Chapter 1

Chapter 1

~ Manhattan, New York ~

**Alessia**

Love is a weapon in this family.

I learned that young. Not from words, but from watching my papà use it. Watching him smile at my mama like she was his entire world, then smile at his soldiers the same way before sending them to die. Love is just another tool. A way to control, a way to destroy.

The locket at my throat felt heavier than it should. I touched it without thinking, running my thumb over the pendant my mother had given me years before she died. Back when she still had time to give me things that mattered.

The kitchen smelled like rosemary and garlic, warm and rich, completely at odds with the cold weight in my chest. The news played low on the television. Another murder in Manhattan. Bodies found in the warehouse district.

Three dead. No leads. No names yet.

“Figlia mia, you’ll damage your mind with all this death,” Nonna said, appearing beside me with the grace of someone who’d been moving through kitchens for sixty years. She was already in her apron, already directing the kitchen staff with the kind of quiet authority that made men twice her size obey without question. “Your brain doesn’t need this noise.”

I didn’t answer. My fingers were still on the locket.

“Alessia.” Her voice softened. A warning wrapped in love. “You need to come see the guests. Your papà won’t be happy you’re down here.”

The Mancinis.

The family that had spent five years bleeding ours dry. Now they wanted peace. An alliance.

Now they wanted to tie my sister to their Don like she was something to be traded.

“When has papà ever been happy with me lately?” I looked at her, it’s the same look in her eyes. It’s always the same look.

Nonna’s mouth tightened. “You know why.”

“It’s been a year, Nonna.”

“And yet.” She didn’t say more. She didn’t have to. 

I turned back to the television, where they were showing the warehouse again. Yellow tape. Chalk outlines. The kind of death that was normal in our world, the kind people like papà didn’t even blink at. The kind I now had blood on my hands for.

“I never wanted this,” I said quietly. “I never wanted to be part of any of this. The Mancinis killed mama. I won’t forget that. Sofia shouldn’t have to pay for a war that isn’t hers.”

“Oh, mia.” Nonna’s sigh was heavy. “You need to calm down, or your father…” She didn’t finish. 

“I don’t care what Papà thinks.”

But that was a lie, I cared too much. 

Nonna moved closer, her weathered hand finding my shoulder. “Leonardo Mancini is not his Papà. The Don before him—yes, he was ruthless. But this one…” She paused. “I believe he wants peace as much as any of us do.”

I let out a quiet laugh. “That doesn’t change anything. Sofia is still being sacrificed.”

“Besides,” she added, more carefully now, “Leon isn’t as bad as they say. If you had met him yesterday—”

“I’m not meeting him.” The words came out sharper than I intended. “And neither should Sofia.”

I’d seen him. He was tall. Dark, sharp features and eyes that catalogued everything they touched. The kind of presence that made people look twice and then look away. His eyes had met mine for two seconds before I glared at him. A small rebellion.

He hadn’t reacted.

Just looked back like I was nothing.

Then looked away.

“Go,” Nonna said. “Check on Sofia. Tell her to come down. And Alessia…”

I looked at her.

“Put a smile on your face. Just this once.”

I pushed away from the counter without answering and headed out of the kitchen.

The house was already shifting into performance.

Flowers arranged. Floors polished. Staff moving through the halls like ghosts.

Sofia’s room was upstairs.

I climbed slowly, listening to the sounds below. Laughter, glasses clinking. Voices blending between Italian and English.

 The Mancini family was here. I knocked on Sofia’s door.

“Come in.”

Sofia sat at her vanity, staring at her reflection like she was trying to memorize it. She looked pale. Her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted the bracelet on her wrist.

“Nonna wants you downstairs.”

She nodded slowly. 

“Sofia—”

“Do you think he’ll be cruel?” she asked, still looking at her reflection. “Leonardo?”

My chest cracked. “I don’t know.”

Another lie.

“Nonna thinks he wants peace,” Sofia said quietly. “What if he doesn’t?”

I squeezed her shoulder. “Then we’ll figure it out. Together.”

She turned to me, “You promise?”

“I promise.”

********

By the time I returned downstairs, the foyer was full.

My uncle wasn’t hiding his dislike. Neither was Enzo, my cousin. He stared at Leonardo like he was already pulling the trigger.

Papà stood beside him, smiling that polished, controlled smile he reserved for important moments.

When he saw me, he gestured me forward.

“Alessia,” he said warmly. “Come. I want you to meet Leonardo Mancini properly.”

Every step felt heavier than the last.

“Leonardo,” Papà continued, “this is Alessia, my eldest daughter.”

My eyes found him.

Everything else faded.

He was even more imposing up close. Taller than I remembered. Controlled in a way that felt deliberate. His presence filled the space without effort.

This was the man my sister was going to marry.

His gaze locked into mine. For a second, it dropped to the locket at my throat. Something shifted in his expression.

Then it was gone.

“Haven’t we met?” he asked quietly.

My pulse jumped. I could feel papà watching.

“No,” I said, keeping my expression blank. “I don’t believe we have.”

“Strange.” Leonardo took a step closer, and I had to fight the urge to step back. “I could have sworn I’ve seen those eyes before. Very memorable. The way they looked at me yesterday, for instance.”

My blood went cold.

Papà’s attention sharpened.

“I wasn’t—” 

“No need to deny it.” His voice was soft. Almost intimate. Like he was sharing a secret with me that no one else could hear. “I find it refreshing, actually. Most people are too afraid to show their true feelings around me.”

His gaze dropped again to the locket. Lingering there like it meant something.

“But I’m curious,” he continued, quieter now. “Was that real? Or are you just pretending like everyone else?”

The words settled under my skin. 

“Because if it’s real,” he said, meeting my eyes again, dark in a way that made my entire body understand, on an instinctual level, that this man was a predator, “then you’re either very brave or very stupid. And I don’t think you’re stupid.”

He stepped back, just like that.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you properly,” he said, his tone shifting back to polite, back to the mask he wore for the world. But his eyes didn’t change.They stayed on me.

I couldn’t move. I was unable to breathe, unable to do anything but stare at him while the realization crashed through me with the force of a tidal wave:

This man was too dangerous.

And I was terrified for reasons that had nothing to do with my sister.