Of volume lineage

I snuck into the kitchen, where the best view of the men would be. I situated myself by the archway separating the rooms, angling my head so I could make out the leather chairs and cigar-smoke floating around. Shadows moved past the doorway as the men talked amongst themselves, each sentence a carefully veiled threat.

Giova

“–marrying Vitale’s daughter is a gesture towards the traditionalists.” Giova

He had agreed. Mother said he would.

He needs you.

“I think there are lots of benefits to this match,” Uncle Bartolomeo said carefully. “You will gain favour, not only from the Lombardis but also from other mobs. She comes from a very old family.”

“And she is definitely legitimate?”

I couldn’t tell if Giova

Uncle Angelo certainly didn’t think so, because he said, “Her parents were married, so yes, she is legitimate. In fact, she is legitimate enough that by marrying her, the entire Famiglia is willing to forget your own legitimacy.”

What I would’ve done to see their faces. Uncle Bartolomeo must be sweating bullets.

“Careful, Angelo,” Giova

Secure the match.

I had known this was my fate. In fact, I had hoped for it, hoped he would take me as his wife and bring me into his family. Saving my family relied solely on him taking me as his wife.

But now he had agreed, my stomach cramped.

I was going to marry Giova

Infamous rumours of his bloody conquests walked in front of him. Everywhere he went, misery and disaster followed behind. He had taken over Maine, practically ruling the ports like the King of the Ocean. And now he had come to the epicentre of crime–and usurped one of the oldest Italian-American families in the States.

He was emotionless and vicious. Violent and cu

Being his wife would be a challenge but bringing him down to his knees would be even harder.

My new title rang through my head once more. Spy, spy, spy.

He needs you. He needs you more than he knows, my mother’s words sounded in my mind.

My thoughts disappeared as his form stepped out of the study. In the light of the foyer, I could see his features better.

All the facts I knew about him seemed to vanish from my mind. It suddenly didn’t matter if I knew his birthdate or height or middle name. None of those facts would do anything to damage the armour this man wore, none of those titbits of information would help me gain his confidence and spy on him.

Empty, was my first thought as I took him in. He’s empty.

If I ever painted Giova

I bet if you yelled into his mouth, it would echo.

I still couldn’t deny his beauty, even if the hair on the back of my neck stood up at the sight of him. His black hair was neat and combed back, with slight graying to his temples and stubble. Maturity was clear in his features, his forehead wrinkling with age, but it did nothing to draw away from his beauty–if anything, it made my mouth water more.

Giova

His head moved so fast if I had blinked, I would’ve missed it.

Crushing blue eyes, the colour of a stormy sea, landed on me. There was no anger, or surprise. Instead, Giova

I met his gaze head on, showing more bravado than I felt.

Uncle Bartolomeo continued to talk about the benefits of the match, like he wasn’t sure how to stop selling it. He hadn’t noticed the Don’s sudden shift in attention.

Anger spurred low in my stomach, the feeling so strong it felt like a knife to the gut. This was the man who had killed the men I had grown up with. This was the man who had disrupted my life.

My uncles may have bowed with little resistance, but I wasn’t them.

I smiled and held up my middle finger.

Giova

“I look forward to bringing our two families together,” Uncle Bartolomeo said as the three men reached the front door. “You will be very happy with the match, I’m sure.”

“We’ll see,” Giova

We’ll see? Rude bastard.

Uncle Angelo seemed to be thinking the same thing because his brows furrowed in anger. He didn’t say anything, though it was clear he wanted to.

“Until next time,” Uncle Bartolomeo said.

Giova

My name on his tongue...I didn’t like it.

I almost didn’t notice Uncle Angelo turning his head towards me, his scar twisting as he registered my presence.

Giova

Uncle Angelo wasted no time. Even if he took a deep breath of relief as the door closed behind the don.

“Isabella!” he snapped. “Have you lost your fucking mind? Spy again and I’ll poke out your eyes.”

“I was curious,” I said. “Wouldn’t you be if you were me?”

“The tongue on that girl,” Uncle Bartolomeo muttered under his breath. Unlike Angelo, Uncle Bartolomeo had never been my biggest fan. I wasn’t quiet enough for him to like me–a sentiment I also shared about him.

Uncle Angelo didn’t agree with me. “I suggest you get over your curiosity, Isabella,” he growled. “Don Giova

He had no idea, I thought to myself. “I heard he killed two dozen men. Tore their throats out.”

“That is nothing a young girl needs to know,” Uncle Bartolomeo said.

“He did,” Uncle Angelo snapped. “Which is why I suggest you be extra cautious. A man like that will not hesitate to kill his wife. Even if you are his boon.”

I tangled my fingers in my dressing gown, hiding the slight shake to them. “Thank you for the suggestion, Uncle Angelo.”

“I’m serious, Isabella. Giova

I wonder what Uncle Angelo will say when I bring down Giova