Ciro Donati was many things:
My father’s most valued and trusted soldier.
My brother’s best friend and second in command.
And the only man I would give up everything for.
I fell hard for the Mafioso at the tender age of eleven. This beast of a man who I knew made people disappear—and probably enjoyed every second of it—was also the sixteen-year-old boy who had picked me up after I’d fallen flat on my face during my dance recital and told me I was the best ballerina he’d ever seen. He’s watched over me, protected me like I was the most precious thing in the world to him.
And then he sent me away.
Scarlett Vitucci was many things:
The daughter of the biggest Cosa Nostra boss from New York to Chicago.
The sister of the man I would gladly take a bullet for.
And the only woman I would ever love.
Sending her away was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I didn’t deserve her or her love. For three years I stayed away, ignoring the gnawing ache that her absence left in my chest. Now, she was back and fighting what I felt for her was impossible. Letting her go had been a huge mistake.
One I would never repeat.
