I took a breath and settled my features into the composed expression that was my best protection against men’s cruel interest. If I gave them no reason to be angry with me, I wouldn’t be hurt. The small, serene smile was a mask that shielded the fire in my soul. They wouldn’t try to snuff it out if I didn’t let them see it.

Despite my calm demeanor, familiar dread weighed in my stomach, growing heavier with each step toward the study. Nothing good ever happened to me in that room. I was either called in for a reprimand or unpleasant news. My fingers flexed at my sides in a fruitless attempt to release some of the mounting anxiety that wound my muscles tighter with each passing second.

“Do I make you nervous, little bird?” That mocking, amused tone again, but slightly deeper this time, another velvet caress.

I’d almost forgotten about Dante’s imposing presence at my side as my worry escalated, and I jolted slightly at his question.

“You’re not the one I’m worried about,” I answered honestly before I could think better of telling the truth.

I didn’t know Dante at all, and showing any man a shred of vulnerability usually ended in more pain. Father’s men liked inflicting pain. He selected them as his guards for their sadistic tendencies; he liked to inspire fear.

I edged away from Dante. I’d heard stories about his sadistic nature too. The urbane man strolling casually at my side was capable of shocking, brutal violence that made even the hardest men in our organization tread lightly in his presence.

He made a low humming sound that was almost a growl. It rumbled along my bones, drawing another shiver to the surface of my skin.

Too soon, we reached the threshold to the study. Instinct made me want to draw in a deep breath to fortify myself, but I didn’t dare. I arranged my face in a careful, pleasant mask and lifted my chin as I stepped inside.

Father sat behind his enormous, imposing mahogany desk, flanked by Giorgio, his most vicious bodyguard. My father was still fearsome and ruthless, but age stooped his shoulders, and the beginnings of arthritis curled his fingers. He wasn’t physically capable of doling out the violence he’d once been renowned for. There was a reason he’d earned his place as consigliere of the Vitale crime family, Tommaso Vitale’s right-hand man.

Tommaso, the boss of the organization, was in even poorer health than my father, on his deathbed if the rumors were to be believed. Heart disease didn’t discriminate. It would take down the terrifying crime boss more cruelly than any bullet he’d dodged over the years.

I ignored the sharp glint in my father’s hazel eyes and went to join my sister, Giana. Her olive toned features were nearly identical to mine, but her trepidation made her appear slighter than me, younger despite the fact that she’d been born eighteen months earlier. The glimmers of golden strands shone through her brown hair, making her appear like a delicate, ethereal nymph in the low lighting of the opulent study.