Chapter 1

I was stealing from my own father while he and his guests danced downstairs.

In my room, my fingers moved deftly across the touch-screen terminal built into the back of my mahogany wardrobe. Numbers flickered over the dark glass.

Two million dollars rerouted from my father’s illegal arms fund into an untraceable offshore account. Just fifty thousand more, and I’d finally disappear from the Rossi crime syndicate forever.

Click.

The soft, metallic echo from the balcony didn't belong to the night wind.

My body went instantly rigid, but I didn't scream. Screaming in my father's house only brought men with bigger guns who asked questions later.

Instead, I slid my hand along the seam of my emerald silk evening gown, drawing the four-inch silver stiletto hidden against my inner thigh. I slipped the blade behind my back, keeping my breathing slow, steady, and utterly deceptive.

"You really shouldn't leave your balcony doors unlocked, Alessandra," a low, dark voice purred from the shadows.

It was a voice made of gravel, expensive scotch, and authority.

I didn't turn around yet. "And you shouldn't break into a woman’s quarters during a high-society masquerade. It’s terrible etiquette."

"I was never much for social graces."

I turned around slowly, adopting the fragile, wide-eyed posture my father forced me to wear in public.

Slow, heavy footsteps pressed against the velvet carpet. It was impossibly quiet for the man in front of me, who looked like he could crush a marble column with his bare hands.

He wore a raven-black suit and a carved obsidian wolf mask covering the upper half of his face. But even beneath the mask, I recognized the sharp, ruthless line of his jaw and the dark, predatory eyes locked onto mine.

Don Vittorio De Marco. The undisputed king of the city's underground, and my father’s deadliest rival.

"Don De Marco," I breathed, letting my voice quiver with fake fear. "If you're looking for my father, he’s downstairs entertaining the senator."

He gave me a lopsided grin. "I know where your father is," he said, taking another heavy step toward me. He looked at me like a wolf sizing up a stray lamb. "I came for his favorite asset. The delicate Rossi heiress."

"I’m afraid I’m not for sale, Don De Marco."

"Good thing I’m not buying," he murmured. "I’m taking."

He lunged at me fast. Impossibly fast. Reaching out a gloved hand to grip my neck, expecting a helpless girl to collapse into tears.

I dropped low beneath his reach, flipped the silver blade into a reverse grip, and slashed upward with lethal precision.

The razor-sharp steel cut straight through his obsidian mask, catching the high ridge of his cheekbone.

Vittorio pulled back sharply, his hand instinctively snapping up to his face.

A single line of crimson welled beneath his eye, dripping down his carved jaw.

Tension and silence grew in the room.

Vittorio slowly brought his fingers to his cheek, touching the fresh blood. He looked down at his bloodstained glove, then up at me.

The dark, bored look in his eyes was completely gone. In its place burned a raw, terrifying flame.

"Delicate, huh?" I said smoothly, winking as I brought the blade up between us, my heels set firmly in a fighting stance. "Your intelligence network needs an update, Don Vittorio."

Instead of raging, a slow, wicked smirk spread across his lips.

"I was promised a soft heiress, fiammella," Vittorio growled, his voice dipping into a dangerous, dark rasp. "You're going to be much more fun to break."

He didn't give me time to reset before he kicked the side of my knee, throwing off my balance. As I stumbled, he closed the distance, wrapping one massive hand around my wrist and twisting until my fingers went numb.

The blade clattered to the floor.

"Let go of me!" I snarled, driving my elbow back toward his throat.

He caught my elbow in mid-air with his free hand, slammed my back against the hardwood floor, and pinned my wrists above my head in a single, fluid move.

His heavy weight pressed down on me. The sharp scent of rain, gunpowder, and expensive cologne wrapped around my senses like an iron cage.

I glared up at him, my heart hammering against my ribs, refusing to show a single trace of surrender.

"Do you know what my father will do to you when he finds out you took me?" I spat, trying to wrench my hands free from his iron grip.

It was a fib, but he didn't need to know that.

Vittorio leaned down, his face inches from mine, his warm breath fanning against my lips even as blood trickled down from his cut.

"Your father won't do anything, Alessandra," he whispered darkly, his eyes holding mine captive. "Because by the time he realizes you're gone, you'll be sitting forty stories up in my fortress."

"I'll slit your throat while you sleep," I snarled.

"I’d like to see you try," he purred, his thumb sliding over the pulse point on my wrist, feeling my rapid, thumping heart. "You fight like a feral cat. I like it."

"Go to hell."

"After you, fiammella."

Vittorio reached into his jacket pocket with one hand while keeping both of my arms pinned with his other one. He pulled out a sleek, silk black hood.

My eyes widened. "Don't you dare—"

"Shh," Vittorio murmured, bringing his lips right to the shell of my ear. "Save your breath. You're going to need it."

Before I could throw another strike, he pulled the silk hood over my head, plunging my world into absolute darkness.

I thrashed against him, kicking blindly, but he lifted me off the floor as if I weighed nothing at all, throwing my body over his broad shoulder.

"Package secured," I heard him say, his arm resting firmly on the back of my thighs to lock me in place. Then the bastard spanked my ass.

The heavy glass balcony doors swung open, and the roaring chop of helicopter blades cut through the storm outside.

“Mettimi giù, animale!” I yelled, fighting and moving my body like crazy. [Translation: Put me down, you animal!]

But Vittorio just gave a dark, low chuckle that vibrated straight through my chest.

"Hold on tight, fiammella," he growled into the wind as he stepped out into the night air. "It's going to be a rough ride."

Then I felt the prick of something like a needle in the back of my thigh. I fought and wiggled, the fight slowly draining out of me as I fell unconscious.