Prologue
Alessandro
I’ve spent today how I spend most, collecting what people owe me. Currently, I’m streaming the feed of a bloodied man in my basement, claiming he has the money to pay us back. I call bullshit. He wouldn’t be here if he had the money. It’s the same shit every time from these people. The Leone name is big enough in Philadelphia they know what they’re getting themselves into. At least they should.
My family deals out and collects on debts. That’s what we’ve done for generations—sports, racing, politics, personal loans, anything that will bring in money. We always collect and we never lose track of what’s ours, except for one debt. The one that’s been in my family for generations. One signed by my great-grandfather and never collected. One that every generation has been hunting down since it was set in ink—the little red mark on an otherwise perfect paper.
I silence the feed, bored with the repetitiveness of the day, ready to bang my head against the desk when my second incommand, Marco comes in. I can tell by his energy that he has something important. Something potentially life-changing.
“Alessandro, man, I fucking got it!” Marco says, cocky as ever, with arms wide and a smirk on his face.
“Got what, your STD results? Gabby give you the clap again?” The smirk on his face fades, replaced with annoyance.
“No. And that was one time. Fuck that bitch. No, I have it. I haveher.”
“You’re not telling me?” I question him.
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“Give me that.” Snatching the envelope from his hands, I scan the paperwork Marco brought in and know he’s right. All the information my family has been hunting down for decades. She’s right here, under my nose, since my grandfather sent me to America from Italy to expand the family business.
I pull out the picture of her, my cock twitching as I study her features. Beautiful waist-length wavy brown hair, shining hazel eyes, full lips, and enough thighs for a man to snack on and always be satisfied. I adjust my hardened dick, pleased to know even though she’s business, at least part of me is happy she’ll be mine.
Luciana Bonacci, the collection to her family’s debt.
Chapter 1
Luci
I’m convinced today is the longest day of existence. I know this internship is important, but add law school, and I barely have time to breathe. Forget about the fact that I’m doing this because it’s what my family thinks is best, not what I want.
As I’m walking to my car, I decide to sneak into a bar before heading home. One drink won’t make my nonno go berserk on me. Right? There is only one way to find out.
Several minutes later, I sip on my vodka cranberry while fiddling with the crucifix on my necklace when I sense someone’s eyes on me and turn my head. My lips slightly part and I blink twice, trying to process the man gazing in my direction. His energy is intense, with magnetic dark eyes that match his hair, and he has the perfect amount of stubble on his cheeks and jawline to look intentionally rough. He’s the definition of tall, dark, and handsome.
Afraid that I am gawking, I focus back on my drink, strumming my fingers on the glass. My body tenses as I try to control the need to find friction to appease the sudden achebetween my legs. I remind myself of Sunday’s Mass service and what the priest said about lust as I mutter to myself. “It is God’s will that you should be sanctified: that you should avoid sexual immorality.” I’m busy recalling the details of Sunday’s homily, unaware that he’s approached me until he speaks.
“Can I buy you your next drink?” His voice is deep and smooth, like expensive wine.
I realize then that the glass is empty. When did that happen?
“I’m okay. I should get home. It’s an hour’s drive back and I’d be shocked if my nonno isn’t hysterical. Italians—who knew they were dramatic. Now I’m babbling. Sorry.”
“You have no idea,” He mutters, almost to himself, then continues, “Please babble on, but make sure it’s with a drink I’ve bought you. One more, then you can go home and deal with the wrath of Nonno.”
He sits on the stool next to me when I agree to one more drink and I have to say, at the time it’s a fantastic idea. As we speak, I come to find out we have a lot in common. For one, our families are both from Italy. He moved here several years ago while my family has been here since my grandparents eloped over forty years ago.
When I ask my grandparents why they left, they always say the same thing: “Luci, you cannot focus on the past when you have such a bright future.”
This man in front of me is exactly the kind of guy Nonno mentioned he wants in a husband for me. Handsome, charming, well-dressed, polite, and most of all . . . Italian. He snaps me out of my daydream about our wedding and future children with another question.
“What are you studying?” he asks, nodding at my backpack.
“I’m in law school,” I say with enough attitude that I could feel my mamma’s glare without her being here.
“That didn’t sound too enthusiastic,” he states bluntly.
“It’s what my family thinks I should do, but if I had a choice, I’d do something else. I love my family, but I tend to forget about myself while aiming to satisfy them. It’s too late to change, anyway. I graduate in the spring.” I try to blink tears away but miss one as it sneaks down my face—stupid emotions. Drinking or not, I can cry at the drop of a hat.
