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  “No, you won’t.”

  He smiled. “No. I won’t.”

  “Two weeks,” I repeated.

  “Two weeks.”

  “And we won’t… we—“

  “Joyce, I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.”

  “And if I ask you to?”

  “Then pray I have the same self-control I swore to my brother I’d have.”

  “This is unwise.”

  “Much of life’s choices are unwise,” Luca agreed, “but just how happy have you been, Joyce? Living within the good choices? The right ones?”

  He had a point.

  And I had my answer.

  As the plane rose to its cruising altitude, I knew.

  I would fail my husband.

  I didn’t want to, but it was as sure as the sunrise, the sunset, because he’d coerced me into marriage when I’d had no other choice.

  He’d saved my life yet offered me death as an alternative.

  And then, he’d gone and done the most romantic thing possible, and given me one last moment with the man he should have hated.

  The man he knew I dreamed of every time he touched me.

  His brother.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Nixon

  “SO CLEARLY LUCA’S PROMISE DIDN’T MEAN shit since they popped out twins eight months later.”

  “Your commentary…” I glared at Chase. “… is as always so helpful.”

  Chase rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking.”

  Concerned, I waited for Trace to start crying again, or at least curl into herself the way she typically did whenever conversation centered around her grandmother. She’d been gone for a little over two years, but their relationship had been special. Whenever we’d talked about it, Trace had clammed up or just cried and said she was the sweetest and strongest woman she’d ever known.

  So Trace took after her.

  Because I saw so much of her grandmother in Trace — the same determination, strength, the same fear lingering in the depths of her brown eyes. The fear that Joyce often wrote about — sometimes I could almost see it swirl around Trace as she pulled the choking blanket of darkness around her.

  Giving into that fear was never wise.

  Joyce had.

  I swore the day I pledged my life to Trace, she never would.

  Tex motioned for Trace to hand over the next page. He cleared his throat as if he was going to read and then lifted his gaze to mine in question. “If things get X-rated, can I vote you read?”

  “Not a chance in hell,” I fired back. “I’m the one who voted against story time, if you remember.”

  Tex frowned down at the page. His eyebrows shot up as he passed it to Mo. “Yeah, this has you written all over it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She jerked the page free.

  I hissed out, “Careful,” afraid it was going to rip. That was the last thing I needed, for Trace to cry over the ripped pages of her dead grandmother’s diary.

  “It means…” Tex pointed down at the page. “… that as much as I joked about reading those novels…” He whispered novels then scratched the back of his neck like it made him nervous, which was hilarious as hell, considering it was Tex. Nothing made him nervous. “… there’s kissing. You know I only skip to the good stuff.”

  Mo rolled her eyes. “Right, you skip because?”

  “I know how to kiss.”

  “So you don’t know how to have sex?” Chase piped up.

  “Ask Mo.” Tex grinned while Mo smacked him in the shoulder.

  “Don’t make Nixon shoot you again.” Phoenix grumbled. “Can we just get on with it?”

  “There’s something wrong about being solidly on Phoenix’s side for more than an hour,” I admitted.

  His gaze darkened, and then he wrapped an arm around Bee and ignored me while I twisted the family-crest ring around my finger.

  “He reads sex because he wants to make sure he’s better,” Mo finally said, breaking the tense silence. “And I’ll read. I have a louder voice anyway.”

  “That’s just what we need,” I groaned. “Someone to read the juicy parts as loud as humanly possible.”

  Mo flipped me off then held the page up and started to read.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A warning, before you continue reading. There are some things you may find… horrible. I must admit, a part of me never wanted you to know the ugly. Yet, I imagine, if you are like me, you will somehow be pulled into the grasp of ugliness without even realizing it. The mafia is in your blood, my dear girl. Regardless of how much your grandfather tried or tries to do right by you, I will one day return you to where you belong. I imagine he would have stayed in Wyoming forever. That was not your destiny. I hope that you learn through my mistakes. I pray that when you read the darkness, when you read what I did, you’ll understand. I don’t deserve forgiveness, but I do believe I at least deserve understanding. There is always a reason, not that it justifies any sort of action. —Grandma Alfero

  Casper, Wyoming

  July 20, 1997

  Joyce

  I’D FOCUSED SO LONG ON THE pain, the dark hole of desperation I felt as I went through the motions of living, breathing, smiling when it was asked of me. I had it all, and yet, felt like I was homeless.

  Because your home was always where your heart was.

  And mine? Had been missing for quite some time.

  The minute we stepped out of the limo and onto the ranch property, I took a deep breath, my thoughts broken and scattered as I took in the acreage around me.

  I’d always been a city girl.

  Until Luca grabbed my hand, and, with pride etched across every handsome plane of his face, asked, “What do you think, Joyce?”

  A ball of emotion clogged my throat. I placed my hand against my chest, hoping that it would help steady my breathing. “It’s… home.”

  “It has a porch.” He pointed toward the front of the three-story homestead overlooking a vast expanse of land. Beef cattle wandered around the ground.

  The porch had two seats.

  I knew which one was mine.

  Because it was painted pink.

  His was black. Typical.

  I laughed through my tears as I clenched his hand as tight as possible.

  “Would you like to see the rest of the house, Joyce?”

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?” He frowned.

  “Say my name every time you address me.”

  Luca quickly averted his eyes, something I’d seen him do possibly once in all our time we’d known each other — right before he’d invited me up to his apartment and made love to me for the first time. He was nervous.

  “Luca?” I prompted.

  “Because…” His voice was gruff. “… I don’t get to say it often enough — your name.” He licked his lips, his eyes still staring hard at the dirt clinging to his polished black Prada shoes. “If I said your name every second of every day for the rest of my life, it still wouldn’t be enough. Saying your name is like saying a prayer. Sometimes, I think it’s the only prayer God hears these days. Your name is a promise, a vow. It’s also a reminder that no matter what hell I’ve gone through, heaven still exists.”

  My breathing stilled until I wasn’t even sure I was breathing at all anymore. Luca looked up; the sun was just beginning to set behind him in a swirl of pinks and oranges.

  There was a lifetime of secrets in those sea-blue eyes. There was also love. So much love that it hurt to look at him.

  Luca pressed his full lips together, his supple body tensing as if waiting for my rejection. The gel was long gone from his midnight-black hair, causing it to wave in the wind. The man was beautiful, and, with age, became more and more irresistible. With a lithe body, built for strength and seduction, he would be impossible for any woman to resist.

  But for me?

  Someone who already loved him?

  It was more than
impossible.

  “Luca,” I breathed and then, without any more hesitation, I launched myself into his arms and met his mouth in a heated kiss.

  He tugged me against him, his hands roaming, clinging to me, refusing to let go as he dug his fingers into my skin and lifted me into the air.

  Luca’s kiss had always been hot and possessive, but this kiss was more. It bordered on desperate with an aggressiveness that had never before been present. I locked down any sort of negative thoughts towards the women who had most likely shared his bed and was shocked when he pulled back and whispered in my ear, “You. It has always, ever, been you.”

  Disgusted with myself, I pulled away and covered my mouth with my hands. Unable to stand any longer, I fell to my knees and sobbed. “How could you kiss me? How could you possibly love me?”

  He didn’t respond.

  As boss to one of the wealthiest families in the world, he could have had any woman he desired by a simple crook of his finger.

  And there I was, sitting in the dirt in front of cows.

  “Joyce...” There it was again, the reverence as he spoke my name. “… I love you. What happened… wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t mine. And as much as I’d love to blame Frank, he did what he thought was best for everyone at the time.”

  “He destroyed us!” I yelled.

  “Perhaps,” Luca agreed, holding out his hand to me. “But he’s given us a gift, don’t you see?”

  “Two weeks,” I said through sobs. “You can’t tell me he was excited about leaving me with you for two weeks.”

  Luca smirked. “Several words were exchanged, none of them pleasant, but, Joyce, he loves you in the only way he knows how.”

  “With his gun,” I whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “And how do you love me, Luca?” The indifferent mask he was so good at keeping in place slipped and revealed a man so broken, I nearly wept all over again.

  “Oh, Joyce. You already know. I don’t just love you with my heart… I love you with my entire being.”

  I wiped my tears and took his hand, then clung to him as if my life depended on it as we walked slowly toward the house.

  Silence blanketed around us, but for once, it wasn’t filled with tension or things left unsaid.

  It was filled with peace.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Trace

  NIXON WAS STARING AT ME AS if I was about ready to fly off the handle. It wasn’t that I had hope the story would end happy or even different. I just wanted to understand her, understand the driving force behind why my grandma of all people would cheat on my grandpa.

  I adored him.

  He was… everything.

  And Luca? Well, I’d always loved him as much as I was able, but Luca wasn’t the man who’d picked me up when I scraped my knee. He was not the man who had read me bedtime stories. He hadn’t taught me how to ride a horse or told me it was completely normal to cry when my grandma butchered a chicken for Sunday dinner.

  He wasn’t present for any of those moments.

  Grandpa was.

  So, I was torn. Part of me felt sorry for my grandpa, even though he’d had such a hand in Grandma and Luca’s unhappiness.

  But what about him? What about Grandpa?

  He’d sobbed at her funeral.

  His body had shaken as he’d kissed her head one last time.

  And, in that moment, as I thought back on the memory, I wondered. Had he cried because he loved her… or because she’d always loved someone else and he’d taken her from him?

  My chest felt tight.

  And the ever-present nausea was starting to make a comeback. I quickly snatched the chips from Bee and started chomping down as if my life depended on it.

  “Are you okay?” Nixon asked, his voice causing everyone else to fall silent and stare at me with concern. Even Tex looked uneasy, as if he wasn’t confident that reading more of the missing pages was a good idea.

  “I’m fine.” I nodded. “I just think—” I swallowed more tortilla chips and focused on Nixon’s eyes. “—I think it’s best we get it over with, like a Band-Aid. Let’s just read straight through. Is that okay with everyone? No interruptions. Go big or go home.”

  Nixon wrapped an arm around me and tugged me close to his body. Heat pooled in my belly at his proximity. I could feel his heart beat, and that alone made me feel better.

  The father of my child was the boss of the Abandonato family, and I was the granddaughter of who used to be their sworn enemy.

  If we could make it…

  If I could survive Nixon faking his own death…

  Then I could survive this… learning that my grandfather, a man who used to be my hero, may actually be more villain than I’d originally thought.

  “Trace…” Nixon’s lips brushed my ear. “… I want you to know something.”

  I turned toward him while the rest of the crew passed around snacks and wine, like we were getting ready to pull an all-nighter.

  “What?”

  His mouth met my neck in a lingering kiss as he spoke. His lips tickled my ear. “Everyone has the capacity to make a bad choice. It’s what you do after that bad choice is made that makes the man.”

  “I don’t want to think of Grandpa as bad,” I admitted. “He’s so…”

  “Trace…” Nixon pulled back and stared at me. “… he’s never been good, you know that, right?”

  “Wait, what?” I frowned.

  Chase, clearly overhearing our conversation, piped up, “Ha, what? Like you didn’t know that Frank basically held Nixon at gunpoint a few times before you guys got married?”

  I felt myself pale. “But he wouldn’t have…” I shook my head. “… shot him.”

  Chase snorted while Tex’s eyebrows rose. “If it helps you sleep at night.”

  “Phoenix?” Ever since our combat training, I’d known I could count on Phoenix to be honest with me, no candy-coating.

  His eyes met mine, and then he admitted in a quiet voice, “Trace, the only reason Nixon’s still breathing and the families aren’t at war is because your grandfather refused to let history repeat itself. His son loved an Abandonato, and it seemed his granddaughter followed suit. I think Frank was tired of splitting up true love. I guess, in a way, you should be thankful for your grandmother’s love for Luca. It probably saved Nixon’s life.”

  Stunned, my mouth dropped open.

  “Don’t worry though,” Chase said, mouth full of chips. “Nixon would have probably fought back even with a bullet hole. He’s bad ass like that.”

  “Thanks, Chase,” Nixon said quickly. His voice held an edge of irritation.

  “I like to be helpful.” Chase winked.

  “Are we doing this or not?” Mil asked loudly. “I need to get this one to bed before Nixon decides he’s tired of his commentary and just shoots him.”

  “I say we stall a little bit longer and see what happens.” Mo smirked.

  “Thanks, Mo.” Chase nodded. “Really solidifying our friendship right now.”

  “Trace?” Nixon asked me. “What do you say?”

  “Marathon reading.” I nodded. “And since Chase is so enthusiastic…” I slid the last few pages toward him. “Besides, then when we read the original parts of the diary, it was you who did it, something about a sexy voice?”

  “True.” Chase chuckled darkly. “And anything for you, Trace. After all, I am going to be your child’s godfather so…”

  Nixon let out a low possessive growl.

  “Alright.” Chase cleared his throat. “Get comfortable, everyone. Because I’m not stopping, and if the sex gets a bit too much, you know where the door is. You also know that if anyone walks through it, I’ll publicly shame them for eternity. Here we go…”

  CHAPTER SIX

  I’ll understand if you stop, Trace. If you don’t want to read any further, but I encourage you to read until you hit the end. I’m in bed right now, trying not to cry as I relive some of my youth. Trying not to shed
tears over the fact that I won’t see you live the rest of yours. It’s hopeless to wish for happily-ever-afters, when I was able to experience part of mine early. I would do anything — anything — to be able to sit with you as you read this, hold your hand, kiss your tears, and tell you how everything will always be okay, but I imagine you have a handsome young man doing that for you right now. Keep reading. Until the end, my granddaughter. —Grandma Alfero

  Casper, Wyoming

  July 20, 1997

  LUCA HAD PUT ME IN A room directly across from the master suite, where he was staying. Everything about the house was idyllic. As if he had taken a picture of a cabin from a magazine, ordered someone to build it, and then had had it furnished.

  A roaring fireplace was located on the end opposite the large king-size bed. Large wood logs had been placed in succession on top of one another to make the walls and part of the roof, just adding to the appeal of the cabin.

  A suitcase — my suitcase — was lying on the bed.

  But I hadn’t packed.

  Because I hadn’t known I would be anywhere but my home.

  Hands shaking, I reached for the zipper and slowly ran it along the edge of the suitcase then opened the top, afraid of what I’d find.

  I let out a gasp.

  Clothes.

  All of my clothes from my house, including hiking boots, jackets, a few sweaters…

  And a note.

  On the very top of the pile of clothes.

  It was addressed to me. When I flipped it over, I saw a wax seal covered the opening. It was the Alfero crest. A blue owl framed by knives stared right back at me.

  I ran my finger over the bumpy wax and then undid the seal.

  The letter had been handwritten.

  Joyce,

  I’m sorry for the secrets, hell, I’m sorry for a lot of things, but that’s not what this is, a confession. I imagine I’ll have a lot of confessing to do when I’m in front of God. The last thing I need to do is repeat my sins twice.