Page 11 of Intrigue (Dark Syndicate #4)

Alessandro

Ten years ago.

The Marconi estate is as cold as I remember.

Every inch of the house is designed to remind you who is in control. The high ceilings, the marble floors, the low hum of distant voices murmuring in rooms I’m not supposed to enter—it all screams power.

I have been here before. Many times. When my father was still alive and he and Don bonded over things old men with ties in the mafia in their forties bond over.

But this time, I’m not a guest.

This time, I’m here to stay permanently.

Memories of my parents flood my mind—a fleeting image of my mother’s gentle smile, my father’s strong presence before the fire took them from me.

The fire, a rival’s arson, scarred me physically and emotionally, leaving me with a relentless drive for vengeance and a coldness that matches the marble around me.

Don Marconi has already offered his assistance in seeking that vengeance, under one condition: my loyalty to him.

It’s a pledge I have no qualms about, given I don’t have much left to live for anyway. Bouncing from foster home to foster home isn’t a life anyone would wish for, nor does it promise much of a future.

Don Marconi’s voice rings from his study, instructing one of his men on something I’m not interested in. I’m supposed to wait, to stand here like a loyal dog until he decides I’m worth acknowledging.

But then, I feel it.

A presence.

I turn just as she appears at the top of the grand staircase.

She isn’t what I expect. I knew Don had a daughter but he never let her out when he had us over.

Dark hair, loose waves tumbling over one shoulder.

A silk slip of a dress that’s a little too elegant for a girl who looks like she just caused some kind of trouble.

Bare feet, and a silver anklet catching the light.

She moves like she belongs to this house, but her eyes say otherwise—storm-gray and sharp with amusement.

Like she’s constantly waiting for the world to entertain her.

And then she smiles.

And fuck me, I hate that I like it.

I don’t even know her name yet, but I know this—she’s going to be a problem.

She leans against the banister, arms folded, watching me like I’m something to be studied. Like I’m an animal in her father’s zoo.

“Well,” she drawls, “I expected something more impressive.”

I arch a brow. “Excuse me?”

She gestures lazily in my direction. “You. The infamous Alessandro Vescovi. I heard so much about you growing up, I thought you’d at least have a scar or two. Maybe a missing eye. Instead, you just look…” She tilts her head, as if choosing her next words carefully.

I wait, arms crossed, already irritated.

“…tired.”

A slow breath leaves my nose.

I should ignore her.

But there’s something about the way she says it, like she has already dismissed me, that makes my fingers twitch with the urge to ruin her mood.

“And you must be?” I ask, my tone cool, as if she’s a mere inconvenience.

“Selene Marconi. I’m sure you’ve heard of me. You’ve been coming to my house since you were a child.”

“Is that so? Keeping tabs on me? I see.”

“Nahh, I just take note of everything that walks in here, whether or not I interact with them. Can’t be too careful. Who knows when a stray or psychopath might wander in?”

I hold back my laugh. Can’t let her know she amuses me. “Your father never mentioned you were such a pain in the ass.”

Her crooked smile widens. “He wouldn’t. He likes to pretend I don’t exist unless he needs me to sit quietly in the corner and look pretty.”

I give her a once-over, slowly. I know I’m older than her by about four years, so that should make her seventeen, but her eyes betray a maturity that belies her years.“I can see why. Sitting quietly doesn’t seem like your strong suit.”

She gasps in mock offense, hand pressed dramatically over her chest. “Oh, he bites! I was starting to think you were one of those stiff, brooding types who never says anything interesting.”

I huff a laugh, stepping closer to the staircase. “And I was starting to think you were one of those spoiled little princesses who only speaks when spoken to.”

Her eyes gleam. “I never do what I’m told.”

Of course she doesn’t.

I should walk away.

But instead, I keep going, stopping just at the foot of the stairs, looking up at her.

She cocks her head, watching me, clearly enjoying herself. “What’s wrong, Vescovi? Am I making you nervous?”

“Nervous?” I let my eyes drag over her, slow enough to make her shift slightly where she stands. “You don’t have that effect on me.”

Her lips twitch. “Shame. Would’ve been fun.”

“I can already tell you’re going to be trouble.”

Her grin is all teeth. “And yet, you’re still standing there.”

I shake my head, looking away for just a second before meeting her eyes again. “Don’t patronize me, Selene.”

She leans forward slightly, lowering her voice like we’re sharing a secret.

“Or what?”

That’s it. That’s the moment.

The second I know she isn’t just trouble.

She’s the kind of trouble that gets men killed.

And worse, the kind that makes men want to die smiling.

My lips curve up before I step back. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

And then I turn away, before I do something stupid. Like stay and beg her to smile at me again.

But as I walk toward the Don’s study, I can still feel her eyes on me.

Like she already knows.

Like she already owns me.