Page 1 of Renata Vitali (The Five Syndicates)
Hey, readers!
It always intimidates me to write the author’s note. It means that this—my dream, being an author—is real. It also means I’m about to send another book into the world—scared, excited, and a million other emotions I can’t name.
I’ll start with the easy stuff. This is a novella. It ends in a cliffhanger and is the prequel to Damiano De Luca. Fair warning!
This is the story of how Damian and Renata meet. It’s also a story of learning how and who to trust—your friends, family… yourself. Sometimes, the people you should be able to trust are the last people you can. Sometimes, you find refuge in unexpected people, people you’re scared to trust yet 100% should.
When you find yourself at a crossroads, looking at a path you’re familiar with and an unknown path that makes your heart pound just thinking of it, trust yourself to make the right choice, to take a leap of faith, and to be happy.
In my author’s notes, I love to talk about what I learned from each book and what I went through while writing and publishing it. Usually, I write a book and it ends up mirroring what I’m going through as I write it. However, this time, after I wrote Renata and Damian’s story, I noticed the lessons I learned kept popping up in my life.
I’m the type of person who gives people a second chance. Then a third. A forth. And so on. Then, I thought of Damian and Renata’s story and realized I don’t owe anyone my trust. I don’t have to give chance after chance. I can break free. I can choose better people to trust. People who really deserve it.
Don’t be afraid to leave something or someone you know because you feel you need to stay, or you’re comfortable staying, or you’re afraid of change. Break the mold. Trust yourself. Choose yourself. The right people for you will be the ones who choose you back.
With so, so, so much love,
Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men share the equal right to pirated books.
Ha! Just kidding. In real life, people who pirate books get their own circle in purgatory. Ya know, where you’ll be forced to listen to the books you pirated read to you in Latin by a choir consisting of American Idol rejects and crooked politicians who’ve had their tongues removed.
I warned ya!
Note: this book is only legally for sale through Amazon.
For Chloe.
I miss you.
Life hurts without you.
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The devil doesn’t come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns. He comes as everything you’ve ever wished for. Pray for wisdom and discernment.
Tucker Max, Assholes Finish First
Trust
tr?st/
Noun
Firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone or something.
Trust is a series of decisions. It’s your choice to give it, and the people you give it to have the choice to prove you right. One day, the time will come when it’s you you’ll have to decide to trust. When that time comes, trust yourself. Then, let your heart prove you right.
Trusting you is my decision. Proving me right is your choice.
Unknown
They say, one day, it will hurt less. The distance will stop seizing my throat and let me breathe. It’ll feel okay to wake up, pat the space beside me, and not feel her there. It’ll be easier to tell a joke and realize the only person who can understand it isn’t there to hear it. They say, one day, you’ll find someone else, and you’ll feel these same things for her.
They say these things, but not a night passes where she doesn’t cross my mind.
She’s either my curse or my angel.
Damiano De Luca is the hardest challenge I’ve ever faced. He is my only leap of faith. My I-fell-fast, I-fell-hard, I-jumped-first-and-asked-later, and only-he-can-pick-me-back-up first love. He’s my think of you every night. My wake up reaching for you. My never-be-the-same goodbye. My heart’s biggest enemy.
And me? I am his first love.
But I don’t want to be his first love. I want to be his last love.
The truth is, this story is not a love story.
Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.
William Shakespeare
My fingers gripped the leather armrest as the plane skidded across the tarmac at Devil’s Landing. I supposed most small Texas towns didn’t have the luxury of a private airstrip, but Devils Ridge wasn’t a typical small town.
With cute lighthouses scattered across its coastal edges, Devils Ridge would have been quaint and scenic—had there not been a cumbersome mafia presence. It was the second oldest city in Texas, with its first colonial settlement dating back to the 1700s. A couple of hundred years later, a new devil settled in Devils Ridge—Ludovico De Luca, the first De Luca to taint the town.
In the Vitali archives, there were books documenting Ludovico’s descent into madness. After his son’s wife had given birth, he slaughtered them both and raised his grandchild to be crazier than him. The De Lucas bred each generation with no moral code, and I was entering the lion’s den.
I traced my fingers along the wood-trimmed table in front of me. My last name, Vitali, laid etched in the center, along with our centuries-old coat of arms. Laurel leaves. Lion. Torch. Purple. Peace. Courage. Intelligence. Royalty.
There were Italian mafia syndicates all over the world, but the major syndicates were the five American syndicates—Romano, Andretti, De Luca, Camerino, and Rossi. Hundreds of years ago, ruthless wars broke out across the globe. Syndicates fought other syndicates for territories and honor. Two syndicates in Europe wiped out. Thousands dead. Millions wasted. Only then did every syndicate agree to gather for peace talks in Italy.
My family—the Vitali—ran the peace talks. Since then, my family has governed the syndicates, making sure no syndicate crossed the line. The Vitali had our own armies. We had our own deep coffers. And we had our own hierarchy, where my father—il condottiero—was the boss who sat at the top, and I was the lone mafia princess.
It sounded glamorous, but in reality, it was a tyrannical father, an unconventional upbringing, and a life of boarding schools… and now, being shipped to De Luca territory as punishment.
“Miss Vitali?” Seven years ago, Ivo had been the flight attendant on my flight from Italy to my junior boarding school in Connecticut, and he’d stuck with me since. Which was how he knew what I wanted as my eyes shifted across his attire. “No phones, Ren. Your papà gave strict instructions.”
I hated when he used my nickname. It drained my anger like watching Netflix with 3G drained my iPhone battery. “I didn’t ask.”
He tsked and gave me his arm, helping me to my feet until my five-six frame stood eye-level with his shoulder. My cheap, dyed-blonde hair rested in a samurai bun on the top of my head, and between my bare face and the sweats that covered my long legs, I gave the accurate impression that I didn’t want to be here. I doubted I could find any rational syndicate member outside the De Luca family who’d want to be here.
Ivo led me down the stairs and off the plane. “Your things will arrive at the De Luca manor later tonight.” He eyed the town car resting a few feet from the base of the stairs. Tinted windows. Dark and shiny. Vanity plates, whereas most mafiosos preferred unmarked and nondescript. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
