times better than having to perform sexual favors in exchange for supervised visitation with my daughter. In the past three years, I’ve done more of those “favors” than I care to recall.

“I’m off Sunday morning until one.”

“Deal,” Izaiah quickly agrees. While I wish I could spend the entire day with Oriana, I’ll take whatever I can get.

“What do you need me to do?”

The mobster straightens up and shoves his hands into the pockets of his sagging pants. “I just need you to deliver a message to the manager of a nightclub.”

Deliver a message? That’s it? This is sounding almost too good to be true.

“What’s the message?”

He glances over his shoulder to make sure there’s no one else in the store. “You need to tell Jasper Burch that his boss, Ferraro, has a bullseye on his head, and there’s a sniper coming for him who won’t miss.”

“Oh.”

The name Ferraro is ominous enough that I second-guess agreeing to this favor. Everyone in the city knows that there are five mafia families, one controlling each borough, and that Creed Ferraro is the boss who keeps the other four in line.

If someone wants him dead…well, they obviously have a death wish. The man’s nickname is Accabadore, the angel of death . While I’ve never seen him in person, I’ve seen pictures on social media of him glowering at cameras, looking as if he’s plotting the death of the photographers for daring to annoy him. There’s no denying that the mobster is devastatingly handsome, but getting too close to him would be hazardous to one’s health.

“So, the message is like a warning? One to keep Ferraro safe from a potential sniper?”

“Something like that.”

The only reason I don’t bail on this favor is because I long to spend time at the zoo with Oriana on Sunday. She’s growing up way too fast. My worst fear is that soon she’ll be old enough for the Rovinas to fill her head with lies about me not wanting to be a part of her life. Besides, I don’t see what harm could come from giving the mobster a heads-up that could save his life.

“You’ll need to deliver the message in person. Tonight. And I want you to text me with updates.”

Dammit. I should’ve known there would be a catch.

“Tonight? It has to be tonight?”

“What time do you get off work?”

“I should be able to lock up and leave a little after ten.”

“Perfect.” Izaiah eyes the frays on my short denim shorts and then my snug white tee for so long I worry he’s going to add more conditions to this deal. “If you dress up slutty enough, you should be able to skip the line and deliver the message to Jasper before midnight.”

“That doesn’t give me much time to get ready. Where am I even going?”

“To The Vault. It’s a club across the bridge.”

Great. The commute to Manhattan will take half an hour, if not longer on the subway, which will leave me about thirty minutes to shower, do something with my curls, and find a short enough dress to get me into one of the city’s most popular clubs .

“Send me a message when you’ve delivered the warning and when Creed Ferraro shows up, then delete the entire thread. Understood?” He swipes his disgusting thumb over my lips, watching them intently. “Too bad I’m too wasted to claim this mouth tonight.”

“Yeah, too bad,” I mutter, not the last bit disappointed, as I pull back away from his reach.

“Next time.” His words are a promise, not a request.

Quickly changing the subject, I ask, “What if I can’t get into the club before midnight? What if Ferraro doesn’t show up?”

“Then you’ll never see Oriana again,” he warns me before he turns around and staggers out the door, as if he didn’t just threaten to cut my heart out of my chest.

Creed

“I fold,” I say and toss my cards down onto the green felt table. No better way to unwind after a Council meeting than poker night with the guys.

“Oh, fuck off. Why do you always play it safe, man?” Tristan huffs as he rakes his winnings — a pile of red, white, and blue poker chips — to his side of the poker table. “You’ve got more money to waste than the rest of us combined.”

Every Thursday night, I have a standing game of poker in my penthouse with my second in command and younger brother, Carmine; my consigliere or advisor, Lorenzo; and my two younger cousins, Andrea and Tristano. Although, everyone calls those two by their shortened names. Dre moonlights as an ethical corporate attorney and is third in line to my throne. Tristan is one of our family’s main enforcers because he enjoys inflicting pain.

“Maybe I have more money than the rest of you fools because I actually know when to fold and not waste it,” I reply while Carmine gathers up the deck of cards to shuffle them.

“Tristan was bluffing that hand,” Dre declares, his perpetual scowl on his face as he takes a puff from his cigar.

“If you thought I was bluffing, then why did you fucking fold?” Tristan asks him.

“Because you act like a little bitch when you lose,” Dre releases a rare chuckle seconds before he ducks to avoid a handful of peanuts in his face from Tristan.

Tristan isn’t wrong about me. I do play it safe. Being cautious every second of every day is how I was raised.

Sometimes there’s a part of me that wants to take a risk, to go all in. To be someone else, someone who isn’t responsible for the lives of hundreds of people. The lives of thousands of people if shit were to go sideways with the other four mafia families.

The stress of maintaining peace keeps me constantly on edge.

“Last hand? I’m ready to call it a night,” I tell the guys, wanting to try to get some shuteye before the sun comes up and I go for my daily run.

“Whatever you want, boss,” Carmine agrees as he deals the cards.

“Before I forget, Emilio Rovina mentioned earlier today that he wants a Ferraro to marry Stella.”

“It’s a no from me, dog.” Carmine shakes his head.

“Why not? She’s hot as hell,” Tristan remarks.

I look to Dre, who lifts a single, non-committal shoulder. Before I can ask him what he’s thinking, Lorenzo’s phone starts ringing.

“You got an old lady we don’t know about?” Tristan jokes, but Lorenzo ignores him and answers the call .

“Hello? Jasper? I’m with him now. Here, you can tell him yourself.” Lorenzo offers the phone to me. “It’s Jasper Burch. He says it’s important.”

“The manager of The Vault?” I ask as I take the device and Lorenzo nods. “What do you need, Jasper?” I assume it’s important if he’s calling so late.

“Hey, boss. S-sorry to bother you, but, uh, I just got a message I think you need to hear.”

“Great. What’s the message?”

“Some girl showed up and said, and I quote: ‘Ferraro has a bullseye on his head, and there’s a sniper coming for him who won’t miss.’ It might be nothing, but I wanted to give you a heads up, you know, in case it’s legit.”

I sigh. “Is this girl still there?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Have your employees keep an eye on her but keep your distance. We don’t want to spook her. I’m on my way over to talk to her myself.”

“Thanks, boss,” he says in relief.

Handing the phone back to Lorenzo, I stand up and tug my suit jacket off the back of my chair to slip it on.

“What’s up?” Dre asks.

“Jasper sounded spooked. He said he’s got some girl in the club who had a message for me.”

“What kind of message?” Lorenzo asks as he grabs his own jacket and throws it over his arm, ready to tag along.

“Something about how there’s a bullseye on my head and a sniper coming for me who supposedly won’t miss.”

“Fuck. I’m coming with you,” Carmine says.

“Me too,” Dre agrees as he and Tristan get to their feet. “Why didn’t this person just call or text you instead of going to Jasper?”

“I don’t know. That’s a question we can ask her.”

“We should consider bringing in more men, increase your security,” Lorenzo suggests as we all head down the hall toward the elevator.

“It’s probably nothing.”

“You aren’t worried?” Tristan asks.

“Not particularly. She’s probably going to ask for some exorbitant reward for providing me with this vital message, and that will be the end of it.”

“Well, if nothing else, we can all get drunk and try to get laid tonight,” Tristan suggests.

“This shit could be serious, and you’re thinking about getting your dick wet?” Dre mutters.

“It’s probably nothing,” I repeat. “But I’m not paying anyone a dime.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Creed?” Lorenzo asks. That’s what my faithful advisor always does, though. Rather than tell me I’m being an idiot, he’ll ask me if I think I’m being an idiot because he knows better than to come right out and say it.

“Jasper’s been a loyal associate of ours for six years, Lor. There’s no reason we shouldn’t trust him, and I don’t consider one girl much of a threat.”

“I’m not sure how much extra muscle I can have here on such short notice,” Lorenzo says while his fingers type away on his phone.

“That’s fine. It’s late. Don’t bother calling anyone in. The five of us can handle this. We go talk to Jasper and the girl, then I’m coming straight home,” I tell him, but he still looks doubtful. His concerned frown doesn’t lessen an inch as he pauses his typing and stares me down for several more seconds. “And we’ll all go strapped just in case,” I add to appease him. I don’t usually feel the need to wear my shoulder holster and Glock into my own nightclubs, but until we learn more about this so-called threat, better safe than sorry .

Finally, Lorenzo gives me a nod of agreement. “I’ll go get a vehicle ready for us while you four strap up.”

“Great. And don’t worry, Lor. You know most threats are all talk anyway. Plenty of people want me dead, but most are too stupid to try.”

“I don’t think we should underestimate the stupidity of others, especially the other four bosses,” Lorenzo remarks before he walks out the door.

“None of the Council members have been at each other’s throats in years. Business is good. Everyone is getting rich. So, I doubt any of them would want to start a war and ruin a good thing. Do you think someone is suicidal enough to try to take my place?” I ask Carmine, Tristan, and Dre, as I lead the way to the walk-in safe in my bedroom, filled with money and firearms.

“Who the fuck knows with those stronzos ,” Dre mutters. “They would probably be the only ones who actually have the balls to try to take you out. But I doubt any of them are stupid enough to talk about coming after you in front of some girl they don’t trust.”

I’m too damn paranoid about being betrayed or getting caught in a bust by the feds to talk business with most of my own loyal men. It’s why there’s a particular chain of command. I give the orders to the few I know well — Dre, Tristan, or Carmine.

These are the guys I grew up with and have known my whole life. They then pass my instructions on to our captains, who give the orders to our soldiers who are carefully vetted and have to be known associates for at least eight years before they take our oath.

I’ve been the capo dei capi, boss of all mob bosses for ten years without anyone challenging me. There’s a reason people call me Accabadore , the angel of death, behind my back. In the first year after my father died, the Irish tried to move into lower Manhattan, testing me. And that was the last time those sixty-four members were ever seen .

I may be cautious, but I don’t take anyone’s shit. Disrespecting me or my men may cost you your tongue, getting caught stealing from me will result in no less than the loss of a limb.

And even thinking about coming after me is an absolute death sentence if it proves to be true.