WHO: I’m Viviana MacKade from South Florida. I was born and lived in Northern Italy for 27 years, then moved to the UK, spent 5 years there, and moved into the sun. I’m a wife to an alpha scientist, mom to a 6yo boy who is the sweetest and most monstrous kid ever, and waiting for our baby girl to arrive in late August (for whom my son takes all the owning. It’s his sister, not my and my husband’s child. He loves the idea of being a big brother, takes the job veeeery seriously.)
INDEPENDENCE: is the thing I value the most. To me, it is making my own choices and paying their price. Is that simple.
NOPE: Many things are not going to happen in my books. Characters will not spend pages and pages thinking and re-thinking the same things. My heroines might have little experience with men, but they are no man’s fool. My heroes can be alpha, but they know when to stop pushing.
Things move, sometimes too fast, and I have to be careful not to make it all about dialogue because (see next point),
DIALOGUE: I love it. I could write an entire book going only through it. Which I do, when I get impatient with the story. I write all of it for each scene, and then I put the extra stuff in there. You know, the other details like where the scene is happening, why, when…. I kinda have to. But I’m not crazy about it.
OUTRAGEOUS: I’ve never been an outrageous kind of person. I don’t like to stand out because I like to be left well alone and if you stand out, you simply can’t. Of course, when I open my mouth and my stance on things comes out, there’s bound to be someone noticing. At this point, one of two things will happen: they will love me or hate me. I’m good with either.
WINDOWS: My office’s window overlooks the street and the front of the house. I like that I can see the comings and goings (all the 3 cars that ride that little road on a good day, usually my neighbors’), I like how I can keep an eye on things. If my office were in the back of the house, I think I’d be a little anxious.
SHUT UP: People forgot how to, and it’s a real shame. No, one’s opinion is not always needed. Or asked. Society as a whole should keep in mind the old saying, “if you don’t have something interesting or useful to say, then close your mouth”. Maybe it was if you had nothing nice to say, but I’d rather hear something unpleasant and true, instead of nice and false. For which, people should shut up.
Guns for Angles by Viviana MacKade
My sister was all the family I had. She was taken from me and now, someone wants me dead, too. Not sure why.
I’m sure I’m not going to give my life up, though. I’m not going to let them get away with my sister’s murder.
The new me will try, anyway.
You see, when she was alive I could live in brightness and peace. Now I have to accept the darkness within me. After all, isn’t life about balance? Ironically, the man who can teach me how to embrace the shadows is broken, hopeless, and angry. Mark is also the only one I trust to lead me through my heart’s night, and back into the light.
The one I trust to keep us alive.
A favor to a teammate: pick up two girls in trouble, take them to the Team’s safehouse. Should have been easy. It was not.
Then someone killed one of my team, one of my brothers. Now it’s personal.
They want me, too.
They want me, too. I can deal with that. But they want Ann. The only person who cut through me, who woke me, who grabbed my hand and guided me back into life one smile at the time.
I’ll be damned if I let them have anything.
Not. One. Damned. Thing.
From NY to sunny Miami, Ann and Mark run into a maze of lie, betrayal, and death, where love is the only, terrifying certainty. And when truth unravels, they will have to risk all to survive.
~ All my books are on sale at 99 cents for the duration of the pandemic ~
They entered a narrow hall, its bare walls painted in a subdued magnolia. At their left, an old, dark wooden staircase led upstairs. The veil of dust on the handrail carried fresh scars where hands had touched not long ago. A strange smell saturated the house, one Ann didn’t have a name for. It was out of place and mean. It reminded her of the last moments in her house, when those men had broken in shooting and screaming. Could fear smell? Could death?
At the end of the corridor, a door opened into a tiny bathroom. At its side, another door was ajar. The afternoon sun filtered through the crack, as if the room strained to contain all the light in it.
Mark’s face was detached, set into a mask as he prodded the door with his fingertips. More light poured into the hall.
Her heart rate rocketed as they waited at the door’s side. Ann wanted to scream to fill the silence.
Seconds ticked away. Drenched air mingled with fear ran down her neck in rivulets of sweat. Mark gestured her to stay and took a step inside the room.
She peeked from behind him, saw it was empty. A laugh crawled through the ball of fear at the base of her chest, asking to be freed, but her elation didn’t live long.
“There’s trouble in this house,” Mark told her in a tense whisper after looking around in the empty room. He walked out, moved toward the stairs with light strides.
Lightheaded, Ann followed him holding the piece of paper he’d given her as if her life depended on it. Funny that it might just be the case.
And they say paper and ink are useless, nowadays, she mused to herself.
At the top of the staircase, Mark opened the door with his foot; when nothing happened he stepped inside. Ann stayed behind him.
The upstairs was as big as the whole house. Ann let her eyes run over the filing cabinets, all lined up like little soldiers along the low walls, dutifully closed against prying eyes. An open skylight looked up into the blue sky where a lonely cloud plodded away, but no air came in from it to ease the heat. The walls were plain white up here, amplifying the light and the room’s emptiness.
A body lay on the floor. It swam in blood.
Ann’s mind didn’t recognize it at first, didn’t understand it, but at some point her brain caught up with her eyes. Her senses floated away to the sound of her own blood withdrawing from her head, the outline of her surrounding faded into white. A commanding, familiar voice called her but it was muffled, and too far away. When the white completely closed in, she let go.
Ann. It was Mark’s first thought when he saw Mouse’s body.
When he turned to take her away, to spare her other memories she shouldn’t cash in, it was too late. He would protect her from any harm but he had no power against what she saw.
She paled, her eyes lost focus, and then she went down
Author bio and links:
Beach bum and country music addicted, Viviana lives in a small Floridian town with her husband and her son, her die-hard fans and personal cheer squad. She spends her days between typing on her beloved keyboard, playing in the pool with her boy, and eating whatever her husband puts on her plate (the guy is that good, and she really loves eating). Besides beaching, she enjoys long walks, horse-riding, hiking, and pretty much whatever she can do outside with her family.
The best way to know me is through my website (and the books I host): http://www.viviana-mackade.blog/
The best way to see what I’m up to is through my Instagram account.
Amazon Author page