Chapter 1

CALISTA.

I bet you have never had whiskey, rum, vodka, and a little bit of tequila...was that tequila? I don't know. But I'm guessing you have never had it all in one shot, all of them mixed together.

Well, I can tell you that it is not funny, not by a long shot- pun intended.

It took the bartender twenty minutes to give me my drink. Even after he did, he looked at me like I was crazy; I bet he thought I was. Who could blame the poor guy? Sane people don't walk into a bar in the early hours of the morning only to order a mix of liquors that could be the death of them.

And with my hair haggard like a raccoon house, the dark circle under my puffy eyes, and the way my words were slurred, I looked like a homeless addict.

Wouldn't that be nice? I'd rather be homeless than live in the mansion I had grown up in. I would rather be acknowledged as a crackhead than the princess I've been called all my life.

Maybe then, I wouldn't have had to experience walking in on my husband-to-be, fucking my stepmother like his next breath was inside her cunt.

I had stood in the doorway, Frozen, blinking rapidly. Hoping that I was imagining the scene before me. But it was real. Matteo and my stepmother... Together. A tangled mess of limbs and moans.

“Matteo,” I whispered his name as I watched him desecrate our bed.

Matteo flinched when he saw me but was reluctant to pull out from her. Instead of remorse and shame, annoyance flashed through his jade eyes. It was at that point I knew I couldn't stomach this anymore.

Without thinking it through, I picked Matteo's gun from the bedside table. His eyes widened, following my movements.

“Don't you dare!” he threatened, which only fueled my rage. My stepmother curled herself behind him, her eyes shining with victory. My heart ached as I stared at the man I was supposed to marry, making love to the woman who had made my life a living hell.

I pulled the trigger and a bullet landed in Matteo's arm, drawing a primal scream from him, and then, like the coward I've been called my entire life, I ran.

I ran away from Matteo and the evil look on his face that promised to pay back; I ran away for the life of misery waiting for me in Evanston.

I didn't stop until I was in our enemy territory- Chicago. It had taken me twenty minutes to get here. This was the last place Matteo's hounds would think to search for me, and also the easiest place I could get killed.

I glanced around the bar I had wound up in. It was nearly empty, a good place for me to drop my head and cry, but so far, since I walked in on Matteo, not a drop of tear had slid down my eyes.

I have felt pain before- it was when my mother kissed my cheeks, and an hour later, I was staring at her corpse. Rejection- I've experienced that too, when my father told me I was worthless in front of our entire mob famiglia of Evanston. I've known fear; I lived in it all my life.

This, however, is something I've never experienced; it's hollow, a feeling of nothingness, of emptiness, like my world had been put on hold, like my soul had been ripped out from my body, and I was staring helplessly at this pitiful creature who happens to be me.

I dropped my empty glass down the counter with a loud thud.

“I'll take another shot. Of everything you have.” I shouted, my voice hoarse from all the drinking. If God is merciful today, I might drink myself to death before Matteo and his hounds find me. How quickly can the liver burst from intake of excessive alcohol? I hope it happens in under two hours.

“Give the lady water.” The most alluring, baritone voice my ears have ever heard ordered from behind me. I felt it down to my stomach. That's not good. Voices are supposed to stop at the ears, but in some rare cases, a man's voice would reverberate throughout a woman's body. I swiveled my chair around to see the person.

Whiskey eyes stared back at me; his face was glorious to look at. It was like he had been sculptured by partial angel's who chose to favor him. With a chiseled jawline, thin lips, and an aquiline nose. Brown hair with a stubble that added to his rugged beauty.

“And you are?” I shot at him. Although I was mesmerized by his disconcertingly handsome features, he had no right to choose what I did and did not drink. I'm twenty-two fúcking years old. I'm legal.

The man's eyes narrowed at the bartender who hastily rushed to get me water.

“Whatever issues it is you have, if you want to kill yourself with overdrinking, do it outside my fúckin bar.” he sneered in an icy voice that made me shudder. The bartender placed a bottle of water in front of me, ducking his head to avoid the man's gaze.

What the fuck did I need water for? Water wouldn't ease the pain I felt. I needed strong liquor before I lost what was left of my sanity.

“Hey. I need alcohol, not water.” I hollered at the bartender who paid me no heed.

Fine, whatever.

I stood up, suddenly feeling like I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders, my leg shook as I forced myself to be steady, willing myself not to cry. I'm not going to cry in front of this bar owner who ordered me to take my miserable life elsewhere.

I started walking with my head up high till I reached where he stood. His face was a mask of perfect boredom, muscular arms crossed, as he watched me like a hawk.

“Fine. I'll take my sorry ass elsewhere." I retorted, looking him dead in the eye. I made to walk past him when he called out to me.

“He doesn't deserve you.” He said, his voice more softer this time. My steps flattered.

“W..What?” Trepidation began creeping under my skin. Does he know who I am? This bar is under the protection of the Cappellucci famiglia. If this bar owner finds out my identity, he would take me to his Capo and then...

This is stupid; I shouldn't have risked coming here; I should have stayed where it was safe.

The sensible option would be to bolt for the doors and escape while I could, but there was something about his gaze, a darkness in his eyes that pulled me closer and closer till I was standing mere inches from his giant frame.

“How did you know what was making me upset?” I asked, locking my eyes to his. He put his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His black shirt did little to hide his perfect abs. My breathing turned shallow as I drank at the sight of him. In another life, if I weren't a mafia princess destined to marry a disgusting cheat, If I had a say in the men I dated and married, he would be my type.

The bar owner tilted his head. “I can tell,” he stated. “If he did something that hurt you, he doesn't deserve you."

I sighed, pulling my lower lip into my mouth and chewing on it. "You're right. It's because of a man, but I can't leave. It's not that simple."

He studied me for a moment like he was reading my soul. His gaze felt like a soft caress. I wondered how his touch would be.

Jesus, Calista, get a grip on yourself.

“Why can't you leave him?” he asked carefully.

My throat bobbed. That was something I couldn't reveal to anyone, least of all a man from the enemy territory. But the presence of this stranger provided a comfort I haven't felt since Mom's death. There was an air around him that pulled me in, like a soothing song leading me into a lion's den.

And so, I did something that could cost me my life. One word to his Capo and my head would be delivered to Matteo in a box with ugly wrapping, but regardless, I wanted to spill it out, to let go of the truth weighing me down; maybe then my heart could be at ease, even though for a short while. And so, I told him my name, my real name.

“My name Is Calista Vitale. Daughter of Anito Vitale, the bride of Matteo Orsini, and today.....” I gulped, trying to read the expression on his face. “Today is my wedding day.”