Page 2

CHAPTER 2

M assimo

I didn’t come to Isola Selvaggia to meet anyone.

Not now. Not after five years of feeling absolutely nothing. Why didn’t I mind my own business on the boat? She didn’t need to be rescued. Especially not by me. She would have dived off the boat and swam back to the mainland if she knew even a fraction of the man I am underneath this ink. How much blood is on my hands. She’d choose the sharks over dinner with me.

My finger traces the pale outline of my wedding band as my driver takes me through the gates of the Twelve Palms resort. This is the first time I’ve taken my wedding band off since my wife was murdered. I left it in the jewelry box beside the two I put on her finger. One on the day I asked her to be my bride. The other on the day we celebrated our love with family, friends, and those important enough to get an invitation to a Morandi wedding.

I wore my wedding band longer after she was killed than I did when she was alive. I promised her a lifetime and couldn’t even give her three years. Our life together was barely getting started when hers was stolen—when my heart was ripped out of my chest and replaced by something that beats with malice and poison.

I thought the worst was over.

But now it’s happening again. More pain. More heartbreak. Like there’s anything left to break. But this wound is different. When my wife was murdered, I loaded my gun and kept reloading until I extracted every ounce of revenge I could. The streets of Las Vegas turned crimson with their blood. My hands just got more stained.

“Want me to pull around back, Mr. Morandi?” my driver asks.

“Yes, thank you, Ronaldo,” I answer. “I’m already checked in.”

The car passes the shuttle and I catch a glimpse of Lea walking into the hotel. Such a gorgeous girl. Beautiful green eyes. Delicate, soft features. Curves that beg to be touched. Lips that should always have a fresh kiss lingering on them. She’s the kind of girl I would have chased to the ends of the earth before I fell in love.

“What the fuck am I doing?” I mutter.

“Sorry, sir. What was that?” Ronaldo asks.

“Nothing,” I sigh.

I step out of the car without waiting for Ronaldo to open the door. He awkwardly shuffles to the back, opens the trunk, and reaches for my bags. I nudge him out of the way and grab them.

“I can carry those to your suite, Mr. Morandi,” he says, gesturing to my bags.

“I got it,” I assure him. “I’ll let you know if I need you again while I’m here.”

“No excursions planned, sir?” he questions.

I answer him with a shake of my head and start walking toward the back door of the hotel. Excursions? Like I’m here to see the fucking sights. I’ve got more important things on my mind than that. Things way more important than a gorgeous girl with green eyes and soft lips.

I make my way to the elevators and look around as I wait. Part of me hopes I’ll see Lea again. Another part hopes she’ll forget all about me and I’ll have dinner alone tonight. But I’m never truly alone. Too many ghosts haunt me for that. I’ve got poison in my heart and there’s no antidote. Too much malice that never seems to be silent.

“Forget all about me, Lea,” I sigh as I step onto the elevator and swipe my keycard so I can access the floor with the suites. “That way I can forget all about you.”

I lean my head against the wall of the elevator as it ascends. I’ve barely spoken to a woman since my wife was murdered. Never lingered long enough for conversation. Never let my mind wander, like it’s wandering right now. A cold bed honors the memory of what we shared, as brief as it was. But I guess everything is in disarray now. It’s hard to focus on anything.

That’s what happens when you find out your little brother put a price on your head.

“Fuck,” I grunt as I leave the elevator and make my way to my suite. “I have to get myself together.”

I drag my keycard across the sensor and push the door open. My hand immediately goes into my bag, and I wrap my fingers around my Glock. I yank it free as I storm into the suite and sweep every square inch of the lavish space. Once I’m satisfied, I put my gun down beside the mini-bar and pour several shots into a glass.

“Never can be too careful,” I mutter, downing the entire drink in one gulp and pouring another. “Fuck you, Emilio. Fucking asshole.”

I’ve called my little brother an asshole a lot over the years, but usually I’m saying it to his face with a smile on mine. I’ve never actually meant it before. Now, I do. Emilio has always been power-hungry and greedy, but I thought he respected our family and the hierarchy we were born into. I’m heir to my father’s throne. When he’s gone, I’ll be the one running the Morandi family. I planned to make Emilio my consigliere—my right-hand man. My uncle is way more qualified, but I wanted to do right by my brother and show him he would always have a spot close to the head of the table.

That’s all out the window now.

“Emilio, you little prick,” I sigh, walking to the window and looking out at the resort while I nurse my second drink. “Putting a hit on your own fucking brother because you want Dad’s throne. That’s not the kind of ambition that makes people follow you. All it will do is tear our fucking family apart.”

In my world, family is more than just blood. The Morandi family is rooted in Mafia tradition, but we’ve had to bend a few of them to maintain order. Maybe that’s where we went wrong. I could shut down this coup with a phone call if all I had to worry about was my little brother. But he’s made his moves. He’s got secret alliances. I should have been paying closer attention, rather than wallowing in misery.

“Here’s to another dose,” I say, lifting my glass and downing what is left. “Alright, I’m here on business. I have to keep up appearances.”

Twelve Palms is part of Morandi International, which is made up of dozens of shell corporations we use to launder our money. Most are legit businesses, like this one. It’s a beautiful resort that shines like a gem in the middle of the Pacific. I almost brought Layla here on our honeymoon, but I’m glad I didn’t. All those memories are sour now, like grapes that got plucked off the vine too early to turn into good wine.

I leave my suite and take the elevator to the lobby, scanning every inch of it, looking for any sign of danger—any sign of Lea. Fuck, I’ve got to get my head out of this daze. She was sick and had a scrape on her hand. I helped her. That should be the end of it. Why the hell did I ask her to join me for dinner? Why the hell do I keep seeing that smile and those gorgeous green eyes when I close mine?

“Meet with Theo. Keep up appearances,” I reiterate to myself as I walk outside of the hotel and turn toward Bellissima’s. “The hit isn’t supposed to happen until my last day here.”

Bellissima’s is an open-air Italian restaurant that serves food so authentic my great-grandmother gave it her stamp of approval. It would have been awkward if she didn’t, considering my great-grandfather named the restaurant after her. Not her real name, of course, but that’s what he called her. His bellissima —his beauty.

“Theo!” I call out, tugging my sunglasses off as I walk through the door of the restaurant.

“Massimo!” Theo’s face lights up with excitement when he sees me. “You made it!”

Theo is in his late forties and walks with a limp thanks to a bullet he took that was meant for my father. His wounds made him too much of a liability to continue serving as my father’s bodyguard, but his sacrifice was recognized and rewarded. He looks after a few of the businesses we run on Isola Selvaggia. The resort is way too big for one person to manage.

I shake Theo’s hand and he wraps me up in a quick hug that I tolerate because of the respect I have for him. He motions for me to follow him to a table in the corner and sits down. The restaurant isn’t open yet, so we’re the only two here except for a blonde-haired waitress who looks out of place since most of the people we employ here are locals.

“Monica!” Theo yells. “Bring us a bottle! Morandi ‘82!”

“Haven’t had that one in a while,” I remark as I sit down across from him and glance at the waitress who hurries into the back. “Who’s she? One of your bastard kids finally track you down?”

“No,” Theo chuckles, removing a cigar from his pocket and lighting it up. “Want one?”

I’d normally decline, but the aroma of the earthy Toscano wafts across the table as he lights it and piques my interest. What’s a little more poison at this point? I might as well indulge myself, considering I’m supposed to stare down the barrel of a gun in less than a week.

“Sure, why not,” I say, taking the cigar he offers, along with his lighter. “But you didn’t answer my question. Who’s the girl?”

I’m naturally suspicious of people, especially people who work for us that I’ve never met. For all I know, my brother could have sent her to Isola Selvaggia to keep an eye on Theo since he’s more likely to be loyal to me seeing as how I’m the rightful heir to my father’s throne—for now.

“She’s a stray. Don’t worry about her,” he says, puffing on his cigar while I light mine. “She found herself in a bad situation and I’m helping her out. She’s not on the books. It’s all under the table. That’s where I keep her sometimes, too.” His lips spread into a grin around his cigar and he winks at me.

“Got it.” I nod in understanding, then I hear a glass shatter that draws our attention.

“Damn it!” Theo growls, jumping up from his seat. “I’ll be right back.”

I hear Theo yelling and some apologetic responses from Monica. Then everything goes silent. I enjoy a few puffs of my cigar before an unmistakable sound echoes—he’s spanking her. I chuckle under my breath and glance at the door. It’s a good thing Bellissima’s isn’t open for business yet. I listen to the melody of slapping and whimpering until it stops. A few minutes later, Theo walks out of the kitchen carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses. He grins when he approaches the table.

“She’s a little clumsy,” he says, puffing his cigar as he sits down. “Thankfully, it was a glass instead of the bottle, otherwise she would have gotten my damn belt.”

“Fair.” I lean back and watch as he uncorks the bottle and pours two glasses of wine. “And I appreciate the hospitality, but this is more than a social call. I have to look over the books.”

“We’ll get to that.” Theo waves a hand and slides a glass over to me. “It’s a formality, right? Your father hasn’t lost faith in me, has he?”

“Never,” I state emphatically, then raise the glass to inhale the aroma that reminds me of childhood summers playing in my grandfather’s vineyards back when life was a lot simpler than it is now. “1982. There was a drought that year, wasn’t there?”

“Yep,” Theo confirms, taking a sip of his wine. “You’ve got your grandfather’s nose. He could always tell everything about the grapes, just by smelling the wine.”

“Skipped a generation, I guess,” I chuckle, then take a sip and let the flavor sit on my tongue before swallowing. “My dad can’t even tell which vineyard the grapes come from. I could probably take you directly to the vine.”

“Nice party trick,” Theo says, puffing some smoke into the air. “Not very useful when you’re sitting at the head of the table. What’s the word? Is your father going to retire this year like he said?”

“Who knows,” I sigh, shaking my head. “Who fucking knows…”

My old man’s intentions are always something of a mystery, but I doubt retirement will be in his plans when this week is over. I already know how this plays out. My brother hired a hitman. A good one. Same one I would use if I needed someone eliminated and couldn’t use one of our guys. But this will divide the family. Civil war. Vultures will pick at our bones while we’re fighting each other, because we won’t have any way to hold all of our territories with bullets flying in every direction. Las Vegas will burn to the ground as collateral damage and the Morandi family will lose everything.

“Let’s finish our wine and cigars, then we’ll have a look at the books,” Theo says. “Got any plans for the evening?”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “I need a table tonight. I’ve got a date.”

“A date? Want me to close the restaurant so you can have it to yourself?” he offers.

“Nah, that’s not necessary.” I shake my head and exhale the smoke from my cigar. “It might scare her.”

“If that is enough to scare her…” Theo raises a brow, the expression on his face saying the rest.

“Yeah,” I sigh. “But it’s just dinner. Nothing more than that.”

That’s the truth. I may have let a pretty girl distract me from my grief, but I can’t let it go further than that. I’ve got way too much at stake. There’s only one way to save the Morandi family. It’s not an easy decision, but I have to make my peace with it.

It’s either civil war…

Or a Morandi funeral.