The world undulates in my head, continuously roaring as I stumble past New York City traffic. I feel as though I’m walking inside a bubble that distorts everything I see. Everything’s too loud, too fast. My head pounds, still echoing with the blows. It all sounds hollow.

I trip on something hard and fall on my knee. My jeans tear open and I feel a sharp sting. There are bits of gravel digging into the red gash. I brush them away carelessly and turn toward my sister’s apartment. How the hell did I ever make it here?

My balled-up fist hammers on the frozen door. It’s freezing outside, but for once I’m grateful for that. It soothes the aches on my face and my swollen eye. For a moment I think about pressing my whole body against the wood, but then the heavy door flies open.

My sister stands in the doorway of her brownstone, baby in arm, looking leggy and fabulous. Her gasp of horror suddenly chokes into laughter.

A cold feeling stabs my gut.

“Jesus, what happened to your face?”

Now that I’m so close to the entrance, the last bit of adrenaline fades and I clutch the iron rail to steady myself.

What the fuck do you think happened?

“Rafael hit me,” I say, swallowing hard when a triumphant smile stretches over her face. “I really need a place to stay.”

“I told you a thousand times, didn’t I? I warned you about him, but no, you had to have the bad boy.”

Yeah, she warned me about dating Dad’s associates. I didn’t care. He was intoxicating and full of life—Dad gave him his blessing. If Dad liked him, so would I.

I was so naive back then. He’s a monster—they’re all monsters, and the only thing that kept him from eating me alive was my father. It all changed so quickly.

“I know you warned me, but I really need your help now. I need a place to stay.”

Hating the tremble in my voice, I stand up straighter to make me feel less weak.

Maria adjusts the baby on her hip and narrows her eyebrows, the high arches fixed in an expression of contempt. “You got yourself into this mess, and you can get yourself out of it. Too bad Daddy isn’t here anymore to fix it for you.”

A gust of icy wind blows across my face, almost as if summoned by magic by her cruel words. Her perfect indifference stuns me. It hurts so much that my legs tremble and freezing wetness gathers at the corners of my eyes. For God’s sake, she needs to push aside her sibling rivalry or whatever fucking grudge she has against me. This is serious.

“I need your help. I’m desperate.”

“Go to Mom’s house.”

I shiver violently in the cold, wishing that my goddamn sister would let me in the damn house to continue the conversation.

“The feds seized it. They’re giving her a couple weeks to move out. They’re taking everything. We don’t have any money. They froze the bank accounts.”

“I know. I’ve been giving Ma cash for a while, but you’re on your own.” Her face twists in malevolence. “You always were a spoiled little brat.”

Fine, I could live without money, but I couldn’t keep living with Rafael.

“At least give me a place to stay! I really need to get away from him.”

A sad smile flickers on her sour face.

“You know as well as I do that he’ll just drag you back.”

My eyes burn as the truth of that statement sinks in. The air swallows my choked sobs, and Maria reaches outside for a moment to pat my shoulder.

“He’ll get bored of you eventually and move on to someone else. They always do,” she adds bitterly. “Now, go. If he finds out you’ve been here, you’ll be in worse trouble.”

She closes the door and the Christmas wreath bangs loudly in my face.

Where the hell am I supposed to go?

* * *

They called me the Mafia princess.

I was the boss’s daughter.

When I was old enough to realize Daddy wasn’t exactly living a normal man’s life, I started reading the papers. All the violence splashed over the pages and my dad’s name interwoven with the stories horrified me, at first. Why did so many people hate him? Why were the cops always harassing him? Then I remember watching him shake hands with the mayor, and I was in awe. He was a tough guy. He was a villain, yes, but he was my villain. Nobody could touch him, or me by extension. His men were always respectful toward me, afraid of saying anything that could get their heads chopped off.

I’m not an idiot. I know who my dad was, even though he sheltered me from the life—from the violence. The boys I grew up with, who later became his associates, were like family to me. They were always around the house, picking up Dad to drive him places, even to have dinner with the family.

And then he was murdered and they completely disappeared.

Shame weighs on my heart as I trudge up the icy subway steps.

There was only really one rule in our family, growing up.

Don’t ever talk.

Don’t talk to the press, don’t talk to outsiders, and definitely, never, ever talk to the police. It was like a mantra in our house. Every time there was an indictment, Mom would drill the rules in our skulls.

But he talked.

He talked to the feds. I found out from the agents who visited our home just before they raided it and began taking everything that wasn’t bolted to the floor. They told us that my dad’s body was found in an abandoned farm in east Jersey, riddled with bullet holes.

None of his friends came to the funeral.

I know he was a rat, but he was still my dad. He adored me, and yes, spoiled me a little more than my brother and sister. Now he’s gone, along with his protection. I’m not the boss’s daughter anymore. I’m just the daughter of a traitor.

My hand trembles over the handle of the pork-deli store where my father used to hang out. We used to get our meat here all the time. Vinny, the new boss, should be there. A wave of self-disgust rises like caustic acid in my throat.

Worst of all is that I know who’s responsible for my father’s murder, and I’m about to go to him for help. The idea sickens me, but I am literally out of options. Last resort.

This could be a huge fucking mistake.

I try to glance inside, to check the moving shadows and see if one of them resembles Vinny. A large, warped form suddenly appears at the frosted glass and the door swings open, revealing a young man who I vaguely recognize.

“Hello—holy shit!” His eyes widen as he takes in my appearance.

I grit my teeth to stop the chatter against the cold. “Can I please see Vinny—Vincent?”

He steps aside and I sigh as warmth washes over my frozen limbs. Hours of walking on New York City’s streets made them numb with cold. The young man gazes at me in concern and takes my arm, as if he’s afraid I’ll keel over. We move past the few customers dallying in the cafe, who shoot me alarming looks, and head toward the back of the store. It’s a place I’ve never really been.

Please, let Rafael not be there. Please, God, he’ll kill me.

Fear boils in my stomach, making it turn as the coffee I had for breakfast burns holes inside me. I stop at another set of doors and try to see whether Rafael is in there. The young man opens the door before I can decide whether to go in or not and pulls me in a large room with a pool table, chairs, desk, and a dining room table. I spot Vinny hanging near his pool table, stick in his hand, as he laughs at something Nicky said beside him. Vinny is a tall, good-looking man about ten years older than I am. His laughter used to fill me with a warm glow, but now it grates against my ears. He has no fucking right to laugh when my father is dead. Everyone knows that he killed him. I know it was him—or at least one of these bastards.

Dad talked to the cops, so they killed him.

“Vince.”

The young man’s voice rings out, and I do a quick scan of the room. Sitting there on the edge of the pool table is the man I’m trying to avoid. He wears a black leather jacket over a red button-up shirt that I ironed for him this morning. Despite his little coke habit and alcohol problem, he always looks clean-shaven—just like you expect the devil to look. Handsome, attractive, and deadly. He stands up immediately, hands wrapping around his pool cue as if it’s my throat.

Oh no. Oh no.

Rafael takes a furious step forward, his handsome face twisted in a cruel grin. It says: I’m going to kill you later.

A loud, obnoxious voice rings across the room.

“Jesus Christ!”

Vinny finally notices me, the laughter evaporating from his face as he scans me.

The boy next to me faces him. “She said she wanted to see you.”

I would give everything in the world to make him take back those words. All the heart leaves me in an instant. Oh God, it was stupid to come here. I must have been delirious. Rafael stands right there, right there, and he knows exactly why I came.

“That’s not what I said! I just wanted deli meats—and to say hi. My mother and I, you know, we really don’t, we haven’t seen you in a while, and—”

Vinny raises a hand, cutting off my babbling nonsense as he walks closer to me. A mixture of fear and revulsion makes me want to vomit. Concern knits his face and he lifts a hand to my jaw. I flinch as his fingers touch the swollen area.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, hon. Who did this to you?”

Tears slowly well in my eyes because the first person to show concern for me is the man who probably killed my father. I glance at Rafael, whose features are taut with rage.

“N—nobody. It was an accident. I fell on some icy steps on the subway.”

Oh what a lame lie. You can’t think of something better?

It doesn’t fool Vinny. His hand drops from my face and he turns around to look at Rafael’s smooth, unconcerned one.

“You did this?”

“He didn’t!” Oh God.

“Of course not.”

But his tone is way off. I’m his girlfriend. If he didn’t do it, he should be apoplectic with rage. He should be throwing chairs across the room and screaming that how dare someone touch his girl. Instead, he just stands there. It’s as though he doesn’t care if Vince puts two and two together.

Vinny turns around, his fists clenched. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, lying to a boss.”

Rafael crosses his arms and makes a brave attempt at a smile. “It’s my fault she’s a klutz?”

The boss takes several strides toward him and Rafael’s fist tightens around the pool cue, and then suddenly Vinny’s fist smashes against the side of Rafael’s skull. My screams echo in the room as he topples to the ground with a cry of outrage.

No, no, no! He’s going to make it worse for me.

“I didn’t do shit to her!”

Enraged, Vinny brings back his foot and kicks out hard. Rafael’s face contorts with pain as his mouth makes a horrible, gasping sound.

“You want to fucking lie to me again? Huh?”

Rafael turns to his side and snarls at the boss. “What the fuck do you care about Jack’s daughter? I’m a fucking made guy, you have no right!”

The other men grab Vinny’s arms before he can do more damage, even though the boss looks as if he would like nothing better than to beat him to death.

“Degenerate fuck. Do it again, and you’ll be fucking sorry.”

He makes other furious moves toward Rafael, but the guys shove him back.

“Vince, calm down.”

They let him go and Vinny stands there for a moment, chest heaving. Then he runs a hand through his dark hair and walks away from Rafael, who picks himself off the floor and gives me a murderous look. I turn away from him, shaking, and almost jump when I feel Vinny’s hand on my shoulder.

“Come, I’ll get you some meat for your ma.”

Numb shock propels my feet forward, through the doors, and into the cafe. “Vince, I—he was telling the truth. He didn’t hit me.”

Energetic, black eyes cut right through me. “You don’t have to lie to me. People don’t get bruises like that from falling down. You don’t have to stay with him, either.”

Something in his voice compels me to drop the bullshit and just tell him the truth. Maybe it’s the faint anger I feel rustling in my chest. I don’t know if I want to accept help from the man who, well, murdered my father.

You killed my dad.

“If I leave, he’ll kill me. I don’t have anywhere else to go, anyway.”

The clerk behind the counter hands me a large package of deli meat wrapped in paper and I take it. “Thanks, Vincent.”

“Hey, wait—”

My face already burns with the hopelessness of it all, and I shrug off his hand on my shoulder and head toward the icy storm outside, hoping that it’ll swallow me.

* * *

The door opens.

It’s the worst sound in the world—a sound that fills me with terror, a sound that makes me want to scurry to the bathroom and lock the door. I dread it every day. Dread the moment his boots walk through the threshold, and even worse is the noise when he slams it shut because he’s always pissed these days.

Just go away. Just leave me alone.

But he won’t, especially after today.

I sink into the leather couch, hoping that I’ll become invisible. I stare straight ahead into the burning TV screen. Maybe there’s something on it that will distract him from his rage. I try to think back to when the sight of his face made me feel warm instead of cold with fear. He was never like this when Dad was alive—never laid a hand on me. He would never have dared—Dad would have killed him. We used to talk about getting engaged.

A painful twitch on my face makes me grimace.

“Are you fuckin’ laughing?”

I turn my head around painfully. His once-handsome face seems wasted away by rage. The leather jacket he wears makes him look like a cartoon villain, and I think for a moment how funny the whole thing is. Me, the boss’s daughter, stripped down to nothing but some whore for him to use and abuse. Whose own sister resents her for being the favorite, and won’t even save her from her abusive boyfriend.

It’s not really that funny.

“I’m not.”

The shorter my responses are, the better.

Don’t even look at him.

“You humiliated me in front of the people I work with. Do you have any fucking idea how bad that is?”

The sound of his footsteps makes me cringe, and then finally he stands in front of me, blocking the TV. I’m still paralyzed with memories from the past, refusing to confront the ugly present. He stoops down and makes me. He seizes my painful jaw, forcing it upward.

“Look at me, you fucking cunt.”

“I didn’t mean to, Raf. I swear to God, I was just there for deli meat.”

He sneers at me. “And you needed to see Vincent for that? Fucking liar.”

A heavy hand slaps the wound on my face, sending me flying. He laughs as I catch myself on the couch. A surge of poisonous rage runs through my veins that I’m unable to act on.

Oh, what I would give to make the son of a bitch suffer like I have.

Instead, I use the only tool left in my arsenal. Tears. They fall down my face freely, because it’s so easy to cry these days. Normally I’m dead to the world, twisting in agony inside.

“Y-you used to be so sweet with me. I don’t understand why you’re like this.”

His weight sinks into the couch and his hand curls around my shoulder, pulling me upright and into his chest, where I just feel cold. I shrink from his closeness. For a moment I think it worked. That maybe some tiny human part of him hears my distress and feels guilty.

His lips sear the swollen side of my face as he kisses it, leading a trail to my ear. “I was sweet with you because your daddy would have killed me if I laid a hand on you.” His teeth bite down hard on my earlobe, and I grit my teeth.

Don’t cry out. Don’t let him win.

“You’re not the boss’s daughter anymore. You’re nothing.”

It shouldn’t hurt me to hear that from his worthless lips, but it does. It really does.

“You’re fuckin’ lucky I let you stick around.”

A small thrill rises in my chest. Why don’t you just leave me? I want to ask.

“Why do you?”

He plants another hot kiss on my neck, biting down hard enough to leave a bruise. This time I make a small squeak of pain and he lets me go, laughing. “I like being able to do whatever the fuck I want with you. Besides,” his voice drops down to a whisper, “I know about the money.”

A sick, swooping sensation curls around my stomach as feeling disappears from my limbs.

How could he know about that? Dad left it for me!

I turn my face toward his, hoping that I can distract him. My arm wraps around his neck and I bury my hand in his short, bristly hair, leaning into his body as our lips touch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He smiles against my lips.

My body flies over the coffee table, his hand wrapped around my neck. A gasp leaves my throat as my back slams into the wood, knocking the breath from my lungs. Then his fingers bite into my neck, squeezing hard as my throat closes up.

My lungs wheeze as he leans over my body, slowly crushing the life out of me. I can’t let this fucking asshole kill me like this—fuck him. My fingers rake over his face, nails digging into that furious visage. Maybe it’s because I’m losing oxygen, but his face looks deformed in the low light. His grin spreads a little too wide, his teeth pointed like tiny daggers. His eyes are completely black, and I wonder how I ever thought he was human. It’s like the darkness had the effect of throwing a lantern on his face, revealing every ugly scar he kept hidden.

The fingers release my throat and I gasp for air, clutching at my skin and coughing. The vision disappears, and Raf sits up straight with a crooked smile that used to send butterflies flying in my stomach.

“I know Jack hid money in his house, and I know that you know where it is. You’re going to take me to it.” He leans in, enjoying watching me squirm on the table as I try to get away from him. “Oh, and if you ever go to my boss again like that, I’ll kill you.”

A flash of heat burns my skin. Weeks ago he wouldn’t have fucking dared to say that to me.

Who’s the real coward?

“No, maybe I’ll fucking kill you!”

I shouldn’t have said it.

Raf’s nostrils flare as he stands up suddenly, the abrupt shift of weight making the table creak.

I really shouldn’t have said it.

“You have balls, Elena, I’ll give you that, but it’s very unbecoming for a wise guy’s girlfriend.”

I know that tone in his voice, and my teeth clench together as he balls his fists. I’m so fucking tired of being scared all the time.

“Stand up and take your beating like a good little bitch.”

Hating him, I stand to my feet, but I don’t remain standing for long. He grips my jaw in his massive hand and squeezes. Then he shoves me hard enough for my head to crack the plaster on the wall. He howls in rage when he sees the damage.

“Look at what you fucking did!”

His boot slams into my side and I feel something inside me break—it’s not a physical thing, but a mental collapse. Heavy blows rain down my back. The pain radiates throughout my body, but it’s as if there’s a brick wall. I can’t feel it. It must be some sort of miracle, or I’m very close to being dead and I should really, really fight back.

My neck slams against the wall and I suddenly feel an electrical shock of pain down my spine as he squeezes my throat, crushing my windpipe. A gust of his breath, stinking of alcohol, blows across my face.

“Say it again, bitch. I fucking dare you.”

My eyes slide to his and I fight the impulse to smile as my broken body screams with pain that I can only dimly feel. My ribs are probably fractured and I might have a slight concussion, but I don’t feel a fucking thing.

This is the best you can do, you piece of human garbage?

I want to say it again, just to prove to the asshole that he can’t wear me down. I’m Jack Vittorio’s daughter and, yeah, I might be a little bit of a spoiled bitch, but no one treats me like this.

My limbs tremble against the wall and an ache pounds through my ribs, spreading agony through my torso, but I don’t say a word. It’s okay to let my ego take a blow for now. He’ll get what’s coming to him.

“I expect you to lead me to the cash tomorrow,” he says, his face finally smoothing over.

His fingers unstick from my throat, and I collapse like a stone to the ground, crumpling into a heap at his feet. Rafael’s cold laughter brings another surge of fury to my heart, but I force myself to calm down.

Don’t let him see.

The fridge opens and I hear the clinking sound of bottles. Dread sinks my stomach as the telltale hiss of a bottle opening catches my attention. He’s going to get drunk and stupid again, if he isn’t already. I pick myself off the floor and limp toward the bathroom, hoping that he’ll stay in the living room and zone out in front of the television. A vision of myself confronting him with a weapon burns my mind.

I’m going to die. Sooner or later, he’s going to kill me—whether by accident or on purpose. I could see him kicking me one too many times and breaking my neck.

The bathroom door closes behind me and I twist the lock, wincing at the sudden beams of light overhead. The mirror reflects the image of a broken woman. Her dark-brown hair hangs like a nest around her face, which looks like a disaster. Swollen cheeks and blood in her left eye, whose eyelid is sunken over. Busted lip. I lift up my shirt, revealing a large, angry red mark on my abdomen.

I don’t recognize the girl in the mirror. She looks like those women you feel sorry for—the ones who keep going back to their abusive partners, over and over again.

When did it get this bad?

There were little things. Signs. A disrespectful comment here and there. Then, finally, he hit me. He slapped me across the face when I disagreed with him about something. My dad was still alive then. He was overcome with remorse. Please don’t tell your dad! I remember well how he cried and blubbered like a baby. At the time, it touched me how strong his remorse was, and I decided to forgive him.

Now I know that I was just a moron. He wasn’t fucking sorry. He was piss-scared that I was going to tell my dad, who would have gutted him, and he would have been absolutely right to do it.

Any idiot could have seen through him, but I actually thought I loved him. He was the guy brave enough to ask me out, before asking my father for permission. In the beginning, he made me feel special.

The horror in the mirror reflects only a few months of abuse. What do you think he’ll do in a few more? Coldness slowly freezes my veins like liquid nitrogen.

If I went back to Vincent, maybe he’d be able to help.

And maybe he wouldn’t.

Raf told me he’d kill me if I went back to his boss. Christ, my own sister won’t even help me. How pathetic is that? What should I do?

You need to get him before he gets you.

Simply running away won’t work. Raf is psycho enough to follow me wherever I go. No, I need help.

You have a hundred grand buried in the backyard at Mom’s house. Dad showed you where he buried it because he trusted you above everyone else.

My insides freeze, my mouth suddenly dry. I’m horrified by the cold voice in my head, but it keeps talking.

You could hire someone to take care of him. Someone who might understand your situation.

Hire someone to kill Rafael? I swallow hard, studying the cuts and bruises on my face. Am I willing to walk down that road?

This is life or death. Yours or his. Choose.

Mine, I reply to the voice automatically. A twinge of guilt stirs in my chest at how quick my reply was. Going to the police is not an option. My dad went to the police, and look what they did to him.

I shut my eyes and think hard, trying to remember any friends of Dad’s who might be able to help. Sometimes there would be visitors from out of town at the house. A man—the boss in Montreal—was close with my dad. He spoke with an Italian-French accent, and was always friendly to me.

It’s a desperate move.

I don’t really have anywhere else to go.

* * *

I don’t sleep all night. My body curls on the side of the bed, facing the blank wall. Everything inside me is like a coiled spring, ready to bounce the moment the coast is clear. In my head, I think about where everything is—my passport, the duffel bags, my clothes, shoes, and most importantly, the cash in the backyard.

Rafael’s hand lies on my shoulder heavily. “Hey, what’s wrong with you?”

I hope that he can’t see my face in the dark, because if he did, he’d be offended by the disgust curling my lip. “I’m in pain.”

It’s not untrue. My whole fucking body aches, especially my head. The two aspirin I took didn’t make a fucking dent.

The bed shifts with his weight and the pressure on my shoulder increases so that I lie flat on my back. A moan shakes from my lips as the pounding ache in my abdomen doubles. He hangs over me in a black t-shirt, the alcohol finally purged from his bloodshot eyes. His face bends lower and I flinch from his closeness. He pauses.

“I’m sorry, babe. I shouldn’t have laid a hand on you—should never.” He stops for a moment to swallow. “I love you.”

The words sound so empty. Once, I believed them.

How many times must we go through this? The beatings, the apologies, the gradual buildup, the beatings.

I knew the moment that fuckface hit me that he was no good, but I couldn’t leave him. It was the first time he left a bruise. When it happened, I stayed at my mom’s house. He marched over there with flowers and sweet-talked my mother into agreeing with him that I should “give him another chance” and then I really had no choice but to follow him back to his apartment.

“I love you, too.”

His fingers lightly stroke my cheek. “You just make me so pissed off sometimes.”

Fuck you.

“I’m sorry.” I hate myself for apologizing to him, but it’s necessary.

Kill or be killed.

“I forgive you.”

Fuck your forgiveness.

He says it with a slight smile on his face, and I try not to make my smile a grimace. God, I’m so pissed off that I’m praying he doesn’t notice anything. I hope he’s too blinded by his own arrogance to notice that I hate his fucking guts.

“Elena, I love you.” He repeats it again as his lips fall on my bruised ones. I turn my head away with a cry of pain, but he continues kissing me in that passionate, possessive way that used to thrill me.

Everything he does hurts me. His weight presses into mine, and he’s either oblivious to my injuries or doesn’t care. His cock grinds into my thigh, painfully digging into me like yet another weapon he uses against me.

Oh God, no. Not now. I can’t handle this.

My thoughts get more and more hysterical as he gropes his way down my body, and then his cell phone vibrates on the nightstand. He lifts his head, stopping for a moment. It rattles noisily on the wood.

“Fucking hell.”

I swallow my sigh of relief as he rolls off me and snatches the phone, pressing it to his ear. “Yeah? All right, I’ll be there.”

Profound relief almost makes me throw up right then and there. Raf tosses the phone back on the table and rips back the covers, swearing.

“Fucking Nicky always has the worst timing.” He stands up and pulls a suit from the closet, quickly getting dressed as I pull the covers back over myself, feigning sleep.

When he shrugs on his jacket, he moves to my side of the bed and leans over, kissing my cheek.

“I’ll be back for supper.”

Good. Gives me plenty time to escape.

“Make something nice for dinner, something with meat. See you later, hon.”

I take a good look at him as he turns around, whistling a merry tune. As his shoes flash around the corner, I realize that I’m not sorry to see the back of him.

Hopefully, I’ll never see you again.

* * *

Elena, where are you?

I found the empty drawers. Where the FUCK are you? What makes you think you can just leave me?

CALL ME BACK RIGHT FKING NOW YOU STUPID BITCH!

How about I visit ur mother? I bet she’ll tell me where you are…

 

Sickened, I click on all the texts and hit the delete button. The vague threat toward my mother has me worried, but I hope that Vincent keeps an eye out for her. She won’t hesitate to complain to him if Rafael gives her any shit.

It took me hours to dig up the carefully wrapped rolls of hundred-dollar bills in the backyard and then replace all the dirt. I did it right under my mom’s nose, which probably bothers me the most. There wasn’t enough time to say goodbye.

It’s for her own good. If she knew where I’d gone, she would tell him, and then I’d be dead. The flashing blue light illuminating the depths of my purse sends another wave of sickness through my body. I end the call, but it’s no use. He just calls again. Voice mail after voice mail pops onto the screen, until finally I shut the damn thing off and settle into my seat.

“Any coffee, miss?” The train conductor tries to stifle a gasp at the look of my face. “Ma’am, are you all right?”

Not really.

Her face crinkles with sympathy as I just stare at her. “I fell down.” I’ve no energy to summon a less lame excuse. “Ice would be great.”

“Of course, yes.”

Stares from the other passengers just make me want to throw a hood over my face.

Montreal. I wonder what it’ll be like. I know French is the official language there, and I’m a bit worried about getting by. I place my hand against the windowpane, the cold stinging my skin. I’m probably not dressed for the harsh Canadian weather. I just grabbed whatever I had—a single wool coat, some shirts and jeans, panties, etc. No matter. With the money I have, I’ll be able to buy everything I need.

“Elena, honey. I’ve got something to show you.”

That gleam in Dad’s eyes sent a thrill of excitement through my chest. He always treated me differently than the other guys’ daughters. I was a bit rougher around the edges than Maria, a bit more tomboyish. Once, he brought me to the woods to shoot the new assault rifle he got as a gift. He taught me how to use it. Mom hated it. “She’s not a boy,” she’d say over and over.

I expected it would be something like that as I followed him outside. It was a crisp spring day. He placed both hands on my shoulders and squeezed them.

“I’m going to show you something that you need to keep secret. Don’t tell anyone, even your mother.”

I nodded my head rapidly, eyes wide. Whatever it was, it sounded important. He wrapped his arm around me and led me down the property. We passed the dying pomegranate bushes and stood over the red mulch, hidden by two evergreen trees.

“Underneath this mulch, between these two trees, I’ve got about a hundred grand buried. I want you to dig it up in case anything happens to me—”

My biggest fear slammed into my chest as if I’d been tackled. Without him, I was nothing. I knew that.

“Dad, what are you saying? Did something happen?”

He held up a hand, smiling. “No—I’m just telling you in case, you know, I get sent to the can. Or God forbid, I get killed—”

“Don’t say that!”

“This money is for you, Elena. You and your mom. Promise me, you’ll take it if something happens.”

Speechless, I watched his eyes crease as he squeezed my shoulders again.

“Promise!”

“Okay, Daddy.”

The whole time, he knew he was going away. He was already in talks with the FBI—they were going to relocate us, and then he was dead. Overnight I went from Mafia princess to Daughter of Miserable, Cock-sucking FBI Informant.

Dad filled me with so much hot air growing up that I never believed he could die. He was a boss. New York City fit into the palm of his hand. I went to many charity dinners with him, and even met the mayor and the chief of police. In the end, all of his connections weren’t enough to save him.

You’re fleeing to Montreal. Then what? Kill him, and you can never return to New York.

I can’t think of the future. All I can think of is right now, and the man lusting for my blood.

Eight hours into the ride, I turn the phone back on because I can’t take it anymore. There’s a stream of violent, expletive-laden texts. Only one makes my breath catch in my throat.

* * *

It’s a bluff. It has to be a bluff. I told no one where I was going, and used a fake name to book the hotel. Paid everything with cash. There’s no way he knows.

I walk the icy, crumbling Montreal streets, horribly underdressed in the freezing weather. It doesn’t matter. I block everything out. Cold? Who the fuck cares about cold? I have a psychopath hot for my blood, a spurned ex-lover who wants me dead. God, what if he found me with another man?

He doesn’t contact me for a week, and I spend the time hiding out in a hotel, nursing my injuries and working up the courage to meet the Montreal boss.

So much is riding on this meeting with Johnny that I instantly crush the doubts that keep floating to the surface. He has to do this for me. He will.

My life depends on it.

I open the door to Le Zinc. It’s a wonderful, posh place and I instantly feel uncomfortable and underdressed. The hostess immediately takes my ragged coat, but stops at the sight of my face.

“Miss, you need a hospital?” she asks in a thick French accent.

“No,” I say in a hurried voice, ignoring the looks thrown my way as I search the white tablecloths for Johnny. “I’m looking for Mr. Cravotta.”

He’s a young guy, and handsome, if I recall correctly. He should be here. My father always talked about meeting him at this place. Then I spot him surrounded by two other men, and I take a determined step forward.

“Miss, you need an appointment with Mr. Cravotta.”

“It’s urgent,” I bark at her.

“You need an—what the fuck?”

I shove her skinny ass aside and barrel toward the table. Two guys I didn’t even see suddenly take my arms and shove me back before I’m even five feet from the table.

“Mr. Cravotta, please! I need to speak with you!”

Johnny looks elegant in his pinstripe suit. Every aspect of his appearance is immaculate. His hair is slicked back into rolling waves, without a wayward strand. There’s not a single piece of lint on his suit, or a wrinkle, or anything that would mar his image of perfection. He stares at me with daggerlike eyes. It was hard meeting his gaze, even though he always treated me with respect.

But I don’t find it hard to look at him now. He can’t say anything that makes me feel worse than I already do.

“Mademoiselle, you need an appointment.”

The hostess appears at his side. “Excusez moi, Monsieur Cravotta. Elle a—”

“I saw the whole thing. Relax.” He gives her a flick of his hand, and the extremely harassed hostess returns back to the front, giving me a dirty look.

“Please, sir, it can’t wait.”

The men surrounding him laugh as they look at my face, and amusement flashes over it briefly before a faint note of recognition finally glimmers in his eyes.

“You’re Jack’s kid.”

“Yes!”

He gives the others a meaningful look. “Tabarnak de câlisse.”

I have no idea what it means, but judging from the look on his face, it sounds like a swearword.

“Sit down. Guys, take a walk.”

They rise to their feet obediently and the brutes holding my arms finally let go. I nearly crumple to his feet, but I manage to sit across from the table. He eyes me with a burning curiosity.

“What are you doing all the way here?”

I open my mouth, but stop immediately when the waiter fills the glass in front of me with water. He moves away like a ghost.

“Running.”

“I can see that.”

His eyes linger on the ghastly green bruise on the side of my face, the one I had before I met with Vincent. I’m sure that my eye is still purple, too. Good lord.

“I need your help.” My voice squeaks out, and I take a long draw of water to quell my nerves.

Johnny seems to pull away suddenly, his lips curling unpleasantly. “Look, I don’t know what you expected from me, but you’re mistaken if you think I’m going to help—”

“I have fifty grand in cash, and I need you to put a hit on a man.”

Suddenly his demeanor completely shifts. He leans forward, smiling, clasping his hands together. “If you have business to discuss, that’s a different story. His name?”

This is the part I’m worried about.

“Rafael Costa.”

Please don’t say no.

He takes a small notepad and pen from his jacket, writes down the name, and frowns at it. He recognizes it.

Please, please don’t say no.

My hands grip the edge of the table. “Please, Mr. Cravotta. I’m desperate.”

“He’s a made man. Part of Nicky’s crew in New York.” He taps the pen against the notepad restlessly as he looks at me. “He’s your boyfriend?”

The frown on his face deepens and I clench my teeth as he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but the answer is no. You belong to him, and he’s a made guy. If you were related to someone in the family, we could arrange something, but…”

But my dad is a traitor.

“Seventy-five grand,” I whisper harshly. No, he can’t just do this to me. I’ll give it all, for fuck’s sake. Anything to save my life.

Pity. It’s all over his face. “I’m sorry, ma cherie, but I’m not going to start a war with New York because of some Yank.”

“I—I don’t understand! Why can’t you? I have the money!”

“I just told you that it’s not about the money. It’s politics.” He watches me seethe, his face blank. “Maybe you should call the police.”

Is he fucking crazy?

Besides the fact that they wouldn’t do anything, Raf would kill me the moment I waved the restraining order in his face. And if he didn’t, Vincent might.

“I knew your dad,” he says suddenly. “I liked him until he talked to the cops. He gave me a lot of problems.”

“I’m not my father!”

My voice rings out in the restaurant, momentarily cutting through the pleasant babble. Johnny’s face hardens.

“I still find the idea of helping you repugnant.” He nods to the men standing behind me, who grip my shoulders and lift me up.

“Please!” I scream to his rapidly disappearing face. “At least don’t tell him where I am!”

Johnny gives me an apologetic smile as they drag me from the table, shoving the small of my back until I’m practically thrown outside.

The cold engulfs me like fog, coming in at all sides, seeping into my skin and making my bones ache.

Is this it, then? I can’t go over Johnny’s head. He was my only shot. Game over.

No, I refuse to accept this. My dad didn’t raise a quitter, and I’ll be damned if I let some hopped-up jerk take my life because he can’t fucking handle that I don’t want to be with him anymore. I’ll buy a gun—I’ll buy an arsenal.

I’ll look over my shoulder for the rest of my life.

The unfairness of it all seethes in my guts. I whirl back around at the restaurant, half-wanting to sprint inside and slap Johnny to make him understand how badly I need his help. Oh, he understands, but the asshole just doesn’t give a shit about me.

Who else is there? Think.

I chew my thumb viciously as I walk down the street aimlessly, my eyes searching each storefront as though I’ll see something or recognize someone, and after a while my legs tire and I’m just so fucking cold. I had no idea how cold it was here. My fingertips are numb and sharp pains shoot through my toes. I can’t stand it anymore.

The door to a nearby bar opens and I rush toward it, grabbing the handle and disappearing inside the dark interior. Warmth painfully unthaws my fingers and toes. It feels as though my blood splinters like ice. It’s a rustic bar—trendy, with battered wooden tables and clean, metal chairs. I pull one on the edge of the bar and sit down, cradling my head in my hands.

There aren’t many people in here at this time—it probably just opened. Someone enters the bar from the backroom, and a distinct New York accent suddenly makes my head snap up and my blood pound.

A hand curls around my shoulder, and I’m a second away from screaming. It’s Rafael. He caught up with me already.

“If you came here looking for revenge, I suggest you get in line,” he growls in my ear.

It’s not him, but I still recognize that voice.

I turn my head and recognize Tommy’s playful hazel eyes. God, he used to come over all the time. Dad loved him. Talked about him all the time. I haven’t seen him in months—I thought he was dead. Then my mind flicks to what he just said. Revenge for my father’s death? Heat strikes my chest. He must have had something to do with it, but so what? Everyone did.

“Do I look like I’m here for revenge?”

He releases me as if I’ve burned him and he steps back, disgust all over his face. “Raf did that to you?”

Tommy, of course, knew all about my relationship with Rafael. Hell, we had Christmas dinner together. We used to play cards. I always liked him, and he seemed to be devoted to my dad.

“Yeah. I just managed to escape.”

Pity shines all over Tommy’s face, and hope soars inside my chest like a balloon lifting to the sky.

“I know what you want to ask me. Johnny already called ahead. The answer’s still no. I’m sorry.”

He stands there, looking healthy and happy in his fucking two-piece suit, giving me a sad smile as though he wishes he could help me.

Fuck you.

“You owe me—”

“I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

I can’t believe how cold his voice is, how devoid of human emotion it is. Why is it that every one of my dad’s friends treats me as a parasitic extension of my father? Did I talk to the cops? No.

It hurts more than it should.

“I don’t understand why you would do this to me.” The pain breaks through my voice and emotion finally cracks through his hard gaze. “Fine, hate my dad, but don’t I deserve your help? We practically grew up together, and—you’re just going—you’re going to let him kill me?”

The anguish of being abandoned by virtually everyone I know twists my heart, and I dig my nails into my flesh. He flinches at the word “kill” and uncrosses his arms, looking at a loss.

Fine.

“Elena, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can fucking do.”

Nothing?

“That sounds like bullshit.”

“If I touched a hair on his head, I’d be dead,” he says flatly. “Those are the rules.”

I search his desperate eyes.

“Give me a job here.”

“What?”

I said it without really thinking, but the idea grows in my head. It’s a connected bar. Someone’s bound to have a gun at all times here.

“Please. I’ll feel safer if I’m surrounded by—guys like you.”

“You don’t know the language, hon.”

“Neither do you!”

He gives me a wry smile. “You’re just delaying the inevitable.”

“Tommy, please.”

The plea in my voice gets through to him and he frowns, sighing. “Fine. I’ll get you set up, but I don’t want you to come in until you’ve healed. You look like hell. You’ll scare my customers.”

“Thank you, Tommy. Thank you.”

It’s not much, but it’s a start.

“Tommy, I need to ask you something else.”

He moans and rubs his face hard. “What?”

“I have money that I need you to keep safe for me.”

At once his face brightens. “How much are we talking about?”

I lower my voice. “About a hundred grand.”

“I’ll be happy to do that for a small fee. Ten percent.”

Ten percent? That’s ten thousand dollars!

Not like I have a choice.

“Fine.”

“I’ll send some guys to pick it up. What’s your address?” He frowns when I give it to him. “Raf will be able to find that, easily.”

I don’t know what he expects me to do about it.