Staring out the kitchen window, it’s easy to lose myself in the landscape and forget why I’m here. A scattering of rich yellows and vibrant pinks bloom along the path leading down to the first of three serene lakes. All the while, my finger circles lazily along the rim of Leo’s mug. It’s careful each and every time it skips over the sentimental little chip. And each time it does, its significance tugs at my heart.
It’s a warning. A big, blaring yellow light nudging me to proceed with caution. Be careful.
I’m keeping a secret—the longer I hide it, the more I can feel it chipping away at the trust I’m beginning to build.
I take a long look around the empty kitchen. With Smoke and Leo both gone, the space is unnervingly quiet. An all too familiar state of my life I’ve always loathed.
Loneliness.
What if Smoke and Trini are the beginning of a new life? My long-lost brother and sister. The first in a long line of siblings I never could have imagined. A family that only existed in my loftiest dreams. A beautiful swan family welcoming a tattered, little lone duckling into their fold.
But what if I’m not one of their flock? I have no proof that I’m their sister…other than a photo and a hunch. Considering that the photograph with my mother and Antonio D’Angelo has been MIA since I arrived, that leaves me with a whole lot of nothing more than a deep-rooted hope that this is my family, and they want me.
I want them. Does that count? I want to be part of them so bad it hurts.
But this isn’t just about Smoke and Trinity and the rest of the D’Angelos. It’s about Leo, too. This time, when my finger skims that tiny little chip, it doesn’t skip over. It stops. I take a long, hard look at it, noticing the fracture that branches down the rim. It’s small and fine and nearly invisible, but it reminds me how much Leo is right.
If I’m not careful, everything I cherish could break.
Something beautiful broke between me and Leo, but it’s fixable. I can feel it in my gut. But what if I keep this from him? Me being a D’Angelo. The man whose world is layered in loyalty and trust. Could he ever look at me the same?
Not telling them isn’t a lie. So why does it feel like one? Like every time we speak, and I don’t tell him who I might be, it’s a deception.
But I can’t tell Leo first. And I can’t tell Trini. I don’t know all the fragile points in her history or her triggers. I can’t break the precious bond that's been forming between us.
Smoke. It has to be Smoke. The boss. The patriarch. And the man whose bad side I never want to be on. Nerves rattle my soul at the thought of approaching him. If I don’t say a word, I can keep this precious time we’re all sharing together.
But what if in Smoke’s eyes, a lie by omission is still a lie? A deceit. A betrayal. Smoke only needs one reason to cast me aside and never look back, and this would be it. I can’t not tell him.
And there’s no time like the present.
I steel my resolve and make my way to Smoke’s office, using the length of the hall to rehearse.
I could be casual. Start with, “Hey, you. Did you ever want another sister?”
Or, “What a coincidence. We both like Italian food.”
Perhaps I could try, “I know we haven't known each other long, but we have a lot in common. Like… genetics.”
Deflated, I shake my head.
This is a hardcore mafia family, not a Hallmark movie. Direct, straightforward, and to the point. Leave the gun. Take the cannoli. Avoid horseheads in the bed at all costs.
I pass a large mirror on the wall and glance at the scared girl staring back from it. In every family photo, the D’Angelo children are tall, beautiful people with noble features and glowing olive skin sun-kissed by the gods. My frame is petite and insignificant, easily dwarfed by all of them—even Trinity.
My dark brown curls are frizzed and wild, and so out of place I can’t help but smooth them down. Epic fail. Is it possible to will my hair to be tame for once? And we’ll all ignore the fact that my skin is about, oh, I don’t know, seven shades darker.
My nerves prick along every ounce of bravery on the verge of fleeing. I suck in a breath and focus on the lone silver strand that falls from my temple. A reminder as to why I’m here. Antonio D’Angelo. His splash of silver graced his temple at exactly the same spot. A ribbon of silver that binds us by heritage if not by name. A genetic lifeline that fills me with hope.
I practice once more, muttering five crazy, little words softly to myself. “I think I’m your sister.”
Shoulders squared and back straight, I step up to the carved wood double doors. Butterflies flit along my insides as I bite my lower lip. Palms sweaty, I close my eyes and posture my fist for a knock.
Deep breath in. Slow breath out.
Knock-knock-knock.
I rap at the door so softly I'm not sure the little sounds could be heard until a deep baritone voice breaks through. “Come in.”
My steps are timid as I enter the large, opulent office. Smoke’s enormous frame easily fills the space. He makes his way around the desk, and despite the casual shirt and laid-back jeans, everything about him is no-nonsense and intimidating. His hard lines and muscular build are the epitome of strength and power. Wealth. Privilege. The heir to the D’Angelo estate. And a man who shouldn’t be fucked with under any circumstances. “I bet I know why you’re here.”
My heartbeat flutters. “You do?”
He scoops an envelope from his desk, and hands it to me. Nerves frayed, I open the flap and take a look. It’s a check. I look up, confused. “What’s this?”
He arches a brow. “Payday. Unless you’ve decided you’d rather volunteer your time here.”
My paycheck. Right. “Thank you.” I fiddle with the envelope, but don’t move to leave.
Smoke takes a seat on the side of his desk, giving me full view of the larger-than-life image that hangs behind him. A portrait of Antonio D’Angelo. I’ve never met him, yet I feel him. His presence. His absence. I can’t explain the loss that burrows a hole within me. The pain. A wave of sadness drags me ten feet under. It hurts.
“Ivy?” Smoke motions for the chair, nudging me to take a seat. “Is everything all right?”
My nod is weak and unconvincing. Still, I smile, not wanting to taint our conversation with sentiments I have no right to. “Thanks,” I say, sinking into the large, oversized chair. The entire office holds notes of leather and bourbon and faint wisps of cigars. A masculine swirl that may be as much Antonio as it is Smoke.
Several unwieldy strands of hair pester my face, and I slide them behind my ear. My lips are tight, and my throat is as dry as a desert. And those tiny, little words that, moments ago, seemed so easy to say are suddenly gone.
Smoke notices me staring off—a million miles away. He turns, pointing to the small table in the corner that holds my glance. “Did you want a drink?”
“I don’t drink,” I manage to squeak out. When I notice the clock, I have to laugh. “And it’s ten o’clock in the morning.”
He shrugs. “It’s five o’clock somewhere. What’s on your mind?”
Just say it. I’m your sister. Is that what I was going to say? Or was it, I think I’m your sister? As soon as his big, blue, expectant eyes meet mine, all I can do is point to the makeshift bar he thought I was thirsting for. “Is that a flask?” I ask. Stupidest question ever. Maybe that single sip of poop-free papaya hillside coffee was one sip too much.
To my surprise, Smoke beams, nodding and proud. “It was a gift from all of us to our father. With each of our signatures engraved into the silver.”
I step over to it. “May I?”
Nodding, he jumps from the chair to hand it to me. It isn't delicate, but I handle it as though it's made of the thinnest glass.
The autographs wrap around the curve, each one beautiful and precious. The signatures of every D'Angelo child. Every one except mine.
I ignore the way the shiny memento claws my heart from the inside out and focus on the one signature that grounds me. My finger traces it, looping the letters with love. “Trinity.” Over each ‘I’ is a tiny heart that tugs at mine.
“The Princess,” Smoke shares.
“Enzo.”
“The King,” Smoke announces before correcting himself. “Or the villain if you ask anyone who's ever met him.” He laughs. “Enzo runs D’Angelo Holdings.”
I continue with all of them. Dante’s signature has an extra-long tail after the E, ending in something that looks like a Devil’s tail. Hence his nickname The Devil. Mateo’s letters are tall and no-nonsense. He’s The Saint, though I can’t imagine any of them being entirely good.
Dillon’s handwriting is carefree and fun, with a happy face in the ‘O.’ He is The Player, and by Trini’s disapproving account of his legendary conquests, it’s easy to see why. And last but far from least: “Mason,” I say with a smile.
Smoke waggles his brows. One of these days, I'll have to find out more about how he came into a nickname that suits him as much as his leather jackets and deadly scowl.
“So, we have a Princess, a King, a Devil, a Saint, and a Player…what do they all call you?”
Coyly, he offers a boyish shrug. “The Beast.” I stare at him, unsurprised.
“Because you lock yourself away in a castle, waiting for your queen?”
“Because no one else would be in Trini’s dumb little play. One role, and I’m typecast for life.” He growls, loud and boisterous, with eyes bright. His laugh grows to a big, hearty belly laugh as he reminisces, and I latch on to that laugh. It’s filled with visions of an idyllic childhood. Of all of them together. “You must miss them,” I say sadly.
He nods. “I do. But by the end of next week, I’ll be happy to have their asses gone. They all have a fucking opinion on everything. How I run the estate. How I care for Trini. How my life will change when I settle down—as if that will ever happen.” He returns the flask to the corner table, taking a minute to set it in the perfect spot. “But our brothers are very excited to meet you.”
Tension builds just below my skin. “They know about me?” I bite my lip.
Smoke notices. “Don't be nervous.”
“I’m not,” I lie, fidgeting with my fingers.
“If they even look at you sideways, I’ve got a size fifteen boot going straight up their asses.”
I laugh off his protectiveness. “It’s not like they’re all coming to meet me.” They think I’m Trini’s caretaker. Just another staff member in a hive of worker bees.
“Don’t be so sure. Trini has been singing your praises.” Smoke slips both hands into his back pockets. “Listen, the past few years have been hard. The brothers have barely spoken.” Smoke struggles to find his words. “But we need to come together.”
“Why?”
“The D’Angelos have a tradition—one that goes back generations. This year, I turn thirty-five. And because I’m the eldest and agreed to take the mansion and keep it as a home for Trini, that puts me in the position of Erede al Trono.”
Shyly, I repeat, “Eh-ready al torono?”
Approving, he nods. “That’s good. In the most direct translation, it means heir to the throne. For the D'Angelos, its meaning is more significant. You know about our history?” he asks, lifting a brow and hesitating until I’ve answered the question.
I nod. When his brow pinches, uncertain if I really do know their family history, I verbally respond. “Grandfather Vito D’Angelo was in the mob.”
His lips pinch with the knowing smile. “Our grandfather was the mob. He owned Chicago.”
“But that was forever ago.”
“No, Ivy.” He lowers his voice, though it’s just the two of us in the privacy of his office. “If you’re going to be in our inner circle—holding our trust—it’s important you understand. Enzo runs our business. So does Dante. And they embrace the ways of our grandfather. I don’t. For a long time, I rejected it. If I could, I’d pass on this honor…” He says the word with disgust. “Hand everything to Enzo. But he’s too much of a wildcard—drunk with power. High on wealth. I have to be the one to accept it. Be the family protector.”
“That’s why they’re all coming.”
“Normally, we wouldn’t have outsiders at the ceremony.” He places a paternal hand on my shoulder. “But Leo will be there, and I hope you’ll be there, too. What you've done to bring Trinity out of the horrors that happened to her is nothing short of miraculous. This is my formal rite of passage, where my word is law. A tradition that’s handed down from firstborn to firstborn. Trinity wants you there, and I want you there, too.”
“Smoke, there's something important I have to tell you—”
Knock-knock.
He smiles an assurance to me and squeezes both my shoulders. “Hold that thought.” He hollers to the door. “Come in.”
Leo enters, followed by Hunter. Hunter flashes a warm grin at me, and I can't help but smile back. When I smile at Leo, his attention turns to Smoke. “You wanted to go over the security details for the event.”
Smoke ends our discussion with a smile. “Duty calls.”
And just like that, I’m dismissed.