Free Born of Corruption by Teri Brown

get yourself burned. We could have lost everything if my uncle hadn’t protected us from the Morellis. But Jack had no way of knowing. Something still puzzles me though. “I just don’t understand how it all came about,” I say.
    His dark eyes stare off into the distance before he finally looks down at me. “Like I said, it started out as something fun to do. Something different, but then . . .”
    He pauses and I prod him. “And then?”
    He looks down at me, his eyes bleak. “I guess I wanted you to be proud of me. I know how much you adore your uncle and his friends. I’m bland and boring compared to the exciting men you’re used to.”
    My mouth falls open. “How can you say that? You’re wonderful and I love everything about you and our life. You’re educated and polished, and that’s exactly what I wanted. It’s not like I couldn’t have married into the mob if I’d wanted to. But I wanted you!”
    His arms tighten around me. “I won’t forget that again.”
    I place a finger on his lips. “See that you don’t. Now let’s not speak of it anymore.”
    “Then what shall we talk about?”
    I smile, once again resolving to put that horrible night out of my mind for good. “Let’s talk about our trip to Europe this spring, shall we? We should totally keep it hush-hush and surprise Anna on her tour! Wouldn’t that be fun?”
    He kisses the top of my head and I turn back to the window, ignoring the fluttering of my stomach. Instead of mind-numbing fear, the panoramic view seems full of possibilities, and I plan on exploring each and every one of them.

Excerpt from Born of Illusion
    Turn the page for a sneak peek at
     

One
    T he hair on the back of my neck prickles even before I spot him rounding the corner ahead. He saunters toward me, swinging his billy stick, tipping his blue cap here and there to passersby. My spine stiffens automatically and my pulse races. My fear of policemen is as much a part of me as the deep brown color of my hair, and for good reason.
    Fortune-telling laws are getting stricter and stricter, so all it takes is one disgruntled client ratting us out to the authorities and we’re in deep trouble. They allow us to hold our magic and mentalist shows because they’re considered harmless entertainment. It’s the private séances the authorities object to, but the amount of money we get is worth the risk.
    The officer nods at me and I return his gesture casually, my eyes sliding away from his as he passes. Sometimes I forget how respectable I look now. My green Chanel-style suit, with its boxy jacket and calf-length pleated skirt, doesn’t raise suspicion (or eyebrows) like the gaudier costumes I used to have to wear when money was tight. After several moments, I take a deep breath of relief and slow my pace, enjoying the bustling activity around me.
    I’ve only been in New York for a month but have already noticed that everyone acts as if they’re frantically busy. Even the little girls and boys in their bloomer dresses and sailor suits look harried. Office girls, with their modern bobs and tight cloche hats, hurry off to work, and the sidewalk newsstand vendors scream out headlines as if they’re going to change at any moment. I stop and buy a paper for my mother, who has become obsessed with the new crossword-puzzle craze. I’m briefly tempted by the mouthwatering scent of meat pies coming from a nearby pushcart.
    But before I can decide, I spot a young man striding toward me. He too must have just bought a newspaper because he’s studying the front page, a studious frown across his solemn features. But it’s the way he walks that captures my interest: confident and self-assured, each foot firmly and properly placed in front of the other. I’m so caught up in watching him that I don’t notice we’re on a collision course until it’s almost too late. I swerve to avoid him at the last moment, the sleeves of our coats brushing as we pass.
    “Excuse me,” he says