02

Walking around, he went to the door, followed by five of his men. "I'll expect you ready, Mancini," he said over his shoulder.

Anger burned in my chest. Expect me ready? Like I was luggage? I wasn't being taken to Italy. I was going to college in New York, not marrying a creepy Italian who was definitely in the mafia.

When the door closed, I turned to my father. "Dad, what is this?"

He ran his hand across his face and slumped into his chair. Uncle Reggie and Dante didn't move, but the rest of my father's men left the room. "Sit down, Frankie."

"I'd rather not. I'd prefer to stay until I know what's going on."

Dad slammed his hand on his desk. "For God's sake. Just do as I said!"

I hated it when he spoke to me so coldly, as if I were one of his men. Dante shook his head, clearly thinking I was an idiot, and Uncle Reggie had his usual scowl. Pushing aside the hurt and confusion, I slid into a chair. "Fine. Now, please, explain what's going on."

"You've been chosen to marry Ravazzani's heir, Giulio. It's a good match, Frankie. An honor, really."

"An honor?" I looked at the man who promised I'd get a college diploma before marriage. Who said I could have my pick of a husband. "Absolutely not. I'm not marrying a stranger in Italy. I don't want a mobster husband. I'm going to college in the fall."

My father's face hardened into a terrifying expression, one I'd never seen before. "You'll do as you're told, or people will die. People in this family. Is that what you want?" The threat hung in the air between us, and I thought of my twin sisters upstairs, sleeping and trusting. Unaware that I was being forced to choose a life I didn't want to ensure their safety. There was no choice. I would do anything for them.

Even though I was only two years older, I was the one who cared for them after my mother's death. I taught them about boys and menstruation. Helped them buy bras. Wiped their tears and managed their screen time. The backs of my eyelids began to burn. "Why is this happening?"

"Alliances through marriage are part of our world. There's nothing anyone can do to avoid it. I hope you fulfill your duty and make Giulio happy."

I pressed my hand against my stomach, trying to ease the sudden cramp in my gut. How had my future changed so drastically? "But you promised," I said weakly, fighting back tears.

His expression didn't waver. "My promises to the 'Ndrangheta come first. Now, don't dishonor me. This is an opportunity for us to gain more power through your husband's family. Ravazzani is one of the richest men in Italy, head of one of the largest clans. Power. Wealth. Is that all anyone cares about?" I rubbed my eyes, not caring if I smudged my mascara. "This isn't fair."

"Grow up, Frankie," Dante taunted. "Ravazzani is one of the highest-ranking men in the entire 'Ndrangheta. You're marrying his son, who will one day inherit everything. Any woman in our circle would kill for this chance."

"Screw you, Dante. I don't want to marry a boss," I retorted. "I want to go to college." College meant freedom from my father and his men. It meant living in New York, going to clubs and bars, dating boys, and drinking too much. I'd study and have a career and live a normal life before I had to get married. That's what my mother wanted for her daughters. "Be your own woman, Francesca. Don't make my mistakes."

"Stop," my father said. "You're acting childishly. It's been decided. Go upstairs and pack your things. I expect you to be ready early tomorrow."

I pressed my lips together and got up. The men said nothing as I left, assuming I had agreed. That I would willingly cross an ocean and marry a man I didn't know just because my father messed up some mysterious shipment.

**

FAUSTO

The car turned into the warehouse lot. The place hadn't been used for years by the looks of it, which was perfect for this mission. When the wheels stopped, I opened the car door and got out. Marco followed and unlocked the trunk.

The boy was pulled out and thrown onto the ground, where he landed in a heap of limbs covered in cheap clothes. My men had caught the bastard crawling out of her bedroom window this morning. I looked at him, wanting to see what she saw. Why would a woman as beautiful as Francesca Mancini waste her time on such a pathetic, ordinary creature?

She was glorious. The rumors about her looks weren't exaggerated. All three Mancini daughters resembled their mother. Sofia Mancini had been a famous model before marrying Roberto, and Francesca was the spitting image of her mother, only with bigger breasts.

By God, how I'd love to fuck those tits.

Stop it. She's going to marry your son.

Annoyed by my inappropriate thoughts, I transferred that anger to the man on the ground. "So, you're the boyfriend."

His scared eyes darted between me and my men. "Who are you? Why am I here?"

I signaled to Marco, who gave the boy's ribs a quick kick. "I ask the questions," I said as the kid held his breath. "And I want to know if you slept with her."

The boy's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

After another kick from Marco, the boy groaned for a full two minutes. I sighed. "David, I'm getting tired. Just tell me if you slept with her."

"Wait, are you talking about Francesca?"

Marco raised his leg to kick again, but David raised his hands. "Stop, stop. I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Finally. I leaned in and looked him in the eyes. "You. Fucked. My. Son's. Fiancée?"

My tone seemed to convey the gravity of the situation to David. His eyebrows shot up, and he began to stammer. "I had no idea she was engaged. Seriously. I'm so sorry. She never told me. I never would have slept with her if I'd known. Please, you have to believe me."

"How long, Davi?"

He licked his lips. "We've been seeing each other for seven months."

I stood up and gestured to Marco, then placed my hands on my hips. Seven months that this fucking bastard had been putting his dick in her. What was Mancini thinking, letting his incredibly hot daughter roam the streets of Toronto?

Marco put some effort into that kick, and David curled up into a small ball, gasping. "Please..." he begged. "I think you broke a rib."

I exchanged an amused look with Marco. We both knew he was holding back. "Stand him up," I ordered.

Marco and Benito grabbed one arm each and got David to his feet. The boy groaned, his head hanging, so I grabbed his hair and tilted his face to meet mine. "Listen carefully. Forget she exists. If she contacts you—today, tomorrow, a year from now, whenever—ignore her. If you don't, I'll peel the skin off your body while you watch. Do you understand?"

He whimpered, and I could smell the scent of urine now staining his jeans. Holy Christ, I wanted to go home. "Are we clear?" I repeated.

David nodded wisely. "Yes."

"Good." I took a step back and walked to the car. "Leave him."