Today, I am putting the spotlight on Christian fiction novel, Mercy Undeserved. I have not read this novel yet but was approached by the author to do a feature, and I am happy to do so. It sounds like a great book and series!
How much more will she lose?
Lillian Rossi had it all—a devoted husband, a new baby, and all the riches she’d dreamed of. But one January day changed everything. Now, the consequences of her late husband’s sins extend to her and her son, and Matteo, though only a baby, is the rightful heir to the Rossi empire, making him a target.
Alberto Moretti promised to protect Lillian and her son, but he well knows the cruelty and desperation of the Rossi family. He served them all too long—until God set him free.
As Lillian and Alberto are thrown together in a race to save her and Matteo’s lives, their own sins and Stefano Rossi’s plans threaten to destroy them. Will they fall prey to the danger so close behind, or will they find mercy they’ve done nothing to deserve?
Kristina Hall is a sinner saved by grace who seeks to glorify God with her words. She is a homeschool graduate and holds a degree in accounting. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading, arm wrestling, lifting weights, and playing the violin.
Purchase link: https://books2read.com/mercy-undeserved
Lillian Rossi swept across the dance floor, skirt swishing at her knees.
Sweat trailed down her temples, and the humid, smoky air pressed close. She pasted on a smile and spun in a circle, twirling away from the man who’d asked her to dance.
Only in laughter, dance, and drink could she forget.
Forget most of her family didn’t want a thing to do with her. Forget only a lonely hotel room and little Matteo waited for her when dawn cracked the sky.
The first mournful notes of a waltz slipped through the laughter, conversation, and slap of shoes against wood.
She eased from the crowd and pressed close to the velvet wall hangings, her throat too tight, her breaths too quick.
Forget Vin lay dead beneath six feet of New York dirt. Forget the January day that had taken him from her. Forget he’d never again hold her close and lead her in time with that gentle, haunting melody.
Oh, forgetting wasn’t easy tonight.
She dabbed her temples to catch the perspiration before it could do more damage to her cosmetics and made her way to the bar.
She braced her hands against the polished mahogany, and the bartender slid her a gin.
Lights glistened in the clear liquor, and she curled her fingers around the glass. Cool seeped into her palm. She lifted the glass to her lips and let the fire claim her throat. She would forget. Somehow, she would forget.
She lowered the glass to the wood and met her gaze in the long mirror hanging behind the bar. Hollowness claimed her eyes, accentuated by the black eyeliner and gray eye shadow she’d applied hours before.
Save for her green dress, she well looked the part of a grieving widow. Yes, her mother had forced the traditional black garb on her for the time she’d stayed at the farm, but that sort of attire wouldn’t let her forget.
Not that anything would let her forget.
She slid the glass forward. In one smooth motion, the bartender refilled it and two more belonging to the revelers on either side of her.
The final note of the waltz echoed through the room, carried by a lone saxophone.
She finished her drink in a couple of swallows and slipped from the bar. Dancing would do her no good tonight. If she closed her eyes, Vin would be here, his arm warm around her shoulders, his smile for her alone.
She pressed to the velvet wall covering once again and folded her arms over her chest. Despite the closeness of the air, a shiver worked up her spine.
She blinked. As if a single motion could push away unfounded worries.
Months had passed since she’d left New York, and Stefano hadn’t threatened her. Why would he? She held nothing over him. He was Vin’s younger brother. He could have the Rossi wealth and power. All of it. At least that’s what she’d convinced Mae and Davis of. Her younger sister and Mae’s fiancé wouldn’t have let her go otherwise.
Fear wouldn’t rule her.
She lowered her arms and smoothed her skirt. She would dance. She would drink. She would laugh.
And she would forget.
The door on the other side of the room opened, and a couple walked in, her hand resting on his arm. Unremarkable save for the man behind them.
She fisted her hands, and her nails dug into her palms. The lights were low enough, the smoke thick enough he wouldn’t see her. Unless Stefano had sent him to find her.
She pressed closer to the velvet.
Alberto Moretti strode across the dance floor, parting the dancers with a single look. The months hadn’t changed him. If anything, they’d hardened him. The set of his shoulders carried warning, and the purpose of his steps promised nothing good to any man who got in his way.
Whom was she lying to? He would see her. How could he not?
And why was he here? Had he stooped to work for Stefano? Had he come to kill her?
He stopped at the bar and leaned in to speak to the bartender.
She took a slow step to the side, then another. She had to leave. Without him seeing. Without him knowing she’d been here. She could disappear to another city, lose herself in another speakeasy.
He turned, one hand propped on the edge of the bar, and his gaze settled on her.
The door swung open yet again, and six men traipsed in. Vin’s men. No, Stefano’s men.
Her stomach knotted, and air stalled in her lungs.
A hand encircled her wrist.
She wrenched free and plastered herself against the wall.
Alberto towered over her. “We’ve got no time for that. They’re right behind me.” His voice cut low over the rhythm of the band, and he tipped his head to the door to the right of the bar.
Then he wasn’t with Stefano’s men. But why had he come?
His hand found her wrist again, and he pulled her away from the wall.
“No.” She had to get away from him, had to … Had to what? Stay and face Stefano’s men?
He forced her along, now gripping her upper arm, his body positioned a hair behind her. Almost as if he wished to shield her.
Shouts fractured the air. The band fell silent.
He drove her toward the door to the side of the bar. Her shoes skittered across the wood, losing traction.
He snaked his arm around her and opened the door, shoved her through.
A guard stumbled to the side. A fist thudded against flesh, and weight hit the floor.
Gunfire cracked behind her. Glass shattered. Screams split the air. Screams that echoed from the speakeasy and from her own throat.
She’d die here, torn by bullets. She’d leave Matteo an orphan.
Alberto gripped her arm. Drove her up a flight of stairs, through another door, into the empty warehouse that covered the speakeasy, and out into the humid night air.
No, she could never forget.