Omerta ||ʙᴏᴏᴋ 1||

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғᴏᴜʀ

I lay down in this luxurious bed, the kind people dream about, but sleep was nowhere to be found. If my life depended on falling asleep right now, I'd be dead. My thoughts were racing—loud, sharp, constant. Jack. The shooting. My dad. Cole.

I tossed and turned until I finally gave up. At some point, my eyes shut for what felt like a second, and when I opened them, sunlight was already pouring through the window, dissolving the shadows of the night.

Downstairs, the smell of pancakes greeted me. My dad stood at the stove, flipping them with the focus of a man who didn't just survive shootouts but could probably start one while casually making breakfast. I smiled faintly and sat on a stool.

Max and Hunter were already at the table, bickering like boys do. For a moment, it almost felt normal.

"Princess," my dad said, not even turning. "Jack's fine. He'll be home tomorrow." I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "But we need to talk. No more kid stuff, Skylar. You're going to be second-in-command one day. You'll give orders straight from the boss, no screw-ups. You'll oversee shipments. You'll act as legal counsel if shit hits the fan. Got it?"

I nodded, but of course, he didn't look. He never does.

"Oh, and you'll be working with Cole. A lot. Be careful, Skylar. He's not like the others."

He stacked pancakes onto a plate and brought them to the table where Cheryl was already waiting. Max and Hunter dug in. I swiveled the chair away and rolled my eyes.

All I heard in that entire speech was Cole.

The rest of the day blurred as my dad gave me what he called a "tour" of the responsibilities I'd one day inherit. He explained why Hunter—older, louder, and seemingly more capable—wouldn't get the title. Simple: I was blood. His first heir.

Honestly, I didn't want any of it. I just wanted to be a lawyer, like him—before all this. Before the blood and shadows.

"Dad," I groaned as we stood in his massive office, the walls lined with books and secrets. "How the hell do you expect me to remember all of this? I haven't even filed a legal document on my own. I can't fight. They're going to laugh at me."

I threw my arms up. "I look like someone who should be shopping on Fifth Avenue, not running a damn mafia!"

He leaned back in his chair, amused. "You'll learn. There's time. I'm not retiring tomorrow."

He paused. "Oh, that reminds me—Cole volunteered to teach you how to fight."

My heart jumped, for reasons I didn't care to admit.

"He never does that kind of thing, but... just keep him out of your pants, Skylar. I know how you are."

"Thanks, Dad. Real supportive," I muttered, storming off.

Back in my room, I threw on a sports bra and leggings, heading straight to the gym. I started on the treadmill, trying to burn through the nerves. I heard the doorbell but ignored it—someone else would get it.

I slowed to a stop.

Then the door opened.

And there he was.

Cole Moretti. Tattoos, abs, that stupid, smug smirk. His shirt was clinging to him like it was made to be ripped off, and I hated how hard it was to look away.

"Are you just gonna stand there and stare, or do you actually wanna learn something?" His voice was rough, deep. Teasing.

I cleared my throat, cheeks burning. "Y-Yeah. Let's start. What's first?"

"For the next few weeks, we'll be focusing on hand-to-hand combat," he said, tossing his gym towel aside.

We stretched. It was simple, awkward—every time I looked at him, he caught me. And I hated that he knew.

"Do you even know how to punch?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Seriously?" I snapped. "I'm not some porcelain doll. I've been in fights—back before I was shoved into online school, thank you very much."

I threw a punch. He caught it.

In one fluid motion, he spun me around until my back was flush against his chest. I froze. His breath was warm against my ear, his voice low and dangerous.

"Sky... I could be anywhere right now. With anyone. But I'm here, helping you. And trust me—if you weren't tanners daughter, I'd have put a bullet in your skull for that tone."

I didn't move. Couldn't breathe.

"You're not my friend," he whispered.

"Good. I don't need friends especially one like you"

His eyes narrowed. Then he threw a punch—fast, brutal—right into my stomach.

Pain exploded through me, and before I could recover, he had me in a headlock.

"What are you gonna do now?" he murmured, breath hot against my skin. "Come on, Sky. I know you've got more than this in you. Don't be afraid to get dirty."

Adrenaline surged. I elbowed him—hard—between the legs.

He groaned, stumbling, and I took my shot. I landed a hit to the back of his knee, knocking him down, and somehow managed to get him in a shaky headlock. For about half a second.

Then he flipped me off him like I weighed nothing.

He grabbed my arm—but I jabbed his pressure point, forcing him back. With everything I had, I slammed him to the ground and straddled his chest, holding him down.

He didn't push me off.

He just grinned. "If you wanted to be on top, all you had to do was ask."

"You're disgusting."

"But honest," he whispered, voice lower now, sultry. "One move and we'd be skin to skin. And you'd love it. I want you, Skylar. Badly. I know I shouldn't. But I do."

My heart thudded.

Don't fall for it. Play the game.

"Then why don't you?" I whispered.

His lips crashed into mine—hungry, consuming. I kissed him back, fingers tangled in his hair, our bodies melting into the heat between us.

Then I struck.

Hard.

A punch to his crotch, followed by one to the face. Before he could react, I had him locked tight again.

He roared. "What the fuck, Skylar?!"

"I win," I said, panting, letting him go and standing up. Or trying to—he yanked me down with him.

"Mi amore," he growled, "next time, I won't go easy. And when we do sleep together—you're gonna wish I did."

"Not happening," I snapped. "That was a distraction, not an invitation. And stop calling me mi amore. It's Skylar. Or Sky. Not that hard."

He looked up at me, still grinning. "You're mine, whether you want to admit it or not."

"I'm not some thing to be owned, Cole. You'll be the one begging to get into my pants. And I won't let you."

His gaze flicked over me, smoldering. But then I shifted gears.

"When do I start with the real stuff? The shipments. The meetings. I'm not here to just spar with you in a gym."

"Soon," he said, finally serious again. He picked up his towel and walked out.

I stood there alone, touching my lips. They still tingled.

Cole Moretti. Beautiful. Dangerous. Untouchable.

He's had every girl wrapped around his finger—and I refuse to be next. I won't fall for his games.

Let him try.