Page 1 of From Dust To Don

Chapter 1

Giancarlo

She was beautiful in the light of day.

But fuck did the shadows of the night give her a regal glow of darkness.

I caught it from time to time, even as she masked it under a veil of submission and naïveness that didn’t match her persona.

It was made of deception, though. False and tailored to allure the cravings of the mafiosi Dons her father interviewed as potential heirs to the Battaglia throne. Because she was made of much more than the light and purity she allowed them to see.

Much more than the small and controlled smiles. Much more than the silent and complacent lady.

Even though rich and powerful men normally searched for subservience in their wives-to-be, a sparkle of fire was a whole lot more enticing. Like a fight, these men would be attracted to the challenge like a moth to a damn flame. They’d find pleasure in breaking her spirit and bore of the tame wallflower they would force her to become.

Elena Battaglia knew as much and made it so that her flame was invisible to these leeches who came to pluck away the remains of her purity.

Elena was Don Battaglia’s only offspring. And in this world of crime and power, a house without a stallion was a house without a battalion.

There was absolutely no chance that Don Battaglia would allow his legacy to die with him. There was only one way to ensure his bloodline remained in the mafia royalty — to marry her off to the most suitable candidate. The one with the most aptitude to take his place at the head of the Five Boroughs.

For weeks now, he’d been conducting these meetings where mafiosi men from all over the country came to shop for a wife and a damn prime position in the Cosa Nostra.

Don Armando Battaglia made Elena stand there and watch, never offering her a seat, even after her knees trembled from the statue-like pose she was forced to assume throughout the entire day. If not standing like a mannequin in a shop, she was made to cater to the men who talked about trading her for blood diamonds and cocaine as if she were cattle. At least, that was what the word on the street said was the currency.

What Don Battaglia needed more of that for was beyond me. He had plenty of everything to flaunt and throw around.

I had neither. In fact, I had nothing of worth to give. I was a mere soldier to a famiglia who had crashed and burned as hard as it could without extinguishing itself.

There was a long line of candidates, but only one who kept being called back. Don Renato Bartolini.

It seemed as if Don Battaglia had already taken preference to the sleazeball.

“How much longer are you gonna take? We’ve got our intel already. Let’s go.”

I pulled the binoculars from my eyes and turned to regard Toni from head to toe, his rushing making my blood boil.

“Are you in a hurry to die today, Toni? Because if you haste me one more time, I swear to fucking God I’ll put a bullet through your skull.”

“Carlo, come on. Night is already falling, and you’ve been looking at her since lunchtime. What’s the use anyway? It’s fucking freezing out here. You always have tomorrow.”

Toni was right. There was no use, of course. I could never compete with the high-ranking capi her father deemed suitable for his princess.

Not to mention the fact that I was the enemy. A low ranking soldato to the famiglia they hated the most. And that was exactly why I was here, buried in the bushes, spying on their every move.

Don Moretti, the head of our family, wanted to know who was coming to take the place he craved. The five boroughs had been ours, but Don Battaglia had swiped it from our fingers pushing us into a corner of the Bronx, and this was the moment to take it back. Knowledge was power, and more than catching a Battaglia and beating intel from the fucker, we wanted to be sure the information was as fresh and accurate as possible.

So here I was.

The fact that I had volunteered grated on my twin brother’s nerves because he was stuck with me on a mission where he saw no potential for growth.

Toni was always hungry for more. His ambition was as large as a fucking canyon, and this was a lesser job that led to nowhere.

But to me, it led to her. Elena Battaglia.

“I’m leaving,” Toni warned, standing from the thorny bush without caution, brushing off his clothes as if he’d been doing absolutely nothing wrong when, in reality, he’d been lying on enemy turf all afternoon, spying on the mafiosi family we desperately wanted to take out.

“Why don’t you wave a fucking flag with the family crest and get us both killed?” I said before yanking on his coat with enough force to bury him in the bush again.

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