Page 2 of Devil’s Reign

We’ve only been in New York for two years, but in that time we’ve kept our heads down, avoiding cops and gangsters alike. But that doesn’t matter. In Lower Manhattan, everyone knows what a mark like that means.

“Luciano,” I breathe. “Tell me you didn’t.”

He pulls his wrist from my hands and rewraps it himself, his movements rushed and unsteady. Seconds later, he’s on his feet, towering over me—already so much taller despite being two years younger—and his expression has hardened into a look I’ve only ever seen on the men we ran from.

“As the man of this family, I need to protect you and Mamma and do what’s best for us.”

My eyes widen in horror at the words coming out of his mouth, my heart breaking that he thinks he has to do this for us.

“I don’t want you working with the Petrov family.” My voice fractures halfway through. I don’t bother pretending it isn’t a plea. “Please, Luciano… Please, they’re⁠—”

“Powerful,” he interrupts. “They own this city. They can keep us safe, Mel.”

“They’re barbaric, Luci. They carve the family initial into every recruit, marking them like livestock so the whole city knows who owns them!” A P for Petrov is slashed into the skin of every soldier they claim, and here it is on my own little brother's skin.

“Have you forgotten we still have a target on our backs? Just because we’re in New York doesn’t mean the Cosa Nostra won’t find us. But if we join the Bratva, we have a chance.”

“No. No, Luciano. No, no, no, no.” I shake my head over and over, refusing to believe this is my sweet little brother talking.

Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. Our innocence was stolen when we had to flee our country, our home, in the middle of the night like criminals just so we could live. I understand what he’s trying to do. I do. Still, my stomach twists so violently I think I’m going to be sick.

“Well, Melani,” he bites out my full name, “you don’t get to control who I work or don’t work with. I’m an adult, so it’s my decision.”

An adult, that’s a laugh. He’s barely nineteen.

“It’s for your own safety, damn it! Do you even know what happens to low-level soldiers who work with the mafioso?”

He rolls his eyes like I’m being dramatic. “Don’t start⁠—”

“They’re collateral damage!” I exclaim, unable to contain the emotion cracking my voice. “And no one gives a shit what happens to them. Case in point, that damn gash in your wrist.”

“I don’t have time for this,” he mutters and brushes past me, heading for the front door.

“Luciano, wait⁠—”

The door slams behind him before I can finish. I stay where I am, useless and shaking, tears spilling freely as my mind circles every word I should have said and every way I might have stopped him.

I can’t lose him to these monsters. They’ve already taken so much from me. My home. My father. My mamma’s smile. And now they’re taking Luciano?

I won’t let them.

But I did let them.

Because that became our last conversation.

In the days that followed, he avoided me. He would come home late, leave early, he barely looked at me at all, and I let it happen because I was angry and scared and stupid enough to think we’d have time to fix this later.

Except there was no ‘later’.

Exactly two weeks after that argument, he went missing, he simply vanished into thin air.

I had told him no one gives a shit what happens to mafia soldiers, but I give a shit about what happens to him. I love my little brother with everything in me, and I will tear this city apart to find out what happened to him and bring whoever’s responsible to justice.

Even if it means I end up being collateral damage.

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MELANI