“Do you mind?” I yank my arm away from Vinny’s squeezing, sausage-like fingers.
Vinny grunts, but releases me.
I take the offered cigarette and put it between my lips, fighting off a few strands of hair the light wind is tossing in my face. More of the unmistakable sea air invades my nostrils as I slowly move my hands to the waistband of my jeans. Hank flicks his Zippo again and extends it toward me.
My lips widen in a sugary grin. “Thank you.”
I lean back and lift the deodorant can in front of me, pressing the nozzle. For a speck of a second, a crisp manly scent wraps around me, but the next instant, the spray reaches the flame and the delicious male fragrance transforms into the stench of burning fabric and charred skin when my makeshift flamethrower hits its target.
Hank roars and stumbles backward, away from the fiery flow. I never expected to have an opportunity to try out this specific trick Uncle Sergei showed me, but life is full of surprises.
Triumph doesn’t last long, however. Pain shoots across the top of my head when Vinny grabs a fistful of my hair. I scream. Tears well in my eyes, and, for the briefest moment, the urge to simply surrender overwhelms me. No. Not happening. I slide the toothbrush from my sleeve into my palm. Gripping the bristled end with my handcuffed hands, I swing, aiming at the motherfucker’s left eye.
The goon is so massive that my blow merely skims his eyelid, leaving a scrape along his cheekbone. Still, Vinny cries out, and his hold on me slips. The moment I’m free, I turn and flee down the runway toward the dirt road. It’s a narrow trail rather than a regular vehicle path, lined with olive trees on either side. Still groggy from whatever shit they spiked me with, and with wobbly legs from being bound for a long-ass time, running is a challenge. I stumble, twice, but the adrenaline surging through my bloodstream keeps me going. This is likely the only chance I’ll have to make my escape.
I’m halfway to the dirt track when the deep rumble of an engine echoes off the surrounding hills. A cloud of dust rises among the trees, and a car emerges around the curve. The sleek white sports vehicle, looking completely out of place in these rural surroundings, draws near. For a split second, I hesitate, not knowing if the person in the car is a friend or foe, but I have no other options. I keep running toward it.
I only make it a few steps before all air leaves my lungs as two hands grab me from behind and lift me off my feet.
“You bitch!” Vinny snarls next to my ear.
“Help!” I yell as I kick my legs.
“Fucking stop!”
“Never!” I wriggle left and right, trying to free myself, but his hold doesn’t waver.
The white car stops a few feet from us. The driver’s door opens, and a blond man in his late twenties steps outside. He’s wearing faded blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt.
“Please, help me,” I choke out, staring at the newcomer.
He spares me a quick glance, then looks at Vinny. “What is this?”
His voice is raspy and carries a slight accent, indicative of a non-native English speaker.
“The hacker.” The growled response comes from just behind me.
What the hell? I was sure I’d been kidnapped because of who my father is, and not because of my little hobby. Maybe these guys don’t even know who I am.
Jean guy’s eyebrows hit his hairline. His green eyes shift to me, scanning from head to toe, then back up again to stop on my tangled hair.
“Such an interesting turn of events.” He meets my stare. “Welcome to Sicily, miss.”
Chapter 2
Two weeks earlier
De Santi Estate, near Taormina, Sicily
“I’m so sorry for calling this early, boss,” my IT specialist says on the other end of the line. “But, it happened again.”
I rear back, my cock slipping out of my latest hookup. She’s sprawled in front of me on the desk, her red hair spilling over the edge. I squeeze the phone at my ear. “What?”
“I don’t understand how,” Mitch continues in a slightly hysterical tone. “We reinstalled all the firewalls, and I had four guys spend the entire night trying to breach them. Everything seemed solid.”
“It wasn’t fucking solid if someone got into our system again,” I snarl.
“Rafael? What’s going on, love?” Constanza pants, looking at me from between her widened legs. Her lips are parted in a flirtatious smile. However, instead of my face, her eyes are fixed on the spot just above my collarbone.
“Get dressed.” I turn around and walk across my office to the open balcony doors. “What did they do this time, Mitch?”
“Created a payment order that initiated a wire transfer from our marketing account to a children’s church choir in Seattle. But it was only twenty dollars, hardly an inconvenience, yes?”
My hand tightens on the balcony doorframe. “We’re the largest personal security company in this part of the world, and someone has been hacking into our systems for months, making us look like morons. You consider that a minor inconvenience?”
“Yes . . . I mean, no. Of course not.”
My gaze passes over the treetops and the lush greenery of the garden below, all the way to the horizon where the early morning sunlight reflects off the endless expanse of the sea. Further down the coast, my two yachts are anchored in a small marina, swaying on the gentle waves.
When Guido and I fled Sicily twenty five years ago, we had no paperwork to be in the US, so there was no means for me to get a legal job, especially as a minor. Pickpocketing on the streets, I’d barely been able to feed my brother. My only choice was to reach out to the local Albanian clan. They agreed to take me and my brother in. But, they set very clear terms. They’d provide the necessary IDs, a roof over our heads, and food so we wouldn’t have to scrounge for scraps, and, in return, I’d have to do their bidding for the next five years, no questions asked. By the time I accepted Dushku’s offer, I hadn’t eaten in nearly two days. Everything I “earned” went toward rent for the room in the rickety garage that served as our home. Faced with either starvation or accepting a deal from the devil, I picked the latter.
At first, I was given errand jobs—running messages too important to risk sending electronically, dealing coke, or making dead bodies disappear. Then, I got assigned to Jemin, to be his backup. As one of Dushku’s enforcers, Jemin was more than happy to take a back seat and have me do all the dirty work for him. Beatings. Torture. And of course, eliminating whoever Dushku deemed expendable, whether they were inside his own organization or someone on the outside who simply stood in his way. I bartered five years of my life and a large part of my soul, to make sure Guido never again went to bed hungry. And then, I spent the next fifteen years building my empire.
It took me two decades to get where I am now. From pitiful scum living on the streets, surviving on crumbs and whatever I could lift from an unsuspecting pocket, to a man whose name demands respect. And inflicts fear. I did it all with my own two hands—clawing and taking—literally stepping over corpses. I might have left my home country as a beggar, but I returned as a ruler. I’m not going to let some goddamned cyberpunk make a fool of me.
“Did you manage to locate the bastard?” I ask.
