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PROLOGUE

SCARLET

A Few Months Ago…

“Devices charged and ready. Front door is within sight,” I say.

“Steady,” my boss’s deep male voice sounds in my earpiece.

I blink to maintain clear vision and force my breathing into a steady rhythm.

I’ve been waiting in the shadows of the woods that flank one side of Raimondo’s, a pizza joint known for their pies as well as their drug supply. The place closed for the night hours ago, which is when their underground business began.

Raimondo Sinacore is part the famiglia that rules a great part of New York. But that’s not what’s put a target on him. It’s the fact that he knows too much about my boss, Gideon Black, A.K.A, The Ferryman.

With the previous Don’s death blamed on the Ferryman thanks to Raimondo’s ability to copycat my methods, Luca Sinacore is now on the hunt for us.

Fuckers. If it weren’t for their snooping, I’d be chilling in New Orleans right now. They’re not even on my original hit list that consists of those involved in Gideon’s father’s death.

Instead, I was called in right after taking out that mean short prick, Joaquin Gianni, in Boston. I was going to take a few days to myself. But no. Raimondo had to kill his own nephew and stage it as a Ferryman kill.

It was sloppy too. I saw Tony’s crime scene photos—untouched drugs laid out everywhere, bottles of wine left unopened, an autopsy report that showed none of it was in his system.

And the fucking gutting.

Poor guy must have suffered and I doubt he deserved it. At least when I do it, I’m precise and fast. Even the worst of them gets a quick death.

But the biggest tell that no one seems to have discovered were the pennies over the eyes. Not many people bother to look at the year they were minted. If they did, they’d see. The devil is in the details, and it’s obvious whoever Raimondo hired to do the job wasn’t detail oriented.

There’s a shadow at the front door of the pizzeria. I shift the sight of my riffle a hair as I bring the stock in tighter against my shoulder.

“An older male is exiting the restaurant,” I whisper.

“Raimondo?”

“No. The cook. He’s carrying a stack of pies.” My heart speeds up as I realize the old man I’ve seen delivering pizzas and other “goods” for the gangster is heading toward Raimondo’s black Land Rover. “He’s going to trigger it.”

“What about Raimondo?” As Gideon asks, the bastard comes lumbering out the door.

I hear him speak as he exits the restaurant behind two other male figures, though I can’t make out what’s being said.

“He’s coming out behind…” I look at the first man. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and has shoulder length hair. “Luca Sinacore is with him. And…” My gaze lands on the huge guy beside him. “Some other guy.”

“Are they within range?”

“Yes.”

“Wait for the blast. Take out the survivors.”

“They’re not on the hit list,” I remind him.

There’s a moment of silence. “They would have been soon enough. We’re being proactive.”

I think about that, quickly assessing these men. Luca Sinacore is not only in the mafia, a criminal with blood on his hands, but he’s without a doubt going to be a problem for us. Might as well take care of the issue now. The cook… Well, he distributes drugs. How good could he be?

But the friend? Is he an innocent?

I glance back at him. Even in the low light provided by the moon, there’s something about him that…

My train of thought is broken when Luca bolts toward the old man as he reaches for the door handle of the SUV. But before he can take more than two steps, the bomb I set earlier is triggered. There’s a deafening boom, and I immediately sink further into my crouch, my muscles tense as I wait for the second blast that follows. It comes fast and hard, nearly knocking me to the ground even though I was expecting it.

A second later, I’m back in position. I peer through the scope, searching for the men beyond the burning vehicle. It takes a moment, but I spot them all.

Luca scrambles up just as his larger friend emerges from the bushes to help Raimondo to his feet. They’re yelling at each other, though it’s hard to discern exactly what’s being said through the roaring of the fire.

Or maybe it’s the old man’s screams as he rolls around on the ground, completely engulfed in the flames, that drowns out their words.

Something in the pit of my stomach tightens. He might not deserve pity, most people don’t, but I can’t help it.

Just die already.

“Status?” I hear through the ear piece.

Shit. I forgot Gideon was there.

Quickly, I glance back at Luca, who is now attempting to make his way to the old man. Even though my sight is slightly distorted by the heatwave cast by the flames, I pull the trigger. Not surprisingly, I miss, and they all manage to scurry into hiding spots unscathed.

And still, the old man’s cries of agony fill my ears. Like nails on a chalkboard, they scrape against my brain and something else, something deep inside me that’s raw and sensitive, something that recoils from the sounds of his suffering.

So I end it with one clean shot to his head.

“Scar,” Gideon urges.

I don’t reply. Instead, I refocus on my targets. One is behind a tree, the other behind a vehicle. Where’s the third?

Suddenly, Luca bursts from behind a car. I follow him with the barrel of my rifle, but he’s too fast and too low to the ground to get a good aim. Then he disappears behind cover once more. I keep my sight trained in that direction, my breathing even and my finger fixed on the trigger.

There’s a tiny sound that alerts me to his precise location. In the darkest of shadows, I manage to see the glint of his gun aimed at me. I duck and roll a millisecond before he shoots and hits the spot I was just in.

It was close. Too close. He is too close.

Lucky for me, I prefer a more intimate setting when fighting.

Just as he explodes from his hiding spot, I rush out of mine, the riffle in my hands repurposed into a ram. With all my might, and using his and my momentum for a little extra power, I jam it upwards and hit him in the face.

Before he can react, I hit him again and again, until he’s forced down onto a knee. His hand comes up protectively, and I’m fully aware of his gun dropping somewhere, leaving him disarmed. But I can’t let up to search for it, not when he’s so much bigger than I am.

So I continue with my assault. That is until he surges forward, ramming his shoulder into my belly. The wind is knocked out of me as I go flying onto my back. I can’t breathe. I can barely think. It’s out of pure instinct that I point my weapon at him. However, before I can do anything, he kicks it out of my hands.

He stands over me as he wipes the blood from his lip with his sleeve and slides a six-inch blade from his boot. “Never bring a gun to a knife fight.”

My eyes go mockingly wide as I stare at the shiny metal. “Boy, you’ve got a big one.”

He smirks. “It’s even bigger up close.”

I appreciate his cockiness and smile. “I bet. But it’s still not as big as mine.” As I say it, I slide out the nine-inch knife I keep tucked in my boot.

While I appreciated his cockiness, I appreciate his shock even more as he stares at his own reflection in the mirror finish of my knife.

Taking advantage of his distraction, I whirl my legs in a windmill and kick his feet out from under him. He falls flat on his ass and before he can fathom what the fuck just happened, I straddle him.

I go to town, punching him the way I know will inflict the most pain from my small fist. And because he’s so busy keeping my knife out of his throat, I inflict a lot of pain.

He does manage to get in one or two of his own hits, I’ll give him that. But I ignore them, too focused on my task of ending his life.

“You fucking robot,” he yells, and I have to admit the name calling kind of hurts. “Get the fuck off me!”

Somehow, he manages to fling me off. We both scramble to our feet, both of us panting, both bleeding but ready to go again.

“Where’s your pretty little knife?” I tease, somewhat out of breath.

He glances at his palm as if he’s just realized it’s gone. “Don’t need it.”

I grin. “I should kill you just for the fun of it.”

“You can try.”

I arch a brow as if I’m considering it. As if I’d ever do this just for fun, though it can be. I’m about to make some clever remark about not needing to try hard, when in my peripheral I hear, “Get the fuck down!”

It’s the other guy, the bigger one.

I turn slightly to him and our eyes lock. And it’s almost the worst mistake of my life.

For a split second, I feel sucker punched. He’s dark and huge, with a broad chest and hands so big, the Glock he’s pointing directly at me is almost swallowed up whole in his palm.

But what has me swallowing through a suddenly dry mouth are the dimples that form in each cheek as he flexes his jaw.

His gaze darkens and narrows, and those fucking dimples deepen as his lips pull up into a grin that says he’s won.

Fuck.

I’ve been trained to detect danger. It’s what’s kept me alive this long. And it’s what has me slicing my knife through the air and releasing it so that it flies hilt over blade toward that danger.

I have the aim of a high shooter with a gun. Even better with a knife. Yet somehow, I manage to miss this huge target. Or maybe he’s just that fast.

In a move that I can’t help but admire, he rolls quick as lightning and avoids being struck in the neck.

Damn.

Before he can get up, I bolt for the trees. I’m okay with retreat if it means living to fight another day.

Several yards in, I reach the spot where I left my bike. I don’t bother with a helmet, just throw my leg over the seat and turn on the ignition. Then I’m riding as fast as I can out of the uneven terrain full of low lying brush and roots. My poor baby wasn’t made for this, and I feel every bump in the marrow of my bones.

The relief I get when I hit smooth pavement is short lived because almost instantly, Luca is on my ass on his loud hog. But he’s not the problem. Harleys aren’t exactly known for speed, and it’s definitely no match for my Kawasaki Ninja.

Nope. The real threat is much bigger and speeding past his friend on a Ducati that can keep up with me.

Ah fuck.

I twist the accelerator, speeding down a residential area, until I manage to lose Luca. The other guy, however, remains tight on my ass.

“Bitch!” I yell when I glance over my shoulder to see his front tire nearly touch my back one.

He pulls out his gun, and I make a sharp turn down another street. His tires screech as he makes to follow.

It’s a little hard to focus on the road ahead while attempting to dodge bullets. Even harder to shoot a target chasing you. Which is why I don’t bother taking out my tiny G43. What I really need is to lose this guy.

Loathe as I am to do it, I circle back toward the forested area that lines the main road we’re on. My bike’s going to get a beating, but I can clean her up tomorrow.

I’m almost to an entry point when the worst thing imaginable happens. There’s a shot and loud pop. I start fishtailing out of control, the handlebars nearly tearing out of my grip.

Then I’m screeching sideways across the road, my leg caught between the pavement and the bike. I come to a grinding halt, hitting the guardrail with a deafening crunch.

Somehow, I manage to yank free just as my pursuer reaches me. I ignore the throbbing pain in my leg as I jump the rail and run into the woods.

I can hear him panting as he chases after me, he’s that close. Then his hand hits my shoulder as he makes his first attempt to grab me.

Giving it everything I have, I push my legs to move faster. The more they burn and protest, the harder I go.

Unfortunately for me, I’m short and he’s not. For every four steps I take, he takes one. So when he roars and throws himself on me, I can’t get out of the way fast enough.

His large body lands on mine, pinning me with the weight of an ox to the dirt ground. His foot drags over my injured leg as he straddles me and I hiss.

I shove at his chest, but he grabs my wrists and roughly secures them above my head, a move that forces his face closer to mine.

Fucking bastard. But damn, he’s one good looking bastard. Especially here, in this small clearing we’ve landed in, where the light of the moon high above can reach us and illuminate his hard, beautiful features. Like a beast, or a werewolf, and I’m his would-be victim. Will he eat me? I wouldn’t be mad if he tried.

What? No, what am I thinking. Get it together, Scar. You can’t let him kill you even if it seems like a nice way to go.

It’s kind of pointless to struggle against him given how much bigger and stronger he is than me. Which means I have to be smarter . Think.

“It’s a little hard to breathe with you like this,” I say, batting my lashes at him. “Be gentle.”

He peers down at me, his eyes roving over my face. His mouth quirks up to one side. “You look like you can handle it a little rough.”

It’s impossible not to return his smile. And God, he smells good. Like a man should, earthy, a bit sweaty, but the good kind of sweaty. Maybe with a dash of whiskey. Whatever it is, I want to bury my nose in his neck and inhale him. Lick him too.

“Oh, I can handle rough,” I say somewhat winded.

“Oh yeah?” He leans in.

I nod and tilt my face upward in invitation. “Can you ?”

His eyes immediately lock onto my red lips. “I can.”

“Good,” I say and thrust my head forward, hitting him hard in that square jaw of his. Before he can react, I trap his left foot with mine and buck as I roll us over.

Just like I did with Luca, I begin to pound into him, getting him a few times in that scruffy chin and a couple of punches to his ribs.

When he gets in a slap, which he seems reluctant to do, it’s powerful enough to make my ears ring.

This might be a good point to plan my retreat.

One, two more punches which he barely manages to deflect, and I launch myself off him. He grabs hold of my ankle just as I’m about to run, and I fall once again to the ground.

Jesus, he’s fast.

I twist in his hand and throw my free leg against his chin. He drops to his knees and I spring away from him, sliding into a nearby bush. I go completely still.

From my position, I have a narrow view of him. He gets up but doesn’t approach, remaining where he is in that small illuminated clearing, turning in place as he scans the area for me. But I have the advantage. I’m small, dressed in a black biker suit, and cloaked by shadows.

Even so, he stops as he faces me. Does he sense me? Did my blond hair give me away?

Blood rushes to every limb and I fight the urge to flee. Instead, I force my muscles to loosen and my pounding heart to slow.

Finally, his stance relaxes, his shoulders dropping an inch as he straightens his spine. The search for me is over, but he stays where he is a little longer, his gaze cast in my direction.

He wipes blood from his lip and stares at it. Then, he grins in that way men do when they get a girl’s number. Cocky and sure of himself, like he scored something big.

With one last upward tug of his mouth, he turns and limps away.

A long time passes before I dare to move, and when I do, it’s cautiously. Because I realize that my initial assessment of that man was correct. He is dangerous. Dangerous to me .

And yes. He’s definitely got my number.