Page 1 of Wanton

Prologue

Callandria

Itossmyphoneon my bed, cinching my robe tightly around my waist. It's after three in the morning, but sleep alludes me like usual. This house is too much like a prison. I may be free to come and go as I please, but I'm in shackles, nonetheless. They locked into place around my ankles before I was even born.

It comes with the territory when you're a Genovese. My grandfather, Tommaso, is one of the most infamous mobsters in Chicago. My father is in just as deep as he is. So is my older brother. The fact that I'm female didn't spare me. If anything, it bound me even tighter. I may not have taken the vow ofOmertàlike they did, but I'm no freer than my brother, Marcello. I'm aprincipessa. Every moment of my life has been carefully mapped out and planned.

I've known since I was a little girl that a career of my own was out of the question. I found out when I was thirteen that love and college weren't in the cards for me, either. It was a bitter pill to swallow. It's been eight years, and I'm still choking on the aftertaste.

No, I'm not free. I'm chattel, sold for my grandfather's ambitions the moment he found out my parents were having a girl. My father signed off on the deal as soon as he heard how much the Maceo family was worth. That's what matters to him. His own greed. Certainly not his daughter.

I huff at the reminder, casting a longing glance toward the window. How many times have I wished to climb out of it and disappear into the night? Too many to count.

Unfortunately for me, there is no disappearing when you're a Genovese. Not if you want to survive, anyway. Not in this city, and not right now.

Tommaso Genovese dreams of beingCapo dei capi, of seeing the Genovese family lead the Chicago outfit instead of the Valentinos, and he's dragged the family to the brink of war to make it happen.

He's using Rafael Valentino's own people against him, and Rafael doesn't have a clue. His lawyer, Diego Butera, is working for my grandfather. So is Diego's sister and one of Rafael's enforcers, Carmine. If my grandfather succeeds, he'll topple Rafael from his throne. If he fails, the Valentino brothers will declare war.

Is it any wonder I can't sleep? If Rafael Valentino falls, my life of servitude begins. And if he doesn't…well, God only knows what hell awaits my family then.

No matter the outcome, I lose.

I'm trapped like a rat in a cage, and the walls are closing in on me.

Welcome to your future, principessa. Now, smile and pretend you're having the time of your life.

"Dio," I mutter, my stomach churning. My skin grows hot as my throat threatens to close on me. I tug at the neck of my chemise and robe, but it doesn't help. I can't breathe.

I quickly shove my feet into a pair of slippers and throw open the door to my room. The nightlight in the hallway illuminates my path as I race down the hall, tripping over my own feet in my haste to get outside where I can breathe.

The city is every bit as much a prison as this mansion, but at least out there, I can look up at the sky and dream. I still have those, even though everyone says they're impossible. To hell with everyone. They can have my dreams when they pry them out of my cold, dead fingers.

I fly down the stairs, my hand barely touching the banister railing the whole way down. The house is eerily quiet. Either my grandfather has Battista and his goons out scaring the neighborhood children, or they're too busy playing poker in the back to realize that I'm on the move.

Either way, I'm able to slip outside without an escort. I close the door behind me, dragging in a deep lungful of air. The familiar scent of chocolate from the Blommer Chocolate Factory mingles with the earthy notes of the river. Another scent overrides the others. Cologne.

Marcello.

My mood instantly lifts.

I push away from the door, slipping down the path leading around the side of the house toward the garage.

"I thought you were in New York until next week," I say, wrapping my arms around myself as I step through the gates, smiling.

"Merda."

My smile slides from my face as two men I've seen only from a distance turn in my direction, grim-faced and steely-eyed. Domani Brambilla and Coda Passero. Rafael Valentino's men. One of my grandfather's goons hangs between them, his body limp and lifeless.

He isn't the only one. A heap of bodies is already piled in front of the garage doors. Even in the dim light, the blood soaking through their clothing and drying on their faces presents a macabre picture. They're all dead. Every last one of them, Battista amongst them.

And if he's here…then my grandfather is dead too. He never goes anywhere without Battista.

Tommaso Genovese gambled, and he lost.

He lost everything.

The realization comes slowly to a mind numb with shock.

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