Rain hammered violently against the massive glass windows of the De Luca estate while thunder rolled endlessly across the dark mountains surrounding northern Mexico, and deep inside the sprawling mansion candlelight flickered softly through endless hallways lined with gold-framed portraits carrying the cold arrogant beauty of men who had ruled through fear for generations.
The house always smelled expensive.
Leather.
Whiskey.
Secrets hidden beneath polished marble floors and family smiles sharp enough cutting flesh.
Young Alexander stood silently near the second-floor staircase afterward while wet dark hair clung messily against his forehead beneath dim amber light, and despite being barely seventeen there already existed something restless inside his pale eyes tonight.
Anger.
Loneliness.
The dangerous kind becoming ambition later.
