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 I’m dirty, twisted, chaos on two legs. But weak? Jokes on them.
No one sees me for what I am.
The most ruthless Beneventi of us all.

 

EXCERPT

This is what dying must feel like.

 

Me, at my lowest. Her, in her flower-printed dress and red heels, forehead pinched and eyes branding me from the inside out. I was her salvation once. Now I’m her goddamn curse.

 

“Fina.”

 

“Renzo,” she grinds out as she steps closer, only to stop short. “Wait, are those my pearls?”

 

I glance down. The necklace I brought with me to Rome lies in the dirt. I don’t know why I hold onto her pearls. Or why I carry it like a good luck charm. I suppose it was a piece of us, a token of what could never be, a reminder of what I gave up.

 

Damn it. I must have put them in my pocket. A fucking miracle they remained there until now. If I’d been in my right mind, I’d have done anything to keep them safe. Deeply disturbed, I clear my throat. “No clue how they got there.”

​

“Just like you’ve got no idea how you got here?”

​

Her hands are on her hips. Jaw tight. Chin tilted. She looks ready to spit nails. God, she’s stunning.

​

Our eyes lock, and something stirs. It always does with her. No one besides her has ever had this effect on me. Never has, never will.

​

“You stole my pearls.”

​

“So what? Or are you going to shoot me again for it?”

​

She glares at me. “It’s crossed my mind once or twice.”

​

“Hand me your gun. I’ll save you the trouble.”

 

I lie back into the hay, suddenly exhausted.

​

“Don’t you pass out on me,” she growls. The hay snaps, and then she’s in the dirt next to me. “We need to talk.”

​

Persistent as ever.

​

I breathe her in. She’s agitated, brushing loose strands of hair away from her face. Her curves are more defined than I remember, her skin warmer, glowing. There’s a calm confidence about her now, like she’s settled into herself.

Italy’s been good to her.

​

I’ve made a lot of shitty decisions in life. Killing *** wasn’t one of them.

​

I guaranteed her a new life. Mafiosi-free. And no one knows I did this, especially not Fina.

​

“Are you listening?” she snaps.

​

I raise my cuffs. “About the kidnapping?”

​

“Would you rather I left you?”

​

The answer’s no. Although the circumstances could be better, I crave her company. Still, I say, “I didn’t ask to be saved.”

 

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t need it.”

​

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I

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