The Darkest King: A Dark Mafia Romance (The Dark Kings of NYC Book 1)

Here we fucking go again.

Another gala event. Another speech. Another night spent with strangers who schmooze me for my money and power.

It’s all part of the charade I’m playing, I remind myself, tugging on the sleeve of my Armani jacket and adjusting my cufflinks before leaning back into the soft leather seats of my limousine. Nothing to prepare. My finance manager arranged the transfer of funds this afternoon, and my scriptwriter emailed me the same cut-and-paste version of the speech I’ve already given at least five times this year.

Only the name changes, with a modified reason why the cause is so important to Barrett Enterprises.

Except this one is important to me…personally.

The We Are Family Foundation is committed to the care of orphans in the U.S. and around the world—a cause I deem important. No one should be alone because they don’t have parents or a family.

There are eight fucking billion people on the planet. Few of them with the sort of money I have to contribute, to make a difference. Still, I’d rather have sent a check and sat at home, sipping on my Macallan Gold, watching porn, and jacking off.

Or rather, ordering in.

I don’t mean Chinese food.

Truth is, I don’t watch porn. I have no need for it. If I want a woman spread before me, I can have one at any time.

I’m Connor Barrett, one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in New York City.

Yet, I’m not who I say I am.

I’m both a ghost and, ironically, one of the most visible men in America. Why hide in the shadows when you can hide out in the open? The opposite of what they trained me to do in the marines.

Even more ironic—I have skilled security protecting me, which even they know is unnecessary. I’m six foot four, broad and muscular. And I’ve been trained to kill.

I have killed.

Still, I can’t look over my shoulder while running a billion-dollar empire, doing deals with politicians and untrustworthy businessmen who would love nothing more than to see me fail.

That happens when people owe you favors. They know I’ll come knocking, and when I do, they won’t say no.

No one says no.

I’m the founder and CEO of Barrett Enterprises. Entrepreneur, philanthropist, investor, and prolific businessman.

Men want to destroy me.

Women want to fuck me.

I reach for the crystal cut glass filled with whiskey in the console beside me and bring it to my lips, remembering the last woman who slid down my black silk sheets and wrapped her red-stained mouth around my cock.

God, I could do with round two.

It’s been weeks since I’ve had a good release without using my fist. I should’ve booked someone for this evening, but I didn’t think ahead.

Booked? Yes. They’re not prostitutes—I’m paying for their discretion. I’m paying for control.

Something I never give away.

But I’m careful about the women I fuck. By the time they enter my penthouse, they’ve accepted payment and signed a confidentiality agreement—one no lawyer would ever let their client sign—which demands their silence and agreement to the terms of our time together.

One, should they break, that would destroy their lives.

So, not prostitutes, but they are escorts.

They’re instructed to undress and blindfold themselves in my private elevator. I’m not fucking Batman—everyone in NYC knows my address—but it just sets the scene. One which makes it clear why they are here, and that intimacy is not welcome.

I’m not looking for a wife.

I need to stay a ghost.

If my enemies knew I was alive, I would be hunted.

The last words my father said to me…Never tell anyone who you are, son. Run!

The familiar grinding of my teeth, the pain slicing up the back of my neck from my fury, brings me back to the present, and I blink. I stretch one of my legs and check that the knife strapped just above my sock remains invisible. Just as all the other weapons on my body are.

I don’t leave home without them.

“We’re going to be a few minutes late, sir,” Benson, my driver, says. I pulled him out of the military a few years ago. He knows how to scan for bombs, drive if we’re attacked, and protect both of us if shit goes down. “The traffic was built up near Madison Square Gardens.”

I’m silent, my body tensing, and my eyes slide over to Mack.

As if on cue, Mack Turner, my head of security, turns from the passenger seat and gives me a reassuring look. “It’s an accident, Mr. Barrett. Turn up here, Benson. Then take 27^th Street.”

My body relaxes.

Mack is one of three men I trust with my life. He’s by my side ninety percent of the time.

Not when I fuck.

That’s not my kink.

While the We Are Family Foundation is important to me, I don’t give a damn about being on time—I’m the VIP guest, and they’ll wait for me. However, when you’re hiding in broad daylight from the mafia—that’s correct, all the mobsters and cartels—and are as powerful as I am, it would only take two minutes to go from being the hunter to the hunted.

Because I am hunting them.

They just don’t fucking know it.

Glancing at my Rolex, I note I’m ten minutes late. I run my hand over my solid jaw, rubbing my dark scruff. I need to fuck. I’ve been agitated and impatient recently. As a dominant and controlling lover, the act helps me release built-up energy.

I nearly snort at the word love. There’s no love in my life.

“Keep the car close when we arrive, Benson,” I say darkly. “I’m only staying an hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

When the limo pulls up outside the Convention Center, I wait for Mack to open the door, then I climb out and stand, running my hands over my Armani tux and glancing around.

The red carpet is empty. Everyone inside is waiting for me.

In and out. That’s the plan.

“Give Billy the night off tomorrow,” I say to Mack without looking his way. When I take a few steps and he hasn’t responded, I turn.

My dark eyes connect with his.

“You need a new location. It’s not safe, Connor,” Mack replies.

I nod.

He’s not disagreeing with me. No one would. He’ll have his reasons, and I trust him.

“Arrange it,” I say, then step into the hotel lobby. The sign for the event points to the large conference rooms in the back.

To be honest, I’m surprised someone from the company organizing the event is not greeting me. I was told they would. But it’s one less annoying person on this planet to deal with, so I couldn’t care less.

I make my way through the space and find the room and the main door. As I reach for it, it flings open.

Ommph.

“Oh, shit!” the small body who just slammed into me whisper-yells, and the door closes behind her with a click.

Then I feel it…

Wet, cold, and seeping through the front of my tuxedo.

As I grip the petite brunette’s arms and remove her from my chest, her eyes fly open wide, and I can’t ignore the magnetic pull from the crystal blue globes.

Jesus, she’s fucking gorgeous.

My cock wakes up and begins to swell. I imagine gripping all that long dark hair and wrapping it around my fist. Then, as panic fills her eyes, I’m tempted to smirk. But I never smile, and my hands, which have released her, want to touch her again, and that bothers me.

Who is this young woman?

“Connor Barrett,” she gasps quietly, knowing who I am. Her eyes drift down over the dark liquid on my shirt, and she bites her lip, letting out a soft curse. Then those lids dip further down my body.

Don’t look any lower, sweetheart, or…

Too late.

Her eyes shoot back to mine, and I say in a dark, thick voice, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

As she swallows, my lips curl up at the corners.

Tonight just got a whole lot more interesting.