Devil’s Lily: A Dark Mafia Romance (Nightshades Book 1)

She doesn’t make a sound as I guide her back into the penthouse. Not a whimper. Not a word. My traitorous wife knows exactly what she’s done. The tension radiating from her small frame could power half of New York.

I’d just stepped out of the shower, water still dripping down my neck, mind set on finally getting some damn sleep when Perro’s text lit up my phone. And yet, as much as I should be raging, I’m not even angry. Not really. Despite my threat to her family, I expected her to try at least one escape attempt eventually. I just didn’t think it would be tonight. Not after what we just did and the day we’ve had.

“You have to let me go, Maximo.” Her voice breaks through the silence, trembling with raw terror. When I turn to look at her, she has a fiercely earnest look on her face. “I’ll come back, I promise. I just need to go get something.”

My eyes narrow on her. “Go get something? Is that code for slipping a message out to your family?”

“No! Of course not.” The vehemence in her denial catches me off guard. Her brows pinch together in genuine distress, and damn it all if I can’t read the truth written across her face plain as day. This isn’t about her family at all.

“Then explain yourself. What could possibly be so fucking urgent you’d put a knife to your own throat?” My hands clench involuntarily as that image burns through my mind again—her with the blade pressed to her neck, looking half-crazed. It stirs something in me, an anger I’d rather ignore.

The fact that I’m angry about that instead of the escape attempt itself pisses me off even more. What’s it to me if she stupidly tried to off herself in a desperate bid to get away? She’s just a means to an end. Just a wife on paper.

She presses her lips together, gaze skittering away from mine. The stubborn set of her jaw tells me everything—she won’t spill unless I force her hand. “Tell me, or you can say bye-bye to Daddy dearest,” I snarl, irritated at myself because this time, I know I don’t mean the threat. Her father is safe from me. At least for now.

Her eyes jump to mine, and for a second, she looks ready to spit fire. “Oh, so this is how it’s gonna be? Anytime you want to get your way, it’s ‘do this, Elira, or I’ll hurt your father’?” She deepens her voice in a mocking imitation of mine. “‘Make me dinner, Elira’. And if I say no, you’ll, what, just dangle that threat over me?”

I drag a hand down my face, too tired for this shit. Is this damn day ever going to end?

“Fine. Tell me what you wanted, so I can have my men fetch it for you. Or don’t. I honestly don’t care.” I shrug, already turning away from her to go back to my room. I’ve had enough. Tomorrow starts early, and I need some sleep, damn it.

“I wanted to get the morning-after pills!” she calls after me, panic threading through each syllable.

I freeze mid-step, slowly pivoting back. “Morning-after pills?” I ask, slowly.

Her face flames scarlet. “You–you came inside me, and I’m not on birth control.”

A curse tears from my throat—not at her, but at my own carelessness. Of course she isn’t on birth control. She’s a virgin, for Christ’s sake. At least she was. I stalk away from her and down the hallway towards my study.

“Where the hell are you going?” she demands, footsteps quick behind me. “Did you even hear what I said?”

I ignore her, shouldering through my study door.

“I knew you did this on purpose! You planned this!” She follows me in, her voice rising almost incredulous. “Are you trying to get me pregnant? You asshole, do you⁠—”

I raise a hand to silence her as I yank open my desk drawer and take out one of the numerous burner phones.

“Did you seriously just try to shush me?”

I scroll through the contacts until I find the number I need, then hit dial. It rings several times before a groggy voice answers. “Hello?”

“Ethan, this is Maximo. I need you here, right the fuck now.”

“Now?” Sleep evaporates from his tone, replaced by disbelief. “It’s 1 AM in the fucking morning.”

“I expect you to be here in thirty minutes.” I end the call on his protests and finally look up to meet Elira’s confused stare. “That was a doctor. He’ll be here soon.”

Her lips purse. “Is he a gynecologist?”

I shrug. “He patches up my men and I when we need it. Works at one of the top hospitals. He knows his stuff.”

“Right. But he’s going to show up thinking someone needs to be patched up again and might not bring—” She waves her hand in the air between us, cheeks still flushed. “You know. What we actually need.”

Damn it, she has a point. I fire off a text to Ethan spelling out exactly what I need him here for, and adding a not-so-gentle reminder that he has twenty-eight minutes now. He lives in East Flushing, which is just a thirteen-minute drive away if he hits every green light. Plenty of time.

When I finish, she sighs, shoulders dropping as some of the tension bleeds out of her, and something in my chest eases at seeing her relief. But now that the immediate crisis is handled, the full weight of what I did hits me.

I shove a hand through my hair as I spin away from her, then grip the edge of my desk until my knuckles turn white. I fucking fucked her without protection, Not only that—I came inside her and didn’t even think twice about it.

If she hadn’t brought up her concerns, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought.

What the hell is she doing to me? I’m never this careless and messy. Protection is non-negotiable with my partners because the last thing I want is a bastard—and an opportunistic bitch who thinks she can use the brat to get to me.

Except… Elira isn’t just another woman. She’s my wife. If she got pregnant, it wouldn’t be a bastard but my heir.

A sudden, vivid image fills my mind: Elira, swollen with my child—my heir. Mine. My cock stirs, hardening instantly at the possessive thoughts that surge through my veins.

“Fuck me,” I mutter, dropping my head and breathing deep through my nose as I try to focus on something else. Gunshot wounds. Broken ribs. Blood. Pain. Anything to kill this sudden, overwhelming urge to text Ethan to turn his ass around and go back home.

My fingers dig harder into the desk.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t even want a kid. Not yet anyway. The timing’s all wrong—bringing a child into this mess right now would be insanity. And Elira and I… we’re nowhere near ready for that step. If we’ll ever be.

“Are you clean?”

Her question breaks into my spiraling thoughts. I look up to find her gnawing on her fingernails as she watches me, toes tapping nervously against the floor. Makes sense. She doesn’t trust me, rightfully so. And now that her fear of getting pregnant is settled, it’s only natural for her mind to go to the other consequences of unprotected sex.

“Are you?” I throw back at her.

She rolls her eyes. “I was a virgin.”

“That’s immaterial. Virgins can get STIs too.”

The clinical tone of my voice seems to irritate her further. Her eyes narrow to slits. “Fine. The doctor can run tests on both of us when he gets here!” She spins on her heel, storming towards the door.

“I’m clean!” I call after her, but she only slams the door in response, and I chuckle lightly. Such temper.

Twenty minutes later on the dot, Ethan arrives looking like he just rolled out of bed—which he probably did. His lips are pressed thin as I greet him in the foyer. His shirt’s wrinkled to hell, dark hair sticking up in every direction.

“These middle-of-the-night house calls need to stop, Maximo. I have an early shift in the fucking morning and need as much sleep as I can get,” he grumbles as he tries to tame his hair with one hand while holding his medical kit in the other.

“I already told you to quit your day job and work for me full-time,” I remind him as I lead him up the stairs towards Elira’s room.

Ethan snorts echoes on the stairwell. “Right. And do what? Twiddle my thumbs waiting for one of you idiots to get shot? I live for the chaos of the ER, not waiting on mob mishaps.”

“Then stop whining about the late-night calls.” I pause in front of Elira’s room and knock softly. “The doctor’s here.”

“Come in.” Her voice drifts through the door, and I crack it open first to make sure she’s appropriately covered before stepping back to allow Ethan in.

Elira’s brows climb towards her hairline as she takes in Ethan’s youth. She was clearly expecting someone older, more traditionally doctorly.

“Elira, this is Ethan Lancaster, our doctor. Ethan, this is my wife—Mrs. Leonotti to you.”

His blue eyes sparkle with amusement as he shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Leonotti. And congratulations on the wedding. Not offended at all that I didn’t get an invitation, by the way,” he adds, giving me a pointed glance as he walks towards the bed and places his kit on the nightstand, hands already busy opening it. “Up on the bed please, Mrs. Leonotti. And I’ll need you to remove your bottoms for the exam.”

My heart rate spikes through the roof at his words. “What? Like hell. That’s not happening. Do not take your pants off, Elira.”

Ethan sighs, lifting his gaze towards me with an almost parental patience. “Maximo, I need to examine her cervix to determine if she could have gotten pregnant and to insert the contraceptive.” He waves a thin instrument still in its sterile packaging at me.

His explanation makes perfect medical sense, but every instinct in me rebels. Logic be damned. “The only way you’re going to examine her cervix is with your head blown off.”

“Maximo!” Elira exclaims, but her shock doesn’t faze me.

“It doesn’t matter if she could have gotten pregnant or not. And put that damned thing—” I jab a finger at the contraceptive device he’s holding, “—anywhere else but inside her.” I know there are other options that don’t require such intimate examination.

I’m the only man who’s seen her pretty, tight cunt, who’s been inside her, and that’s how it’s going to stay.

Ethan rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch with amusement. The bastard was messing with me. “Okay, okay. Have a seat, Mrs. Leonotti.”

“Please, call me Elira,” my wife murmurs, perching on the edge of the bed, all polite and proper. I watch like a hawk, not missing a damn thing as he lifts her left arm and turns it this way and that, studying it from different angles with an annoying level of care.

“This is your non-dominant hand, right?” he asks her. When she nods, he gently helps her lie back on the bed and adjust her left arm, bending her elbow. I swallow the growl bubbling up in my throat at seeing another man’s hands on her, even though it’s clinical and I know Ethan is being professional.

He rummages through his kit and snaps on a pair of latex gloves before taking out a syringe filled with a yellowish fluid. “This is to numb the area so you won’t feel pain as I insert the implant,” he explains to Elira, who throws a nervous glance at me. That look she gives, like she’s checking to make sure I’m still here—it pulls me in like a hook.

Before I can stop myself, I’m on the bed next to her, claiming her free hand in mine as Ethan gives her the injection. The needle goes in, and she flinches slightly, tightening her grip around my fingers.

Once the anesthetic’s in, he trades the syringe for a long, thin applicator with a sharp needle at the tip. When he puts the implant into it and brings the needle towards Elira’s arm, I find myself looking away, unable to see it being pushed into her arm.

Instead, I focus on brushing those wild curls off her forehead. “You’re doing great,” I murmur against her temple and press a kiss there. The small smile she gives me in return does something dangerous to my heart.

“All done,” Ethan finally says, breaking the spell of the moment, and I glance at him to see him rolling a bandage over her arm. “You’re covered for the next five years, Elira. If you decide you want kids sooner, just call me to take it out and you’ll be all good.” He throws her a wink that stains her cheeks pink. How dare he.

My glare could melt steel as I rise from the bed. “You may leave now, Doctor.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going.” He mutters it under his breath, stripping off his gloves and packing away his supplies like he’s not all too happy about the dismissal.

I nod at Elira, who suddenly finds the floor fascinating, as I escort Ethan out. The door closes behind us, followed by the unmistakable sound of the lock clicking into place. Ethan and I exchange glances, and a glint appears in his eye.

“Not. One. Fucking. Word.” I grit out, and he raises his free hand, acting all innocent and shit. But I can tell he’s filing this away for future ammunition. Bastard.