Going After Heaven (Mafia Romance)

Chapter One

Here goes nothing.

I exhale sharply and pluck a cigar from the inner pocket of my emerald wrap coat. Smoking cigars is a crazy habit I took from my father. I am the apple that didn't fall off the tree at all.

I take my cigar between my cherry-red lips and straighten the rim of my leather coat to go past my knees as I cross my leg over the other.

It's fucking summer in Mexico and I'm wearing a leather coat because it's the dress code for business as a Gate in the underworld. The Air conditioner in my car is the only reason I'm not sizzling yet.

I flip open my gold electronic lighter and flick it to light up my cigar. This lighter is a family heirloom that has been modified over years to meet with trends of each generation.

The lighter was made from the very first iron ore my ancestors found while mining. It's meant to be passed down from a father to their heir on the twenty-fifth birthday.

That would have happened two months ago but they took that moment and a thousand others that have been propelling my hate.

I waited twelve years for this moment. Biding my time and making sure my revenge is cold enough to taste like frozen food.

I take a puff at my cigar. Polluting the recycled air in the car with a strong scent of tobacco and wood. I love it. It's the only way I can delude myself into feeling like he's still here with me.

This scent is a reminder of him. And I love stuffing my lungs with it because it keeps my curse away.

It's been the worst twelve years of my life but I know it's nothing compared to the doom impending.

What I am about to do will have consequences. And in the underworld, sometimes death is not even enough punishment.

I take another puff at my cigar.

I took all this time because the Black Mist is not an Empire in the underworld to mess with. No one wants to get in their bad book. No one would dare, because no one is strong enough to.

"All cleared Acero" Damon, the head of my security team, says while holding the door of the car out.

I like the sound of that. It's a name I've earned with blood and sweat. It's a name I like to be called. Steel.

I give him a curt smile as I pull the hoodie of my coat over my ginger red waves packed in a sophisticated bun. He doesn't smile, that one. An Irish with a body for three. I've known him since I was seven.

If he hadn't been out with Helena that day to pick berries, he would have been dead too. Maybe both of them. Who knew trivial things could save a life?

I step out of my Rolls Royce and welcome the warm night breeze. Not so warm, but not as chill as the air in my car.

I look around the picturesque city of Mexico at night, before walking in the middle of two hefty bodyguards to the entrance of Seductora.

Seductora is a strippers club for night predators. People of the underworld. It is Owned by Gael, the man I am here to see. Gael is smart, he understands that life-altering confessions are said in between moans.

I put out my cigar, walking into the black and red-themed club. There's always a stifling smell of sex, strength, and hell in the air here. Or maybe it's just my mind.

I mince in my six-inch stiletto pump heels that match the cherry red on my lips to the private entry.

Mincing past men loitering at the reception in a white button-up shirts and navy blue pants, with bowler hats to match their pants. It's business casual with a bowler hat, which is the business code for the Gambit Empire in the underworld.