Chapter One

Vanessa

After classes, I went to work at The Rose. With its all-glass exterior, red carpet that led out of doors into the sideway, and massive chandeliers, it was the most beautiful restaurant in the entire city. Even though it was a little too extravagant for me, it felt cool when people asked me where my part-time job was.

“Hey, Vanessa, aren’t you coming in?” I heard a loud noise coming from the side door and saw Anna, my best friend and the source of all my problems, poking her head out of the restaurant. I hadn’t realized I’d been staring at it for so long.

As I entered, I noticed her walking toward the restroom. She raised her eyebrows at me to indicate that she was waiting for me.

I could see where this was going, and I wasn’t about to be interrogated about my date like a criminal in an NCIS episode.

Don’t get me wrong: she was my closest friend, and I enjoyed working with her, but the guy I went out with was far from the one. I felt like I’d rather stuff my head inside my chips than listen to him talk about his car-miniature collection again.

“Spill it already. I’ve been waiting for you for half an hour,” Anna said impatiently, while I pretended I didn’t understand what she meant.

“You won’t like what I’m about to say, and I’m not sure why you keep setting me up on dates.”

I felt a slap on my head. “Hey, stop that,” I whined and then proceeded to explain my big date failure to her with a deadly look.

Anna thought that my being twenty-one and still clueless as to what my type of man is was deeply concerning, so she didn’t believe me when I described how creepy the man was. She always assumed I was the odd and picky one. But let me tell you something: every single guy on the Tinder profile she created for me was definitely not a match.

As I made my way back to the restaurant tables to stop Anna’s “men lessons,” I noticed that it was a packed house this evening. Everyone was moving quickly, knowing exactly what to do and where to go.

“You ladies are late yet again. Vanessa, you honor us with your twenty-minute tardiness!” said Francesca, the assistant manager, in a sarcastic tone when she noticed Anna following behind me.

She was in charge of the restaurant staff and had her gaze fixed on Anna, who was far from an angel. My best friend was a troublemaker, and I was frequently the one who paid the price because I was with her. So, in this case, Francesca thought or hoped that Anna’s name was Vanessa.

However, she and I had nothing in common. Anna White was blonde, tall, and self-assured, so she stood out more than I would have. On the other hand, I was shorter, curvier, and the typical brunette who wouldn’t catch your attention on the street.

“We’ll be changed in a few minutes, Miss Francesca,” Anna raised her voice, drawing everyone’s attention to us.

“Well, get on with it, Vanessa,” Miss Francesca replied in a calm but firm tone. I was certain Anna intended to provoke her further, but I pushed her to the changing room.

“It’s almost as if you enjoy getting on her nerves,” I told her as I took off my large bomber jacket.

“She always calls me ‘Vanessa.’ I mean, I get that it’s more memorable than my name. Still, I can’t give my best to a woman who doesn’t remember who the hell I am.” Anna began undressing. “And I know she’s doing it on purpose,” she grumbled as she tossed her black jacket onto her bag.

“Oh come on, why would she do that? She generally seems like an okay person,” I told her truthfully.

“Francesca knows everyone who works here, and yet she still refers to me as ‘Vanessa.’ She has a grudge against me, I’m telling you, but everyone loves her so much that they don’t notice. Even you can’t see it.” Anna slipped into her pants.

I examined myself in the locker room’s mirror. It felt strange wearing such tight pants. I was a jeans girl, but The Rose had a uniform, and I was more compliant than Anna.

Anna teased behind me, “You should grow taller.”

“You should try to be less obnoxious. The rest of the staff does not arrive late like us, Anna,” I said to her in a motherly tone. “We’re not the only part-timers, but every time we come in, I get called out. You and her need to work out your differences, and let’s just try to enjoy our mundane job as much as possible.”

Anna remained quiet and nodded. She turned away from me, her face sad, to lace up her leather shoe.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized even though I couldn’t tell if Anna was acting hurt or not.

But then her expression changed abruptly, as if she had remembered something important. “My father’s coming tomorrow. I’m skipping, and I’m dragging you along with me,” she stated.

So her grumpy demeanor finally made sense. I’d known Anna for a long time and knew that her family was a sensitive subject for her.

The Whites were an Irish Mafia family. Her father got us the job at The Rose, but it wasn’t enough to repair their broken relationship. She didn’t want to be a part of their shady business, and whenever I happened to cross paths with them, it was like walking on thin ice.

In some ways, seeing her family and learning information from Anna had shaped my perception of the Mafia. Despite the fact that the city was peaceful, the Mafias terrified me. They were a gang of sick men who did whatever they pleased and killed whomever they wanted.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” I went to explain to Anna, but she was already ready to speak, a hurtful expression on her face.

“Seriously? I say I’m not coming to work, but you insist on staying, and for what? To spend time with my obnoxious father and answer questions about me? You know he’ll come looking for you if he finds out I’m not here,” she said.

“My uncle’s birthday is tomorrow,” I told her sternly, having mentioned it at least a dozen times in the previous two weeks.

“Oh my goodness!” She slapped her temple, pretending to be disappointed. She tried to save it by saying, “I thought it was next week.”

“Miss, don’t you play the naivety card on me. You forgot, didn’t you?” I told her, knowing she already had.

“No, no, I didn’t! I know how important your uncle is to you, and how could I forget?” Her straight face didn’t waver, and she would have been convincing if I hadn’t known her so well.

“You forgot,” I said as I yanked my shoulders free of her grip and walked out of the room.

“Vanessa,” Anna apologized as she followed me. “I’ll be there at the birthday party.” I didn’t look back at her, nor did I respond “I’ll help out. Vanessa, please.”

Vanessa, please. Could you blame me for giving her a hard time and having fun whilst doing so? Seeing her assume her puppy expression was priceless.

When we approached Francesca, she ignored us, overlooking the tables and guests.

“We’re here, Miss Francesca,” Anna said in her most annoying tone, the kind of tone that could incite trouble.

Francesca returned her attention to both of us, a wicked smile on her face.

“Vanessa.” She shifted her gaze from me to Anna. “Anna,” she sighed deeply.

Anna made her famous “I told you so” face at me. I could tell what she was thinking because I was thinking the same thing. Francesca definitely had some sort of beef with Anna. She did know her name and had been petty ever since we arrived. My best guess was that it had something to do with how we got our jobs at the restaurant.

Francesca was a woman who firmly believed in the American dream: equal opportunities for all. So I could see why she disliked us, but Anna liked to play with fire.

“Vanessa, you’ll get table number fourteen while—” Francesca began assigning us our tasks for the evening.

“Which Vanessa, me or her?” Anna cut her off, earning me an eye roll as well.

“While you, Anna,” Francesca motioned towards Anna as if she hadn’t said anything, “will be tending to the clients in Room Thirteen. Best of luck.” She said it almost with pity before dismissing both of us.

We returned to the kitchen, and Anna left me to speak with Jefferson, the customer service manager. I assumed she was curious about who was in Room Thirteen. I would have been intrigued as well, given Francesca’s delivery of the instruction as if it were a punishment.

While I waited for people at table fourteen, Anna returned to me, pale.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, concerned that I had missed something crucial.

“I can’t go up to Room Thirteen,” she declared emphatically. I swear I’d never seen anything scare her more than this room.

We were all aware of The Rose’s private rooms. It was more expensive than regular tables and was frequently requested by politicians and other wealthy business people who required privacy and luxury when conducting business. It didn’t make sense to me why Anna would be afraid of some suits.

“Now, I think you are being ridiculous,” I said to her.

“I’m not,” Anna grumbled. “Jeff stated that the men in Room Thirteen are dangerous. He claimed they entered through the back door and that one of them was a cop or something. I’m not going up there.” Anna approached the kitchen wall, arms folded across her breasts. “I’m not going, uh-uh.”

It took me about a minute to realize Anna wasn’t putting up an act. She was terrified and serious about it. She was constantly afraid of cops and worried that she would be arrested, questioned, or tortured one day because of her father’s known connection to the Irish Mafia.

“You must put on your big girl pants and go up there. You don’t want any more problems with Francesca, do you?” I reminded her and looked her firmly in the eyes.

“I’m afraid I can’t, Vanessa.”

I walked past my terrified friend to inspect the tables. Mine remained empty. The Rose was always completely booked every night, so I knew it would be filled in the next ten minutes.

“You already know Jeff is—” I was about to use the word delusional, but I knew he wasn’t. He was a married man who appeared to be far too intelligent for his job. There was no reason for him to lie to Anna about the men in Room Thirteen, but I knew it was up to me to get us both out of new trouble with Francesca.

“We’ll swap,” I told her. Her face instantly brightened, and she hugged me with her mischievous smile once more.

“I’ll serve your table like no one has ever served in the history of restaurant service,” she said before kissing my cheek.

“Room Thirteen!” I heard from the kitchen and knew I was up.

“Be careful,” Anna cautioned before I departed to retrieve the order for Room Thirteen. While the guests were contemplating their meal choices, a bottle of scotch was requested.

I went to the kitchen and came back with only a bucket of ice, a bottle of the good stuff, and three glasses. Three dangerous men, as Anna had predicted, were waiting to be served in this room. And, to be honest, I was more intrigued than scared.

Sure, I’d seen a few dangerous-looking men at The Rose, but there’d never been any trouble. Regardless of what Anna or Jefferson thought, I didn’t think it would start that night.

I carried the bucket and glasses up the stairs to the corridor. I was about to enter the next floor when I heard the “table fourteen” call behind me—such odd timing.

As I continued down the red-carpeted corridor, counting the numbers on the doors until I reached thirteen, there was no sound to be heard from any of the rooms. There was nothing out of the ordinary outside the door. Despite the fact that the hallway was quiet, my heart began to pound in my chest as I reached for the doorknob.

Why are you scared? I was wondering where my confidence had gone. Anna. My cool had been thrown off by her ridiculous, dramatic story.

Nobody would dare to touch you, I told myself before I opened the door slightly and heard two suspicious statements coming from the manly voices.

“What’s the man’s name again?” an older man with a grumpy tone inquired.

“Oh, the one we’re paying you for?” a man with a younger voice said just before the room fell silent.

Should I go in or run? I pondered, but I was aware that I had been noticed.

“Please, come inside. We know you’re here,” the young one ordered.

I wasn’t quick enough, and I knew the decision was no longer in my hands. I needed to get into this room.

Chapter Two

Ethan

An Hour Earlier

 I had no fear of the cops. I didn’t fear anyone after years of seeing blood, death, and life’s many pleasures that drown sorrow and regret because there were rules that governed my little world: money, respect, and, most importantly, devotion to family. I’d been told several times that my devotion to the people I cared about was sometimes bloody, but I was proud of it nonetheless.

It was finally time to start putting things back in order. My older brother Paul’s unfortunate death served as a catalyst for my ascension, which meant access to and control over the family’s vast fortune. But none of that wealth was important to me. All I sought was vengeance.

My plan had been opposed by the few people who had learned of it. They haven’t supported me since I began my crusade of revenge, a quest that started with Paul’s funeral and progressed from there.

My uncle Luke described it as both a sad and happy day because so many people had come to pay their respects to my brother. Despite the fact that, as the new head of the family, I was required to attend the funeral, I was too angry to arrive early that day. I simply failed to be strong enough to be there when my presence was needed.

Being who I am, I have seen a lot of dead people in my time. Hell, I’ve even shot a lot of them myself, but seeing Paul’s lifeless body was a sight I could not bear, especially not after having seen our father’s dead body a few months before. All this death close to me…it got the better of me.

But despite my momentary weakness, the reason for my lateness was attributed to the fact I had tracked down the hitman who had murdered my father. I’d planned to pay a visit to the man’s house, and so I did. Nobody knew, not even my capo, Tristan. My being alone with the man who had stolen the life out of my father was almost poetic, just me and my pistol. Exacting revenge on my own was the only way I wanted to avenge my family, to be standing there watching the bastard take his final breaths on his way to meet his maker in the pits of hell.

I remember standing in front of Saint John’s Cathedral, staring across the street at the house of my father’s murderer. Alberto was a feared assassin among the Mafia families and a hired gun. He had no family and was known for never disclosing the identities of his clients, even when threatened with death.

It was an admirable trait—not ratting your clients out—but, at that moment, the last thing I cared about was the qualities of his personality. The quality I was truly interested in was the fact he murdered my own, and that needed to be dealt with.

When I knocked on Alberto’s door on Sunday morning, he was sound asleep. “Is anyone there?” he inquired warily, his voice infuriatingly calm for someone whose livelihood depended on how much death he scattered on his wake.

“From the cathedral across the street, sir,” I lied, completely unconcerned about my safety. All I wanted to do was shoot him in the head, and I was quite motivated.

“Go away,” he hollered with annoyance.

“Just a minute of your time, sir,” I begged. “I guarantee you won’t have to deal with me again after this.”

Before the door clicked open, there was silence.

“Preacher,” Alberto called as he emerged from behind the open door, a pistol in his hand. He took the first shot but missed. I fired twice, once in the chest and once between his eyes.

It was on that day that I vowed vengeance on anyone and everything who had ever wronged my family. In just a few weeks, we’d become a hot topic among the other Mafia families. The Mullens and Robinsons, in particular, did not take kindly to my ever-growing bloodthirst, but I never knocked on a door that had not previously been at mine.

My uncle’s expression of relief when I told him I was leaving Chicago was palpable. He wasn’t opposed to my quest for vengeance, but he felt it had to be done quietly—something he and Paul agreed on. I used to be like them, I used to be patient and imperturbable, but this part of me died when I lost the people who meant the most to me and grew into this vindictive shell of a person. Only violence could save me now, and I was in a position to use as much of it as I needed to protect my family from old and new enemies.

“If a message must be sent, everyone should get it, so that there are always some reasonable folk who will explain it to those who may be too dim to get it,” I told my uncle Luke just before leaving Chicago with two vehicles.

“He’s a corrupt cop, easy to deal with, but we’ll have to spoil him a little,” Tristan, my capo, said when we arrived in town. He was the only person in whom I had faith.

Our meeting was with Carlos Maine, a fifty-year-old police officer. He worked in homicide, and I was told he was in charge of investigating murders in Buffalo, New York.

When the police in Chicago recognized a death as the result of a Mafia feud, they knew what to do. We have guys; we are deeply connected. In other cities, on the other hand, I had to make my presence and intentions known. It irked me, but due to the lack of enough connections and understandings, I understood the importance of acting more responsibly and staying as close to the law as possible. We were able to divert attention away from the family in this manner.

“So, what’s the best place to eat in this city?” I asked Tristan.

“There’s this restaurant, The Rose. And I promise you, it’s better than the ones we’ve got in Chicago.”

***

A few minutes later, I was inside a small room with a round table, four chairs, and a large sofa. Given its size and lack of exits, I thought it was overly opulent. There was only one door and no windows.

Given my newfound position as the head of the family, everyone was a potential threat because I now wore a crown on my head. As a result, I treated everyone as a such for I had no trust to spare. I sat on the sofa with a sense of uneasiness situated behind the table where Tristan sat across from Carlos, the corrupt cop.

“I was surprised when I received word that we might be getting visitors from Chicago. Few of your kind make it here. There isn’t much going on in Buffalo,” the officer began.

This was a dance I saw my late father and brother perform with the police. The cop would pretend he wasn’t corrupt, and I was supposed to seduce and persuade him into accepting my bribe.

“You said ‘our kind.’ What are you suggesting? What do you believe we are?” Tristan inquired.

When I saw the officer turn frantically from Tristan to me, I hid the smile that threatened my face. His gaze lingered on me, apologetic and terrified. Officer Carlos Maine struck me as a clever man. Despite sharing a table with Tristan, he knew I was the boss.

“I meant no offense or disrespect,” the officer stated, but neither Tristan nor I responded. His hands fidgeted on the table before he hid them under the table.

“Killing a police officer in this town is a terrible idea. It’s a lot of noise, which I’m sure you don’t want,” he attempted to reason with us.

I leaned forward in my seat to address him. “You never answered the question. It is none of your business whether we value a cop’s life or not. Who do you think we are?”

I didn’t trust many people outside of my family, especially crooked cops. They were imposters, as opposed to the Mafia, who knew who they were. Some people referred to us as gentlemen because of our sincerity.

The officer’s gaze shifted from me to Tristan before returning to me. There was no mercy in Tristan’s eyes and even less in mine, but he knew I had the final say.

“Businessmen?” he replied. I tried not to reveal anything, but I was afraid that a smile would break out on my face anyway.

“You two are businessmen,” he finally decided. “If I ever find myself in a situation where I have to answer questions about you two, that’s what I’m going to say.”

I slowly nodded. “You’re a quick learner, indeed. We are businessmen. And as far as everyone’s concerned, this meeting never happened. Is that clear?”

“Yes, yes, very,” he said emphatically.

I didn’t trust the cop, but I knew he was scared enough to agree on cooperating with us.

“I’m thirsty,” I said to Tristan, who stood up and walked to a corner of the room where a phone sat atop a small drawer.

“Hello, this is Room Thirteen. Could you send us one of your best bottles? Scotch? Alright, then,” Tristan placed his order over the phone.

“It’s never a good idea to conduct business with dry tongues,” I advised the tense man before he peed on his pants. Officer Carlos smiled timidly, and it appeared that most of his responses that evening would be just that: smiles.

Our transaction started before the bottle stood up.

“We’re looking for a particular gentleman. I want you to assist me in locating him and then keep things quiet following my encounter with him,” I informed the officer.

“May I ask as to what you intend to do to this man when you two do meet?” Officer Carlos questioned.

“He betrayed my family. So I plan to kill him,” I casually informed him.

I waited for the officer’s response. He didn’t seem as bothered as I expected him to be.

“Do you have a photo?” the officer asked. I nodded to Tristan, who took a picture from his breast pocket and handed it to the officer.

“You realize I can’t leave that with you, right?”

“Yes, yes,” the officer stammered, his grey beady eyes memorizing the photograph. “I’ve never met this man before, but if he’s in town, I’ll find him.”

“When should I expect an update?” I inquired.

“Within two days?” he asked, gauging my face which I was sure looked quite displeased, “Tomorrow. I can get it for you tomorrow,” he eventually said.

“Good,” I said. I didn’t intend to be away from Chicago for long. I’d only come to see Fred Westbrook because he was one of many people who had wronged my family—my uncle, to be exact. My dislike for the town grew stronger with each passing second, and the only thing that kept me seated and breathing its thin air was the spectacular mental image of Fred Westbrook’s beaten face.

“I trust you’ll keep your end of the bargain,” I said just as Tristan placed a large sum of money on the table between him and the officer. Carlo’s eyes shone brightly, giving me hope that the execution would go smoothly.

“Aside from assisting us in locating the man in the photo…” Tristan took the picture and slipped it back into his breast pocket as I continued speaking. “I want this done discreetly. You’ll conduct a minor investigation before the case is dropped due to a lack of evidence. Do you understand what I’m saying?” I asked firmly, never breaking eye contact.

“Yes, yes, loud and clear,” he said back. His gaze shifted from me to the wad of cash on the table.

Tristan took his hand off the bundle and let the police officer touch it with a single nod. To me, this amount of money was insignificant, but to a police officer, it looked like a retirement plan.

“I can cater to all of your requests, but…” he prefaced his next words with a meek expression. “There may be some complications if this man has a family. They will undoubtedly cause a ruckus,” he informed us.

“He has no family. He has always lived alone,” Tristan chimed in.

Before he stabbed my uncle in the back and injured his spine, old Fred Westbrook was a foot soldier of the family.

“All right then,” Officer Carlos said with a smile. “Can I count?”

I motioned with my hand for him to proceed. “You’ll get the other half at the end of the week after everything is cleared out and you deliver your end of the bargain,” I emphasized the final words. I wanted an excuse to shoot the cop in the head, but if he did what I asked, everything would be fine.

“I’ll get it done. You can rest assured,” he promised while counting the money.

When he was finished, he returned to me and asked half-heartedly, “What is his name?” clearly distracted by the money in his greedy hands.

“Westbrook,” I replied, still skeptical of his competence.

When I heard the door slide open just a little, my hand stopped on my thigh, just short of my calf, where my pistol was. Someone was outside the room, and they may have heard a few things.

Tristan was already up and ready to close the door when the police officer froze in his seat.

“Please, come inside. We know you’re here,” I said to the person standing behind the door.

We three waited for the stranger to make a decision.

I contemplated several different scenarios in my head as to how this could unfold, depending on who that was and what they’d overhead. But I chose to wait with the minimal ounce of patience still inside me.

When the door slid open further and a woman entered the room, my breath caught in my throat. I’m not sure why, but I watched her walk into the room unable to take my eyes off of her. She approached us with her head down, setting the ice bucket, the bottle, and our glasses on the table.

I was frustrated that I couldn’t get a good look at her features, but she still looked stunning with a body that her tight pants and shirt did little to conceal. And the fact that it had been several weeks since my last time with someone made it a tad…uncomfortable. Planning revenge had been quite time-consuming, and seeing this lovely brunette right now reminded me how much I missed it. I was certain she would be exceptionally sweet. Normally, I just wanted to have fun and didn’t care who the woman was, but now I felt compelled to taste her and only her.

“May I get you anything?” she inquired as casually as her eyes could allow. Her weight shifted uneasily from one leg to the other, despite the polite smile typical of someone in her profession. Finally, taking a good look at her face, I noticed that she had the most expressive and beautiful eyes, as well as perfectly round, full lips. I could already see them wrapped around my dick while she shyly begged for more.

“You should definitely try one of their meals. They’re the best in town, right?” Officer Carlos said, pulling me out of my thoughts and attempting to reduce the tension in the room.

But I couldn’t hear him; his voice was muted by the woman standing before me. My gaze was drawn to her deep green eyes. I needed to claim her, make her mine. And what she was unaware of yet was that I always got my way.

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