Chapter 2 2

• “Okay, that’s it.” Alessia suddenly lunged for my laptop, snatching it off my desk.
• “Hey!” I protested, but she was already sitting beside me, her shoulder pressed tightly against mine.
• She didn’t answer. Her eyes scanned the screen like she was looking for hidden codes. Then her breath caught.
• “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Is this him?”
• I nodded stiffly. “Lorrenzo Alessandro.”
• She zoomed in on a photo. “His eyes… they’re terrifying. Like… like he’s already picturing where to bury your body.”
• “Coldest gray I’ve ever seen,” I murmured. “He doesn’t even blink in half of these photos.”
• “Jesus, he’s taller than everyone,” she breathed, flicking through more images. “And jacked. I mean, he looks like he could bench-press a motorcycle.”
• “Some call him the Bull behind his back.”
• “Fitting.” Alessia grimaced. “The articles keep calling him ‘heir to the Alessandro empire’ and ‘a rising star in New York’s elite club scene.’ But everyone knows what that means.”
• “Yeah.” My voice was flat. “Clubs, money laundering, weapons deals. Blood in the foundation of every building they own.”
• We stopped on another photo him in a perfectly tailored suit, standing in front of some velvet-roped entrance. A different girl clung to his arm, this one blonde, laughing like she had a clue who she was with.
• “He’s with a new girl in every single picture,” Alessia said.
• I stared. My future husband.
• The most sought-after bachelor in New York, according to the tabloids. They made him out to be some glamorous mystery, a man women lost their minds over.
• But all I could see was a viper in a silk tie.
• “Heir to hundreds of millions,” I said bitterly. “Heir to an empire built on corpses. That’s what they should print.”
• Alessia blew out a breath. “God, the way girls throw themselves at him… I mean, sure, he’s hot, but ”
• “They can have him,” I snapped. My jaw clenched. “They don’t know what he really is. They think he’s just playing the bad boy. They think it’s sexy.”
• “They don’t know he’s the kind of man who watches you bleed and calls it foreplay.”
• I stood up so fast the laptop nearly slid off the bed. My hands were shaking.
• “I need to talk to Umberto.”
• Alessia blinked. “Now?”
• “Yes.”
• Umberto knew everything. He was nearly fifty, sharp as a blade, and loyal to my father in a way that was almost fanatical. Mother called him a gossip. I called him a necessary evil.
• If there was anyone who knew what I was really walking into, it was him.
• And I needed to know because right now, I was set to marry a monster.
• The kitchen smelled like tomatoes and oregano normally comforting. Today, it turned my stomach.
• “He became a Made Man at eleven,” Umberto said, dragging his knife slowly across the grinder, metal against metal.
• I froze, the words sinking in like cold water. “Eleven?” I repeated, my voice barely audible. “That’s… that’s impossible.”
• Alessia stopped mid-chew, eyes wide. “Eleven?”
• “Because of his father?” I pressed, desperate for a reason that made sense. “They gave him a free pass, didn’t they?”
• Umberto chuckled, low and gravelly, flashing his gold incisor. “You think he got in easy ‘cause he’s the Boss’s kid?”
• He stopped sharpening and turned to us fully, expression flat. “He killed his first man at eleven. That’s why.”
• The room went silent.
• Alessia’s fork clattered to her plate. “He’s a monster,” she whispered.
• Umberto shrugged, like it was nothing. “He’s what he needs to be. Ruling New York ain't for soft hands.”
• He paused, then added with a smirk, “Sorry. Ain’t for… wusses.”
• I gripped the edge of the table. “What happened?” I didn’t want to know. God help me, I didn’t. But the question slipped out anyway. “Who did he kill?”
• Umberto scratched the long scar trailing from his temple to his chin. “Don’t know. Story’s old. And I don’t know New York like that. But it was enough to impress the Council.”
• I looked away, focusing on the cook moving calmly between pots, pretending she wasn’t listening.
• “How many more?” I asked quietly. “Since then, I mean…”
• He didn’t answer.
• He didn’t need to.
• Umberto looked at me then. Really looked. “He’s a good catch, ragazza. Cold, yes. But smart. Ruthless. He’ll be the most powerful man on the East Coast soon enough.”
• “He’ll protect you.”
• My laugh came out hollow. “And who protects me from him?”
• Alessia didn’t move. The cook didn’t stir. Even the grinder was quiet now.
• Umberto didn’t speak.
• Because we all knew the answer.
• No one.
• Not Umberto.
• Not my father.
• Not God.
• In our world, once the vows were said, I’d be his. Not his wife. Not his partner.
• His property.
• And a man who made his bones at eleven didn’t know how to love anything he couldn’t bleed.