Back From Death

**Elysia**

Talia’s grip tightens around my hand. Her fingers dig deep into my skin, dragging me forward across the grass. The distant sound of string instruments playing near the patio fades out, drowned by the frantic drumming of my pulse. We walk directly toward the far left edge of the yard, heading straight for the two most terrifying men in the venue. My heels sink slightly into the soft earth. Every step feels heavier than the last. I want to rip my hand free, turn around, and disappear into the crowd, but Talia refuses to slow her pace.

The man standing on the left is built like a towering tank. He is massive, thick with raw power, radiating a brute strength that demands distance. But my eyes refuse to stay on him. They slide sideways, locking onto the man standing right beside him.

Valerio.

Up close, he is a walking lethal weapon. Breathtakingly attractive, with sharp, aristocratic features carved from marble. His golden-brown eyes lock onto my face the second I step into his line of sight. They are cold. Predatory. They track every micro-movement I make. He watches the way my chest rises, the way I swallow hard, the way my shoulders tense under the evening breeze. He does not try to look away. His stare is intense and shameless, crawling over my skin and making the pulse hammer in my throat.

“Elysia, meet my fiancé, Dante,” Talia says. She gestures toward the towering muscle wall standing on the left.

I force my gaze away from Valerio. I tilt my head back, looking up at Dante’s face. He is huge. Bald, dark-eyed, a sharp jawline coated in dark stubble. He looks like a man who snaps bones with bare hands. Being barely five-foot-two makes the size difference staggering.

“Nice to meet you,” I say. I force a polite, tight smile and stick my right hand out.

Dante stares down at my hand. His expression remains deadpan, bored by my existence. After a long, agonizing second of silence, his massive hand envelops mine for a stiff, unyielding shake. He drops my hand just as fast.

“And this is his older brother, Valerio,” Talia continues. She waves her hand toward the man who has been tracking my every breath.

I swallow the dry knot in my throat. The air around him feels thicker. Dangerous. He matches Dante in height, but Valerio carries a sharper, more refined kind of violence. He stands with relaxed confidence, holding the power of a king in his posture.

“Pleasure to meet you,” I say. My voice wavers. I extend my trembling hand again.

Valerio does not hesitate. He takes my hand. His grip is firm, calloused, swallowing my fingers whole. A spark of heat jumps from his skin to mine.

“Elysia,” Valerio murmurs.

The sound of my name on his tongue sends a sharp, full-body shiver crashing down my spine. His voice is a low rumble, rich and deep, dragging across my nerves like sandpaper. The raw magnetism in his tone makes him even more intimidating.

“Yup, that’s me,” I reply. I cringe. My face heats up, burning under his gaze. A terrible, awkward grimace twists my mouth. Why did I just say that?

Valerio ignores my embarrassment. He turns his head slowly, shifting his golden eyes toward Dante. They share a brief, silent look of communication. A wordless command passes between the two brothers. Dante steps forward, reaches out, and wraps a heavy arm around Talia’s waist. He pulls her away from the group.

Talia glances over her shoulder. Her brows pull together in deep confusion, but she does not fight the motion. She lets Dante lead her away toward the stone patio. I glance around. The rest of the mobsters who were drinking and smoking nearby vanish into the thick crowd. They evaporate, melting into the shadows, leaving me standing in the center of the grass. Alone.

Alone with Valerio.

I turn back to face him. He is already watching me. He reaches into his dark suit jacket and pulls out a crisp pack of cigarettes. He shakes one loose and holds the pack out, offering it to me.

I shake my head. “I don’t smoke.”

He puts a cigarette between his lips. He pulls out a silver lighter, snaps it open, and lights the tip. The flame flickers, highlighting the sharp, merciless angles of his jaw. He snaps the lighter shut and takes a long, slow drag. His unblinking gaze never leaves mine.

“So, Elysia,” Valerio says. He exhales. A thick cloud of gray smoke hits my face. I cough, waving the haze away with my hand. “You look awfully well for someone who died in a car crash three years ago.”

My hand stops mid-air. The blood drains from my cheeks. I stare at him, waiting for the punchline of a sick joke.

“I’m sorry, what?” I ask. I force a stiff, awkward laugh. My chest tightens.

“Your file says you are dead,” Valerio states. His tone is blunt. Flat. He says it like he is discussing a business transaction. He takes another slow drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke into the space between us.

I take a half-step back. Panic flares in my chest, hot and fast. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

Valerio does not blink. “Elysia Castiglione. Twenty-four years old. Born November seventh. Died instantly in a car wreck on New Year’s Eve, three years ago.”

He recites the hidden details with brutal accuracy. The air leaves my lungs. My heart pounds a frantic rhythm against my ribs, striking bone.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” I insist, shaking my head fast. My voice rises in pitch. “My last name is Marino. Not Castiglione. Marino. That is a big difference. You have the wrong person. I am standing right here. I am clearly breathing.” I gesture to my own body to prove my point.

Valerio’s eyes track the desperate movement of my hands. Then, his golden gaze drops. He looks down at my chest. His stare burns a hole through the fabric of my dress, zeroing in on the space right between my breasts.

“Obviously,” he murmurs. “And yet, you are wearing the legendary Castiglione heirloom aquamarine pendant around your neck.”

My hand flies up. My fingers clamp around the cool blue stone resting against my skin. My breath hitches.

Valerio flicks his cigarette away. The glowing cherry hits the grass and dies. He takes a long step forward. He invades my personal space, closing the distance until his hard chest is mere inches from mine. I freeze. I am trapped in his shadow, paralyzed by the sheer proximity of his massive frame.

He reaches out. His rough fingers grip my chin, tilting my head up without permission. He forces me to look into his eyes. His face hovers dangerously close to mine. I can smell the smoke on his breath, the rich, intoxicating cologne sinking into my senses. My heart slams against my ribs like a caged bird.

“Makes me wonder,” Valerio murmurs, his voice a lethal, vibrating rumble. “Why your father has been hiding you from me.”

A sharp gasp punches out of my throat. The physical contact burns my skin. The dark implication in his words wraps around my throat like a snare.

Then, he releases my chin. He takes a slow step back. The suffocating pressure recedes, giving me room to suck in a ragged breath. A knowing, devilish smirk spreads across his handsome face. His eyes shift, looking at someone standing behind me.

A cold knot of dread forms in my stomach. The shift in his demeanor is terrifying. I spin around, intending to run away, to find Talia, to escape the crushing weight of his presence.

Instead, I crash into a wall of harsh reality. I come face-to-face with my father.

Vincenzo.

I stare at him. I have not seen him since I was a teenager, since my mother dragged me away in the middle of the night. For years, I secretly fantasized about this exact moment. I imagined a warm, tearful reunion. I imagined him crying, hugging me, telling me how much he missed his daughter.

Those secret fantasies shatter into dust. There is no warmth in his eyes. There are no tears. His face is twisted into a mask of pure fury. His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking hard in his cheek. He glares at me with a hatred that steals my breath.

“What are you doing here?” Vincenzo hisses. He takes an aggressive step toward me. His tone is vicious. Poisonous.

The hostility feels like a physical blow. The pain flares deep in my chest, sharp and agonizing. My father looks at me like I am a disease infecting his perfect world. My defense mechanism takes over. Sarcasm coats my tongue like thick armor.

“I’m here to get fucked up,” I snap back, my voice dripping with defensive defiance. “What else?”

Vincenzo’s eyes widen with pure rage. Nearby guests freeze in their tracks. Heads turn in our direction. The clinking of crystal glasses stops. A tense hush falls over our section of the lawn as the mafia elite turn their predatory attention toward our escalating family drama.

Tristan materializes from the crowd. He steps in right behind Vincenzo. His broad shoulders square off, acting as a defensive bodyguard for my father. The tension in the air snaps tight, winding up like a heavy steel spring.

Before I can figure out my next move, a heavy arm snakes around my waist.

Valerio yanks me backward. He hauls me hard flush against his side. My back slams into his chest. His arm locks around my ribs like a steel vice, trapping me against him. The physical dominance of the move leaves me breathless. I try to pull away, but his hold is unbreakable.

Valerio looks over my head, staring dead at my father.

“Vincenzo,” Valerio taunts, his voice rolling out in rapid, fluid Italian. “Such a lovely gem you have been hiding from us.”

Vincenzo’s face turns an ugly, mottled shade of red. His fists clench hard at his sides. He glares at Valerio, then shifts his furious eyes to me, looking at the man holding me captive.

“Tristan,” Vincenzo barks, his voice ringing with unyielding authority. “Take Elysia away from here.”

Tristan’s jaw tightens. He shifts his weight, stepping forward to comply with my father’s direct order.

A flash of motion catches my eye.

Valerio moves with terrifying, blinding speed. His free hand dips beneath his tailored suit jacket. Dark metal gleams under the patio lights. He draws a loaded gun, snaps his arm up, and aims the barrel dead at Tristan’s head.

“Holy shit!” I shriek.

My heart explodes in my chest. Panic floods my veins, turning my blood to ice. I thrash against Valerio, trying to break free, trying to put distance between myself and the lethal weapon.

Valerio does not budge. He crushes me harder against his side, his grip turning punishing. His arm is an iron band around my ribs. He holds me upright. If he let go, my failing legs would collapse against the grass.

Tristan stops dead in his tracks. His eyes dart from the barrel of the gun to Valerio’s deadpan face. A muscle twitches in Tristan’s neck. He shifts his foot, adjusting his stance by a fraction of an inch to grab me.

Without a second of hesitation, Valerio pulls the trigger.

BANG.

The warning shot is deafening. The explosive sound rips through the quiet night air, echoing loud across the manicured lawn. The blast shatters the tension, replacing it with sheer, paralyzing terror.

I scream. The sound rips out of my throat before I can stop it. I throw my hands over my ears, squeezing my eyes shut. My head rings loudly. The sharp, acrid smell of burnt gunpowder fills my nose, choking my lungs.

“I won’t fucking miss your head if you move one more inch,” Valerio states. His voice cuts through the ringing silence. It is dead. Lethal. A promise wrapped in hollow ice.

I open my eyes. I am shaking hard. My entire body trembles against Valerio’s unyielding chest. The crowd around us is frozen in place. Nobody moves. Nobody dares to breathe.

I stare at Tristan. He stands frozen on the grass, his hands hovering near his sides, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack his teeth. I look at Vincenzo. My father’s face is pale, his expression torn between conflicted rage and helpless realization. He stares at the gun pointed directly at his man, then looks at me, trapped helplessly in the iron grip of a monster.

My breathing turns shallow and frantic. The deafening ringing in my ears refuses to fade. The lethal reality of the mafia world crashes down on my shoulders, heavy and suffocating. Valerio keeps the gun raised, his finger resting steady against the metal trigger, keeping us locked in a terrifying standoff.

I should have accepted Tristan’s offer for a drink.