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

The dinner goes smoothly, better than I expected, and after a while, even Elira starts to loosen up, laughing at Romero’s stupid jokes. The rogue. Of course he’s pouring it on thick. I should be jealous, but instead, I’m just relieved to see her more at ease. At least she’s not wearing that frozen, tense look anymore, and for once, I’m glad Romero’s being his charming self.

After dessert—which, no offense to the chef, but Elira’s creations put these to shame—Rafael’s staff clears the table and cracks open a bottle of wine, and the vibe settles into something almost… normal. Mundane topics float around the room, and I find myself sipping along, half-listening, right about to let myself relax.

Then Rafael gets up from his chair, commanding the room’s attention like he always does. “Maximo, see me in my study.”

The hell?

I shoot him a frown as he walks away, then turn back to Elira. Her smile is gentle, understanding. “It’s fine. Go.”

I press a kiss to her cheek before standing, but not before locking eyes with Michael and Romero. “No funny business,” I warn them, my voice carrying every ounce of promise of what will happen if they step out of line.

Romero winks, and Michael just rolls his eyes. Typical.

Reluctantly, I leave the table, stealing one last look at Elira. She’s safe here—she has to be. Still, the thought of leaving her, even for a minute, grates at me. My feet drag as I pass the staircase and approach the thick white oak doors that lead to Rafael’s study.

Inside, I find him already seated, leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled. The weight of whatever he needs to discuss already settles on my shoulders as I drop into the seat across from him.

We rarely hold separate meetings from the rest of our brothers. If it’s important, we all hear it. So this must be personal. “What’s up?”

“Afrim.” The single word makes my jaw clench. “Snatching Elira from under his nose and marrying her without his permission has him out for blood. He’s livid—at you, us.” His voice doesn’t hold judgment, just cold facts. “My sources say he’s been reaching out to every Albanian family in all five boroughs. Something big is brewing, Maximo. Afrim won’t just bring a fight to your doorstep—he might spark an uprising against all of us.”

A knot twists in my gut as his words sink in. “That can’t happen.” The city is finally starting to stabilize. The last thing we need is Afrim tearing everything apart over wounded pride. The question is—how the hell do I stop him?

“Exactly,” Rafael replies. “So keep your in-laws happy and in check. The Përmeti name carries weight in the Albanian circle, especially now that Kadri Përmeti has most of Long Island in his pocket. Having them on our side wouldn’t suck.”

Kadri Përmeti is Elira’s uncle. He and Afrim used to rule Long Island together before their split and the latter came to Queens.

Keep my in-laws happy? Like it’s that fucking simple. Maybe another call from Elira could buy us some time, but it’s not a long-term fix. I need to call a meeting with Afrim.

The thought makes me sick, but Rafael is right. Having the Përmetis as our allies won’t suck. I’ve made Elira mine, and nothing in this world will ever make me let her go, so I might as well forge a truce with her family. And if that softens her up towards me? Even better.

We shift to talking business—the legal side—for a few more minutes before Rafael gets up, effectively ending the discussion. As I rise to my feet, my gaze drifts to the framed picture of Rafael, Michael, Romero, and me on the wall. The same picture that’s in my study at home, as well as Michael’s and Romero’s. It always reminds me of the missing piece of our puzzle—where there were once five, but now there are four.

“Rafael, about Emilia,” I start cautiously. “It’s been a decade and⁠—”

“Don’t,” he cuts me off, his face going cold like it always does anytime I try to bring her up. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

“Have you thought about looking for her?” I push anyway, because I’m either brave or just too fucking stubborn for my own good. “I can lead the search if you give me the go-ahead.” Fuck, Michael has been talking about it for a while now too.

Rafael’s gaze turns arctic. “I never lost her, Maximo. So no, you won’t be leading any fucking search party.” He adjusts his cufflinks and starts walking towards his study door. “Let her spread her wings and climb up that ladder. It will be more fun to cut her wings off when she’s at the highest point of her life.”

What the fuck?

I frown at his back, unsettled by the sinister note in his voice. He knows where she is and is just… waiting to pounce? He’s been plotting all this time? What the hell happened between them ten years ago? The man who wanted to make her his queen, who dreamed of ruling beside her, now speaks of destroying her with such cold satisfaction?

My heart grows heavy as I follow him back to the dining room. Could I really stand by and watch him destroy a woman I consider family? My sorellina? Could the other guys?

Thoughts of Emily slip out of my head the second we enter the living room. Romero, that smooth-talking bastard, has somehow migrated to sit entirely too close to my wife. “Romero Lombardi.” I snap and quicken my stride, grabbing Elira’s arm to pull her up from the chair. “Stay away from my fucking wife.”

He throws his hands up, all innocence, but he’s not fooling me. The guy’s fucked his way through half the city, and while I know deep down he wouldn’t betray me by going after my wife, it still makes my blood boil seeing him that close to her.

“Maximo,” Elira chastises and gives Romero an apologetic smile. “Excuse him, please.”

“That’s alright, carina. Anything for you.” The fucker grins, and a growl builds in my chest.

“That’s it, we’re leaving.” I barely spare my brothers a glance as I wrap my arm around my wife’s waist and bundle her out of the living room and through Rafael’s sprawling apartment towards the elevator. As the doors close, my hands slide down her back to rest on her luscious ass.

“Did you take out the plug?”

Her cheeks pinken sweetly, and she lowers her head in that shy way that drives me wild as she whispers, “No. You told me not to.”

Pride surges through me, clashing with a raw, relentless lust. She’s been so obedient, letting me remove it every night, then easing it back in before I go to work in the morning, watching her face as her body slowly accepts the intrusion. The quiet gasps she makes, the way her fingers grip the sheets… Christ, just thinking about it makes my cock throb.

“Good girl,” I murmur in approval, threading my fingers through the silky strands of her curls. It’s been torture keeping my hands off her since she walked into my living room looking good enough to eat. But I know if I touched her then, I wouldn’t have been able to stop and we would’ve missed Rafael’s dinner. Not that I’d have given a shit, but he would’ve made us pay.

Now that I have her alone, my hunger is reaching feral levels. And nothing’s holding me back. Except…

My gaze drops to the tempting swell of her pink lips and my mouth waters. Damn her for holding back her kisses. I should have just let her kiss me that first night we had together and gotten it over with, but I knew she would resent me once the pleasure wore off. For some reason, I couldn’t bear that thought. I still can’t.

The corner of her mouth beckons like a siren song, and before I can stop myself, I’m pressing a chaste kiss there, watching her carefully as her sweet taste explodes on my tongue. More, more. The need for more rides me savagely, but I won’t force it. When we finally kiss properly, it has to be her choice.

Her lashes flutter, and just as I think she’s leaning in, she slowly turns her cheek, denying me her lips once again. My restraint snaps. I tighten my grip on her and tug her head to the side to attack her sweet throat with angry hunger that’s equal parts punishment and pleasure. Mine, mine, mine, each kiss seems to say. I’ll take every other part of her.

The elevator chimes our arrival, and the doors slide open to reveal my men snapping to attention.

Reluctantly, I release her hair, then guide her to her car with my hand pressed possessively against her lower back. But as she gets in and scoots to the other side, instead of closing the door behind her, I follow her inside.

She stares at me, eyes wide. “What are you doing? Aren’t we supposed to ride in different cars? For safety and all?”

“Fuck that,” I growl, yanking the bowtie off my neck as I hit the button to bring up the privacy partition. The memory of the drive here, watching her car ahead of mine, knowing she was so close yet untouchable—it was its own special kind of hell. I almost stopped the cars a dozen times. I’m not about to go through that shit again. Never fucking again.

“From now on, you ride with me. We’ll beef up security instead.” Her lips part as if to protest, but I’m already sliding closer, closing the space between us. “Now come here. I need you.”

I lift her into my lap, back to my chest, and spread her thighs easily thanks to the slit on the side of her dress. My palm glides over her panty-covered cunt, and her warm heat greets me, sending blood rushing to my cock until I go from semi to fully erect.

“Maximo…” she breathes, her voice trembling as I rub her gently, teasing her. She squirms, and the friction against my aching erection is almost too much.

“Don’t. Move.” I command, nipping at her throat as my right hand dives down the neckline of her dress, greedily claiming her tits just as my other hand slips into her panties. She moans and leans back into me, her head dropping onto my shoulder like she can’t hold herself up.

Her sounds of pleasure as I slowly stroke her damp folds are fucking beautiful. When I finally find her clit and roll it under my thumb, she reaches up to grip the back of my head, her nails scraping my scalp in a way that makes me want to lose control. Fuck.

I toy with her clit until her low moans climb higher and higher, then slide my middle finger into her wet sheath, keeping my thumb right where she needs it. The cry that tears from her throat is absolutely filthy, and her head presses harder against my shoulder, mouth parted, eyes squeezed shut in bliss.

My gaze hones onto her mouth again and a fierce hunger overwhelms me, but I force myself to look away, trailing soft kisses up and down the side of her neck instead as I fuck her hot cunt with my finger, adding a second digit when she starts making those breathy please-please-please sounds. Then I curl both up to her g-spot and flick her clit at the same time.

She shudders so violently I have to lock my arm around her waist to anchor her on my lap.

I rub her clit harder and thrust in and out of her, making sure each stroke drags over the swollen spot until she lets out this broken sound, her cunt clenching tightly around me as she climaxes.

My heart thunders in my chest, my cock throbbing painfully and leaking precum as she unravels in my arms. I focus on breathing slowly through my nose—this is about her, not me—and keep my fingers working, drawing out her pleasure for as long as possible.

Only when her breathing slowly returns to normal do I move my hands to her hips and drag her panties down her thighs. Bunching up her dress, I press it into her hands. “Hold it.”