Page 15 of Depths of Hunger

The list is long, but it has to be someone on the inside—someone with the access necessary to plant evidence. Someone who benefits from me being alive but locked away. If they really wanted me dead, they would’ve tried by now, and they’d have failed. Whoever set me up, I’m going to make them wish they’d killed me because when I get out, they won’t live long enough to regret it.

Mia’s face floats behind my eyelids. I see my wife’s head thrown back, biting her lip, totally wet for me. Despite the fury running wild in me, my cock stiffens. I want my fucking wife under me. If she’s behind this, then I’m going to make her pay, but not before I fuck her every way I can first. The thought makes my blood burn hotter, and I know one thing for certain: Whoever set this in motion has no idea who they’re dealing with. I’m coming for them. And I won’t stop until I’ve torn their world apart.

I sitbeside Federico with my nerves coiled tight as we wait for the judge to enter the courtroom. I haven’t had a chance to ask my lawyer if he found a friendly judge or if this is another dead end. I can’t afford to stay in prison. I need to feed, and smuggling blood inside will be damn near impossible even though we are in the blood trade. Smuggling blood for vampires and other creatures is one thing but getting it into a prison is something else entirely. We might be able to do it once or twice but not long term. Even if we manage that, I won’t age, and it’s only a matter of time before the guards notice a thousand other things that will give me away. Eventually, they’ll figure out I’m a vampire, and then all hell will break loose.

If I end up stuck in here, my only option will be to break out, but then I’d have to disappear and start over from scratch. New name, new identity. I’ve done it before, but never when I’ve been on top. I’veclawed my way up for centuries to get where I am, and I’m not ready to give it all up.

My thoughts drift to Russo, the dead capo at the center of all this. Why frame me for his murder? It doesn’t add up. Who wants me out of the way this badly? I snort softly, my mind ticking through the endless list of enemies I’ve made over the centuries. There are plenty, both human and otherwise, who want me dead. But few have the resources, the cunning, to frame me so perfectly.

The courtroom door opens, and the judge enters. The proceedings start, but my mind keeps wandering back to prison, back to the bleak possibility of starting over. I could go to the New World—my cousins in Nova Scotia would take me in. But it’s one of the first places the Italians would look. No, it has to be somewhere more remote, more obscure. Australia crosses my mind. It’s been a few hundred years since I last set foot there. Back then, it was wild, lawless, perfect for someone like me. I remember the chaos, the freedom. A faint smile tugs at my lips.

“Stop smiling,” Federico hisses, and I quickly school my features back into a neutral mask.

Federico makes his case—newly married, strong ties to the community, willing to surrender my passport…the usual bullshit. I sit as still as I can, my chest tight as I wait for the judge’s response. The seconds stretch like hours. The judge nods at Federico, and my whole body releases the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I’m out on bail. Relief washes over me, almost dizzying in its intensity.

But this is just the first step. Now I have to find out who’s trying to take me down. Whoever they are, they’ve made the biggest mistake of their lives.

Chapter

Seven

Ifalter on the stairs as Renzo storms in, his expression thunderous. Angelo and Federico flank him, their presence like looming shadows reminds me of silent predators waiting for the perfect moment to strike. When Renzo glances up at me, the look he gives me is so dark that my knees nearly buckle. I can’t do anything but stare at him, and tremble in fear. I have to grip the banister to keep from collapsing. He continues down the hallway with the others in tow, and then I hear the slam of his office door. The tension releases, and I collapse onto the steps.

I should have never listened to my mother. If that look was anything to go by, Renzo hates me now. Not that he ever liked me, except maybe as a sexual playmate. But this hate is next-level terrifying. I didn’t want to take over the business, but all he knows is that I moved in right away.

Shit. Shit. Shit.I have no idea how I’m going to fix this mess. Maybe day drinking was the best plan after all. I pull myself to my feet and continue down the stairs, clutching the banister for support. I round the corner and descend the next set of stairs, the stone steps cool beneath my feet. My mother packed my things and sent them overincluding the box of sex toys from Pippa and Luna. Mortifying to say the least, but she forgot most of my shoes so I spend a good deal of my time barefoot. The wine cellar seems like a good place to hide out—it’s quiet, secluded, and stocked with all the wine I could ever need.

The cellar is impressive, a cool, dimly lit room with walls of thick stone, designed to maintain a perfect temperature. A large marble counter dominates the center, surrounded by sleek, high-backed stools, ideal for tastings. Behind the counter, a glass-fronted cabinet houses every type of drinking glass imaginable, along with various tools of the bartending and drinking trade. The walls are lined from floor to ceiling with bottles of wine—deep reds, crisp whites, and delicate rosés. A separate wine fridge hums softly, keeping sparkling wines at just the right chill. In the corner, a weathered wooden case holds what looks like bottles from centuries past.Is that wine even drinkable?

I wander through the room, running my fingers along the cool stone walls until I find a label I recognize. Champagne. Why not? I can celebrate how incredibly short my marriage will be. Or the fact that I was, for a few hours, the head of the mafia families of Northern Italy. Or maybe just the fact that I’m still alive—though there’s no guarantee that will be the case in a few hours when Renzo is done with Angelo and Federico.

The cork releases with a satisfying pop. I pull a flute from the cabinet and fill it almost to the brim. No need to be shy. I set the bottle down, pull out a stool, and take a seat, the smooth marble is icy beneath my palms. I take a big gulp of the champagne, savoring the bubbles as they dance on my tongue. I glance at my watch. Just past six. Look at that… I’m not even technically day drinking. I take another sip, slower this time. Probably should’ve had lunch, but I was too busy talking to my parents about what I should do next. Not that it matters now.

They set up a meeting with the heads of all the northern families for next week. I was supposed to attend to make my case, but now it’s all moot. Renzo is out, and he’s in control. I don’t know if I’m relieved or pissed off. A bit of both, actually. The idea of running the familywas daunting but exciting at the same time. I have an undergrad degree in finance and an MBA from Columbia. I was actually starting to think about how to use what I know to improve the business.

I take another sip of champagne. “Now what?” I murmur aloud. All this has made me realize I am not excited at all about just being a stay-at-home wife. There’s nothing wrong with it, but I need more. If Renzo lets me live, and right now, that is a bigif,will he let me work? Probably not. Australia is becoming a better and better option. I tip my glass and guzzle the rest of the champagne. The bubbles tickle my nose, but I don’t care. I set the glass down and start to refill it.

“I thought I said I don’t want you drinking too much.”

I let out a small squeak and spill a bit of champagne. “Shit.” I put the bottle down with a thud and look around for something to wipe up the spill. Renzo is leaning against the door frame, arms folded across his chest. He’s fresh out of the shower, his black hair damp and falling over his forehead. The crisp white shirt he’s wearing is stretched tight across his muscular chest. He is a sight to behold, and my heart skips a beat.

I could go with guilty, or penitent. Instead, I opt for sassy. “You said I couldn’t get drunk in public. This isn’t public.”

He cocks an eyebrow at me. “So that’s how it is? You’re going to take what I say literally and not apply it across the board? To the letter of the law and not the spirit?”

I finish pouring my glass and then take a sip of my champagne. I set the glass back down, casting around for something to say. I’m nervous. My husband makes me nervous. “I’m glad you’re out on bail,” I blurt out.

“Are you?” His tone is mocking.

“Yes.” It’s true—I am glad he’s out. Prison must be awful. Besides, I want to have sex with my husband. I run my gaze over him. Yes, I want him. Now more than ever. He’s so incredibly sexy. If he’s in jail fucking him is pretty much off the table…

“So, is that why you’re drinking champagne? You’re celebrating my release?”

He moves across the room until he’s standing beside me. I look upat him and lick my lips. His gaze follows the path of my tongue. Heat radiates from his chest, igniting my arm. It warms my core. Just having him next to me is enough to turn me on. He runs his knuckle along my jawline leaving a path of fire across my skin.

“Or are you drowning your sorrows because you no longer have to lead the families?”

I blink. “What? No.” I shake my head. “I stepped up because, as my mother pointed out, it made the most sense.” Having him this close sends my senses into overload and makes it hard to think straight.

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