Chapter 2

A screech from Viviana’s left side caused the pounding in her temple to increase.

“Vine, shut that damned thing off, would you?” Sam’s husky voice reminded her of just who was in her bed and why she had yet to wake up. “You’ve hit the snooze half a dozen times. Don’t you have a lecture?”

Grumbling, she rubbed at her eyes. Finally, she blinked enough to feel awake and smacked at the alarm until it stopped beeping. Tossing blankets off the bed, her feet hit the cold floor. She barely recognized the time flashing on the alarm, but what her bleary eyes could see was enough to tell she was running late.

Really, really late.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Viviana asked, scowling.

A tanned hand waved indifferently. Sam couldn’t even be bothered to open his eyes and look at her. Some bodyguard he was.

“Like today is any different from yesterday?”

“This lecture is important!”

Clothes that had been carelessly scattered the night before were plucked up in her hands. Too much vodka and an attractive man made Viviana a messy girl. Eventually, she located the dark black skinny jeans and ribbed tank she’d worn the night before. Sniffing the clothes, they smelled decent enough, so she pulled them on and kicked around more stuff to find sneakers.

The sound of a glock’s chamber being manually discharged stopped her heart for a split second. It brought back memories she’d buried deep in the depths of her mind. It was a sound she never wanted to hear again. The black jacket in her hands fell to the floor as she chanced a look over at the door, then to the window.

Instinct, that’s what her father would have called it, because it was in her blood and bones. It didn’t matter that she was a girl, and girls couldn’t ever join the Cosa Nostra, she knew a fucking gun. Viviana could hold one, shoot like any made man, but that was only because her father said she had to learn.

The Don’s child had to know how to shoot.

Dropping to all fours, she heard Sam laugh deeply.

“Chill, girl. I’m just checking the clip; my piece needs to be cleaned.”

“I hate guns.” Her voice was strained, anxiety eating away at her lungs that couldn’t seem to inhale. “Put it away.”

“Can’t. I gotta check the floor before you go,” he replied quietly. When Viviana’s scowl made another appearance, he added, “Sorry. Those are the rules. You wanted freedom, so they gave it. I’m just one of the conditions that came along for the ride, babe.”

A nauseous feeling settled in her like a heavy weight. “I’ve been here a year and there hasn’t been an issue. Why can’t you just leave?”

Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed, the movement drawing her eyes in to the bands of muscle that stretched and flexed all over his tanned form. The light dusting of hair that covered his chest and created a thin line to the spot between his legs had her memory on overload with images from the night before. He was all-American with a touch of Italian on the tip of his magic tongue. Kind of handsome. Cussed like a sailor, had a perfectly deadly sort of aim with a gun, and always stayed far enough away to never draw attention but close enough that she was still aware of his presence.

“You want me to leave after last night?”

Viviana refused to dignify that with a response. His cock stood at attention: hard, glorious, and probably still smelling like her pussy. Oh God, smelling like her. Panic saturated her from the inside out.

“Last night … tell me we used—”

“A condom,” he interrupted. “Yeah. I don’t fuck without one.”

Sweet relief never felt so good. Sure, she was on the shot, but that didn’t mean Sam wasn’t out there fucking God knew who when he wasn’t working.

Sam didn’t pay Viviana’s relieved sigh a moment of attention as he reached for his jeans. “I’ll check the floors and you can go.”

“What are we going to do?” she asked, shifting into a sitting position on the floor as he pulled on a pair of jeans. “Just … not tell anyone?”

Sam cringed. “That’s probably best.”

Probably, she thought sarcastically.

Being the daughter of a former mafia boss, Viviana should have known better. You didn’t sleep with your bodyguard, and if they were worth anything, your bodyguard didn’t make a move to bridge the personal gaps between you. Sam had been good, too. For the last year he’d done just what he needed, followed orders to the letter, and kept her as safe as he possibly could.

And then last night happened …

“Vine, you’re freaking out over there when it’s only me here. No one is gonna know we knocked boots if you don’t say anything about it. I like my life right where it is, and I don’t plan on swimming with the fish any time soon, so I sure as hell won’t be saying a thing. If you want, I can request another man—”

“You’re not made, right?”

Sam looked confused. “I’m not … yet.”

She waved a hand between them. “Is this job your guarantee into it?”

The indignant sound he released was enough of an answer.

“It takes a little more than that, and you’re not worth very much now.”

“Well, great.”

“No one likes to off a woman, Vine, especially if that woman is Roman’s daughter. Doesn’t matter if he’s six feet under or not now, they already got your momma and brother. I suppose killing you just seemed cruel and unnecessary in the grand scheme of things. Be grateful they’re letting you live.”

“Grateful? They’re just waiting for me to screw up and then …” Trailing off, Viviana made the shape of a gun with her thumb and forefinger and pulled the trigger at her temple. “Boom. I’ll be the one swimming with the fish.”

His unaffected, blank stare chilled.

“Your father might not be the boss now, but he was for a long time, and his daddy before him, too. Roman made a bad choice, so his men turned and did what they had to. Regardless, they’d show you more respect than an execution and a watery grave. You know that.”

“A bad choice,” Viviana repeated dully. That bad choice was her and a dozen other things that happened over two decades ago that she didn’t want to think about. It was better if she didn’t. There was less pain that way. “What the hell do you know about my father’s choices? Just because those men spit what they call gospel doesn’t mean they’re not choking back on lies, Sam.”

“Those men are la famiglia.” Sam’s warning rang loud and clear, causing Viviana to bite the inside of her cheek and look away. “As of today, they still consider you a part of that family. Gratitude and respect, Vine. Learn it.”

“So says the man who fucked the Don of New York’s daughter.”

Sam grinned wickedly, pulling a V-neck T-shirt over his head. “Not the Don anymore. I was at the funeral, too. Besides, we can’t do this again, right? I mean, you’re a great lay, obviously, but I want my button and you’re just a steppingstone to it.”

“You can go to—”

“I’ll make the call, Vine; get you another watcher. I’d rather be closer to New York, anyway. Sitting around in this place really isn’t my thing. I know you’re grieving, or whatever you want to call it, but it’s been three years since your family was buried. Time to move on. It’s not like some former mafia boss’s daughter with no real connections can get her revenge, huh?”

Emotions betrayed Viviana by way of tears that welled up and threatened to fall.

“Fuck you, Sam.”

“Already did, babe.”

Standing to turn without another word, she slipped on the sneakers she managed to find under the corner chair before checking her face in the mirror. Red splotches had appeared on Viviana’s cheeks from forcing back tears, lips still swollen from Sam’s teeth biting and kissing the night before, and a small spot of red lipstick had smeared across the side of her mouth. Rubbing the stain with a makeup remover wipe from her dresser, she ran fingers through tangled waves of raven black hair as she tried to avoid the man’s gaze behind her in the mirror.

“You know you’re kind of beautiful, right?” Sam murmured behind her. His voice, thick with an Italian accent he could lay on heavy in a moment if he wanted, was rough and husky again. “They all say you look like your father, but you’re a prettier version of your momma.”

Brown eyes caught her own reflection in the mirror. What he said had some merit. With soft features, full lips, and wide eyes, Viviana certainly didn’t go unnoticed by men. Regardless, she could pick out a dozen other parts of herself that she wasn’t happy with. She hated the fact that her eyelashes weren’t as long as her mother’s once were, and that she mostly seemed to take after her in height, only standing a too-short five foot five inches.

Truthfully, Viviana didn’t think she looked like her mother at all.

“We’re not getting back into bed again, so you can stop it with your comments,” she replied bitterly. Tilting her head to the side, the red mark he’d left on the spot between her shoulder and neck was on clear display. “I don’t want your compliments.”

Sam shrugged and dug through the mess on the floor to find his boots. “Just thought you should know, considering I didn’t spend much time telling you last night. You’re gonna make a man happy someday. The perfect little mob wife.”

Leaning against the wall, he nodded at the calendar set up beside a small desk. “Your twenty-fifth birthday is coming up in three months, so when do you plan on settling down? God knows your uncle Sonny would love to see you married with a couple kids underfoot.”

Shuddering at his words was the only indication she gave that she’d heard his statement. The uncle he spoke about was the same man who reportedly put a gun to her father’s head and pulled the trigger. Reportedly because she knew it was truer than anyone else knew. He was also the man who took the throne of the Cosa Nostra within their family when her father was dead and gone. She had wondered later if Roman had seen Sonny coming, what with her uncle knowing of the deal her father had made with the Russians when she was only a toddler.

A snake, that’s what her uncle was. A turncoat, untrue, traitor to her father and the family. His own brother marked the bullet and stained his hands a bloody red.

Blood didn’t matter, though. Not in the family … or so Viviana had been told. Being a girl, it wasn’t like she had been given the advantage of understanding the Cosa Nostra, its rules and values. In fact, just saying the word mafia or mob under her father’s roof would get you one of his infamous looks, and then you knew you were in hot water.

The mafia doesn’t exist.

Yeah, right.

Viviana’s father had his own Wikipedia page, and her name was listed as his only surviving child right underneath.

“Don’t talk about—”

The words were cut off by a loud bang. Once more, Viviana found herself on the floor, pushed there by Sam’s hand.