1. The Devil Waiting Outside the Convent

"A woman like you? No fucking way you're a virgin."

"Who said virgins can't be filthy, Rocco?"

***

DIANA

My name's Diana Santoro, and if five years in a convent taught me anything, it's that the Mother Superior has a bullshit detector better than any police radar.

"DIANA!" Her voice cut through the garden like God himself decided to call me in for a personal reckoning. "GET OFF THAT WALL RIGHT NOW!"

I nearly fell backward.

Julia, my fellow nun-in-crime, choked on her wine, sprayed it all over my habit, and vanished into the trees like a startled cockroach. Left me completely alone. Traitor. Judas in a white veil.

"Coming, Mother!" I yelled, tossing the bottle over the wall without even looking. If some poor soul took that to the head, may God have mercy.

I scrambled down, trying to wipe the wine off my habit, and there she was.

Mother Teresa.

Seventy years old, five feet of pure divine authority, staring at me like I was the walking embodiment of sin.

Which I am, but that's beside the point.

"My office. Now."

"But Mother, we were just—"

"Come with me. Now."

I breathed deep and followed her through the stone hallways. The other novices looked away like I had leprosy. All except Julia, who peeked out from behind a pillar and gave me a thumbs up.

Little bitch.

In the office, Mother sat behind her desk with the gravity of someone about to hand down a sentence.

And she did.

"Today is your last day here."

My heart stopped.

"What? But Salvatore said the war—"

"It's over." She cut me off, but her tone wasn't relief. It was warning. "Your brother sent someone for you. A man is waiting outside."

Five years.

FIVE YEARS locked in this convent because my brother became Don of the Cosa Nostra and decided hiding me was safer than letting me live.

But something in Mother's eyes made my blood run cold.

"What is it?" I asked. "What's wrong?"

She stood, walked around the desk, and stopped right in front of me. For the first time in five years, she didn't look like a nun.

She looked like... a mother.

"Diana, I know your sins. I know your family's sins. And still, I protected you all these years because I saw something in you." She cupped my face. "But out there, child, the world doesn't forgive. And some things even God won't protect you from."

"Mother, you're scaring me."

She let go.

"Go. Your future is waiting."

"But—"

"GO, DIANA. Before I change my mind and lock you in here forever."

I walked out with my heart in my throat and my head spinning.

Grabbed my bags—two duffels stuffed with five years of memories and zero dignity—and headed down the stairs to the convent door.

The girls were gathered there. Some were crying. Even Julia.

"Don't forget our promise," I whispered.

"Never." She squeezed my hand. "Be free, Diana."

I stepped through the door.

The sun hit my face like a slap.

I raised my hand to shield my eyes.

And I saw.

No convoy.

No armored cars.

No army of men in black suits escorting the Don's sister.

Just an old black Maserati and a guy leaning against it, trying to light a cigarette the wind wouldn't let him.

He was tall.

Like, really tall.

Tattoos crawled up his arms and disappeared under his dress shirt sleeves. He had the most absolute "I don't give a fuck" expression I'd ever seen.

When he spotted me, he dropped the cigarette, crushed it under his foot, and straightened up slowly.

Too slowly.

Like he wanted me to watch every single movement.

And I did.

I'm a sinner, not blind.

"Giuseppina?" His voice was low, rough, with a thick Italian accent that sounded like it was made for whispering dirty things in the dark.

My enthusiasm died on the spot.

"MY NAME IS DIANA."

He looked me up and down. Took his time.

When he got to my nun shoes, he smiled.

It wasn't a friendly smile.

"You're Giuseppina to me. Your brother's orders."

"Who the hell are you to show up here and call me a name I hate?" I marched down the steps, dropping my bags at his feet. "And where's the fucking escort? Where are the cars? My brother sent you ALONE?"

"I'm a capo." He didn't even blink. "Recently appointed."

"Capo?" I laughed. "Capo of what? Driving junk cars?"

He bent down, grabbed my bags like they weighed nothing, and tossed them in the back seat.

When he turned around, I noticed something.

Up close, he was even bigger.

"Listen here, princess." His voice dropped. "I'm not here to be your friend, your driver, or your doormat. I'm here because your brother asked. And if you want to make it to Sicily alive, you'll do exactly what I say, when I say it, without complaining."

"And why wouldn't I make it to Sicily alive?" I crossed my arms. "The war's over."

He went silent.

Too long.

That's when it hit me.

"It's not over, is it?" My stomach turned to ice. "The war isn't over. My brother lied."

Rocco didn't confirm it.

But he didn't deny it either.

"Your brother sent a voice message." He pulled out his phone and hit play.

Salvatore's voice echoed through the air.

"Bring Giuseppina back. Alive. I won't tolerate failure."

Not "safe."

Not "home."

ALIVE.

"Why did he say alive?" My voice came out small. "Like me coming back dead is an option?"

Rocco pocketed the phone.

"Because the Camorra found out you didn't die five years ago. Because there's a price on your head. And because your brother couldn't come get you himself."

"Why not?"

"Because he's in a hospital in Palermo with three bullets in his chest."

The world collapsed.

"What?"

"They hit him yesterday. Ambush. He's alive by a miracle." Rocco stepped toward me. "I'm the only thing between you and whoever wants you dead, Giuseppina."

"DIANA." My voice shook. "My name is Diana."

He stopped.

Stared at me.

And for the first time, his expression shifted.

"Diana." The way he said my name made my stomach flip in a way that wasn't fear. "Get in the car, Diana. Please."

Please.

A mafia capo saying please.

I got in the car.

He got in the other side, started the engine, and the Maserati growled like an animal waking up. He hit the gas on the dirt road, kicking up dust and leaving the convent behind.

"How many men do you have?" I asked, gripping the dashboard. "For our protection?"

"None."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN NONE?"

"If I came with an army, they'd figure out on the way that you're important." His eyes stayed on the road. "One guy picking up his girlfriend from the Spanish countryside? No one suspects."

"Girlfriend?" I blinked. "I'm your girlfriend now?"

"If we get stopped, yeah." He shrugged. "Or would you rather be my hostage?"

"I'd rather be your headache."

He smirked.

"Pretty sure that's a given, princess."