Page 1 of Moonlit Hideaway
Chapter One
Rain slashed across the windshield, and thunder growled in the distance, echoing the panic in Sierra Rayne’s chest as she navigated her Prius through this lonely stretch of highway deep in the hills of West Virginia. She kept one eye in the rearview mirror, praying and hoping that the lone headlights stuck to her taillights for miles belonged to a local farmer. She’d executed random turns, trusting her GPS to get her to her destination—Las Vegas, where she had friends—but there they were, glued three car lengths behind her.
Sierra was a nightclub singer and a rising pop star. She’d recently headlined her first major show on the Strip, and her electro-pop single “Neon Heartbeat” became an overnight sensation, fueled by a dance challenge that went viral on TikTok.
She was due to top the bill at a sold-out show at one of the most coveted venues in the city, the Crystal Coliseum, an accomplishment she’d been vying for her entire twenty-four years.
Her world was upended when her father died. She slipped away from the wake unnoticed, grabbed her go-bags and guitar, and fled into the night in her neon-pink Prius with the personalized license plates. She’d need to ditch this pink puffcar; it didn’t have the muscle to outrun any pursuers. How had her life taken such a drastic turn?
Her phone rang with its tinkling ringtone. It was her mother. She’d have to answer it, but she couldn’t release the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel as she battled the slick roads and her rising dread.
Her father, a man whose love was as conditional as the power he’d wielded, had left her an inheritance she never wanted—his enemies.
The wake had given her the perfect opportunity to vanish. The tears shed at her father’s funeral were as fake as the assurances that she’d be safe now that the capo was dead, but Sierra’s tears were real.
Despite her father, Vinnie Romanski, being a big-time mob boss, he had his gruff fatherly moments, enthusiastic in his rare visits to his “little star” and ignoring her otherwise.
A brilliant flash of lightning showed a sign, “Welcome to Little Creek.”
Slowing down, she pulled over to a small country lane, relieved when the car following her kept going. The phone’s insistent trill sliced through the silence again. She couldn’t put off her mother, or she’d raise an alarm.
“Mom, I can’t talk—I…”
“What’s the big idea leaving your father’s wake?”
“We’re not official family members, and I didn’t think I needed to stay.” She didn’t want to mention the glare her father’s wife had skewered her and her mother with as they were relegated to the back of the funeral procession.
She was a love child, and her mother was a mistress who didn’t know her place.
“Your father left you significant business assets; you need to take control of them.”
“Apparently, that comes with a chosen husband—one I don’t want.” Sierra recalled the leering way Marco Garrison had eyed her while smashing a spider underneath his bent thumb. She got the message. To the man vying for the capo position, she was as disposable as a trapped spider.
“Your singing days are over,” Mom informed her. “Marco will not want his wife parading around in skimpy outfits and drawing unwanted attention to the family.”
“I have a show to headline. I can’t just walk away. There are contracts, obligations?—”
“Contracts?” her mother scoffed. “Your father dealt with people who broke contracts for breakfast. You think a piece of paper will protect you from what’s coming? Marco will have you dancing to his tune and not the kind you’re used to on the stage.”
An icy shiver ran down Sierra’s spine as the realization sank in. Marco would send his henchmen to the Crystal Coliseum. The question was whether she vanished before or after her performance.
“Listen to me, Sierra,” her mother’s voice softened. “Marco can provide you with a good life. You’ll be the actual wife of the capo.”
“If he kills Dana’s and Gloria’s husbands first.” Sierra reminded her mother of her half-sisters, mafia princesses, who’d dutifully married her father’s buddies—an advisor and an enforcer that every mafia capo needed.
“Stop being so dramatic. Your father knew what he was doing. You’re the prettiest daughter, and that’s why he reserved you for Marco.”
“Except he never asked me. To have his attorney spring it on me at the reading of the will was?—”
“Brilliant. Otherwise, the secret would have been out, and your sisters’ husbands would have had time to plot and scheme.”
“Mom, I have to get gas.” Sierra realized this might be the last time she spoke to her in a long time.
Vegas was a no-go, and she’d have to think fast—ditch the pink car, phone, and her identity.
“The weather report is horrible, and you shouldn’t be out in the rain.” Mom continued with her worried rant. “It’ll be okay. You’ll see. Marco will bring peace to the organization. He’s a leader—Harvard grad. Give him a chance.”
The revulsion she felt whenever Marco hovered near gave her no choice. He was a cruel animal in a three-piece suit.
