She’s brought in reinforcements. Fuck.


    I lowered my binocrs when I spotted Sandro’s Escde pull in beside Sloane’s van. There was something satisfying about using this old-school stalking instrument. I’d also installed cameras around Sloane’s property, including inside her house. Not because I was a pervert. I just wanted to make sure she was still breathing.


    I timed my instation when she went to town to pick up groceries and go to twice-weekly therapist sessions. She’d stay in town for three hours tops and it took me two days to set them up. Admittedly, it had taken me longer because I rolled around her bedsheets and sniffed them.


    Fuck, maybe I was a pervert.


    Missing her was a constant ache in my chest. Since her disappearance, I couldn’t eat. I rarely slept. For three weeks straight, I drank whiskey from the bottle and smoking seemed like its patheticpanion. Sera actually had the audacity to pull a cigarette out of my mouth when I’d instantly lit up after I finished a stick.


    “You stink like a chimney,” she had said. “Fix your shit, cuz.”


    But how could I when the person who could fix it for me was missing? Many times I’d put unrelenting pressure on Trevor, having himb through forums and databases, so maniacally extreme that Matteo had to get involved to rein me in. He’d throw us both out of The Underground and order us to get some sleep. Finally, I’d convinced Trevor to hack into Harriet’s email, forum threads—she belonged to many, including the true crime ones—and search history.


    She loved true crime. And when the FBI categorized the missing witness, Elyse Bailey, as another victim of the Mistress Strangler, it was in the news headlines again. The autopsy revealed strangle marks around her neck, with WHORE carved into her stomach. But the rest of us knew better. Some victims were made to look like the Mistress Strangler did it. Like the husband who got his sidepiece pregnant. But I wondered if a few of these were the work of Grigori’s crew. Dress the kills to fit open cases. The feds were tightlipped about Elyse’s autopsy. Theirb was processing the DNA, and I was told not to leave New York for almost five weeks. I was cleared around the time Trevor narrowed down Sloane’s location from Harriet’s conversation with someone in the forums.


    Harriet googled Coro beaches, and she wasmunicating with Carrotcakeforever from Coro.


    Either Sloane loved carrot cake or she was referring to her hair color or Ginger’s.


    I tracked down where she was staying and made an offer to the owner of the beach house beside it. He was a retired schoolteacher in his seventies. I sent him on vacation that wouldst two months. He said he needed this property back in the winter in time for Thanksgiving with his family. I sure hoped I could convince Sloane to give me a second chance by then.


    I had this overwhelming need to take care of her. Watching her barely eating, it was a struggle not to storm in there and force-feed her. She slept a lot, but it was anything but peaceful. I ached to snuggle up behind her and soothe her restlessness. I wanted to fight her demons, even if one of her demons was me. And when she was awake? The nk look on her face gutted me. But instinct was screaming at me to give her space to work through her grief. I might not be directly responsible for Billy’s death, but I could have offered her help when she needed it. Instead, I rejected her. Did I reject her as she was miscarrying our child? If I hadn’t rejected her, she wouldn’t have been in that basement at all. Those torturous thoughts wouldn’t leave me and I couldn’t work through them on my own without knowing that Sloane was okay.


    My phone buzzed. It was Sera.


    Sera


    I know you’re watching us right now, stalker. Best not to show up tonight until I get they of thend.<fn5583> Find the newest release on find·novel</fn5583>


    Me


    Put in a good word for me.


    In your dreams. You’re lucky Bianca isn’t heading over there right now to castrate you. I can’t stop Sandro, though, so expect him.


    I’m shaking in my boots<hr>


    I paced and paced. I needed another cigarette and since I respected the owner’s wishes of keeping the interior smoke-free, I walked out to the wraparound patio, sat with another bottle of whiskey and started smoking.


    The beach house I was renting was three times the size of Sloane’s. I wondered how they were all going to fit in there. There were only two bedrooms in that one. I had five in mine.


    I slipped out my phone and started flipping through the live surveince videos. I watched my cousins hug Sloane and they cried. I could hardly hear their words because they were talking at the same time. I felt like a voyeur, an outsider into their intimate gathering. Raw emotions flowed, and I suppressed the ragged sob in my throat.


    This thing with Sloane was turning me emo. I missed my calling in a rock band.


    I stiffened when Sandro peered into one of the cameras. I swore he smirked before the feed went dead.


    Motherfucker.


    Sera immediately texted.


    Sera


    You’re so predictable.


    Me


    Tell Sandro he’s dead to me.


    Tell him yourself, because he’s heading your way, and I quote: I’m not wasting my time looking for those cameras and Dom can just tell me where they are.


    Sandro is not wee here.


    Oh, piss off, cuz. Cooperate, or we’ll tell Aunt Lottie where you are.


    Me


    I’m your cousin. You’re supposed to be on my side.


    Sera


    Well, you’re an ass, so we’re on Sloane’s side.


    Do you guys even know the whole story?


    You had your chance to tell us and you refused.


    Because I wanted Sloane to tell her side, too. Now, she gets to tell hers and you all won’t hear mine?


    Bubbles…and then nothing.


    Disloyal. The lot of you.


    Bianca


    Stop being a drama queen.


    Oh, she had to call me out. In frustration, I hurled my phone toward the beach and instantly regretted it. The sun had set an hour ago, and hopefully, it wasn’t buried in sand. I heard it chiming in the dark and decided to be petty by ignoring their messages, and continued to down the whiskey.


    They thought I was a drama queen, I’d show them drama queen.


    My resistance took all of five minutes. I was the fucking don of the De Li crime family for Chrissakes. Although, in my defense, Luca was equally a drama queen when it suited him. It threw people off guard. We Morettis had a way of smiling as if we were your best friends while at the same time plotting devious ways to bury you.


    Somewhere in the house, my proximity sensors went apeshit, but in my stubborn, self-pitying mood, I didn’t give a fuck.


    I chucked the empty whiskey bottle in the same direction as my phone.


    “That’s littering,” Sandro spoke in the dark.


    “Piss off.” I stood, teetering on my feet before stumbling off the porch in the direction of the beach.


    Sandro cocked his head at my shrieking house rm. “I must say, if an assassin was after you, you’d be dead.”


    “You think I care?” I drunkenly trudged in the sand to search for my phone.


    I saw the screen shing a few feet away, probably warning me of an intruder. I scooped it up and my finger kept missing the mark to turn it off. I was more hammered than I thought.


    Sandro snatched it out of my hand and turned the annoying thing off, then picked up the whiskey bottle and nudged me back to the house.


    “You’re pathetic,” he muttered.


    “Says the man who stalked Bianca for years,” I shot back.


    He chuckled. “Touché. But you’ve witnessed all our moronic actions, and this takes the cake.”


    Iughed mockingly. “Oh really? How about the times you smashed your fists through the drywall and redecorated your office because you were too chickenshit to make a move on Bianca?”


    “She was too young, dammit.”


    I paused. Yeah, I actually admired Sandro for holding back. “You have a point.”


    “And you’re one to talk since your mother has you practically betrothed to a twenty-one-year-old.”


    I groaned. “Shit. I already told her it ain’t happening.”


    “Have you convinced her, though?”


    Admittedly, I had not. I said no, and I expected her to ept it. Knowing my mother, she’d hold on to the idea and try to find a way to guilt me into going along with it. Though I hadn’t been ignoring her in the past two weeks, I kept my answers vague about where I was. My phone was untraceable.


    We were back at the house and I was about to sit on the porch chair again to stare at Sloane’s house, but Sandro gripped my arm. “Oh no, you don’t. I think you’ve drunk enough.”


    “Listen, you’re not my keeper.” My tongue slurred over the words as he dragged me into the house.


    “Someone needs to look after you.”


    “Yeah, and she’s in the house across from me, but I need to take care of her first.”


    Sandro lowered the whiskey bottle and my phone on the kitchen table and crossed his arms. “Now, how are you going to aplish that?”


    “Dunno.”


    I honestly didn’t. I was at a loss. Stuck in mypulsion to take over and knowing I needed to give her space.


    “Sit.” Sandro said it in a way that irritated me, but knowing I was swaying on my feet, it would save me the indignity of falling on my face.


    I sat on the dining chair.


    I broodily watched him head to my kitchen. He peeked at my box of whiskeys and checked one out.


    “I thought you said I had enough.”


    “This is for me,” he muttered. “I think I’ll be earning it after I talk some sense into you.”


    “You’re not my shrink,” I said. “I don’t need a shrink. My shrinks have given up on me.”


    He raised a brow and set a bottled water in front of me. “Really? You’ve been to one?”


    The Morettis had one on payroll. I didn’t sit on a couch to be psychoanalyzed by the hour. It was usually over a game of pool or darts or foosball. “ording to her, I have mommy issues.”


    “Like serial killers. There’s one on the loose right now.”


    I scoffed. “Those are criminals perpetuating myths to cover their crime.”


    “Like copycats?”


    “Yes, remember that Boston Strangler case back when? One of them was a husband getting rid of his mistress because she was pregnant.”


    “Yeah, Bianca told me that. The girls are probably over there discussing the Elyse Bailey case right now.” He uncorked the whiskey and poured two fingers into his ss. Interestingly enough, I craved water.


    “I wouldn’t put it past Grigori to disguise his kill as the work of the Mistress Strangler. He has deep connections inw enforcement with ess to the details of the case that were not made public.” We did too.


    “You’ve been a person of interest, right?”


    “Fuck you, Alessandro. You already know that.”


    “You fit the profile.”


    “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.” But there was no heat in my words. I was even amused. Maybe it was time to acknowledge the fact that I do indeed have mommy issues.<hr>


    Dom, 16 years old


    Ma was crying again. She’d been in bed for the past few weeks, rarelying out of her bedroom to join us for meals. And when she did, she was wearing the same ratty robe and her hair was piled on her head like a squirrel’s nest. Pop said she had a virus. At least, that was what he tried to exin to me and Lucy. I had my cousins and my friends forpany, and was frequently out of the house. But now that it was winter, and sports were on hiatus, I was roaming the vast mansion alone. Our house staff had retired to their quarters because I offered to see to Ma’s needs.


    Lucy had a music recital. She was the cellist in the orchestra, and Pop went to see her perform. He asked me if I could stay with Ma. I wanted to do more than that. There was guilt that I ignored her illness or whatever was guing her long enough. Something happened after her visit to Grandpast October, but I put off getting to the bottom of it because I didn’t want it to interrupt my sses. Besides, Pop was handling it fine, until I noticed the taut stress lines on his face.


    I fixed a tray of food. Cook prepared Ma’s specialty dish,sagna  Moretti, which simply meant lots of fancy cheese. I made the garlic bread myself. I’d assisted my mother enough times to know my way around the kitchen.


    I bnced the tray on one arm and knocked.


    I heard Ma call out, “Come in.”


    She was sitting up in bed. Pop had already started a fire in the hearth before he left. Ma was surprised to see me. And that was when a memory hit me. I’d seen her this way before. I think when I was six years old. She’d been crying that Grandpa didn’t love her anymore.


    “Mio figlio,” she said. “You didn’t have to do that.”


    I crossed the room and set the tray on the bed. “But I wanted to, Mamma.” She loved it when I used the full Italian version of the word mother.


    “I’m not hungry.” She pouted, but I could see that tiny sparkle in her eyes. Maybe all she needed was her children showing her we care. I wished Lucy would be less of a prima donna thinking about herself and how Ma’s bedridden state was consuming all of Pop’s attention.


    “But you’re going to eat if I have to spoon-feed you myself,” I said firmly.


    A hint of a smile curved her mouth. “You’re growing up to be as bossy as Paulie.”


    “You like bossy.” I dug into thesagna and held it out to her.


    She epted my actions of feeding her. It also filled me with aplishment. I made her smile, even if it was just a little. I was taking care of family.


    “Now tell me why you were crying,” I said. “Is it about Grandpa again?”


    She took a sip of juice. Wine was not allowed because of her medications. “Yes, and no. I don’t know, Dominic. I look at Ava and Cesar and they’re happy with their kids. Like the barbecue this previous summer, remember? I should be happy like them. I have a handsome son and a beautiful daughter. A loving husband who spoils us. What more can I ask for?” She sighed heavily. “Maybe your nonno’s eptance doesn’t matter.”


    “What did he say to you?” I asked sharply. I was never close to Emilio, but maybe because it was Pop keeping us away from the Chicago side of the family. Afraid of its influence. He didn’t have a problem with our cousins who led the De Li crime family, maybe because he made his position clear that I would never be a made man. Still, the allure of the forbidden was enticing to me.


    “I used to be the mafia princess, you know,” she said, her eyes clouding as if transported back into her heyday. “Everyone wanted Emilio Moretti’s prized daughter. The most lucrative offer came not from the Italians, but from the Russians. It was a chance to be joined to Russian royalty.”


    “Is this about the vis on the Amalfi coast?”


    “Yes. The Russians were angry and refused to return the dowry. And to avoid war because it was an insult that I chose Paulie, Papa didn’t argue. But he never forgave me because Paulie wasn’t a made man. He wasn’t even the eldest son.”


    “Did Grandpa say something about it to you again? It’s old history. Why bring it up?”


    Ma smiled wanly and patted my fingers. “That’s your nonno. But don’t worry. I’ll get over this.”


    But my mother didn’t. Three dayster, I watched Pop emerge from their bedroom as if carrying the weight of the universe on his shoulders. He sunk to the floor and buried his face in his hands. I was about to go to him when Lucy appeared out of nowhere and rushed to his side and hugged him.


    I clenched my jaw. He wasn’t making it through to Ma. I had to do something. I approached my cousin Mikey, who was the current underboss of the De Li crime family and told him I was interested in joining the family. He looked pleased, but also thought I was out of my mind. The news reached Grandpa fast.


    That was how crime families worked. The boss-to-boss bullshit.


    Emilio called me that night and was the most enthusiastic he’d ever been, giving me pointers on where to start, even how to approach Pop.


    Well, it was Pop who stormed into my room.


    Without preamble, he roared, “I forbid it, Dominic.”


    “You’ll forbid it now because you can, but when I turn eighteen, you no longer have a say.”


    “I protect this family,” he snapped. “I can’t protect you if you put yourself in danger.”


    “It doesn’t work that way and you know it,” I shot back. “I don’t have to work the streets.”


    “You would have to deal with the criminal filth of the underworld, who has nopunction to have you killed.”


    “As if that’s not what’s happening now? As much as you say we’re the legitimate side of the De Lis, don’t tell me Mikey and them are not using your businesses tounder money.”


    A movement by the door caught my attention. Lucy was ring at me.


    “Get out of here, Lucy!” I yelled at her and stalked toward her.


    Pop blocked me. “Don’t you dare shout at your sister.”


    “You coddle her.” I sneered. “Why don’t you teach her that this family is more than about her?”


    My father’s face twisted in anguish and I almost felt ashamed at my own words. He gripped my jaw in his hands and squeezed. “This family is all I’ve ever cared about. I love your mother so much and it’s killing me I can’t reach her, but I am not sacrificing your life for my failures.”


    I gripped my father’s wrists. “You’re not a failure, Pop. Let me help.”


    He dropped his hands to his sides. “The price is too steep.”


    I exhaled heavily. “But it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”


    Pop and I had more arguments in the following days, but one morning, Ma joined us for breakfast.


    We were shocked.


    She wasn’t in her ratty robe. She’d showered and changed, did her hair, put on makeup, and announced she was going shopping.


    Pop and I locked eyes, resignation written all over his face.


    I was on my way to bing a made man.<hr>


    Dom


    The soothing waves of the ocean did nothing to alleviate my almighty hangover.


    I rolled out of bed, parched. I didn’t even remember getting into it. I sure as fuck hoped Sandro hadn’t carried my sorry ass andid me in bed like Sleeping Beauty. And he better not have taken a picture. I grabbed my phone and saw a barrage of messages. I didn’t bother checking them and went straight to my video surveince of Sloane.


    All were nk except the perimeter and the kitchen. Fucking Sandro.


    It was a little past midnight and I could see lights in her living room and hear the muffled chatter of the girls talking. I hoped they were helping Sloane cope, because it looked like I had my own shit to address.


    To be in Sloane’s life the way she deserved, I needed to make changes in mine.


    My father loved Ma to distraction. He said he had never been a victim of the De Li obsession curse, but I believed he was lying.


    See, I wasn’t taking care of Ma alone. It was hard for me to see my old man struggle, not knowing how to reach the woman he loved to pieces. Emilio’s cruel rejection was a trigger for Ma’s depression. Lucy scoffed that it was all an act. Be that as it may, I had the power to pull her out of it. If Ma was happy, Pop would be happy, and he loved her enough not to me her for my choice. Not so with Lucy. She was only eight years old when that all went down, but hell, did she hold a grudge against me and Ma.


    I learned early in life to take care of what was mine. And I considered all the De Lis and Morettis mine.


    Like when Matteo went after Sera, and I stood up to Luca for my cousins.


    Or when I had to address Nico’s beef with Joe Rossi. I had my suspicions he and Sandro conspired to whack the Rossi boss, but like all things mafia rted, the less we talked about it, the better.


    Then came the war between the Rossis and the De Lis, where they kidnapped Bianca, and shot Renz. I was fucking furious, but I’d been the voice of reason in talking down Uncle Cesar and his boys from waging an all-out war.


    The vis on the Amalfi coast had be a nonissue. We were not getting those back. Ma would just have to suck it up. Besides being tainted with the sex-trafficking business, they would be a constant reminder how I’d failed Sloane. Letting them go was the right thing to do.


    Sloane insisted our affair was over, and we didn’t owe each other an exnation. But we were both fantastic liars, preferring to hurt each other to protect that lie. But the burden and shame were on me. I was in the position of power in this rtionship. I should have done something to not make that matter to Sloane.


    See, I think I’m in love with this stubborn woman.


    I needed to figure out how to bring her into my life without triggering World War III with my mother.


    But Luca’s words were an echo in my head. Being as sharp as he was, my uncle knew my problems were not only the wealth and status imbnce, but also my mother.


    I had to protect that choice with my life.


    I choose Sloane.