Vanessa Barsetti.

With gorgeous black hair and Italian olive skin, she was a beauty. Her green eyes contrasted against her exotic features, making them astounding and expressive. When I was about to butcher her on the sidewalk with a knife, I got a glimpse of her features in the darkness.

And I recognized her.

I didn’t plan it, but she fell right into my lap. I didn’t believe in destiny or fate.

But I believed in karma.

She came to me for a reason, walked past that alleyway because she was supposed to.

That way, I could take her and do what needed to be done.

The blood war had never ended. It was simply paused.

I drove down the dark road then turned left, away from the lake. I began the windy ascent to the top of the mountain, to a piece of property I bought a long time ago. There wasn’t another house in sight, and since the terrain was difficult to scale, it was the perfect hideaway for my criminal activities.

I drove twenty minutes up the snowy mountain with Vanessa silent beside me. I told her I was going to kill her, and I meant it. She should enjoy her last minutes of life as best she could, because she didn’t have a lot of time left.

I just had to decide the perfect way to kill her.

To make it hurt.

Drowning her in a frozen lake would have been too quick. I wanted her body to be mutilated. I wanted to hand her back to Crow Barsetti in pieces, so he could look at his only daughter and break down in tears.

The way my mother looked at my father after Pearl Barsetti stabbed him with a knife.

I already knew Vanessa was beautiful because I’d seen her pictures throughout the years. But seeing her in person didn’t do those photographs justice. She’d inherited her father’s Italian qualities but kept her mother’s beauty. As a result, she was gorgeous.

Even I had to admit it.

My arm started to feel numb when we arrived at my villa at the top of the mountain. Blood had seeped into my jacket and my jeans, and if I didn’t get it patched up soon, I might have to head to the hospital.

When I kissed her, it was just instinctual. This woman had fought me every step of the way. She had pushed herself to keep going when anyone else would have given up. When she couldn’t stand, she crawled. And when she couldn’t crawl, she didn’t hesitate to tell me to fuck off. I stuck that taser in her neck several times and for a long duration, enough to make her pass out.

But that didn’t slow her down.

It annoyed me, but it also impressed me.

I’d never met a person like her.

The odds were stacked against her, but she never showed fear. She never bowed underneath the weight of the situation. Proud and strong, she kept her head held high. When she didn’t get away, she tried to crash us off the road. When I walked to the lake, she tried to hot-wire the car. When my back was turned, she found my gun under the seat.

And she shot me.

She fucking shot me.

There was no hesitation before she pulled that trigger. She aimed at my heart, intending to kill me and leave me out there in the snow.

Fuck, it made me so hard.

It turned me on to see a woman submit, to see a woman beg for her freedom. But it was nothing compared to watching a woman fight like that. I’d never seen a woman stand so tall and straight. I’d never seen a woman do anything to survive. She didn’t tell me I wasn’t a monster or try to convince me to let her go. She didn’t try to humanize herself. She knew exactly what I was and didn’t sugarcoat it.

I was forced to respect her.

I pulled the van into the garage of my villa, right beside my other cars and trucks, and then we went inside. The house was warm, and the fire was roaring in the hearth. The red carpet took the dirt and snow off my feet, but Richard would clean it up once I went to bed.

Vanessa stopped and looked around, studying her surroundings as she searched for a weapon.

I expected nothing less.

I grabbed the first aid kit tucked in a bookshelf and then sat on one of the couches in front of the fire.

She kept looking around.

“Sit.” I opened the box and pulled out the stitching equipment.

She stood in front of the couch, her arms crossed over her chest. The light from the flames made her eyes stand out like jewels.

I pulled out the thread and the needle. “Trust me, you don’t want me to ask again.” I pulled off my leather jacket, which was now caked with my blood. I pulled my long-sleeved T-shirt over my head next and set it on the coffee table.

Her eyes moved up my body, examining my plethora of tattoos and muscles. Blood was covering most of the ink on my left hand. I had an artist draw out all the bones in my arm and my hand, showing an x-ray with ink. It was a sleeve of tattoos that represented me in the clearest way possible.

“Why should I listen to you?”

“Because I’ll stick your hand in the fire just to watch you scream.” I looked up at her, telling her not to call my bluff.

She made the right decision and sat down. “I know how to thread, but I’ve never done stitches before.”

“I’ll guide you.” I grabbed the tweezers, dug them into my flesh, and then pulled out the bullet. I tossed it on the coffee table where guests drank their brandy. Then I covered the wound with a thick gauze, immune to the pain because I’d been shot so many times. My ink made the bullet holes difficult to see, but the women I bedded loved to touch them with their fingertips while I fucked them against my headboard. Once enough pressure had been applied to slow the bleeding, I poured a bottle of vodka over it then told her to start stitching.

She listened to me and got the job done.

Then I wrapped it in gauze and secured it in place.

She set her instruments on the table, which were caked with blood. “I despise myself for what I just did.”

“Third-degree burns are brutal. You’d be crying on the floor right now.”

Richard, my caretaker, stepped into the entryway sitting room. He was an older man that I’d found living on the streets in Milan. He lost his wife to cancer, and his only son died in a car wreck. He had been laid off from his job and never got back on his feet. Without having any will to live, he settled for the frozen streets of Milan. So, I offered him a job working for me. “Sir, is everything—” He stopped talking when he spotted Vanessa.

I’d told Richard to stop calling me sir, but he never listened to me. Sir was a bullshit title for an egotistical jackass. I was a murderer and didn’t deserve to be addressed so properly. I made my living without honor, and I didn’t want to pretend there was anything honorable about me. “Richard, remove all the guns stowed in the house and lock them up in the vault. Turn off the Wi-Fi and shut off cellular service. My guest is a fighter.”

“Of course, sir.” Richard took the instruction without thinking twice about it. “Anything else?”

“I’m starving. Make dinner.”

“Right away.” He walked off and left us alone in the entryway.

I grabbed a bottle of scotch and poured myself a drink. I downed it in a single gulp, wanting the liquid to burn a fire in my belly. I refilled my glass.

Vanessa watched my movements. “You’re being rude.”

“Really?” I asked without interest. “Did this rudeness just start now? Because I’ve been a dick since the moment we met. Unless your standards are changing in real time.”

Her green eyes burned with irritation. “If you’re going to kill me, can I at least have a drink?”

“You want scotch? Not some fancy Barsetti wine?”

She snatched the bottle and drank straight out of it. She took a long drink before she set it down, a few drops collecting on her lips. “Now what?”

“What? You want me to kill you right this second?”

“What are you waiting for?” she countered.

“I’ve got to do it the right way. I want it to sink into your father’s brain and never disappear.”

Her eyes narrowed with unbridled hostility. “What did my family do to you?”

If only she understood how beautiful she looked when she was angry. It was a shame I’d have to kill her and drop off her body at the Barsetti doorstep. She was paying for the sins of her parents, but the same thing had happened to me. “They ruined my life.”

“How so?”

“They killed my father. My mother was left with nothing because his enemies took everything. She turned to prostitution to take care of us. And then a client murdered her and left her body in a dumpster. I was ten at the time.”

Despite the unfair circumstances she was in, Vanessa’s eyes actually softened into a pitiful look.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I killed the guy. Left his body in a dumpster.”

“I’m sorry about your mother.” Vanessa didn’t hesitate to talk back or tell me off. She was honest and violent. If she apologized, it was only because she meant it. The fact that she could see past our differences and actually empathize with me made me feel a little guilty for what I was about to do to her.

But that wouldn’t change my mind about it.

“But if my parents killed your father, it must have been for a reason.”

It was. And it was justified. But it resulted in my life becoming a shit show. “My father took your aunt as a slave and killed her—”

“Bones?” Her eyes were the widest I’d ever seen them. “Your father was Bones?” She seemed to make the connection because she glanced at my sleeve of tattoos.

“Yes.”

She took a deep breath, processing the millions of emotions that just ran through her.

I continued the tale. “My father bought your mother from the Underground and kept her as his new slave. Your father stole her and unexpectedly fell in love with her. And then together, they killed my father.”

This must have been news to Vanessa because her eyes softened in defeat. A thin film of moisture covered the surface of her eyes, and her lips quivered slightly. “My mama…he did that to her?” It was the first time she’d shown weakness, overwhelming emotion. She covered her face with her hands and closed her eyes, giving in to the emotion and fighting it at the same time. Her chest heaved as she choked back the sobs. “No…”

I looked away, not wanting to see this strong woman break down in front of me. “Stop crying.” The noise was irritating. I didn’t like to listen to the way she breathed, the way she sniffed when her nose started to run. It was the first time she cried in front of me, and it was because of the pain of someone else.

She lowered her hands and closed her eyes harder, like she was willing herself to stop. “I said I was sorry about your mother. How could you not sympathize with mine?”

My answer was simple. “Because I’m a monster. You aren’t.” I took another drink of my scotch, letting the liquor burn my throat on the way down. “That left me in different orphanages without a penny to my name. I was just another poor kid in the system when I should have inherited billions. My legacy was stripped from me, and I turned into another beggar on the street. I became a man, hardened by my experiences. I’ve made my own fortune, but I’ve never forgotten where I came from—and who took away what was rightfully mine.”

Vanessa stared at the rug on the floor, her eyes still wet from the tears she just shed. “I’m sorry about what happened to you. But my parents did what they had to do. Let’s not pretend your father was a good man. You just admitted he was a rapist. He hurt two women in my family, including my namesake. How could you expect my family to do anything different? I’m not ashamed to say I’m glad your father is dead. The world is a better place without him, and he got what was coming to him.”

My eyes shifted to her face, the threat distinct in my expression.

She didn’t flinch. “And I’ll say it again—I’m glad he’s dead.”

My palm twitched before I struck her. I backhanded her across the face, hitting her so hard she rolled onto the floor. “Say it again.”

She quickly pushed herself to her feet, refusing to stay on the ground to recover. Her face was red from the handprint I left. “I’m glad your piece of shit father is dead. And I hope my parents made him suffer.”

I lunged at her throat, grabbing her tightly and squeezing so she couldn’t breathe. I wanted to kill her this way, to lift her feet from the ground and watch her suffocate. I wasn’t delusional about my roots. My father was a bad man. He treated women like animals, got off on hurting them. But if he were still alive, my life would have been better. “Take it back, and I’ll let you live.”

She held my gaze, gripping my wrist as she tried to squirm away.

“Take it back.”

She dug her nails into my wrist then spit on my face.

I threw her hard on the ground, making her thud against the hardwood.

“Never. I’d rather die.” She spit at my face again. “My mother is the best person that I know, and the fact that your father did that to her…” Her eyes welled up with tears. “In life and in death, he’s my enemy. You’re stupid to expect me to think otherwise. And I would rather die right here than betray my family—even if they aren’t here to witness it.” She moved to her knees and exposed her neck, tilting her head back. “Slit my throat and kill me. Gut me like a pig. I don’t give a damn.”

My hand twitched at my side, but for a different reason. I had a serious temper, and I’d choked my victims to death many times. Despite the way she insulted me, I felt an invisible restraint. She commanded my respect once again. Barsetti blood ran through her veins like the Nile river, and it was unmistakable that Crow Barsetti was her father.

A part of me pitied her, for telling her the truth about her mother when she had no idea. Her parents probably shielded her from that truth, knowing it would bring tears to her eyes. No mother wanted her child to know she’d been raped.

I was conflicted. I pitied her, but I also wanted to kill her.

She scooted back and took deep breaths now that my hand wasn’t wrapped around her throat anymore. “What is your name?”

“You know my name.”

“No, you never told me.”

I lifted up my left arm, showing the sleeve of tattoos that depicted the various bones in my limb.

Her eyes narrowed. “Your father is your namesake. My aunt is mine.”

“The blood war never ended, Vanessa. It’s only beginning.”

She moved to her feet, holding herself with pride despite the fact that she was half my size and only possessed a sliver of my strength. “You’re a wealthy man now. You’ve made it on your own after coming from nothing. My father would say that’s the true test of a man, to make something out of nothing, to stand on his own two feet. You can move on from this and start over. You can end this war for good and change our fate. Let the past go. I’m willing to do that if you are.”

Just a second ago, she was livid and emotional. Now she was pragmatic once again, putting aside her hate and focusing on the future. That was a quality of a leader, of a survivor. Her intelligence was keen and her resilience admirable. “My mother wouldn’t be dead right now if my father were alive.”

“My aunt wouldn’t be dead if your father hadn’t killed her.”

I stared her down, knowing she had the upper hand in the argument.

“Don’t expect me to apologize when my family has been the victim in all of this. We retaliated because we had to. My family has walked away from their previous lives and lived peacefully making wine. Let it go.”

“I can’t.”

She sighed deeply, her eyes narrowing. “You can’t win this, Bones. Even if you kill me and satisfy your delusional need for revenge, my father won’t stop until you’re ripped apart. This is a suicide mission.”

My life had no value. I was too fucked up in the head to ever live a normal life. I spent my time with whores and made my living as a hitman. Joy wasn’t in my vocabulary. Perhaps if my life had been different, I would have had a better chance. The Barsettis were a close clan, loyal to one another and happy. That made me hate them even more. “I know.”