Page 1 of The Crowned Garza

PROLOGUE

“You’re a Crown.”

Santo

Age 19

The Rossetti Estate, Italy

“PADRONESANTO!”

Sofia finds me in the southern gardens. Cheeks flushed, breaths short, she skids to a halt and brushes her brown curls from her face, her sable gaze bouncing from my knife to the body floating face down in the blood-tinged pool, to my shattered phone on the pavement.

I wipe the blade of the knife with my handkerchief, staining the white material red. “What’s so important you came this far to find me?” Sofia is querulous and melodramatic. She would dig a hole to Hell to find me to whine about something. “If it’s another complaint about Paloma, I won’t ever touch you again.”

“I—” She blushes. “No, we did not fight again.PadroneAdamo sent me to find you. He says it is urgent.”

That gives me pause. “How’s his mood?”

“I…do not know. He is very hard to read.”

True.I drop the bloodied handkerchief in the pool and pocket my knife. “Call Egidio to come clean this up.”

“Yes,PadroneSan—”

“How many times do I have to tell you to quit it with the honorifics when no one’s around?”

“Oh, uh, sorry.”

I start north toward the house. Uncle’s “urgent” summons are rare. He’s a troubleshooter. There’s not much he can’t handle himself. UnlessI’mthe subject of this urgent matter?

“Do you want me tonight or Paloma?” Sofia calls after me.

“Neither. You’ve both been annoying the shit out of me lately.”

Fifteen minutes later, I stride into Adamo Rossetti’s office. Nine hundred square feet of wall monitors that see and know all, that do both good and bad—more bad than good. There’sa lotof power in this room.

He kills all the monitors and gestures to the armchairs by his desk. “Have a seat, son.”

The last time he had that apologetic tone in his voice, he was delivering the news of my brother’s death.

I walk to the armchair but don’t sit. “Is Papa dead?”

“No…not quite.” He gestures again for me to sit, and I do. “Franco has been sick for a while and hiding it. But now he is about to undergo aggressive chemotherapy and…”

“He’s calling me back,” I finish for him.

Uncle squares his stalwart shoulders and lifts his bearded chin. He’s more of a father to me. We have a tight bond. He doesn’t want me to leave any more than I do. But he’ll never let it show. That’s how he is. He could teach a masterclass in eating emotions.

“We knew this day would come, no?” His tone is almost chiding. “With your brother gone, you are expected to lead the Luciani empire after your papa. We talked about this, no? This is what I have been preparing you for.”

“I know, Uncle.”

He tugs sharply on his collar, then clears his throat and crosses the space to the wet bar. A moment later, he’s handing me one of two bottles of Perrier.

Lowering into the chair across from me, he leans back and takes a breath. “It is no secret that I despise your papa for how things went down with you and your mamma. The Luciani Family could have been thriving. Could have had us on their side. But Franco is a proud and foolish man. He had a strong alliance with us and pissed all over it. The diminishing of the Luciani legacy is all on him.”

“Does he know I’m made?” I ask. “Is that why he wants me there instead of putting one of my cousins in charge?”