Ruthless Heir: A Dark Mafia Romance (Ruthless Dynasty Book 1)

“I’m bored.”

Rozalia slinks down against my bedroom wall, just beside the open door. Her eyes roll into the back of her head as she mindlessly fiddles with her switchblade.

“You’re bored?” I ask, flabbergasted. “I’m the one who’s been stuck inside this windowless nightmare for who knows how long now!”

“And it’s made you boring,” Rozalia shrugs.

“Well, you’re welcome to leave anytime.”

“As if it were that easy.”

Quickly pushing herself back off of the floor, the black cat begins to pace back and forth. Then suddenly, she stops, just beside the bathroom door.

For seemingly no reason at all, she lifts her knife and plunges the blade into the wall.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, astonished by the casual destruction of Gabriel’s property.

“Just trying to inject some life into this place,” Rozalia chuckles, before crossing the bathroom doorway to stab the wall on the other side too.

“You don’t think that might piss Gabriel off?”

“Maybe. But it’s what he gets for locking me in here.”

“Again, how do you think I feel?”

Rozalia thinks on that for a moment. Then, pursing her lips, she extends her arm in my direction, switchblade in palm, offering it to me.

“Take a stab for yourself then,” she says. “I mean, unless you’re afraid of what Gabriel might do to you when he finds out…”

A hot tingle washes over my skin as I consider what kind of punishment I would receive for putting a hole in Gabriel’s wall.

Another round of spanking?

… Or maybe something even more twisted.

My toes curl into the carpet as I push myself off the bed.

“I’m not scared of him.”

“You should be.”

“Then why would you want me to get him mad?”

“Uh, because I’m bored. Have you not been listening?”

Rolling my eyes, I decide to accept the challenge. Hell, if the worst that happens is another spanking, then my punishment might be more of a reward than anything.

But Rozalia doesn’t need to know that—not even if she probably already knows—this is me being tough. Stabbing Gabriel’s wall is badass… right?

“And what if I turn the blade on you?” I ask, my hand hovering over Rozalia’s outstretched palm.

“Then I’ll knock you the fuck out.”

A little smirk finally breaks her stony façade, but it’s impossible to tell if that’s because she’s fucking with me, or if it’s because she’d be more than happy for a little action.

“Fine,” I huff, taking the switchblade. “I’ll just stab an inanimate object then. Because, you know, that’s not crazy at all.”

“No one ever said I wasn’t a little nuts,” Rozalia shrugs. “Now put your pretty little ass into it.”

Taking a step back, she gives me the room I need to plunge the blade into the bedroom wall.

It barely pierces the fucking paint, before bouncing back at me.

“What the fuck?” I grumble, stumbling backwards, my aching legs tensing to keep myself from falling over. “How the hell did you do it?”

“It helps not being a weak, sheltered little princess.”

“I’m not weak,” I quickly retort, not denying that I’m sheltered—at least, that I was sheltered. There’s no coming back from this.

Not that I’m so sure I want to.

“Then put some fire into it, girl. Pretend it’s Gabriel you’re stabbing.”

“I… I don’t want to stab Gabriel,” I sheepishly confess. Not anymore. At least, not until he comes back. Alive and well.

“It’s okay, even I want to stab him sometimes… like right now, for example.”

“Can’t I think of someone else?”

“Sure. Think of someone you really hate.”

To my surprise, I have a hard time doing that.

Shit. Have I really lived such a sheltered life that I don’t have any true enemies? Rivals?

Hell, since high school ended, only the thought of one person has had the privilege of occupying my mind in such a spiteful manner.

Gabriel.

But now, that burning hate has turned mild. Hell, I even just admitted to myself that I might actually be starting to like him, in a weird, twisted kind of way.

But then who can I focus all of my frustration and anger towards?

Suddenly, the scar above my eyes softly flares, and I have my answer.

“Take this, you fucker,” I hiss. Cocking my arm back, I plunge the blade down once more, directly into the wall.

To my surprise, this time, it slips right in.

“Thatta girl!” Rozalia cheers, her voice filled with faux-excitement.

Still, the surge of strength is intoxicating.

“I did it.”

“Who did you think of?”

Pulling the knife out, a little waterfall of sawdust trickles to the floor. But the evidence of the destruction I caused only makes me even prouder.

“The asshole who gave me this scar,” I say. Lifting the blade, I tap the dull side against the softly throbbing cut that slashes through my eyebrow.

“The frat boy,” Rozalia knowingly nods.

“How… How did you know about that?”.

“I might have helped Gabriel kill him—or at least wring his body up after the deed was done.”

Taking a deep breath, I look back towards the pockmarked wall. “That’s what started all of… this,” I sigh. “My Dad thought someone was trying to frame us. The cops were on their way. We had to get out of there in a hurry. Meet up with my cousins so I could hide on some little island in the middle of nowhere. But we were ambushed. I was taken.”

“Boring,” Rozalia drawls. “I already know all of this—the fight you got into with the frat bitch also doomed all of your old bodyguards and got Gabriel through the door. Who cares? Stab the wall again. Now, that was fun.”

Squeezing down on the handle of the knife, I let my rage bubble over..

“Take that, you wannabe rapist fucker,” I shout, plunging the blade back into the wall. Another jagged socket opens up, and more sawdust spills out.

But I’m not done yet. Tears of frustration begin to well up in my eyes, blurring my vision as I start stabbing the fuck out of the wall.

Then, suddenly, something gives way.

Not in me, mind you, but in the wall.

“Oh shit, you went too far, girl,” Rozalia laughs.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I see what’s happened.

I made my way to the closet, and stabbed right through one of the shuttered doors.

“I… I didn’t mean to.”

“Ah, just own it. Hey, what’s in there?”

Brushing away the last bits of blurriness, I follow Rozalia’s curiosity. Inside the fist-sized hole I just created, I can see the bright material of what can only be a dress.

“What the hell,” I mumble. Dropping the knife, I reach for the closet doors.

When I open them up, a whole walk-in closet full of colorful outfits is exposed.

“Not a bad selection,” Rozalia notes, crouching down to pick up her switchblade before rummaging through the closet.

“I… I didn’t even know these were here.”

“You mean you’ve been wearing that same ratty nightgown this whole time? You never thought to check the closet?”

“I didn’t think it would have anything in it.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Gabriel never said anything.”

“He’s stubborn like that. But it doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy spoiling those he’s close to. Check out the handle on my switchblade.”

Dangling her knife in front of my face, Rozalia shows me what she means.

“It’s gorgeous,” I gasp, noting the exquisite beauty carved onto the elegant handle. “How did I not notice that before?”

“Probably for the same reason you didn’t notice that you had a closet full of brand-new outfits sitting fifteen feet away from you.”

“I’m not an airhead,” I defend myself.

“Never said you were,” Rozalia responds, turning to search through the outfits again. “You’ve been through a lot. I don’t blame you one bit.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, turning to help her.

“Are these in your size?” Rozalia asks, pulling down a pretty red polka-dot summer dress.

I check the tag. “Yeah… weird.”

“It’s not weird at all. Like I said, for all of his faults, Gabriel can be strangely thoughtful sometimes. You just need to push through all of the shit to get to the closet.”

“Some of these are really beautiful,” I sigh, inspecting a more elegant violet gown.

“It’s surprising, I know, but Gabriel has always had strangely good taste. Really, you should be flattered. He likes you, after all. That’s a good sign.”

“It feels more like a bad omen sometimes,” I half-joke.

That draws a sincere laugh from Rozalia dark red lips.

“Here, try this one on,” she says, pulling down a long, hip tie-dye t-shirt from the rack. “It looks comfy.”

“Too colorful,” I mumble, shaking my head.

“You want something darker?”

“I want something black.”

Rozalia chuckles again. “I got you, girl.” Dropping the long t-shirt to the floor, she shoves her way behind the first row of hanging dresses and shirts.

I don’t follow behind her. Hell, I’m still in a semi-state of shock.

It feels like my world has been turned upside down again, if only on a much smaller scale.

Gabriel isn’t who I thought he was.

Actually, maybe he is.

Fuck. I don’t know.

That thoughtful nature of his, the caring streak I thought I sensed in him. It’s real. The closet confirms it. Rozalia confirmed it.

For a man who can be so brutal, so ruthless, so endlessly violent and possessive, he can also be like this.

“Found something!”

Shaking my head, I try to leave behind all of the conflict raging inside of me.

Somehow, I almost manage it.

All I have to do is wade through the hanging clothes and find my way inside the walk-in closet.

There, at the far wall, stands Rozalia. She has a black tank-top and a black pair of leggings in her hands.

“It’s not exactly as badass as my outfits,” she shrugs. “But it should do well for you. What do you think?

“Agreed,” I nod.

When I take the clothes from her, Rozalia respectfully turns to look the other way.

Gently, I slide the old nightgown off of my still aching body.

“So, I guess you don’t think Gabriel is so bad anymore, huh?” Rozalia asks, filling the quiet air as I silently dress myself.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Is he at least better now than he was in high school?”

I have to think about that for a second. “I suppose.”

“Damn, he must have been really bad in school then,” Rozalia laughs. “I mean, if kidnapping you and holding you hostage doesn’t seem as bad?’”

My legs are sore enough that the skin-tight leggings aren’t exactly easy to put on. But I struggle in silence as I consider Rozalia’s question.

“Everything seems worse when you’re a kid,” I tell her.

“But was it really worse? Was he?”

“I mean, he did hit me with his car once…” I remember. “Just before winter formal, too. I had to go to the dance with a cane. People called me Grandma Byrne all night. Those giggles still haunt me.”

I’m only half joking.

Looking down at my feet, I desperately try to hide the teenage girl in me who’s still hurt over the whole incident.

Fuck. I haven’t thought about it in so long.

That night cemented my status as an outcast. I never recovered from the alienation. I still haven’t.

Hell, the entire evening all anyone could talk about was whether or not Gabriel would show up. And when the prom king-favorite didn’t grace us with his presence, I was blamed.

And it wasn’t just the platinum blondes and the cheerleaders. It was the goths and the jocks and everyone in between. There wasn’t a single soul at that school who wasn’t mesmerized by the handsome, talented, and mysterious new kid.

They all thought they could break through his stoic exterior. They all thought they could be his friend or his lover. They all thought the winter formal was their chance to do it.

They all thought they were special.

God, they were all so stupid.

And so was I.

Because as badly as I tried to resist it, I’d had the same thoughts too.

But those naïve dreams were shattered right along with my hip bone.

Gabriel wasn’t the kindred outsider I thought he was. No. He wasn’t like me at all.

He was just another asshole.

“You think he hit you with his car on purpose?” Rozalia asks.

My heart sinks and my brain throbs as I try to access memories I’ve long since buried.

“I mean, it’s not like we had a small parking lot. Sure, it was dark out when it happened—I’d spent an extra three hours at school taking courses for extra credit, just so I could graduate and get out of that hellhole by the end of junior year—but there was no missing me… or who was in the car with Gabriel when it happened, giggling along to it all.”

“Some fake blondes with bad roots?” Rozalia guesses.

“Exactly—wait, how did you know that?”

“Because I can still remember when Gabriel told me about that whole mess.”

With one last inelegant tug, I finally manage to pull the leggings up to my waist.

“Was he laughing while he told you?” I grumble, reaching for the black tank-top.

A familiar sinking feeling is taking over my gut.

“No. He was pissed. Our plan hasn’t changed much over the years, Bianca. In a broad sense, it was the same back then as it is now. To make you his. Hitting you with his car wasn’t going to help that.”

“So, you’re saying it wasn’t on purpose?”

“No.”

“Then why the hell hasn’t he ever bothered to explain that to me?”

“You know full well that Gabriel isn’t one to own up to his mistakes like that. He’s even more stubborn than me… and you.”

Sliding the tank top on, I cross my arms and lean against one of the closet shelves.

“But… but the car was filled with those cackling cheerleaders. I can still remember them scurrying out of the car, laughing as they ran from the scene. I swear I heard one of them yell ‘Got her! You’re telling me they weren’t waiting to ambush me?”

“Look who’s Ms. Self-Centered,” Rozalia teases. “Why would they wait around after school just to be there when Gabriel hit you with his car?”

“I… I don’t want to say.”

Shit. It seems so foolish now.

“Tell me,” Rozalia demands, turning around. “Like you said, we have nothing but time.”

“Fine,” I huff. “But don’t judge me. I was a teenager. And Westwood High had a lot of drama.”

“No promises.”

“Whatever,” I grumble. “Well… as I remember it, one of the girls I saw stumbling from the car was someone named Mindy Tepper. Her whole crew of popular girls hated me. And they all had huge crushes on Gabriel. Mindy had walked by one day when I was talking shit about their golden bad boy—how Gabriel thought he was so cool with his tattoos and black car and devil-may-care attitude. I always figured she told her friends… and then they told him. It didn’t seem so out of character for a guy like Gabriel to take that personally… to want to show off to some of the popular girls… “

“You really thought Gabriel was that depraved?” Rozalia asks, lifting a dark brow at me.

“I mean, with what I know now, was I really that off-base?”

“Yes,” Rozalia sternly responds. “You should know by now that Gabriel isn’t like the rest of the scum in the underworld. He may be brutal and ruthless and violent as all hell, but he’s a man who lives by a strict code. There’s nothing he hates more than those who hurt women and children—well, besides maybe those who push drugs.”

“I was sixteen, and he hit me with his car,” I remind Rozalia. “A woman and a child.”

“It was an accident.”

“It was an accident that he just so happened to be waiting outside the school in a car full of mean girls at the exact moment I stepped outside?”

“A crazy coincidence.”

“Go ahead, defend him. Explain everything,” I urge her, feeling a stubborn fire lashing up from the deep pit in my stomach.

“Fine,” Rozalia replies. “Here’s what really happened. Those stupid girls were somewhere they weren’t supposed to be. A seedy bar run by one of our seedy associates. I guess they were extra thirsty, and extra stupid. And no one else was going to let some underage girls drink in their bar. So those underage girls went and found themselves a place that didn’t care about the law. Usually, that would have ended very poorly for them, and it nearly did. But fortunately for those dumb bitches, one of our seedy associates decided to call us—just to see if we were okay with a group of high school girls getting raped and possibly killed at one of our fronts. Our boss didn’t seem to care too much. In fact, he almost welcomed the idea; thought he could pin the inevitable ‘tragedy’ on one of our rivals. You know, drown them in police attention. But Gabriel overheard the phone call. He drove down to that bar himself. He beat the shit out of about a dozen hardened and horny thugs. And then he dragged those drunk bitches into his car and dropped them off at a familiar spot. A spot where his car wouldn’t look out of place. The parking lot of your stupid high school.”

My mind swirls as I try to figure out what’s a lie and what’s the truth. But Rozalia isn’t letting anything slip. Her face is stone cold, unbreakable… and I can’t help but believe her.

But my stubborn fire is still raging.

“Sounds unlikely,” I mumble.

“But you know it’s true. I can still remember the dent you left in his car. He wouldn’t stop staring at it. At first, he said he’d hit a skunk, but I got the truth out of him quickly enough.”

“A skunk?” I huff. “Tells you what he thinks of me.”

“What he thought of you,” Rozalia corrects. “Past tense. And even then, I’m not so sure…”

The implication makes me uncomfortable.

There’s no way Gabriel ever really liked me, right? I was just a thorn in his side. The one kid at school who wouldn’t get on her knees and worship him.

“Whatever,” I try to deflect, unsure of how to feel. “I’m hungry. Let’s go make dinner.”

I’ve barely even taken a step back towards the closet door when I feel Rozalia’s strong hand on my shoulder.

She yanks me back into her body. But this time, no blade reaches for my throat.

“Did you hear that?” she whispers.

“Hear what?” I ask back, not bothering to lower my voice.

“Shush,” she insists.

Then, I hear it. It sounds like a door being opened up somewhere down the hall outside. Then, it’s slowly closed.

It’s subtle, but definitely there.

“Is that Gabriel?”

“Whisper!” Rozalia demands. “And think. Why would Gabriel be opening up every door in his own house. He’d have called out to us the second he got home.”

She’s right, and I can see just how serious she is by the short white hairs standing up on the back of her hand.

“What do we do?” I ask, finally lowering my voice.

“Take this.”

Handing me her knife, Rozalia crouches down and seems to sniff the air.

“What about you?” I ask, studying the sharp blade. What the hell am I going to do with this? Stabbing a wall is one thing… but an intruder?

“I have another switchblade,” Rozalia quietly responds. “Plus, I have this.”

Reaching up under her shirt, the dark cat rips out a small pistol. Damn. Was she hiding that thing in her bra?

“Who do you think it is?” I ask, my voice cracking ever so slightly as I prepare myself for the worst.

“Trouble.”

Up ahead, I hear another door slowly open and close. This one is nearer than the last.

“I think I’m used to trouble by now,” I mumble. But it’s a bluff. My hands are already shaking.

“If we have to fight, do you think you can use that thing?” Rozalia asks, not bothering to look back at me.

We’re covered by a wall of hanging outfits, but if someone is serious about finding us, they shouldn’t have any problem.

“Do I have a choice?”

“No. But that doesn’t mean you’re ready. Keep your ears open. If I tell you to run, you run. Understand?”

“Where do I run to? I don’t even know how to get out of this—”

“Do. You. Understand?”

“Yes,” I gulp.

Holding the handle of Rozalia’s switchblade with both of my shivering hands, I wait for all hell to break loose.

Rozalia is right. Whoever is here, it’s not Gabriel.

I’d be able to sense the dark wolf if he was this close.

But all I sense is danger.

True, dark, lethal danger.

Whatever resilience Gabriel has fucked into me, it’s about to be put to the test.

Am I ready?