Chapter 1
Eva sat in front of her ornate gold vanity mirror and applied blood-red lipstick to her full lips. Her onyx eyes, lined thickly with black kohl, stared back at her.
Alex came up behind her and met her eyes in the mirror.
“Bella,” he said. He leaned down and lifted her thick black hair off the back of her neck and kissed her shoulders. “You look amazing. You smell wonderful. And you taste delicious.”
Eva leaned back into his embrace, letting her eyes close to half slits.
But she was soaking in his image from the mirror.
From the first second she’d seen him that day in the airport, Eva had been drawn to him. His demeanor was an intriguing mix of both arrogant and nonchalant. His body was extremely fit, and his hair was slicked back and silver-gray. He was nearly twice her age. But he was the best lover she’d ever had. He was into yoga and running and was in great shape. But it was more than that. Lots of men had fit and toned bodies. It was his insistence on her pleasure. He was a selfless lover. His pleasure came from hers.
At first, when he sat beside her on the plane, she had vowed to avoid him at all costs.
After all, everyone she cared about ended up dead.
The man leaned over and reached down beneath the plane seat in front of him. When he sat up, he was holding an insulated bag. Inside he had a wedge of cheese, some olives, and some dates. Then, digging around into a flap on the outside of the bag, he extracted two small Champagne flutes. “I was hoping to find someone with excellent taste whom I could share this with. Would you do me the honor?”
Eva smiled. “I’d love to.”
The cheese melted on her tongue, and the Champagne was possibly the best she’d ever had. He’d rung the flight attendant and a bottle had been brought to him.
“That bottle’s not on the drink menu,” Eva pointed out.
He nodded. “Damn right, it’s not!”
It was delicious, but she only indulged in one glass. She needed her wits about her when they landed. She needed to be sharp and clear-headed. No fog from earlier alcohol use.
By the time the flight tracker map showed they were above American soil, she’d learned many interesting details about the man beside her. She’d let him talk nearly the entire time. Not that he hadn’t tried to draw her into conversation; he had. But every time he’d asked a question, she deflected it back to him or answered vaguely. She’d become a pro at that over the years, giving very few details:
She was on business. She was a business owner. She owned what was essentially a boot camp exclusively for women where they did strength training, martial arts, and fitness. True. But only a small piece of the truth. She left out this part about her empire: that the women also learned expert marksmanship, swordplay, and how to kill silently and quickly in myriad ways.
For a second, after revealing the small tidbit about running a boot camp, she’d worried she’d revealed too much. Because as she spoke, his eyes had flicked to the left as if he were remembering something.
“I love that,” he’d said with enthusiasm. “Having a daughter and six granddaughters, I’m all about empowering women. I’m a feminist.”
But nothing about a wife.
Eva respected that he didn’t say he was a feminist as if he expected praise. It was a given.
Despite herself, or maybe partially because of the Champagne, Eva enjoyed learning more about her seatmate. His name was Alex Miller. He was an entrepreneur. His company, which made fine leather shoes, had developed a way to employ some of the poorest residents of southern Italy.
“We have a program that helps abused women—homeless and former prostitutes—create new lives.”
“Did you hear about the new shelter opening in Balderna?” she asked.
“I did.” His smile made her laugh.
“What? What aren’t you telling me?”
“I don’t want to sound like a douche. I mean, we just met.”
“Just say it.”
He shrugged.
“Is the shelter your idea?” she asked.
He laughed, and the sound of it, hearty and real, made her smile. “Something like that.”
Eva tried to hide how impressed she was. Despite his attempts to seem modest, he was bragging after all, something looked down on by Italians. Even though he was trying to present la bella figura, putting his best foot forward and making a good impression, his braggadocio was threatening to present an ugly face—a brutta figura.
But he was English, so she could forgive that faux pas.
She found out more before the plane landed.
He was divorced. He loved yoga and running. He was close to his son and daughter, both in their thirties. His six granddaughters adored him. He paid for a family trip to Italy every year, and all eleven of them stayed in the same villa. They spent weeks on end eating good food, swimming, sailing, soaking up the sun. It was the highlight of his year. They were all still there, but he’d had to fly to Miami to close a business deal.
“Where’s the villa?” Eva had a hunch. She’d assumed he rented a villa when he first mentioned it, but as soon as he said the name, Villa D Seravezza, it all clicked.
It was just down the beach from her place. She’d heard a very wealthy British man had bought the place, named for the village in Tuscany where the original owners had been from. She knew it well. It was lower on the hill than her villa and had wide stone steps leading to the beach and a sheltered swimming cove.
Sometimes on her walks, she’d hear the delighted screams and laughter of children right across the rocky outcrop that separated her beach from theirs. It had always filled her with both joy and a piercing sadness that struck at her core and made her gasp with pain. Her own children would never laugh again.
“You know it?”
“Oh yes,” she said.
“Do you live close by?”
“Yes.”
There was that look in his eyes again, as if he were remembering or trying to remember something. She’d tried to keep a low profile about what went on in her villa behind the massive stone walls, but there’d always been rumors.
He said something else just as the pilot announced they were making their final descent. When it became quiet again, he said.
“I’ve just spent several hours with you,” he said. “And yet I still know absolutely nothing about you. Except your name—Lucia.”
Which was a fake one—her middle name. It was too bad, too. He was very intelligent and had an ease and confidence about him she found extremely attractive.
Eva gave him a small, sexy smile. “Really?” But inside she was thinking, Mission accomplished.
Despite her attempts to avoid Alex, he had insinuated himself into her life.
And she’d revealed exactly what that life was like—dangerous and uncertain. And he accepted it, embraced it, encouraged it. And told her being with her was worth the risk to his life.
But still, she worried all the time about him and his family, even though they had stopped coming to the villa and met at a neutral location up the coast. Just in case.
Her enemies were numerous and ruthless and had long memories.
As Alex’s mouth traveled around to the front of her, she lifted her arms to embrace him.
They had time.
Dinner could wait.
* * *
An hour later, Eva and Alex walked into the dining room.
Eva paused in the doorway.
Alex stayed back behind her. This was her show.
This was her night. Her victory. Her celebration.
The dozen or so people at the table quieted. Then one of them, Don Sabin, began to clap. He pushed back his chair and stood.
Soon the other men followed suit until everyone was clapping and standing.
Eva gave a slight nod and made her way over to the table.
The men, all esteemed heads of mafia families, settled back into their chairs.
Eva stayed standing.
She reached over and lifted a crystal flute glass and held it high.
“I appreciate your esteem more than I can say, but this celebration is for all of us. This was a joint effort. Without your loyalty and cooperation, we would not be here tonight. Salut!”
She lifted her glass to a chorus of “Salut!”
After Eva took her seat, she took a few seconds to take in every face at the table.
They were all mafia bosses. Their loyalty had been hard won, but was now priceless.
She trusted all of them—to a certain extent—except Don Leon.
As the others had stood, she’d watched him beneath her long eyelashes. He could not contain his anger. It was no matter. He’d be dead before the night was over.
Just before dressing for dinner, Eva’s best soldier, Bibiana, had confirmed what Eva suspected. Don Leon had tried to buy off the chef for this dinner. He thought he had arranged for Eva’s dessert to be poisoned. He had paid a pretty price for it, as well.
Dessert was supposed to be individual espresso panna cottas.
Don Leon was a fool. He had underestimated Eva to a ridiculous degree.
Did he really think she had gotten as far as she had by dumb luck?
Don Leon’s fatal mistake was not realizing that the people loved Eva. Loyalty to Eva and what she did for the people of Sicily and Italy ran deeper than any family obligation or fear that his own rule might instill.
Don Leon had thought her murder would be easy—a sure thing.
When Eva had planned the dinner, he’d said to thank her for the alliance she’d negotiated, he wanted to send his own personal chef and staff to prepare the dinner at her Tropeo Villa.
Eva had graciously accepted. But she knew to be wary.
She hadn’t even had to investigate. The chef had gone to Bibiana on his own.
Even though the chef had been in Don Leon’s employ for more than twenty years, he had run to Eva’s soldiers to alert them of the conspiracy.
The dinner lasted for hours. A feast with many courses.
The men heaped praise on Don Leon and his extremely talented chef.
Eva made a note to offer the man a job at her villa after this night was over. If he preferred to stay in Sicily, Eva would make sure he could carve out the dream chef job for the rest of his life. She rewarded loyalty like that. In spades.
The men laughed and joked and told stories and drank wine and ate seafood and pasta and truffles. Eva kept watch on Don Leon the entire time.
The more he drank, the longer that smug smile appeared. At one point, he even flirted with danger, shooting Eva a look of disdain.
It was met with a stare that most men only saw right before the life left their body.
But then Eva smiled. A small, deadly smile that made Don Leon look quickly away.
And then it was time for dessert.
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