Sneak Peek: Twisted Pawn
Chapter One
Tierney
Present Day
Chiesa di San Pietro Martire, Naples, Italy
“Fuck. Where is it?” I plopped onto the first pew of the church, rummaging in my Chanel bag for my pack of cigarettes. I didn’t normally smoke. Then again, I wasn’t normally thousands of miles away from home, in close quarters with the most powerful Mafia family in the world. Oh, and did I mention half its members wanted me dead? Fun times.
As if on cue, a large figure slid onto the pew behind me. An unlit cigarette materialized in the hand of an arm stretching across my shoulder. I plucked it from its owner with a scoff.
I didn’t need to look to know who it was.
As clichéd as it sounded, I always felt his presence before I saw him. He’d been my shadow since we were fourteen.
I recognized the rhythm of his breathing in the dark, the temperature of his gaze on my skin, the pulse of his footsteps inside my own chest. He’d become an integral part of me. Something so deeply entrenched in my existence, it was another facet of my identity now.
Achilles Ferrante.
My enemy. My rival. My impending demise.
“Do you always curse like a drunken sailor in church?” His dry burr reverberated in the pit of my stomach.
“Only when I have to share it with you.” I slipped the cigarette between my scarlet-painted lips, dunking my hand back into my purse to hunt for a lighter.
Achilles leaned forward, his lips skimming the shell of my ear. “Wanna know something?”
Goose bumps pebbled the back of my neck. Fifteen years later, and he still smelled of firewood, leather, and spice. “No.”
“You look like a whore in that dress,” he rasped, his voice dripping so much venom, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the floor was slippery.
“One you can never afford.” I flipped my hair in his face.
Despite my careless facade, his words landed like a bullet right in the center of my chest.
I wasn’t a sex worker, but I had slept around with the wrong kind of men in the past. Men who were cruel to me. Men who had hurt me. It was the only way I could accept any form of affection.
But that was before the asshole had put me on surveillance two years ago. Now, I had to walk around everywhere with one of his soldiers. No more sex life for me. God forbid a girl enjoyed her favorite cardio.
“Sweetheart, if I wanted you, you’d be screaming my name so loud God’s ears would ring.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but even ladies of the night have standards.”
“So you admit to being a whore?” The wooden pew creaked beneath the weight of his carved muscles as he edged closer. “Do you offer group discounts?”
“Why, are you planning to bring every facet of your disgusting personality?”
Finally, my fingers wrapped around the silver Zippo in my purse. Bingo. I stood up, careening on my too-high heels toward the atrium before he delivered his lethal comeback. I zipped past stained-glass windows and marble columns through the double doors, pouring into the sunshine.
Outside, the stairway teemed with guests. I searched for Mount Vesuvius beyond yellow and golden buildings surrounding the church but couldn’t find it. I slouched against the wall, lighting up the cigarette and scanning the crowd. My heart was in my throat. I was tired of the stupid organ never staying where it was supposed to whenever Achilles Ferrante was around.
He wasn’t wrong. My outfit for my nephew Gennaro’s baptism was inappropriate.
It was a red minidress, far too short for anything that wasn’t a nightclub. But you know what else wasn’t appropriate? Baptizing a not-quite six-month-old baby in some dead criminal’s blood. Yet that was exactly what the Ferrantes were about to do.
They were ruthlessly sadistic. Unfortunately, so was my idiot brother whose baby was being christened. Tiernan said he didn’t mind Gennaro continuing his wife’s family’s tradition as long as the blood he was dipped in was of someone who deserved to die. Apparently, that someone was a rival clan’s underboss and a child molester.
Tiernan was an atheist. Where we came from, we knew there was no God. We’d prayed to Him every night when we were kids, and He never answered. This would be the first time Tiernan set foot in a church. But I knew better than to argue logic with my brother when it came to his wife. What Lila wanted, he delivered. No questions asked. I felt no resentment or anger at the special treatment he gave my sister-in-law. I’d do anything for Lila, too. She was just that kind of person.
Kind. Wholesome. Perfect.
Speak of the devil, my brother was heading right in my direction.
“What the fuck do you think you’re wearing?” He greeted me in his usual sociopathic fashion, barging into my line of vision and casting a large shadow over my frame.
Tiernan looked flawless in his Savile Row suit and slicked-back hair. He wore an eye patch after Achilles had scooped out his eye. But that was before he had married Lila. These days, they’d take a bullet for one another.
I shrugged, taking a drag of my cigarette. “A dress.”
“Bullshit. People are staring.”
“People always stare. The least I can do is give them a good reason to.”
“Today’s not about you, Tier.”
I said nothing because he was right. But if I told him the real reason I dressed this way, we’d get into a fight, and I didn’t want to ruin today for him.
“Isn’t it time you act your age?”
“That’s a rather philosophical question.” I took a deep drag of my cigarette, letting the smoke hit the bottom of my lungs before fanning it sideways. “I find that you’re only as mature as your responsibilities. I happen to have none. No family. No kids. No job.”
No future, either, but I never let myself think about it too much.
“You can have a husband and a job in no time. Just say the word and I’ll get it done.”
I snorted at the offer. “I’m good, thanks.”
“You need to cover yourself up.”
“You wound me, brother.” I pouted. “These legs are meant for flaunting.”
“You know, there’s more to life than pissing people off.”
“I didn’t wear this to piss people off.”
I wore it to warn people off. I was the harlot, the jezebel, the Delilah of the family. Not wife material and definitely unfit for an arranged marriage. See, a couple of years ago, Achilles had convinced Tiernan that if my brother allowed him to pick a groom for me, this would somehow tame my feminine rage—that if I got hitched, I’d be happy and normal.
So now my mission was to make myself as desirable to Camorrista men as a prostate examination by Captain Hook. Because no matter what, I’d never ever let anyone take away my liberty. Never again.
“Where’s my nephew, anyway?” I changed the subject.
Tiernan jerked his chin to his right. I followed his gaze. His wife, Lila, stood at the foot of the church’s stairs, a circle of women fawning over her. She was holding Gennaro—Nero for short—close to her chest.
Lila was a true beauty. Delicate features, pale blue eyes, and flaxen locks, all wrapped in a flowery pink chiffon dress. Nero, however, was the spitting image of us Callaghans. Same burgundy hair. Same green, shrewd eyes. A chubby-cheeked version of his father, swathed in a white christening robe. It was funny how the sweet little angel found solace in the devil and even managed to domesticate him. Because for the first time in his life, my brother looked…happy.
Nero gurgled and reached for his mother’s loose curls, fisting a golden ringlet and twisting it between pudgy fingers. Lila giggled, kissing the tip of his nose.
I’d held Gennaro thousands of times. Bathed him. Changed his diapers. Sniffed him. Lila was generous about sharing her son with me, knowing how much joy he brought into my life. And yet, every time I saw them together, it felt like someone speared a rusty nail straight into my heart and twisted slowly. It was a reminder of everything I’d never have.
I yawned, my gaze shifting back to my brother. “Did you choose his godparents yet?”
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
“Luca and Sofia.” He cleared his throat, avoiding my eyes. “They chose us to be Ciro’s godparents. It was only appropriate that we reciprocate.”
“Right.” I forced out a smile. “Etiquette is so important in the underworld.”
Luca and Sofia were Lila’s brother and sister-in-law. They were married, with a son close to Nero’s age, so it made sense. But that didn’t soften the blow. They didn’t see me fit to be the godmother. And why would they? I was a mess. A hot mess, granted, but still a mess.
“Listen, Lila’s nervous as it is. I need you on your best behavior,” Tiernan growled.
I rolled my eyes so hard I saw suppressed memories. Like I’d ever do anything to hurt Lila.
“I mean it, Tier. No funny business.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be a vision of elegance and propriety. Don’t worry.”
The clucking sound of wood hitting concrete entered my ears, and we both turned in its direction. Don Vello Ferrante slapped his walking cane over the stairs up to the church. My father walked by his side.
“It took them almost six months to baptize the baby,” Vello growled. “This is unheard of.”
“Lila didn’t want to put Nero on a plane before he got his vaccinations,” Tyrone replied.
“Who cares what Lila wants? Per l’amor di Dio,” Vello spat out. “She’s just a woman!”
“What’s killing him?” I asked Tiernan, still watching the don.
“Not sure. But it better hurry the fuck up. Now if you’ll excuse me”—Tiernan brushed past me—“I need to go bite off my father-in-law’s head before he upsets my wife.”
I flicked the remainder of the cigarette to a nearby bush, tugging the hem of my dress down. People shuffled into the church, pushing past Camorra soldiers who stood on guard.
Since procrastinating was my favorite hobby, I plucked my phone out of my purse and checked my messages.
An invitation to a wine tasting upstate with a senator’s wife and her friends.
A committee brunch for a fundraiser.
A spa weekend with my good friend Frankie Keaton, the sitting president’s wife.
I’d have to say yes to all of these engagements. Since I didn’t have a real job, my task was to form connections my brother and the Irish Mafia could use. Tiernan paid me a monthly salary. I, in return, made police officers look the other way, county clerks speed up permits, and the port workers put aside goods the Irish later sold for triple the price on the streets.
After RSVPing my next month into mindless social obligations, I logged on to the encrypted messaging app, stopping on an unread message from a few weeks ago. My thumb halted over the screen.
Unknown: Do the right thing, Tierney. It’s your only chance at freedom.
Nibbling on the corner of my lip, I contemplated answering FBI Agent Tom Rothwell. He’d been on my ass for a couple of years now, trying to convince me to flip on the Ferrantes. But since I didn’t have a death wish, I kept shutting him down.
He was an option in case everything went to shit. Hopefully, it’d never come to that.
With a sigh, I slipped my phone into my bag, turned around, and reentered the church.
In the span of a few minutes, the first few pews had filled up almost completely. Tiernan and Lila stood at the altar, next to the priest. So did Luca and Sofia, the godparents.
There was one almost-empty pew—the second one from the front, where Achilles sat alone. Since I’d rather bathe in acid than sit next to him, I hurried to the first pew and squeezed myself between Lila’s brother Enzo and my father.
“Pumpkin.” My father kissed my cheek.
“Tyrone.” I coiled away, pressing against Enzo. The childish pet name grated on my nerves. I was twenty-nine. Besides, we weren’t close enough for nicknames.
“Shame about the outfit. You don’t need it to look beautiful.” His eyes swept over me disapprovingly.
I didn’t answer. I was never good enough for my father, and he made sure I remembered it. He had ignored me all of my adolescent years, and as soon as I came of age and he realized I was too difficult to marry off, he gave up on me altogether.
These days, we barely spoke and only saw each other when Tiernan invited us both over.
“Yo, Tier.” Enzo slung a tan, muscular arm over the pew, giving my shoulder a playful squeeze. “Waddup?”
I liked Enzo. He was funny, kind, and outrageously hot. Our paths didn’t cross often, but when they did, we could spend hours bantering and having a great time. He and Lila were the only Ferrantes I didn’t actively want to push off a cliff.
“No complaints,” I said. “You?”
“A few complaints.” He tossed a piece of mint gum into his mouth, scratching his forearm absentmindedly. “Hunger, mainly. Been cutting carbs. Gotta maintain that eight percent body fat.”
“Only a certified masochist would do that.” I scrunched my nose. “Quitting pasta and bread would make me stabby.”
“See, that’s not a problem in my line of work.” He grinned good-naturedly. Enzo was an enforcer. Stabbing people was his day job. You’d think it’d make him less lovable. You’d be wrong. “And the results are wild. You should see me under this shirt. I’m more shredded than sensitive documents President Keaton doesn’t want leaking to the media.” He rolled his tongue over his perfect teeth, giving me a cheeky wink. “Allegedly.”
I snorted, shaking my head. “If you’re trying to milk me for gossip about the First Couple, save your breath.”
“So you’re not denying that he did it. Interesting.” He wiggled his brows.
I laughed. “What else is new?”
“Oh, let’s see… I’m giving up pussy for Lent.”
“Why?” Achilles chimed in. “The whole point of Lent is giving up something you like.”
“Enzo, it’s May.” I frowned, ignoring the asshole behind us. “Lent is in March.”
“Next year’s Lent,” Enzo clarified. “This year’s done. Might as well enjoy the sex.”
“Everything I know about your sex life, I’ve learned against my will.” I chuckled. “Do I want to know why you’re doing this?”
“Lost a bet with your brother.”
“What’d you bet on?”
“I said you wouldn’t wear something scandalous today. And he…well, doesn’t have much faith in you.” Enzo’s whiskey eyes trailed down my bare legs.
“Even her brother knows she’s a lost cause.” Achilles tsked from behind me. “I made the mistake of trying to fix her once. Never again.”
That was it. I’d had it with this asshole. I turned around sharply, spearing him with a glare.
“Can you be helpful for once in your life and evacuate your grotesque face from my vicinity?”
“Only because you asked so nicely, Piccola Fiamma.” He stood up, buttoning his blazer with one hand. “As it happens, I do have business to attend to.”
Achilles glided out of the pew with a grace that no hulking, six-four man had any business possessing, disappearing between Roman columns.
My nickname, little flame, wasn’t born out of love. It was born out of hate. A reminder of everything we’d lost and everything we could’ve been if I hadn’t gone and fucked it up.
That was what killed me the most. Knowing it was me who threw it all away. Who managed to take this beautiful, pure love this boy had given me and turn it into potent, burning hatred. I’d ruined our lives, and now he was making me suffer for it.
The organist began playing, snapping my attention back to the here and now. The chatter stopped. The priest, a frail white-haired man, stepped forward and began his blessings.
“Nel nome del Padre, del Figlio, e dello Spirito Santo.”
Echoes of muffled screams ricocheted across the church’s walls. Every back in the room straightened. The ominous music grew louder. The priest proceeded, ignoring the cry of panic and pain.
“Padre nostro che sei nei cieli, sia santificato il tuo nome.”
Achilles appeared from behind the altar, holding a thrashing, disheveled man by the back of his neck. His captive’s hair was sweat-drenched, his suit unkempt.
The underboss. The molester.
Lila instinctively pressed Gennaro to her chest. Achilles stopped in front of the baptismal font, pressing the blade of a sharp knife to the man’s main artery.
“Venga il tuo regno, sia fatta la tua volontà, come in cielo così in terra.”
The priest clutched his Roman missal to a point of white knuckles, training his gaze hard on the pages.
“Dacci oggi il nostro pane quotidiano, rimetti a noi i nostri debiti, come noi li rimettiamo ai nostri debitori.”
Achilles slowly ran the blade across the man’s neck above the font, slicing his carotid artery with a surgeon’s precision. Crimson liquid gushed out, pouring into the hollow object. The thrashing and muffled cries stopped. All the while, Achilles stared at me, hatred burning through his pupils.
A river of blood sloshed over the fountain, filling it to the brim. The audience watched in silent shock. Achilles let go of his victim, and the lifeless body crumpled at his feet.
“E non ci indurre in tentazione, ma liberaci dal male. Amen.”
Tiernan scooped Nero from his mother’s arms and brought him to the font.
The priest took a shell, scooping some of the blood, and let it drip down Gennaro’s head. His hair was the same shade as the blood. Nero gurgled happily, fingers reaching for the shell, trying to snatch it from the minister. More blood dripped down the crown of his head and onto his christening gown.
My stomach churned. Even though I grew up in the belly of the underworld, I wasn’t a big fan of blood and murder. Plus, I wasn’t a believer, but slaughtering someone in a church seemed especially sinister, even to me.
Suddenly, the rumbling purr of motorcycles sounded from outside the church. The engines roared louder and closer, making guests look at each other in confusion. It sounded like dozens of them were approaching.
Tiernan made a cutting motion with his hand, and the priest stopped talking. Silence fell over the church. The steady, quiet drip, drip of blood leaking from the baptism tub filled the air.
The church’s doors blasted open. Women shrieked, jumping from their seats and grabbing their children, stuffing them underneath the pews for shelter. The men unholstered their weapons, charging toward the doors.
Twisting in my seat, I watched as two men in balaclavas tossed hand flares into the church and ducked back outside. The flares hissed and exploded. Red smoke detonated, thick and suffocating, covering the entire room.
The rapid fire of semiautomatic weapons rang in the air. Smoke scorched my eyes and filled my lungs. Screaming and blood blanketed the nave.
Shit.
I darted up from my seat, peering around, desperate to find Tiernan and Lila. My main goal was to save my family. I’d worry about myself later.
A large figure stepped in front of me, their face veiled by the red smoke. It snatched my hair at the back of my skull in a punishing grip and pushed me chest-down onto the floor.
My pulse roared in my ears, and I immediately tried to thrash and fight. “What the f—”
A designer boot slammed between my shoulder blades, tucking me so I was hidden under the pew safely. I coughed out smoke, fighting for my next breath. All I could see was the wingtip toe of the boots that hid me. They were spattered in fresh blood.
I was about to grab it and break his goddamn ankle when the figure crouched low and Achilles’s face peered down at me through the red fog.
Scarred.
Terrifying.
Achingly beautiful.
Gone was the long-limbed sad boy who had crawled through my bedroom window every night to keep my nightmares at bay. These days, Achilles Ferrante was a warrior forged from violence and mayhem. Every inch of his face was marred with scars and burns, and the rest of him—from the jawline down—was covered in ink.
He gripped my jaw, tilting my face from side to side. “Hurt?”
I shook my head, unable to produce words as panic closed its invisible claws around my neck.
He yanked a second pistol from under his tailored blazer, placing it in my hand and curling my fingers over it. “Wait till I come for you, and don’t do anything stupid.”
I stared at him, furious and scared. I couldn’t believe any of this was happening: that he had murdered a man in a church, that we were under attack, and that there was a huge possibility some of my family members were dead.
“Goddamn it, Tierney. I want your word.”
My eyes darted around frantically. Where was Tiernan? Lila? Little Nero?
“Your word.” Achilles grabbed my jaw, returning my attention back to him.
“I’ll wait for you,” I spat out. “Now get your filthy hands off me.”
He paused for a moment, drinking my face in like it was the last time. The world fell to the periphery of our existence, and we shared a single pulse.
He tucked a stray flyaway behind my ear like he used to do before everything between us went to shit. For a fraction of a second, we were us again.
I opened my mouth to tell him the truth before it was too late. Before one of us died.
I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. And none of it was true.
Nothing came out.
A loud pop pierced the air. The person behind him got shot in the head and fell to the floor beside me. Haunted, lifeless eyes stared back at mine. Achilles stood up and was gone in a flash.
Enzo and my father were nowhere in sight. They’d joined the Camorra’s efforts to push back the assailants. I tilted my head toward the altar, searching for my family again. Through the evaporating red mist, I found them huddled behind the organ, Tiernan protecting Lila and Nero with his body. He had his gun cocked and ready, aimed at the open doors.
He didn’t join the other men.
As far as he was concerned, everyone else could die. His small family was his entire world.
A gunman in a balaclava and full combat uniform stalked inside, pointing his M16 at them. I squeezed one eye shut, aimed at the back of his head, and smoothly pulled the trigger. He dropped like a stone before Tiernan had the time to shoot him.
My brother’s gaze skidded in my direction. He jerked his chin in thanks.
“Run!” My scream was swallowed by the echo of gunshots and weeping. “I’ll cover you.”
Carefully, I rolled my body the other way, peering through the gap under the pew at the entrance.
The men had enveloped the doors, acting as a human shield for the women and children. They’d seemed to manage to kill all the rival clan members who had entered the church and were now waiting for the next wave of attack.
This was a war declaration. By whom, I wasn’t sure, but someone had decided to dethrone the Ferrantes as the leaders of Napoli’s Camorra clans.
Anticipation made the air sizzle. The corpse next to me was still staring, and now that most of the smoke was gone, I could see the face clearly. It was the priest.
There was a bullet hole in his temple. His blood crawled along the floor in my direction, soaking the sleeve of my dress. I pressed my lips closed, swallowing down the bile bubbling up my throat. I flicked my gaze behind my shoulder. Tiernan, Lila, and Nero were gone.
I let out a shaky exhale. Knowing they were safe made it slightly easier to breathe.
I heard a galloping horse in the distance. It whinnied, coming closer, until its hooves touched the church’s steps, click-clacking.
Clank.
Clank.
Clank.
Clank.
Through the curtain of red dusk, a black stallion materialized. It soared into the church like a mythological creature. Gasps and whimpers echoed across the walls.
I craned my neck to get a better look, a fresh wave of fear and nausea slamming into me.
Someone straddled the horse. The body of a man was strapped to it.
The man was headless.
A headless horseman.
Before I had time to digest what I was seeing, the horse advanced straight toward my pew, the corpse bouncing atop it. It was strapped in and erected by ropes.
As it got closer, I realized the body was booby-trapped. The torso of the corpse was naked, sewn across the chest and stomach in black stitches that looked ready to burst.
His gut was full of explosives. And he was headed my way.
I didn’t want to die.
I wanted to live and find my own happiness.
I realized if I wasn’t going to move from under the pew, I probably would die.
Achilles had made me promise I’d stay put and wait for him…
Fuck that asshole.
Rolling to my knees and elbows, I began army crawling to the front pews, away from the horse. I had one mission only—survival.
I didn’t make it more than two feet before a rough hand grabbed the collar of my dress from above. It tossed me forward with force. I sailed from beneath the pew and across the room, my stomach burning with the friction. My shoulder crashed against the wall. Pain exploded everywhere. White dots filled my vision. I choked back a sob.
A body at least twice my size landed on top of me, pinning me to the floor. Achilles’s masculine scent invaded my senses. He covered me from above, his forearms protecting my face, his legs locking mine in place so I was completely shielded.
I wanted to thank him but knew he’d taunt me if I said anything. The few times I’d tried to explain myself to him had been met with ridicule and cruelty.
A few moments passed before I realized the bastard was hard.
His cock pressed against my ass cheeks through our clothes, thick and long, threatening to rip the fabric between us.
I didn’t know if it was the violence or me that brought him to arousal—probably both. I shifted, trying to escape the sensation of him. Not because it was unpleasant but because I couldn’t bear to get turned on by the man who ruined my life on a daily basis.
“Stay fucking put,” he growled.
“Tell your dick to stop harassing me, then,” I bit back.
“Don’t read into it.” Chuckling, he ground against my ass, just to piss me off. “We’re exes.”
“Exes who never had sex.”
“Yet.”
“Never.”
“Soon,” he volleyed back with a lazy drawl.
“Get off me.”
“No. But if you don’t shut up, I’ll get off on you just to teach you a lesson.”
“I’m going to put a bullet in your goddamn head.” He knew I’d do it.
“If I roll off you now, the next explosion is gonna get you. And it’s coming,” he ground out impatiently. “Do you want to die?”
I didn’t. That was the truth of it. I wanted to live, even if I didn’t have much to live for.
“What’s it going to be, then?” he taunted.
“Fine, I guess you can be my human shield,” I huffed. “Better you than me.”
“Piccola Fiamma.” His breath fanned the back of my neck, hot and whiskey laced. His heartbeat against my spine was slow and even. “I promise you, if someone were to take your useless life, it’d be me.”
A powerful explosion erupted. Walls rattled, windows shattered, and sizzling heat engulfed us in a ring of fire.
Everything turned black, but I knew I’d survive.
Everyone had a guardian angel.
Mine just happened to be my stalker.