Heart of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #3)(51)

From New York Times bestselling author Meghan March comes a story of untold truths and one man’s redemption in the Dirty Mafia Duet.





Every family has a black sheep.

In the infamous Casso crime family, that black sheep is me—Cannon Freeman.

Except I’m not a free man. I’ve never been free. Not since the day I was born.

I owe my loyalty to my father, Dominic Casso, even if he won’t publicly acknowledge me as his blood.

I’ve never had a reason to go against his wishes… until I met her.

Drew Carson turned my world upside when she walked into my club looking for a job.

Now, my honor and my life are on the line.

Going against my father’s wishes might buy me a bullet straight from his gun, but black sheep or not, it’s time to make my stand.

She's worth the fallout.





Black Sheep is the first book in the Dirty Mafia Duet and is available for preorder now by tapping on the title. Keep reading for a sneak peek of the first chapter!





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Black Sheep Sneak Peek





CHAPTER ONE





Drew





I walk into the most important job interview of my life knowing every word out of my mouth will be a lie. The résumé and references in my bag are all fake, but thanks to one of my close friends, a white-hat hacker, no one will ever know.

I will get this job. I will get my answers. There’s no other acceptable alternative.

I repeat those vows to myself as I leave my security escort behind with a smile and push open the heavy carved wooden door to the Upper Ten, the most exclusive cigar club in Manhattan. Instead of smoke hanging in the air, the luxurious interior reeks of money and secrets.

Perfect. Secrets are exactly why I’m here.

“Can I help you, miss?”

A man with no neck in a tailored suit approaches me as soon as the door leading to the club foyer slips shut behind me with a whoosh of air that blows my skirt into a flutter around my legs. His bald head shines under the recessed lighting of the impressive room.

Through the thick glass wall to my left, I can see what brings some of the richest men in the world into this insanely expensive, members-only club—a massive humidor containing row after row of wooden boxes filled with fat cigars. From my research, I know that sources estimate the value of the stock in that large humidity-controlled room at millions of dollars.

Hefting my bag and swinging the tresses of my long blond wig over my shoulder, I give him a sweet smile. “I’m here for an interview, actually, with Mr.—”

“She’s with me.” A voice, deep and smooth like the thousand-dollar-a-glass cognac they no doubt serve here, comes from behind the bull guarding the door.

My gaze darts around the doorman and catches on an imposing figure in a bespoke suit with subtle navy pinstripes. The lines hang perfectly on his tall, rangy frame.

It’s him. My target . . . and hopefully my new boss.

Except the man in person is worlds apart from the man on paper. I thought I was prepared to come face-to-face with him, but mere ink on a page can’t convey his powerful presence. In the high-ceilinged antechamber, his authoritative posture commands more attention than the bulk and muscle of the doorman beside him, and with nothing more than the sound of his voice.

A voice I recognize.

Not because we’ve ever been in the same room before, but because I went through dozens of hours of audio and video before applying for this job at the Upper Ten. I’ve read article after article and unearthed every available public record that hasn’t been erased on this man and his family.

As I tense, I force myself to visualize him behind bars, wearing an orange jumpsuit. The exercise helps me regain my calm.

I can do this. I’ve done it dozens of times. Deception isn’t new to me. It’s my job.

As soon as I’m centered, I look up, pinning an eager, yet slightly nervous smile to my face. It’s a mask, but he’ll never know.

There’s only one problem. When his rich hazel eyes, a mix of whiskey and bright green, collide with mine, an unwelcome bolt of heat slams into me in pure female appreciation.

No. No. No. That’s not supposed to happen. Truly, this is the opposite of what’s supposed to happen. I’m supposed to be cold and indomitable, because I knew he’d be intimidating as hell. I promised myself I’d be immune. Unaffected. It doesn’t matter to me that he’s the bastard son of the most infamous mob boss in the city. But my denial doesn’t help, because I dismissed a seriously important fact when I was prepping for this day.

Cannon Freeman is a god among men. Shit. How is that even possible? Especially knowing what he has to be involved in?

I try to shove the annoying awareness of him aside, but it’s nearly impossible while he’s standing there, staring at me with those enthralling eyes.

His suit jacket clings to the sleek, strong lines of his broad shoulders and nips in to accentuate a slim waist, before his slacks hang perfectly off his hips.