Chapter 1

In my last life, my husband cut me open and threw me to the sea—on the same night he was waltzing with another woman.

It was only after every woman and child on the island had been violated and slaughtered by the Morettis that the men finally believed me.

The raid was real.

Bodies were scattered across the courtyard like broken dolls.

The men stood frozen in the blood.

And then, all at once, they snapped.

"Boss, didn't you tell us Wren was just a jealous wife throwing a tantrum? That she was lying so we'd focus on Celeste's birthday? Then tell me—why is my son dead? Why is my wife gone?"

Lucien's face turned to chalk.

I looked at the slaughter at our feet, and the tears came.

That night, when the Morettis had hit the island, my husband—the heir of the Vitale family—had taken every armed man out to sea.

To throw a birthday party for his childhood sweetheart.

Pregnant, I had crawled out through the sewers to find him.

Dragged every man back to save what was left of our people.

But his precious Celeste had been caught by a stray Moretti.

Violated. Killed.

Lucien handled the men responsible without a word.

And then, on the day I gave birth to our daughter—

He broke my legs.

Cut me open.

Threw me into the deep waters off the Sicilian coast, for the fish to feed on.

"It was your fault. You dragged the Morettis here to kill her? Then you'll die the way she did."

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the raid.

If he wanted to save his childhood sweetheart this time, let him try.

* * *

I stood at the window and watched the black speedboats cut toward the shore.

A cold shiver crawled up my spine.

I didn't hesitate.

I hit the alarm.

The siren tore through Isola Nera.

But the yacht—the one that could carry every woman and child off the island—was already gone.

Anita Russo stumbled into the hall, her voice breaking.

"Wren—the Morettis are coming. Where are the men? Where's the yacht? What are we supposed to do?"

Anita was Marco Russo's wife.

Marco was Lucien's right hand—the man set to become the Vitales' Underboss.

And Anita was the only woman in this family who had ever treated me like a sister.

Before I could answer, the others crowded in around me.

Faces pale.

Eyes pleading.

I was the only one who knew.

So I told them.

Lucien had taken every man and every weapon out to international waters.

To throw Celeste's birthday party.

Lucien's mother, Donna Isabella, let out a string of curses sharp enough to draw blood.

"Has he lost his goddamn mind? He knows the Morettis hit this rock every chance they get—and he took every fucking man with him?"

"That conniving bitch Celeste—I warned him from day one. Playing the fragile little angel. Now look. She's going to get us all killed."

Her fury was a match to dry grass.

The other women caught flame.

Curses for Celeste.

Curses for the men who'd followed her perfume off this island.

Outside, the speedboats were almost at the shore.

The panic was rising.

I forced my voice steady and told them all to move.

Now.

To the tunnels.

Our island sat far off the mainland.

The Vitales had been building these tunnels for generations—to outlast exactly this kind of raid.

* * *

The narrow passage filled fast.

Women clutching children. Children clutching anything they could.

From above us came the laughter of the Moretti men, hunting for women.

Fear spread through that tunnel like a sickness.

Then the next blow came.

The smuggler's passage—the one that ran beneath the cliffs to the sea cave—had been blown.

The collapse was fresh.

The air still stank of powder.

Donna Isabella's face went hard.

"They've known about this passage for a long time."

Anita and I looked at each other.

The same name surfaced behind both our eyes.

Celeste.

The only way out now was the old sewer line that fed into the tunnel.

Crawl through it. Find the speedboat. Bring help back.

Donna Isabella seized my hand.

Her grip was iron.

"Wren. You can drive a boat. Go find Lucien. Make him bring the men back."

I gave her a tired, bitter smile and told her the truth.

Even if I found him, Lucien wouldn't come back for me.

The tunnel went silent.

Three months ago, Lucien had brought Celeste home from somewhere in Naples, claiming he owed her his life as a boy.

Since then, he'd been glued to her side.

Training together.

Riding out together.

Sleeping under the same roof under the polite fiction of "protection."

Half the soldati already joked the two of them looked more married than we did.

When the jokes got back to him, he didn't put distance between them.

He pulled her closer.

I'd screamed at him about it more times than I could count.

Asked him point-blank who his goddamn wife was.

He'd called me jealous. Petty. A nuisance.

Whatever we'd had between us had quietly died the day she walked through our gates.

The silence in the tunnel stretched.

Then Mia Vitale, Lucien's little sister, stepped forward.

"Let me go. I know the soldati. And Wren's pregnant—if something happens to her, I'd never be able to face my brother."

She didn't wait for permission.

She dropped into the sewer and was gone.

I knew what was waiting for her at the other end.

I had lived through it once already.