Who the hell does she think she is? The cigarette glows between my fingers, ash crumbling as I drag one last hit. Smoke claws down my throat, bitter and familiar, but my eyes stay locked on her—the woman storming away, her spit still sliding on my window glass.
The ember bites my skin, charring flesh, but I barely flinch. A man set on fire wouldn't fret over a burn. She knew how to hurt me.
Me—the one who made men tremble at the mere mention of my name, who made entire mafia families reconsider defiance once they knew I'd set my sights on them. Now reduced to this: insulted by an ordinary woman who didn't give a damn who I was.
Everyone who ever made me feel this way paid for it, often with their lives. Respect was essential. Without it, they'd all swarm like hyenas to a lion's carcass. Yet I wouldn't lay a finger on her. *Wouldn't. Couldn't.* If my brothers or cousins heard how she spoke to me, they'd demand her head. I'd slaughter any of them who tried.
She was *mine*, and I'd burn down the entire bloodline for her. Only I could handle her defiance. Anyone else who dared answer her back? I'd bury them so deep not even a scavenger could sniff them.
What has she done to me… I sigh, pressing a hand to my temple, clawing back the man I was before her—before she became my entire world.
Just yesterday, I remember the restaurant—all families meeting to discuss the partition of the Marone territories after his entire party had been eliminated. The upstart representative of the Marcanti family was present, sowing threats that the rest laughed at. I wasn't laughing. I crouched up the table and slapped the boy so hard he didn't dare lift his gaze anymore.
No one raises his voice in my presence. Better he learns young before he becomes food for fishes. Then Melissa walked in. With her golden curls and blue eyes, you'd consider her an angel… until she starts screaming like a devil at the man she loves.
"You've missed our date! I never wanna see you again!" she yelled. I jumped out of my seat, grabbing her arms as she fought me off. "Get off me, you bastard, Christian!" she screamed while the families laughed. "Out! Everyone!" I roared. She turned to leave too. I grabbed her arm.
"Not you. You're not going anywhere. You belong with me." She resisted, starting to cause a scene again, so I took her by the hand and ordered the chauffeur to drive us home despite her protests.
I could tell she was drunk, bourbon reeking on her breath. It was my fault for being late. "Help! He's kidnapping me!" she screamed all the way, and I had to gag her as she tried to bite my fingers off.
What a wild woman, I laugh to myself. Remembering how she spat at the window, careful to miss me. Remembering how she was naked minutes before that, jumping on top of me, her face lost in ecstasy, eyes rolled back as she screamed my name.
What caused her switch of mood? Because I got angry—said it was too dangerous to interrupt a meeting of the families. She thought I saw her as lesser, that I'm embarrassed by her being at my side.
How wrong she was. I just didn't want the others to see my gentle, caring side when I'm with her. She meant too much to me to show her off.
My hot-headed devil with the innocent face of an angel. I'd better chase after her before she gets herself in more trouble, I tell myself, fingers digging into my pocket to grab the Aston Martin keys. A ride always makes her forgive me.
As I gazed up at her crossing the street, I saw a Mercedes veering too fast around the corner. Dread coiled in me, instinctual. My hand jerked toward my suit, hovering near the hidden gun.
The car stopped with a screech in front of her. Two masked men lunged from the backseat, shoving her inside. **"Hey!"** I screamed, voice raw as I drew my gun and fired. Glass shattered—warning shots, aimed high. I wouldn't risk hitting her.
She stared at me, blue eyes wide with terror, palms slamming against the rear windshield as the car sped off. My frozen composure shattered. Rage erupted.
"Who *fucking* laid a finger on my woman? I'll cut their hands off! Burn this city to ash to get her back!" I sprinted to the door. Gunfire erupted outside; dying screams honed my focus. I kicked the door open, shot one intruder through the chest—he crumpled. The second took a bullet to the knee, howling as he collapsed.
The living room lay in ruins: overturned furniture, dead bodies strewn over them. I seized the surviving man's throat. "Who do you fucking work for?! Who took her? Speak, or I'll gouge your eyes *out*!" My thumb pressed beneath his eyeball, fighting the urge to pluck it out.
"M…Marcanti. Enzo."
The name ignited my blood. I roared, unloading the entire magazine into his face before he could beg. Splattering blood swallowed my vision. He dared kidnap the only woman I've ever loved?! I'll carve his balls off, feed them to his pig of a father. This was his play. All of theirs. Time to send the Marcanti dynasty to hell.
No one would survive my wrath.