Prologue This is what it’s like to be alive. The sensation of happiness is contagious, and I take a deep breath and allow my toes to curl in the sand, the cool spray from the ocean whipping around my body and chasing the burn away. I lift my face to the heavens and feel the warmth from the sun touching my skin and it strikes me that for once I’m happy. It’s as if the Angels are holding me, taking away my troubles, and promising me that life is worth living. The spray from the icy cold water cools my heated skin and my tongue darts out and tastes the salty tang as the birds overhead call out their greeting. “Eliza.” The voice carries toward me from the distance, almost as soft as the breeze wrapping my soul in a healing balm. “Eliza.” I close my eyes against the sun and try to block reality out, unwilling to destroy my perfect moment. “Eliza, hurry up. Don’t keep him waiting.” My perfect moment is gone in the blink of an eye as I am reminded of him. A rough hand tugs at my arm and I stumble back. Wrenching my arm away, I whine, “One more minute.” “Time’s up.” A familiar voice growls and I recognize the desolation and pain edging his words. Turning, I gaze into the deep, dark eyes of my brother, Leo. If I expected to see compassion there, it was a foolish desire because the cold, hard, empty eyes of a person with no heart, gleam back at me with an impatient, “Hurry, unless you want the pain, that is.” I shiver as a gust of wind whips around my soul and reminds me of the chilling reality of my life, causing me to turn my face to the distance, and I shiver when my prison stares back at me with the promise of more pain to come. I stumble as Leo tugs me cruelly along with him, and the sand flies up and lands on my wet legs as I attempt to keep up with him. We approach the white villa on the edge of the ocean that is pretending to be something it isn’t and never will be–home. I shiver as the men in black stare down at me, their expressions hidden behind the mirrored shades they pretend to wear against the glare of the sun. The fact they wear them reminds me I’m not the only one hiding behind a mask of sorts, and my earlier euphoria is already a distant memory as I settle into my role. Eliza Ortega. Mafia princess and only daughter of Giovanni and Clarissa Ortega, one the devil and one the angel he plucked from hell to burn alongside him. Leo has no words to comfort me. We both know they are empty ones anyway because, like me, he bears the scars of our birthright and if anything, I pity him more. At least he has my brothers though. Two more damned souls created to stroke the ego of a man who deserves nothing but pain. I have no one. No friend, no confidante and no fun in my life. “Eliza.” The soft voice of my mother reaches out to me and strokes the pain away. The sound of it almost brings a smile to my face as I stare up at an angel who is beaming down at me from her position at the top of the white marble steps. Her white dress billows as the breeze catches it and her golden hair shines like a halo around her head as she gazes down at us. It’s almost possible to imagine this is a perfect moment. That she is happy and smiles with love filling her heart. As I gaze up at her, I could be forgiven for thinking everything is normal. She is normal, but normality has never been a guest at our table because of who my father is. Giovanni Ortega. Mafia Don, all–powerful, all–evil, and one hundred percent bastard. I will never understand why my mother married him because I always believed people fell in love and then lived happily ever after. That’s what the books in my library tell me, and I pray that happens to me one day, but casting my mind back on my parent’s marriage, I’m inclined to think that fairy tales are God’s way of giving us hope. Giving us all something to aspire to when the reality is likely to send us to an early grave because my experience of marriage is of loud angry words, screams, beatings, and pain. “Eliza.” My mother’s voice reaches out once again and as I lift my eyes toward her, she smiles down at us, and out of nowhere, a huge burst of love fills my heart. She is smiling and appears happy for once and at this moment, she catches my heart and promises to make everything better. Then, from out of nowhere, a loud explosion causes the scene to crash and burn around me. I glance up and witness the startled expression in my mother’s eyes as she hovers on the edge of the veranda. I stare in shock as in that split second her dress changes color before my eyes and the red stain of her departing life spills like a rapid river of damnation on the fabric, staining it with the horror of my darkest hour. I am shoved hard against the rock face, the jagged edges causing a sharp pain in my skull and as Leonardo throws his body over mine, I pray for death to claim another victim so I can end the misery that has enveloped me from the moment I was born. I hear noise, angry voices and shouting. But through it all, I hear the angry hiss of my protector, “Stay down.” As if that’s an option anyway, as my brother’s body lies heavy on mine while hell is unleashed above us. My heart beats so fast I hope it gives out on me, deciding that life is not worth the effort and death would be kinder because all I can picture is the startled surprise on my mother’s face as her own life ended and she left us for good. “She’s dead.” I whimper, the sob informing my brother that I can’t follow instructions and keep my mouth shut, and he hisses, “Then she’s the lucky one.” It strikes me there is no emotion in that voice. A hard edge of someone who has lived with the pain long enough to know there will never be anything else. My heart bleeds for us because along with my other two brothers, this has always been our life and if anything, I envy my mom because she has been set free in a moment of madness and will rest in peace knowing she is no longer a prisoner. I was seven years old when my mother was murdered before my eyes, and it was only when I was much older that I learned the identity of her killer. My father.