Chapter 4

Alessio

I slam Chiara down on the metal bed, grabbing her hand that she somehow managed to slip out of the strap.

I look around for my knife, but I realize that she managed to swipe it away from my grasp and it fell on the floor. I twist her wrist and slip it back inside the strap, tightening it and making her cry out. I stare at her in anger, breathing hard because of what almost transpired.

She shouldn’t have attempted to touch my mask. No one knows who I am and what I am, and it should stay that way. I’ve been protecting myself for far too long and I won’t let some rat’s child get in the way of that.

Anyone who crosses me must die.

And now, she’s staring at me with her black hair all over her face, her brown eyes wide and crazy, saying something that her muffled mouth won’t let her.

That doesn’t make me happy at all.

I pull the gag down from the girl’s mouth. Immediately, a scream erupts in the room. High pitched and reedy, like a little girl’s. I almost want to bring the gag back to her mouth, but I need to get her talking.

I cock my gun and shoot straight at the wall beside her, making her shriek and stop.

“Okay, there we go.” I turn back to her. “Let’s not bust my eardrums, shall we? It will have dire consequences.”

“Please,” she whimpers. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know how you know me--”

“You work at Monamour, yes?”

Her lips start to quiver. “I . . . yes, I do. I’m just a stripper there. I didn’t. . . .” She trails off, her eyes going wide. “Oh, god. Are you the man I gave a lapdance to?”

I frown. “Pardon?”

“The one who tried to jerk off,” she mumbles. “I’m sorry for saying that about your dick. I really--”

“STOP!” I yell, slamming my fist on the metal bed she’s lying on. “Whatever that is, that is not what you’re here for!”

Another whimper escapes her lips. She’s opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water.

“Are you the daughter of Lazaro Castelli?” I ask in an exasperated tone. “Yes or no?”

“Are you going to kill me?” she asks in a small voice. “Where is my dad?”

“I said, yes or no?” I want to run my hand over my face. God, this is such a big fuss over a ring that Lazaro could have just delivered. “No one understands shit these days. Your dad is not here. I’m interested in you.”

The girl starts to breathe erratically. “Yes, I’m his daughter. I don’t know what he did this time, and I have no involvement in it, I promise. He has a problem and I--”

“Oh, I will tell you what he did,” I say, walking around the steel bed and watching her struggle. “I hired him to facilitate an exchange with my client. Job was simple: give the client the vintage ring, fetch the seventeen million dollar payment. But little Lazaro here sold the ring to someone else. I invited him to this very room to talk, and he told me that his daughter has it. Now . . . do you have it?”

“What?” she mutters after a beat. “He said . . . that I have it? We haven’t talked in three months!” She starts to stammer. “I left home because he can’t stop gambling and drinking and getting himself hurt. I tried to get a job to afford things on my own and that’s why I became a . . . stripper. Please believe me, I didn't do anything wrong!”

I sigh. I had my doubts about her relation to Lazaro, but not anymore. She and her father both have a talent for drawing things out and making things more complicated than they should be.

“Look here,” I tell her slowly. “I don’t give a fuck about your family problems. What I want is my money. That’s it. And if you don’t have it, then I’m sorry, but I will have to end this one way or the other.”

I aim my gun to get her to talk, but to my surprise, she starts to cry.

Not loud crying. But quiet defeated weeping.

And that, for some unknown reason, breaks my heart.

For god’s sake. I’m a mafia leader.

I rose through the ranks by acquiring the best pieces to sell underground, and most of those acquisitions have not been pretty. I have a lot of blood on my hands. I’ve watched countless people beg for their lives in front of me. Killing is nothing to me, may it be human or werewolf. . . .

Yes, werewolf. Because on top of everything that I have to deal with as a mafia leader, I also have to worry about my status as an Alpha Heir.

An unknown, hidden Alpha Heir in a world where no one knows I exist. Where no one knows what I did to stay here.

So why does this hit me differently?

I clench my jaw, walking to her side to see her face. And all I can see in her eyes is resignation.

“I don’t have it,” she says in a barely audible whisper. “I never had anything from him. He told me to come home because he got me a scholarship. I just thought everything was finally working out. . . .”

“Again, I don’t care about your family affairs,” I say, but my voice doesn’t have much conviction this time. “Now, you tell me where it is, or I will have to do something about it.”

More tears leak from her eyes. Her chest is heaving up and down.

She looks up at me again and asks, “Are you going to kill me?”

My hand goes slack around the gun. Fuck. How is she doing this to me? Should I cover my eyes before I do the deed?

Because I can swear . . . her eyes are doing something strange to me right now.

I raise the gun and put my finger on the trigger, but I can’t bring myself to aim it.

“Just make it quick, please,” Chiara says, her voice as fragile as a wisp of air. “I don’t want it to hurt. Please just make it quick. . . .”

More tears. Her body tenses against the bed like she’s getting ready for the gunshot. My hand closes around the gun, and I take a deep breath.

Then I find that I can’t do it.

I can’t kill her.

Why? Why am I suddenly powerless? Is it because it’s supposed to be a full moon tonight and I’m just here preparing for the worst?

Or is it because of her?

I take one good look at her, prepared to try again and finish the job this time, but then I feel my skin tingling with a strange warm sensation. Something electric spreads all over my body, then I find myself whispering a word I never expected.

"Mate."