Chapter 1

Remy

The big hall was packed with people. It looked like a banquet to anyone who wasn't paying attention, a long table was full of all kinds of delicious looking dishes: from fruit salad to meat loaf to chocolate brownies, but almost no one was eating.

The whole thing was almost twenty feet long, and it served more like a decoration piece than anything else.

Remy Morgan, didn't care, though. He prepared himself his third ham and cheese sandwich and brought it to his mouth. Not my fault the bread is so fucking small.

People either didn't see him or didn't care. That was good news, he was looking for something, some kind of proof, but hadn't had any luck yet.

"You realize we're the only ones grabbing food at the table?" Mark, his best friend, said.

Remy shrugged, "this shouldn't go to waste."

Up on the staircase, a violin and harp duo begun to play.

"Whole thing's too fucking fancy," Remy said, "are you sure we're in the right place?"

"Pretty sure, man. Their operation takes place in veues like this. I don't know if they're dealing here, or these are the clients, or—"

A sweet voice rose from the yelling and laughter and general chaos of the party, as if trying to find him among the dozens upon dozens of people. It rose above the racket like a melody, goosebumps exploded over his skin.

"What the fuck?"

He blurted the words out without even noticing.

"What's the matter?" Mark said, but Remy had to find her, once I see her it will be all right. I'll go back to business.

The crowd was full of young men and women, all dressed in the latest fashion styles. Mark and him never gave a crap about Versace or Gucci or whatever the fuck people put on to try to feel more important than they really were.

Most of the powerful people they knew, the heavy hitters, let their actions speak for themselves. Appearance mattered, of course, but it is what's inside what counts.

Remy kept on searching for her, following the voice among the racket around him. People danced, talked, and moved around taking glasses of wine from the waiters, as much as he tried, he couldn’t find her.

She giggled. A muted giggle that he was sure only he could hear, it made his heart race, and made every hair in his body bristle. Shivers ran from his neck down to his feet.

"God fucking dammit."

Mark put his hand on his shoulder, "man, are you paying attention?"

Remy was about to turn to him, forget about that voice, focus on what was at stake, no distractions on the job, but the crowd suddenly opened like a theater curtain parting, and finally showed him the real reason he was there for.

The most beautiful girl in the world. Her eyes brow and big, cute nose and eyebrows and lips and—

She had long, brown hair that fell well below her shoulders.

Oh my God.

She was like an angel, standing under soft, warm light, wearing a dark and gold dress. She sipped red wine and gazed to the floor as she covered her mouth, preventing her laughter from breaking out louder than she wanted to.

Her friend, a curly haired blonde, kept on talking and talking. Remy's muscles tightened for a second. He had to keep a low profile, not call attention to himself. He couldn't talk to her. Not here.

"Holy crap," Mark said, "who's that?"

Remy's heart thudded violently in his chest. Mark was a real Don Juan, able to get any girl he wanted. But this time, Remy didn't even want him to look at her.

"She's a fox," Mark continued. He balled his fists. He had to do something. He focused on the music. Sweet and soft and animated.

"She's mine," Remy said, his words deep and guttural, like a Viking ready to kill.

"Come on, man… you know I like curly hair."

Whoops.

"You're talking about the blonde?"

Mark grinned widely, this was good news. First, Remy wasn't looking at the girl he wanted, second, they could act together.

"We're here to work," Remy said.

"Well, we're working, it's not like we'll stop—"

"No, man. Let's focus on—"

Her laughter reached him again and he felt like his heart was exploding. As if his soul was connected to her, and she called him, softly, like a siren singing in the ocean, ready to turn his life around.

This wasn't good news. He was no longer a child. This was a test.

"You're right man," Mark replied, "besides, she's already taken."

Remy's stomach tightened. He turned to see a tall, sharply dressed, Italian-looking guy placing his arm around his woman's waist, his laughter booming over the music.

Remy didn't know what was going on inside of him. His protective instincts flared up… He wanted to kill that man. To show him how to treat a woman. You want to show him she’s yours.

But he was a gentleman, and she deserved better. She deserved someone with much less baggage, someone who wasn't the son of one of the most prominent criminal families in Chicago.

She deserved a normal, happy life.

He wanted to feel better about it. Tried to force himself to accept the fact that anyone would be better for her than him.

But the more he tried, the harder it got.

He couldn't take his eyes off of her.

You're not jealous.

He couldn't be. He'd never felt like this before. There are far too many women in the world to waste your time fighting for one.

"You look pale," Mark said.

He felt sick.

"I'm fine."

For the first time in his life, he wasn't on top of the situation.

"We need to focus on the job," he said, turning away, trying to forget about her.

They needed to find who was in charge here, and if they were a threat to his family.