The New American Mafia

I was the only daughter of the Italian American mafia boss on the East Coast. After my mother was murdered, he made sure the world forgot he had a daughter. I had to pretend to be the girl I’ve never been: meek. There is not one submissive bone in my body, but I had to look and act the part. Matteo De Salvo is the only person that has ever made me nervous. My skin itched around him and my throat closed up. I watched him from a distance, the defiant part of me hoping he’d catch me. He did.

She was hell-bent on making her father disown her. Her rebellious attitude and the color that marred her snowflake skin was proof of that, so I used that knowledge to my benefit. I promised her hate and blood. Instead, she got my heart and a weak man on his knees in front of her. She was never supposed to be my bride. She was the daughter of a rival family, not even of Italian descent. She was from a different culture. Sasha Nikolayev was my vice. I was an addict for her. I would have said and done anything to chain her to me—so that’s what I did. 

I didn’t get to say goodbye to my mother. When I watched her coffin lower into the ground, I swore I’d never love another that deeply again. I didn’t have to. I found solace in the opposite.