Love And Bullets

chapter 1

Zara Carter

The scent of espresso and gunmetal meant one thing in my father's house—either a deal was being made, or someone was about to bleed. Sometimes both.

I leaned against the edge of the study's bar, swirling the last of my coffee as I watched the men discuss territory lines like it was a casual game of Monopoly. Spoiler alert: it wasn't. In the Carter family, everything came with a price—and often, a body count.

"Zara, sweetheart," my father said without looking at me, "why don't you go do something... quieter?"

Translation: Let the men talk.

I cocked a brow. "You mean something less mafia?"

That earned me a warning look, but I didn't flinch. I never did. I was born into this life, raised in the heart of the American mafia in New York, and I knew how to handle myself. I wasn't just some spoiled princess in a penthouse—I was a Carter. My bloodline was laced with bullets and business.

Still, being a woman in a world ruled by men meant I was always expected to sit down and smile. Keep my mouth shut. Look pretty. Be useful, but never dangerous.

Until now.

My father was forming an alliance. Not with just anyone—but with the Moretti family. The Italian mafia. Old money, old rules, and a reputation for being as ruthless as they were untouchable.

And the one leading the charge?

Nico Moretti.

A name that carried weight and arrogance in equal measure. I hadn't met him yet, but I'd heard enough. Cold. Brutal. Gorgeous, apparently—not that I gave a damn. I didn't care how sharp his jawline was or how hard his abs were carved. I cared that he was coming into my city to play my game like he owned the board.

"You'll be working with him," my father said, finally meeting my eyes. "Nico. He'll handle operations on the Moretti side. You'll keep things running smooth for us."

I stared. "You want me to babysit an Italian prince with a god complex?"

"I want you to keep your temper," he replied evenly. "And your gun holstered."

Fat chance on both.

I downed the rest of my coffee and set the cup down with a soft clink. "Fine. But if he so much as breathes in my direction like I'm less than him—"

"Zara."

I smirked. "I'll play nice. Until he doesn't."

And if Nico Moretti thought he was coming to New York to boss me around?

He was in for a rude, very explosive awakening.