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“I would rather die than be sold to a man,” Keira hisses before she storms out of the room.
Ava follows behind her and sneers at me. “You’ve gone too far this time.”
I take their animosity and their rage and I package it up with all the other shit I’ve fucked up since my wife left us. I can’t change hundreds of years of tradition because fate gave me girls instead of boys. A woman has never led the syndicate, and she never will. No one would accept it.
Fiona and Roisin send me scathing glances as they quietly leave the kitchen.
I glance at my oldest child, the one most like me, scanning her face for any sort of understanding. Instead, I find quiet determination. “Mark my words, Da, I’ll not be shuffled off like cattle.”
She leaves the kitchen through the sliding glass door, slipping into the dark night like she belongs in the shadows.
I rake my hands through my hair and expel a breath. One day they’ll see that I had no choice. I’m trying to protect my children, and this is the only way I know how.
BONUS EPILOGUE
SIXTEEN YEARS LATER
MATTEO
“Should we take him out, Dad?”
I pause with my glass halfway to my mouth and raise a brow at my son. “Excuse me?”
Ronan huffs. “C’mon, Dad. Those guys are pawing all over Chloe like it’s a frat house and not a family-friendly sweet sixteen.”
“Like she’s not the daughter of a mafia kingpin,” Luca, my other son, says, his arms folded across his chest.
They’re two sides of the same coin. Technically fraternal twins, but my boys could be mistaken for identical. Brown hair perpetually streaked with blond like they spend their days on the beach instead of inside the expensive private school that costs us a fortune each year. They have the same icy blue eyes—just like their mother.
My boys are fiercely protective of their sisters. Just how we taught them. Leo catches my eye over their heads and smothers a smirk behind his glass before he takes a drink.
We decided a long time ago to never lie to our children if we can help it. They’re Rossis, and in many parts of the world, that name is synonymous with the five families. And while we hadn’t planned on divulging any of the mafia-related aspects of our lives, that decision was taken from us when someone attempted to kidnap Frankie five years ago.
My baby girl was snatched right out of Cherry’s hands when she was picking her up from kindergarten. Anna was two and in the middle of a separation anxiety spell, so she was glued to Cherry’s hip for months. Some motherfucker climbing the ranks thought it would be good to snatch the boss’s little girl and ransom her for fuck knows what. We weren’t in the middle of war anymore—thank god—but that doesn’t mean shit. There will always be worms masquerading as men, lowlife assholes who think to make a name for themselves by attempting to go toe to toe with us.
They never win.
The way Cherry tells it, as soon as that motherfucker ripped Frankie from her hands, she shifted Anna and started running after them. The guy made it around the block and dragged Frankie literally kicking and screaming into an alleyway. Cherry recalls it as an out-of-body experience, said she saw red and something inside switched off. She pulled out her favorite gun Rafe gave her from her crossbody purse, set Anna down between her legs, and yelled for Frankie to duck before she fired a shot. She nailed that asshole in the chest, and he fell to his knees.
The average motherfuckers think I’m the one they should fear in the five families, but the smart ones, the people who’ve been paying attention know that Cherry’s the real one to fear. She’s like a sponge, soaking up bits and pieces from all of her husbands over the years. She turns into a beast when her loved ones are threatened, quietly feral and deadlier than you would imagine.
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Second only to the way she looks when she comes on my cock.
From that day on, we explained how our family needs extra protection.
I tilt my head to the side. “Mafia kingpin, son?”
Luca lifts a shoulder. “That’s what Mason called it.”
I shift my gaze to the dark-haired boy standing between my sons. Mason Fitzgerald is Lainey’s oldest boy, and Luca and Ronan’s best friend. He reminds me of his dads, the way he holds my stare without flinching, his brown eyes guarded in the same way any fourteen-year-old boy’s eyes are.
Mason nods. “Yep. I heard my ma yell at my da that she doesn’t care if he’s an Irish kingpin, in our house, she makes the rules. But then he threw her over his shoulder and stormed outside and tossed her in the pool. Then she got out and pushed him in, and by then, me and my other dads and my brother and sister came outside. It was an all-out pool war then.”
I blink when Wolf and Rush Fitzgerald lean against the island, drinks in their hands.
“You tellin’ family secrets, son?” Wolf asks.
Mason lifts a shoulder. “Nah, just telling Uncle Matteo and Uncle Leo about the water wars we have in the pool.”
