In my awkward years as a preteen, some older fool had thought it would be funny to push me down a flight of stairs at school. That night, Neal and Declan burned his house down, but not before beating him within an inch of his life. When they came back and told father what they had done, he gave them the keys to the Porsche and told me to take notes. And take notes I did, very good notes. It was the reason why I was now my father’s right-hand man instead of Neal, despite the fact that he was older. Neal didn’t mind though—he was the muscle—while our cousin Declan was more behind the scenes. It worked perfectly.

Rule Two: Take no prisoners and have no regrets about it.

Stepping out of my bathroom, there they stood, my father, brother, and cousin, all dressed in the finest suits money could buy.

“Did you read the files I sent to you, or were you too busy with your whore?” my father asked glowering at the files on my desk.

“He probably stopped when he saw no pictures.” Declan grinned from the door as Neal snickered.

“As a matter of fact, I did, but I don’t give a shit where she went to school or what her favorite color is. The one thing I needed to know wasn’t in that file. For all I know, Melody Giovanni could look like an Italian horse.”

Sedric stepped in my path, standing just as tall as I was, preventing me from walking to my closet

“Father—”

“Have you forgotten what is at stake here?”

“How—”

“Do not interrupt me.” He sneered then said, “You seem to forget that the only way you are going to be head of this family is through marriage.”

“There is nothing there about her I care about.”

Grabbing hold of my neck, he glared. “Pick up the damn folder, son.”

Pulling out of his grasp, I saw Declan standing by my desk ready to hand me the folder, while Neal just stood a foot behind, ready to crawl up my fathers ass, if necessary.

“I don’t need the folder. I fucking read it.” “Melody Nicci Giovanni: age twenty-four, born on February 13, in an unknown northern California hospital, only child of Orlando and Aviela Giovanni who both emigrated from Italy as teens. Her mother died when she was young, and since then Orlando has all but locked her away in a tower. She was homeschooled for most of her life, until she went to a small community college in some nowhere prissy town called Cascadia in Oregon. I’m guessing that’s where ice skating and glitter was invented.” I waved Declan off before walking to my closet.

Wrapping the red tie around my neck, both Declan and Neal snorted at my comment while my father stood waiting for more.

“Other than that, she’s a fucking ghost. No photos. No fingerprints. Just fucking breadcrumbs up and down the west coast, while her father killed every rival Italian and Irish family within a hundred-mile ratio, before taking over their streets.” By the time we figured out it was them, the west coast was completely cut off to us. None of our production could get in or out without being busted—the son of a bitch—and now they were working their way south, taking over the Mexican cartels.

Italians always had to spread their shit and put their name on everything.

“The first and last time I met Melody, she was skeet shooting while her father and I discussed the possibility of this contract in his office. Not once did that dark little head of hers miss, and she was nine.” My father said.

“Am I supposed to be impressed? Nervous? Elated? Thank God, she knows how to shoot skeet. She’s still a woman like any other.”

He didn’t speak but walked across the room just as three noisy women began to pound against the door.

“Liam, hurry up. You have to meet Mr. Giovanni in an hour!” my cousin’s wife yelled from the other side of the door.

There had to be a limit to the boundaries an in-law could cross. If Declan didn’t care about her so much and she wasn’t family, I would be tempted to hurt her.

“Handle your woman,” I told him.

Neither of them made any sense to me. Declan was quiet, calm, and paler than snow, while Coraline was loud, outgoing, and well . . . black. My father was pissed she wasn’t Irish for about ten seconds before he realized he had no room to talk, seeing as how my mother was a half caste.

“Liam, stop wanking off,” Olivia, Neal’s ever-so-bold wife said. All three were now infesting my room.

“None of you were invited inside—”

Olivia laughed. “We saw your harlot run out of here like a bat out of hell, so we figured you were getting ready.”

Stepping out, Neal and Declan grinned like mad fools at their wives.

“If you care about their lives, you will get them away from me fast,” I said through my teeth.

“Are you threatening my daughters?” my mother asked.

“Yes, as always,” Coraline said, laughing, before giving her a hug. Of course, my mother returned it, the traitor.

“For the love of God. Get out!” I was going to kill them all.

“Don’t raise your voice at me, young man.” My mother’s green eyes narrowed, causing Neal to laugh outright.

“Tell him, Mom,” he said.

I pleaded with her.

“Those damn eyes of yours,” she mumbled, and I knew I had won.

Thank fucking Jesus.

“I think we have had our fill for now. Let’s let the boy get dressed in peace,” she said, and I would have taken offense to the “boy” comment, but I just needed them to leave without resorting to deadly force.

“Let us know if you need help getting dressed, sweetheart,” she added as they exited.

Where the fuck was I going, prom?

“I am a grown man, Mother.”

Her green eyes narrowed. “Real grown men don’t use hookers.”

At that, everyone laughed before closing the door, but I could still hear them. This was another reason I needed to get married. You weren’t a “real” Irish man until you had wife. Without one, no matter what I did, I would never gain the respect that was owed to me.

I would take this Melody Giovanni and form a woman fit to rule at my side. With her family’s power added to my own, I would own it all before I was thirty. The thought of that, and what else the future held, got my cock up. Only a small part of me cared if she was attractive or not. Her last name and her loyalty would get me off just fine. Thankfully, from what I was told, she already knew what her family did. I didn’t have time to train her on what to expect or why my clothes may be a little bloody sometimes.

I straightened my tie before reaching for my gun and placing my brass knuckles in my pocket. Opening the door, my father stood waiting—correction, hovering. He looked me up and down before nodding in approval.

Rule Three: Just because you sell drugs for a living isn’t an excuse not to dress well.

“Here are the Giovannis’ updated finance and business records,” he said before handing me a thick folder as we walked.

Him and his damn folders.

“How did we get these?” I said without thinking, and then answered knowingly. “Declan is getting better.”

“He broke through the firewall this morning . . . while you were inside Ms. Briar.” He glared at me.

“I ended it,” I said once we reached the awaiting cars.

My mother smiled, kissing us both on the cheek.

“Hopefully, or I will have to get involved.” He kissed my mother back. “Goodbye dear, we will be back in the morning.”

“I know the drill. Let me know when you’ve met her,” she said once Neal and Declan entered their own car. We never used one vehicle. My father and I rode separately while Declan and Neal rode together.

Entering my black Audi, I skimmed through the files, knowing that the moment we started to move he would call. When my phone went off, the driver simply connected it to the car Bluetooth.

“Finished?” my father asked me.

I smirk. “The bastard almost tripled his profits in less than a fucking year.”