Resentment poured off me, mixing with the scent of leather and cologne. I was sure he could feel it when he turned his head to look at me. His gaze was as dry as gin, though a light brewed inside as if someone had thrown a lit match in the glass. Blue. The look grabbed me by the back of the neck and pulled me underwater.

I inhaled slowly. Released it.

A sudden feeling that I’d met this man before overwhelmed me. Though, the thought soon faded. It would be impossible to forget his face, no matter how much I wanted to forget his presence.

“You pried into my personal life,” I growled, grabbing my coat from the back seat.

“You wasted my time, therefore my right.”

Disbelief filled me. No other man of my husband’s would have asked me the questions this one had, and then gone on to call it his right.

Venom coated each sweetly-spoken word like candy. “Tell me, Agent Allister, when did you realize you weren’t human?”

The subtle glow of amusement lit in his eyes. “The day I was born, sweetheart.” It disappeared in a flash. “Unless you’d prefer to go back to jail, get your ass out of my car.”

I gritted my teeth but opened the door and stepped out. The frigid breeze tousled my long dark hair against my shoulders. A blanket of snow covered the street, and I welcomed the burn in my bare feet. Turning around, I eyed him with the most disdain I could muster.

“Go to hell, Allister.”

“Been there, Russo, and I’m not impressed.”

A strong statement, but I believed him.

His eyes were what nightmares were made of, ice and fire, and filled with secrets no one wanted to know. He could only pass as normal because of his too-handsome face—otherwise, he’d be locked up somewhere, the world seeing him for what he really was.

Dirty.

His parting words were short and apathetic. “If you get caught with blow on you again, I won’t save you. I’ll let you rot in a jail cell.”

He wasn’t lying.

Next time, he didn’t save me.

22 years old

October 2013

BLACKNESS. INKY AND STAGNANT, IT dripped into my subconscious.

It was often an escape from reality; a comfort in the madness. But this time, it whispered to me—telling me not to wake up now, not to wake up ever. Unfortunately, a shrill noise in the distance was louder. My eyes fluttered open, but I closed them again when pain cut through my head like a knife.

Rrring. Rrring.

A groan escaped me, and I rolled over, my hand coming to rest on a bare chest. Something shifted, one puzzle piece clicking into place.

Rrring. Rrring.

Splaying my fingers, I ran my hand across his chest.

Too hot. Too smooth. Not right.

Rrring. Rrr—

“What the fuck do you want?” a male voice grumbled.

Blood, veins, and my heart went ice cold—and, with one fell swoop, my world crashed to the floor around me.

My eyes flew open, the pain in my head ignored for the stronger ache blooming in my chest.

I viewed it in snapshots. My dress on the floor. A slit of light through the blinds. Naked skin. Mine. His.

I pulled the sheets closer as a deep sickness churned in my stomach.

He ended the call, tossed his phone on the nightstand, and closed his eyes. After a moment of thick tension permeating the air, he flicked them back open and looked straight at me. We stared at each other as an invasive silence licked at my skin.

“Jesus,” was what Nico muttered before he closed his eyes again.

I leaned over the bed and threw up everything in my stomach. Acid singed my throat, and I wiped my mouth with the back of a hand.

Disgrace.

Worthless.

Unlovable.

Whore.

It didn’t happen.

Lie, the blackness whispered.

I felt the imprints all over me—hands, teeth, lips—crawling over my skin and into my soul with claws made of heartbreak and metal.

Opening my eyes, I stared at a used condom on the floor.

My ears rang, my lungs closed up, and I couldn’t breathe. I gripped the sheets, panic tearing through my chest.

“Gianna . . .”

“I gave him everything,” I cried, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Hell,” he muttered before getting to his feet and pulling on a pair of boxer briefs. He went to pick up my dress but tossed it back on the floor when he saw I’d puked on it.

“I was a virgin when I married him. I was faithful.”

“I know.”

The images from yesterday came back with a vengeance. Our room. My husband. Her. Someone I had considered family. I’d always known there were other women . . . but why her? Betrayal cut through my chest, a fresh and burning wound. Tears ran over my lips, tasting salty on my tongue.

“It wasn’t enough,” I whispered. I’m never enough.

“Nothing is enough for my father, Gianna,” he said. “You know that.”

My throat tightened as I watched Nico grab a shirt from his dresser drawer, because sometimes, I could see Antonio in the way he carried himself.

I was in love with my husband, a man who didn’t love me. Maybe I could blame Agent Allister for putting the idea in my head one year ago, but somehow, the pain had led me here. To my husband’s son.

The panic attack reared its head, stealing the breath straight from my lungs. “How did this happen?”

“Really? You need me to explain it to you?”

“This isn’t a joke, Ace.”

“Not laughing, Gianna.”

He set the t-shirt on my lap, dropped to his haunches next to my pile of puke, and nodded toward my mouth. “Did my papà do that to you?”

I licked the cut on my bottom lip. “I threw a vase at his head and called him a cheating pig.”

Ace made a small noise of amusement. “Of course you did.”

Agent Allister was right now. Hit had become hits, and for some reason, I despised the man, as if he’d set all this in motion. It’d been one year since I’d seen him, but the hatred I felt for him still lay close to the surface.

“You aren’t going to tell him,” Nico said.

I didn’t respond.

“If you tell him, I will make your life a living hell.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. My best friend was fucking my husband. How did it get worse than that?

He grabbed my chin and turned it toward him. “We both know you’ll take the brunt of his anger, not me.”

“It’s my decision to make.”

He dropped his hand, sighed, and stood up. “Fine, but I warned you. I won’t feel sorry for you, either.”

I grabbed his t-shirt and slipped it on while he focused on digging through his nightstand drawer.

“Why, Ace?” I whispered.

How could you have let this happen?

I knew why I had. I was a mess. Everything I did was wrong. But Nico? He always had his head on straight. He maintained control in every move he made.

“I was drunk, Gianna. Really fucking drunk. And, to be completely honest, I still am.”

He lit a cigarette, the glow of the cherry red and angry. When he opened the blinds and then the window, and light filled the room, another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Streaks of red covered his hands and ran up his arms. Blood. I didn’t know what it was like being a Made Man, but I’d lived around them long enough to know it wasn’t easy. That sometimes, the toll of it hit them all at once.