Page 2

C ontessa

Three years earlier

Fed’s talking to me but I’m not listening. I’m watching Nike-clad feet move effortlessly across the screen, each beat funneling a wave of energy up the dancers’ legs, where it embraces strong thighs and loose hips, glides along graceful arms and seeps into liquid eyes.

There it is. That feeling of being one with the music—with the beat.

When I see that kind of harmony, I can’t focus on anything else. Not even the voice of my best friend, whom I expect is recounting the story of his second cousin’s dice with death in the classroom, for the millionth time this afternoon.

The pause icon fills the screen and I bite my tongue before panning my gaze to Federico.

“You didn’t hear a word of that, did you?” he says, in a monotone drawl.

I arch a brow. “You were saying that Raff was hit by a chair, but the other kid only got a half hour detention, so his papa stormed into school, threatened the kid and his family, and put the teacher out of a job.” I hold my breath and pray he agrees because, sure, I hadn’t heard a word of it.

He curls a lip and flicks the remote toward the screen sending the dancing feet in motion once again.

I pull my ankles into my butt to stop them from jiggling. This always happens. Whenever I’m sitting or standing around, if even the slightest sound of music filters through my ears, I cannot for the life of me keep still. But I’m sitting high up by the breakfast bar in Federico’s kitchen, with my legs crossed on the seat, and I’m too interested in the dancers on TV to tolerate sliding off the stool.

The sound of rustling draws my attention from the TV screen.

“Contessa! Buongiorno!”

I spin around to see Federico’s mama, Mrs. Falconi, drift into the kitchen in a vision of fur and shopping bags. She drops the bags to the floor and walks over with her arms wide open. She wraps them around me, swallowing my small frame.

“Hi Mrs. Falconi,” I squeak, as the life force is squeezed from my lungs .

“So good to see you, Tess. I didn’t know you were coming around today.” There’s a slight edge to her tone that makes me tense. Beneath the shield of her winter sweater, I feel her questioning gaze dart toward Fed.

I normally have dance class on a Thursday but Antonio, my dance teacher, has some family stuff going on, so it’s been canceled. I can’t think why it would be a problem though. Ever since my mama was murdered in the crossfire of the underworld violence that has colored my life, the Falconi’s have always let me treat this place like a second home.

Fed’s expression darkens a touch before a glint of mischief appears in his eyes. “We’ll get out from under your feet, Ma. Come on Tess, we’ll go to my room…”

I arch a brow knowing Fed’s pushing his luck.

“Ha ha.” Mrs. Falconi releases me, walks around the island and opens the refrigerator. “Nice try Federico, but you know the rules. No girls in your room.” She turns to flash me a wink. “Not even girls who are just friends .”

I smile. Fed and me, we’ll only ever be just friends . We’ve known each other since kindergarten. I’ve witnessed some of his most embarrassing moments, like the time he was staring too hard at Kelly Richards, the prom queen, and face-planted a post, and the time he climbed a tree in the back yard, got stuck and peed himself while waiting to be rescued.

He’s always just been ‘Fed’ to me—my best friend Fed.

Admittedly, since he turned fifteen a few months ago, gotten a little buff and developed a moody attitude that other girls in our school seem to find attractive for some reason, my gaze on him has lingered a little longer than usual. But that’s only because he’s changing and it’s intriguing to watch, not because I’m attracted to him in like a wannabe girlfriend kinda way.

I don’t look at any boy in that way. There’s no point. None of them would want me.

I’m just the kid who dresses in black and sits at the back of class not talking to anyone, barely able to see through my overgrown bangs. I don’t remember ever having a girlfriend, not even before Mama died and everyone my age started avoiding me.

I was twelve years old when it happened. I guess it was a time when hormones were starting to do weird things and all my classmates cared about was fitting in, being ‘normal,’ being the same as everyone else. Having a mama shot dead by a member of the mafia we all pretended didn’t exist wasn’t ‘normal,’ so in their eyes, neither was I.

Still, as uncomfortable as it was to continue dragging my boots into school, it was preferable to being at home, where I was wrapped in cotton and treated like a baby who didn’t understand the world.

I’ll tell you something, there’s nothing like losing a mother to gang violence before you’ve even hit puberty to make you grow up and understand the world fast.

Trilby, our oldest sister, was in the car when Mama was shot. She needed space after that, I guess. She coped by moving almost immediately into the apartment next door, severing any relationship I had with her at a time when I probably needed her the most.

Aunt Allegra and my older sister Sera, however, more than made up for Trilby’s absence by insisting I must never be left alone, I must be shielded from the TV news reports, and always chaperoned whenever I left the house. It’s only in the last six months I’ve convinced them to let me go to dance class alone, and to Fed’s house down the street—which is lucky for me since he’s the only kid from school who gives me the time of day.

My gaze is drawn back to the screen when I should be thinking about making my excuses to leave. It’s clear Mrs. Falconi wasn’t expecting me, and for the first time ever, I feel as though I’m not welcome here.

“You wanna stay for some cannelloni, Tess?” I can tell from the way Mrs. Falconi rushes out the words without looking at me, she’s only being polite.

My stomach groans, but I know a hint when I hear one.

“I would love to, Mrs. Falconi, but I was just stopping by. My aunt has dinner prepared. Thanks so much though.”

Fed’s body wilts from the other side of the kitchen island, sending an anxious skip down my spine. A year ago he wouldn’t have cared whether I left or stayed—we’d just agree to meet up again the next day, no big deal. These days though, not getting his way when it comes to our friendship seems to bother him.

“No problem.” Mrs. Falconi shoots me a smile and I don’t miss the way the outer edges of her eyes have relaxed now I’ve declined the offer. She starts laying out plates and setting cutlery on the table, making my brows draw together. It’s not even five p.m. and she’s serving dinner already?

“In fact,” I say, sliding off the stool, “I better get going.”

“What… now?” Fed hops off his stool, plants his palms on the island and glares at his mom.

“Um…” I glance at Mrs. Falconi but she has her back turned to us both. “Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow. I have a free period after lunch. Meet you outside the sports hall?”

Fed’s mouth opens and he’s about to reply, but a door slams out in the hall and the sound of tense conversation filters through the wall to the kitchen.

I hear several male voices. I identify one voice as that of Fed’s papa, Enzo Falconi. But the other two voices are unfamiliar. They’re talking low and deep, but not hushed. I can’t make out the words but the obviously tense atmosphere makes the hairs along my arms rise up.

“Why don’t you two go upstairs?”

I turn around and see Fed looking at his mother, his gaze searching for an explanation. When I look across at her, my breath stills. Her usual impeccably rouged cheeks have drained of color.

I start to decline, because I know I shouldn’t be here. “Thanks but I thought we couldn’t?—”

But before I can finish my sentence, Fed is at my side, wrapping his fingers around my hand and pulling me toward the staircase. “Let’s go, Tess.”

I can’t drag my eyes from his mom’s face as she watches us leave the room. Any other time, she’d be stopping us. There’s only one thing she’s ever been super-strict about and that’s letting Fed take me—or any other girl—up the stairs to his room. But while her voice is calm and measured, her fingers are vibrating against the countertop.

My heart thumps against the wall of my chest. Fed pulls my arm with an urgency that feels more like a need to get me alone in his room than a need to get away from the male voices that are sounding more and more agitated with every step we take.

The landing at the top of the stairs wraps around the entrance hall granting a view of the doors to the kitchen, living areas and the main entrance. My eyes catch on a movement to the right, behind the door to the dining room.

“Wait—” I pull Fed to a standstill. “What’s going on down there?”

Fed joins me as I press my back to the wall. Where I am as tense as a wound spring, he lets out a bored sigh. “Oh, who the hell knows? Papa probably forgot to pay the lease on time and you know what those Di Santo assholes are like. They’ll be here to inform him of the increased interest. Or the rise in protection fees.”

“The Di Santo’s are here?”

My throat has dried up. The Di Santo’s rule this city. They’ve ruled it for so long, it feels like they’re almost legit running the east coast. Everyone knows they have every governor, every official, even the FBI in their pocket. No one has been able to stop them, and now? No one dares to try.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Fed grumbles.

I tense further at his nonchalance, which feels even more dangerous considering Di Santo men are in his house right now. “It doesn’t sound like a routine visit, Fed. It sounds a little intense.”

He scratches at the emerging bristles on his chin. “They’ll be gone in a minute. C’mon, let’s go to my room.”

I resist his pull and press my back harder into the wall. I can hear clipped commands now, and words spoken in a pleading tone. Fed might be unconcerned about what’s going on below us but I’m not. A flash of long chestnut hair catches in the corner of my eye. Fed’s mama is standing outside the dining room, holding onto the wall, and her fingers are trembling.

I pull away from the wall and lower my gaze to the gap in the door, trying to see through. A man dressed in a sharp, tailored suit shifts into view. My breath scratches the back of my throat. His height and build are nothing short of menacing, and his high cheekbones and full lips are the sort that lure in women like prey.

Everything about him is dark. Dark clothes, dark hair, dark brow.

I shudder. The Di Santos carry darkness with them everywhere they go. It only got blacker after Mama died, and I still blame them for her death, even though the bullet was fired by a member of a rival mob—a Marchesi.

Thanks to my father’s port, we’ve always managed to stay on the good side of Gianni Di Santo and his men, but I can’t say the same for other folk in this city. And despite the mutual respect Gianni and Papa seem to have for one another, I know the don of New York can turn on a dime. I’ve seen it happen too many times and the thought of it releases a sick sense of dread in the pit of my stomach.

The front door bangs open and a man with hair thinning on the top of his head bursts into the entrance hall. Fed steps forward to look over the rail. Then he grips my hand again and whispers, “ Zio .”

It’s been a while since I last saw Fed’s uncle but I recognize the resemblance to his father in the pattern balding, jerky gait and long fingers that flex as he approaches the dining room door.

“Mario, no?—”

Mrs. Falconi reaches out to stop him from going any further, but her plea falls on deaf ears when Fed’s uncle ignores her, presses two flat hands to the door and pushes it roughly. It swings inward revealing the full, rich profile of the man in black. He turns slowly to look at Mario but, no matter how hard I strain, I can’t see the details of his face from this angle.

“Shit,” Fed whispers beside me and we both lower our knees to the carpet to get a closer look. Fear pulses beneath my skin .

Two more figures come into view. They have their backs to the door but swing around when Mario enters.

My gaze narrows on them. I recognize one as Augusto Zanotti, Gianni Di Santo’s second-in-command. He owns Alphabet City, near Mr. Falconi’s offices. I don’t recognize the other man. Their gazes don’t dwell on Mario for long—if he thought he’d pose a threat to them, he couldn’t have been more wrong. They’ve given him as much attention as they would the shit on their shoes.

I hear Fed’s papa stutter something incomprehensible, then Mario pulls out a gun .

A gasp tears from my throat before Fed claps his hand over my mouth and I realize my mistake. The man in black takes a step backward and lifts his gaze to the landing. His hand rests on black metal at his waistband. Time stops as I take in his narrowed bronze eyes and tan skin marred by a scar that runs the length of one side of his face. Everything about him is calm, controlled, unaffected . Like the worst type of predator—deadly and carnivorous, as though he has the power to draw people to him like a magnet before gnashing his teeth around their limbs and eating them alive.

A hot flush coasts from my cheeks down my spine to my pelvis. This is what pure terror must feel like.

In fateful synchronicity, the sound of a gun cock fills the house, the bronze eyes dart away and Mario’s arm flies up, sending a bullet through the ceiling.

“Fuck—” Fed wraps an arm around my torso and pulls me backward. I always thought I was strong for my build but Fed’s muscles seem to have burst out of nowhere in the last few months. He manages to drag my stunned limbs a few feet along the landing. “Tess, come on !” he hisses in my ear.

I can’t take my eyes off the dining room door. Flashes of black move past the opening in quick succession. There’s a fight. There are guns. Mrs. Falconi screams. More bullets are fired, yet I still can’t move.

Mario’s form appears in the gap; a tan hand is holding his neck tightly from the back. Then a gun is pressed up to his forehead. I can’t see who’s holding it.

“No—” The word floats from my lips like a puff of air.

I don’t hear a sound over the ringing in my ears but I watch as Mario’s body falls limply to the ground.

Fed chokes out a gasp and pulls me harder. This time, I move. I move faster than I’ve ever moved in my life. I scramble to my feet and pull Fed to his, then he grabs my hand and turns, hauling me down the landing toward his room. I twist back once to check there isn’t a gun pointed in our direction and there isn’t.

There’s something else.

A pair of hazel eyes, a heated glance, and most terrifying of all, a man unaffected .

I stumble to a bed in the center of the room while Fed shuts the door and bolts it. When I turn around, he’s pressed his back against the door as if to protect us against anyone entering. The man I just saw downstairs could snap Federico between his finger and thumb. The door would be a mere annoyance .

We stare at each other, our chests heaving with adrenaline, shock pulling at every nerve ending. The shouting below has quieted to barked commands and stuttered apologies. I jump when another door bangs closed, and only relax when the sound of tires on gravel rises up to the window.

Fed puts his hands over his face and that’s when I notice how large they’ve become. He’s starting to look like some college football player. The shake of his shoulders makes me stand and walk across the room, pulling him into me. He cries silent, wretched tears while I hold him tightly, stroking the back of his neck with my palm.

He just saw his uncle being murdered in cold blood.

The thought feels strangely distant, as though I’m having an out of body experience. I should be able to relate to how he’s feeling but I’m numb. I feel nothing.

It feels like hours have passed by the time he takes in a long breath and pulls out of my arms. His eyes are raw, his heartbreak written across them in bright red ink.

“I’m so sorry, Fed,” I whisper.

He simply nods, closes his eyes and shakes his head.

When his lids lift, he looks off to the side and his mouth ticks up in one corner. The cheeky, mischievous Fed I know is back in the room.

“What?” I ask, confused as to how he can find something funny right now.

His lips then twist into a bitter line. “When I thought about getting you in my room, this is not quite what I’d imagined. ”

A combustion of nervous relief makes me laugh, then his smile falls soberly.

A light tap at the door makes me jump. I take a step back, suddenly aware of how close we’re standing.

“Federico…” Mrs. Falconi’s voice is trembling. “Are you okay?”

Fed unlocks the door, and his mama pushes through it and collapses onto him. “Oh baby. Are you okay?” She holds his face tightly, moving it this way and that, inspecting him for damage.

When she’s satisfied he doesn’t have a scratch on him, the whites of her eyes take me in. “C’mere Tess…”

I walk into her arms for the second time this evening. My movements are mechanical. It’s like my limbs have shifted into autopilot. My brain has shut down but my body is still going through the motions.

Mrs. Falconi sobs into Fed’s shoulder and I press my forehead into his chest. It solidifies against my skin and something shifts in the air.

His voice is low and filled with conviction. “Papa…”

“He’s okay, Federico. He’s just dealing with—” A choked breath halts her words.

“I know Uncle Mario’s dead,” Fed confirms. “We saw it happen.”

She looks up, her eyes wide. “H-how? You should have been here, in your room.”

“It doesn’t matter. What happened?”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “Mario was stupid. He was so stupid… ”

“Why were the Di Santos here?” There’s a bitter clip to Federico’s tone.

Mrs. Falconi falls quiet.

“Mama,” Fed’s voice is uncharacteristically deep and firm. “Tell me the truth. Why were they here?”

A long pause is filled with stuttered breaths before Mrs. Falconi responds. “Your papa is behind on the lease for the offices and the storage facility.”

Fed’s throat bobs against my hair. “Why?”

“We had a theft. One of the warehouses was broken into and half our equipment was stolen. Your papa had to buy more urgently, so he wouldn’t lose the contracts—it’s become so competitive out there. He didn’t have enough left over for the lease. He hoped they’d understand, give him some grace.”

“And did they?”

“I don’t know, Federico. Your papa… He’s cleaning up his brother’s corpse . I can’t ask him yet.”

“Why did they kill my uncle?”

Mrs. Falconi lifts her head and gaze flits between me and Fed. “Because he was stupid .” When neither of us responds, she continues. “Who the hell walks into a room of Di Santos and pulls out a gun, Federico? Let alone pulls the trigger.” She shakes her head and tears roll down her face. “Only Mario Falconi,” she finishes, her voice cracking.

I stay in their embrace for a few minutes longer, the tension in my body making me rigid, then say the words I should have said an hour ago.

“I should really head home. ”

Mrs. Falconi releases a shuddering sigh and tips my face toward her. “I’m so sorry Contessa. After everything you’ve been through…”

“It’s okay,” I reply, with a small, hopefully reassuring smile. In truth, I just want to get out of here. While I haven’t personally witnessed bullets being fired until now, I live every day with the aftereffects of murder, and the stark reality of it is threatening to singe my skin.

“I’m really sorry about your uncle.” My tone takes a sharp dip. “And for what the Di Santo’s have done.” Bronze eyes and a heated glance flash across my lids but I blink the image away. “They all deserve to go to hell.”

Mrs. Falconi’s eyes widen. It’s practically unheard of in this city to say a word against the Di Santos. They’re supposed to be our saviors, maintaining law and order in the city and keeping crime at bay. But they’re nothing but criminals themselves. Criminals and murderers. Barely even human beings. They’re the same breed as the Marchesi’s, who killed my mother. They all deserve to die slow, painful deaths.

I don’t care how that heated glance pumped something effervescent into my veins, or infused my bones with a moreish warmth. It was just a look. And I live for the day I can show the owner of those bronze eyes he’s worth nothing, to anyone.

“Please accept my condolences.” I shake my head sadly, then I walk out of Fed’s room, down the stairs and out of the Falconi residence, unbeknown to me for the very last time.