One Thousand and One Dark Nights
Once upon a time, in the future…
I was a student fascinated with stories and learning.
I studied philosophy, poetry, history, the occult, and
the art and science of love and magic. I had a vast
library at my father’s home and collected thousands
of volumes of fantastic tales.
I learned all about ancient races and bygone
times. About myths and legends and dreams of all
people through the millennium. And the more I read
the stronger my imagination grew until I discovered
that I was able to travel into the stories... to actually
become part of them.
I wish I could say that I listened to my teacher
and respected my gift, as I ought to have. If I had, I
would not be telling you this tale now.
But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off
with bravery.
One afternoon, curious about the myth of the
Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to
see for myself if it was true that every day Shahryar
(Persian: ??????, “king”) married a new virgin, and then
sent yesterday's wife to be beheaded. It was written
and I had read, that by the time he met Scheherazade,
the vizier's daughter, he’d killed one thousand
women.
Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived
in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged
places with Scheherazade – a phenomena that had
never occurred before and that still to this day, I
cannot explain.
Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have
taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can
protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to
protect herself and stay alive.
Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.
And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a
point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.
And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that
he might hear the rest of my dark tale.
As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new
one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before
you now.
Prologue
Tank
“I’m in Hell.” I hung my head in my hands, not giving a shit if Sergio Abandonato, made man, doctor for the Five Families, and truly genuine pain in my FBI ass pulled a gun on me.
Hell, at this point, I’d welcome a knife.
If he told me he was going to cut off my dick and feed it to his chickens—crazy I know, can’t talk about it, too traumatized, carry on—I’d be like…do it, put me out of my fucking misery.
Now.
I beg you!
It all started a year ago. The FBI decided that they wanted me to infiltrate Chicago’s most notorious mafia Families by way of their kids—most of which were my age and attending Eagle Elite University. It sounded like an easy in-and-out job—and then I got to know them. Really know them. And realized that not only was I semi-related by way of my dead parents, but they were also more loyal than any agent I’d ever worked with. I never expected to start working for all five of the most powerful bosses in the Cosa Nostra—to kill for them…look the other way. Or to justify everything they did all in the name of blood and loyalty. But I did.
And now Sergio was looking at me like I had no choice but to do his bidding—again. And smiled while doing it.
I’d never been weak. Never.
Until I met his eldest daughter.
Kartini Abandonato. Or, to most of the Family: Tiny.
Cute, right?
If you’re a huge fan of blood-sucking piranhas, then sure, super-cute. But me? I’m more of a dog guy. So, no, she wasn’t cute.
Oh, she was beautiful.
But cute?
Friendly?
House-trained?
That would be a no.
Even now, I could picture her walking into the kitchen wearing a skin-tight leather leotard with a plunging neckline, heels that could kill a man dead, heavy eye makeup, with one hand full of a bottle of Jack, and the other holding her ever-present vape pen.
Tame?
My. Ass.
And that was the thing. She used to be this…tiny, adorable thing.
Now, she was my job.
My purpose.
Basically, despite our seven-year age difference…she was my job. The girl I guarded, watched over, made sure to keep alive—and all because I’d refused them.
Who?
The Five Families.
They wanted my loyalty.
And I told them I wanted to toe the line between the FBI and the Five Families in order to help.
HELP.
They said they didn’t want help.
But they needed it.
So, I fell on my sword.
And now?
Punished.
“You’ll do it,” her father said with a grin, his hair pulled into a sleek man bun as he sipped his glass of red wine or whatever the hell it was. His smile was amused, all white and cheerful like he had something to be happy about despite the devil owning his daughter’s soul. “And you’ll do it well. Otherwise…” He trained his revolver on me and shrugged. “Target practice.”
“You have chickens for that,” I deadpanned.
He laughed. “No, I have you for that.”
“How…comforting.” I shifted in my seat. “Look, I get that she needs protection, what with her sudden desire to push every rebel button in the history of rebellion, but I’m still working for the FBI. Asking me to be her personal guard and keep the Families out of the shit is crap, and you know it!”