Page 1 of Steal My Heart

Prologue

Angelo

Almost ten years ago…

The security gate swings open, and my driver pulls up to the 15,000-square-foot French Provincial monstrosity, also known as my family’s weekend home.

My foot taps wildly, my mind racing. Finals are coming up, and I don’t have time for…whateverthis is. Mama begged me to come home, but refused to say why in her cryptic message.

The driver opens the door for me, and I take a deep breath before stepping out and approaching the front door. Trying my key, I’m surprised it still works. Figured all the locks were changed when I dropped a bombshell and left New Orleans for New England. Not that itshouldhave been a bombshell; it was painfully obvious the family life wasn’t for me. But because of that, Papà made clear I was no son of his.

I step inside the grand foyer and follow the sound of the television to the family room. “Well. Well. Well. The prodigal son returns.” My older brother sneers at me over his glass of whiskey.

“Fabien. Shouldn’t you be wearing orange?” My gaze lingers on his ankle monitor.

“For your information, I don’t self-surrender until…” He checks his flashy watch. “T-minus 188 minutes.”

“And making every minute count.” I nod to the bottle of booze.

He smirks, kicking back the whiskey in one gulp. “Unlike you, Angelo, I know how to have a good time.” He refills his glass.

My eyebrows lift. “By good time, do you mean getting coked up and popping an undercover fed in a bar full of witnesses?” Even Vitto Calvani, the king of NOLA, couldn’t sweep that one under the rug. The best our papà could do was get the charges plea bargained down to manslaughter.

Fabien’s eyes flicker with rage, but he masks it easily enough with a sardonic laugh. “Don’t be a sucker and believe everything you read.”

“Everything yousee. That’s the thing about witnesses and cell phones,” I inform him.

“Why are you here?” he counters. “Flunk out of school already? Gonna crawl on your hands and knees and beg for Papà’s forgiveness?”

“My business with Papà doesn’t concern you.” I’m not sure if Papà even knows I’m here, but my obnoxious brother doesn’t need to know that.

He puffs up his chest. “I’m number two in this family, so I say it does.”

“Here’s the thing about number two: it always gets flushed down the shitter,” I taunt.

Fabien hops out of his chair, getting in my face. Years ago, he’d have already laid me out, but I’ve bulked up since our last encounter, and he suddenly isn’t such a badass. My lips curl into a mocking smile. “Do it. Catch a few more charges while you’re at it.”

“If you fucking think you’re going to slide in here and steal my position, you’ve got another thing coming.” He grits between his teeth.

“Don’t worry, big brother. I could never deep throat a boot like you.”

Fabien lands a shot to my ribs, but I’m too keyed up to feel it. Wrapping my arms around him, I barrel forward. His back slams into the wall, the air leaving his lungs in a violentswoosh.

“Boys! That’s enough!” Mama appears in the doorway, hands on hips.

“We were just messing around,” I say, dropping my arms and backing up. Fabien gives me a death glare as I cross the room and greet Mama with a hug and kiss on each cheek. “Where’s Al?” I ask her.

“Karate,” she answers, taking my hand in hers as she dotes over me.

“How’s it feel knowing an eight-year-old could kick your ass?” Fabien goads.

“Fabien,” Mama warns.

The hostilities are put on hold by the ring of the doorbell. “Those are some buddies of mine. We’ll be in the game room,” Fabien tells Mama.

Mama sighs. “Do not try to leave this house and get into trouble?—”

Fabien’s hands fall to the top of his head. “I’m about to do ten years. How much more trouble could I get into?”