01

I met the devil the morning after my eighteenth birthday. Hungover and tired, I rolled in bed, where my toes grazed warm skin and coarse body hair. A friend of mine threw a graduation party at her pool last night, and my boyfriend, David, slept over. We used to stay at his apartment, but I was too drunk last night and insisted on coming here.

It wasn't easy sneaking him into the house under my father's watchful cameras, but I was a pro. I'd been fooling the guards and cameras for years. The one thing the guards loved? Routine. Once you learned the routine, you could bypass it and do whatever you wanted.

Dad was the head of one of the seven 'Ndrangheta families in Toronto, a criminal network that stretched from Canada to South America and Italy. My father's business was dangerous, so my two sisters and I weren't raised like normal teenagers. Wherever we went, we were followed by armed guards under their jackets, even to school.

That's why I couldn't help but escape occasionally.

I was the responsible one, the older sister who started taking care of my two younger sisters when our mother died. I deserved a break now and then.

A knock sounded on my door. "Frankie. Are you awake?"

My father.

Crap. Panic surged through me. The first night I dared to have my boyfriend sleep here, and my father was outside my door. This couldn't be good.

Forgetting my hangover, I grabbed David's shoulders. "You have to get out of here," I whispered quietly. "Like now."

David nodded and rushed to get dressed as I handed him his clothes. I glanced at the door. "Dad, don't come in. I'm not dressed."

"You need to get up and look presentable," he said from the hallway. "We have guests."

Guests? It was only nine in the morning. "I'll need at least an hour," I said.

"You have ten minutes."

I could hear the command in his voice. "Alright," I replied.

David zipped up his jeans and put on his shirt. I opened the window and looked down. My room was on the second floor, so it was high, but not a death-defying jump. "Cling to the window ledge, and you should be fine."

A rough hand slid under my bare butt. "Maybe it's time for me to meet your family, dear."

The idea almost made me laugh. My father would strangle David with his bare hands for daring to touch his precious daughter. "You have to go. Stay by the side of the house and out of sight. There's a path to the left, and it leads to a wall. The cameras won't see you there. Hurry."

He gave me a hard kiss on the lips, then crawled out of the window. I watched as he descended slowly, his biceps bulging with effort. Before we graduated last month, he was one of the most popular guys in our class and the captain of the hockey team.

David landed on his feet and gave me a salute. I blew him a kiss and closed the window.

After a quick shower, I braided my wet hair and applied concealer under my eyes. A touch of mascara, and I put on a modest dress that covered most of my body, as my father preferred. Instead of sneakers, I put on a pair of heels.

The house was quiet, my sisters still sleeping. The sixteen-year-old twins, Emma and Gia, usually stayed up late, watching movies and chatting with their friends online. I'd miss them when I went to college, but they'd be fine once I left.

My heels clicked on the marble floor as I approached my father's office. I rarely went in there, as I preferred not to know what my father was really up to most of the time. Ignorance was bliss when you had a family member in the mafia.

I knocked and waited until I heard my father's voice telling me to come in. He was seated behind his desk, and the room was filled with men in suits. Some faces were familiar, like Uncle Reggie and my cousin Dante, but the others were strangers - and they all stared at me.

"Francesca, come in," my father stood and buttoned his jacket.

Swallowing my nerves, I approached his desk. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes. This is Fausto Ravazzani."

A man unfolded from his chair, and my heart leaped in my throat. I'd never seen such a handsome man before, with such thick, wavy dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He was lean, with a chiseled jaw and broad shoulders, and his suit fit him perfectly.

He looked to be in his thirties, and under any other circumstances, I would have guessed he was a former model or actor. No one looked and dressed like that unless they depended on their appearance to make a living.

Power rolled off his tense body in waves, as if he were in control of everything and everyone around him. The men accompanying him were clearly not his friends; they were guards. He was someone important, someone worth protecting.

And he seemed... dangerous.

I nodded once. "Mr. Ravazzani."

His eyes roamed my face and down my body as if I were a horse he was considering buying.

A tingling sensation raced along my skin wherever he looked, but I couldn't tell if it was from excitement or embarrassment. Even more confusing, my nipples hardened in my thin bra, which I hoped he didn't notice.

The smile on his face when he met my gaze told me he was aware of the state of my nipples.

"Are you eighteen?" His words came with an Italian accent, and my heart took a sinister beat in my chest. Were these men from Toronto? I doubted it. No one in my father's employ had such a strong accent.

"Yes, sir."

He nodded once to my father. "She'll do."

"She'll do?"

"What for?" I asked.

My father shot me a quick look before addressing Ravazzani. "Excellent. Let's plan the wedding for next month."

"Wedding?" I shouted.

No, no, no. I was supposed to go to college first. My mother made my father promise that all three daughters would be educated before marriage. I was counting on it. "What wedding?"

"Quiet, Francesca," my father snapped.

I looked at my cousin, hoping to find answers, but Dante wouldn't meet my eyes. That meant this was bad. Really bad. He usually relished my unhappiness.

One of Ravazzani's men entered and leaned in to speak in his ear. Ravazzani's mouth twitched as he listened, then he waved for the man to step away. Turning his attention back to my father, he said, "No. The wedding will be at my house in Siderno, where Giulio lives. We leave tomorrow."

Giulio? And wait, Siderno? Like in Italy?

What the hell was going on?

Lines deepened on my father's forehead. "But what about me and my family? We have the right to..."

Stiffening, Ravazzani looked at my father, and the atmosphere in the room turned icy. "Be very, very careful, Roberto," he said softly. "You lost your rights when you lost my shipment."

Damn

No one moved, and the moment stretched. I had never seen anyone put my father in his place before. No one had ever dared. I held my breath until my father finally raised his hands. "My mistake," he apologized.

This seemed to appease Ravazzani, but I still had no idea what they were talking about. "Can someone tell me what's going on?" I blurted out, unable to contain myself any longer.

Ravazzani moved swiftly, getting closer, until he loomed over me. His irises were so blue, with hints of gray, but they didn't seem angry. Instead, he appeared amused. "You've got spirit. That's good. You'll need it, little one."