The Don’s Favorite Assassin

After Mom died, my father, a Capo, moved his mistress right into our estate.

They took the master bedroom. They cut off my credit cards. They treated me like unwanted trash.

Tonight, the Don himself was coming to inspect the casino.

For the first time in ages, my father had me dressed up. He forced me into a blood-red dress. It was skin-tight, and the neckline plunged so low it was practically indecent.

“Pull it down another inch!” My father jabbed my shoulder with his cigar. “You worthless bitch. If you don’t end up in the Don’s bed tonight, I’ll throw you in a downtown brothel tomorrow!”

I lowered my eyes, hiding the murder in them. “Yes, Father.”

A lace garter high on my thigh held a small pistol.

Someone was going to hell tonight. It wasn't going to be me.

The doors to the VIP casino burst open.

The noisy room went dead silent. Even the roulette wheel stopped spinning.

The most powerful man in New York's underworld, Don Marcello, strode into the hall. He was surrounded by heavily armed guards.

He wore a perfectly tailored black suit. Broad shoulders, narrow waist. His deep gray eyes were cold, controlled, and lethal.

My father rushed to greet him. He shot me a desperate look. A signal to pour the wine.

I picked up a bottle of expensive Romanée-Conti. I swayed toward them.

But I didn't pour any wine.

Three steps away, I hiked up my red dress. I pulled the pistol from my thigh.

“Go to hell, Marcello!”

I screamed, charging at him with the gun raised.

The whole room gasped.

“Gun!”

I lunged. He dodged.

The Don was impossibly fast. I couldn't keep up in these heels.

A guard named Rocco yelled, drew his weapon, and rushed me.

Just as he was about to tackle me, I faked a trip. I threw myself right at Marcello.

Instantly, a dozen guns pressed against the back of my head.

And me? I had landed perfectly in Marcello’s arms.

Through the expensive fabric, I could feel the heat and hardness of his abs.

The deep-V of my dress gaped open. My red lips almost brushed his throat.

Marcello didn’t push me away.

He glanced down at the gun pressed to his chest. Then his strong, calloused hand grabbed my chin.

The rough pads of his fingers grazed my lips. Dangerously.

“An assassination by seduction?” His deep voice was laced with dark amusement. “You’ve got guts. Tell me, what grudge is so deep you’d come dressed like this to kill me?”

I was forced to look up, meeting his predatory gaze.

I took a deep breath, looking terrified. My voice trembled as I screamed loud enough for the whole room to hear.

“Please, don’t kill me! It wasn't my idea! My father made me do it! He was terrified you’d find out he stole three million dollars from the family!”

Across the room, my father's eyes went wide. He dropped to his knees.

“He said if I didn't kill you, you'd discover my stepmother is running an unsanctioned loan sharking ring downtown!”

My dolled-up stepmother shrieked and slumped against a table, fainting dead away.

“And I’m ESPECIALLY not afraid you’ll find out my father’s right-hand man is secretly working with the Irish mob—”

“Shut up! You crazy bitch!” My father’s crony, pale as a ghost, pulled his gun.

I looked at my family, all neatly collapsed on the floor. I smiled, satisfied.

I fluttered my eyelashes at Marcello. “Basically, I’m just cleaning house.”

The air went dead silent.

Marcello’s grip on my chin tightened. A flicker of ruthless humor crossed his gray eyes.

“So,” he leaned in, his warm breath ghosting over my lips, “your whole family is rotten. Is that it?”

I gave him the simplest, most honest answer.

“Yes.”

Marcello was blunt. Ice cold. He uttered two words.

“Kill them.”

His enforcers instantly turned their guns. They aimed at my father and his men, who were scrambling to fight back.

Screams and deafening gunshots shattered the casino’s peace.

My father took several bullets. He fell into a pool of his own blood, his eyes wide with disbelief.

I pulled a black rose from my hair and tossed it onto his bleeding corpse. “Enjoy hell, Dad.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, Don.” I whispered in Marcello’s ear as his grip loosened.

Then, I twisted out of his arms, kicked off my heels, and sprinted for the private elevator in the corner.

The elevator doors slid shut.

Barefoot, I stood inside. I blew a defiant kiss to the powerful, dangerous man standing amidst the carnage.

Gunsmoke still hung in the air.

Surrounded by the stench of blood, Marcello stood perfectly still. A dangerous, possessive hunger churned in the depths of his eyes.