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

I slide my feet into a pair of heels and take one last look in the mirror. My knee-length black dress and matching jacket of the same length are very mafia princess, I suppose.

The dark glasses look a little Jackie O, but then again, I’ve had less than four hours of sleep, and if I can get away with wearing them, I’m going to try.

I run a rich pink over my lips and spritz fragrance over my head. Then take the elevator downstairs, where my father’s driver waits for me.

“Morning, Ms. Mancini,” Tony says as I slide into the back of the Bentley. Modified, of course. This vehicle is bulletproof and fitted with weapons, like something out of a James Bond movie.

Or The Godfather, if they’d had the technology back then.

I only know this because my brother loves to go on about it. God help us when he takes over. He’s power hungry, and I doubt many of my father’s men are looking forward to the day he becomes the Don.

Perhaps when he matures. At twenty-six, all Cade talks about is killing this person and fucking that woman.

A memory from last night hits me, and I’m filled with heat.

Tony closes the door after I smile in greeting, and I wriggle on the leather seat, feeling the ache in my body. Connor well and truly followed through on his promise. I was well fucked for hours.

Then fell asleep.

I’ll find out soon if my father knows about it. It’s too late to worry anyway. I made my decision, and sweet mother of mercy, it was worth it.

I walk through the luxurious entrance of one of my father’s homes in Tribeca. Armed men in black suits line every corner of the place. They’re like décor to me but not invisible.

I remove my jacket and hand it to Susanna, who has worked for my family for decades.

“Buongiorno, Maria,” she says in greeting.

Maria is my real name. Mia for short. Maria Luna Mancini.

“Ahh, the princess arrives at last,” my brother, Cade, says, walking down the winding staircase.

Great.

“Ah, the heir to the throne.” I accept his kiss on both cheeks. There is not a lot of love lost between us. Cade would kill for me, but only because of my value. We were closer when we were younger, but now, I just can’t relate to him.

But as the future Don, I know I have to respect him.

Cade is much taller than me. Six foot two, at least, and broader. Like my entire family, he has dark hair and light eyes. His are bluer than mine.

Today he’s wearing a black suit with a white shirt, but the tattoos on his neck still give him an edge, along with the permanent scowl he has and the single diamond earring.

“Come on. Father is waiting.” He tugs on his shirt, hiding his Rolex, and then wraps a smothering arm around my shoulders.

“Ah, mia figlia,” Joe Mancini says, lifting his head as we walk into the spacious living area. My uncle, who is in an armchair beside him, stands and walks to me.

“Princepessa,” Antonio says, kissing both cheeks.

I wish they’d stop calling me a fucking princess, but the one thing that’s really aggravating me today is the fact they’re all touching me.

It might sound strange, but I just want to feel the memories of Connor’s touch on me.

Not theirs.

The way they manhandle me, it’s like I’m a belonging. I know it’s the Italian way, but today, I hate it.

I step away and drop my Chanel handbag on the table, not greeting my father. I’m playing with fire, and when I turn and see the look in his eye, coupled with the slightly raised brow, I cross the room.

“Papa,” I say, dropping a kiss on his cheek.

Just one.

I’m tired and grumpy.

Cade watches me, and I narrow my eyes at him, a chill running down the length of my spine. Something is up.

Is it to do with my two-year deadline approaching?

Does Cade know something?

“Shall we eat?” Antonio says, breaking the tension. “My stomach is growling at the delicious smells wafting through this house.”

Despite my mood, I am hungry, and lunch does smell delicious.

“Maria, Maria,” my Aunt Rosa cries, as if she hasn’t seen me for a decade instead of seven days. My father has two sisters, and as Rosa releases me from her hug, my other aunt, Silvia, mumbles in Italian and yanks me into her arms.

They are big women, both widowed. Rosa more recently.

Uncle Antonio’s wife, Ariana, walks in with my cousin Riccardo beside her. They have a daughter, Sophie, who is seven and staying with friends tonight. Likely sent away because no one knew how tonight was going to unfold. Riccardo, though, he’s just turned eighteen and looks like a gangster poster boy, with his black jacket collar turned up.

He and Cade do the man hug as my father’s second-in-command, Gabrielle, enters the room.

“Mia,” he says, a firm grip on my arms as he presses harsh kisses to my cheeks. A reminder of who I am.

The mafia princess.

“Gabe,” I say, only because I know he hates the nickname.

“Let’s eat.” My father stands from his chair in a lazy fashion, and everyone moves into action. No one dares defy him. He walks to me, his arm wrapping around me possessively, and guides me into the dining room.

Something is wrong. I can sense it.

Call it survival.

It’s as if they all know something I don’t, and they’re playing with their food.

That, or I’m tired and paranoid.

I calculate the days left of my two-year agreement, and I’m sure there are still two weeks remaining. I’m sure. So, it must be the lack of sleep, the way I can’t stop thinking about Connor Barrett and the night we spent together.

It’s like his scent is still on me.

My head is fuzzy, and I’m still floating after the seven or more orgasms. I’m sure the blood hasn’t returned to all the correct places in my body yet.

If I close my eyes, I can still see Connor and I lying on our sides, exhausted, my leg over his hip as he slowly thrusts in and out of me, not wanting to stop.

There was little left in either of us, our bodies coated in glossy sweat, and yet his hand clutched my hair, and those deep brown eyes clung to mine as he grunted and groaned out the same desperate pleasure I did.

We fucked until we couldn’t keep our eyes open. Falling asleep tangled in a pile of limbs, sticky and almost sated.

I don’t think I could ever be completely sated by a man like Connor Barrett. I’d always want more.

He’d always take more.

So, I can’t just act as if last night never happened.

The meal is long and laborious, and the more my father watches me, the more certain I am that he knows.

Which irritates me.

I’m twenty-four—this controlling behavior has to end. I don’t care if we are a mafia family. I’m a grown woman. I’m not the same Mia who left this house two years ago. He knows, surely, I’m not a virgin. There’s never been an expectation that I would remain one.

Only that I may be required to marry someone from the world we exist in.

Another gangster.

But nothing of the sort has been raised since my mother was alive and reminding me it was a possibility.

“Go, have fun, but be careful, Mia. There will come a day when you will be expected to play your part in this family. I can’t protect you from that. Your father is who he is, and I love him,” she would say.

Still, it may be that I’m tired.

Two hours later, there are half-empty plates of pasta, salads, breads, and meats everywhere. Cutlery is scraping, and glasses are being refilled once again.

Everything is normal.

“How is the job, Mia?” Aunt Rosa asks, using my preferred name, and I’m grateful.

“Good.” I lift the red wine to my lips. “I love it.”

Never miss an opportunity, I say. I’m forever hoping Father will see how happy I am and will let me continue living my life my way.

I know he loves me, so surely, he must see this is what I want. Not a career in crime, murder, and other illegal activities that are too abhorrent to consider.

I’ve never said it to him directly, but he’s seen the look in my eyes, heard my cries, and even watched me run to the bathroom, vomiting, when I was younger and overheard things. Or worse, witnessed them.

Cade would laugh.

Papa would just tell my mother she needed to harden me up. That this was the world we lived in.

“Donna does the most incredible events,” Aunt Silvia says. “She did the gala for the Rochford’s. You should’ve seen it. Spectacular is the only word to use.”

I did see it.

I helped run the event. In fact, the internally lit ice fountain was my idea, and it was all over the NYC media for days.

We helped raise nearly two million dollars to stop the use of animals for entertainment. I was so proud. I hate seeing all those social feeds with photos of people on vacation, where they’re smiling and holding a koala, crocodile, tiger, or other wild animal. Don’t they know the poor animal has either had food withheld to make them so complaint—a.k.a. starving—or they’re drugged?

They are.

So heartbreaking.

My father lifts his fork to his mouth, the enormous gold ring on his finger indicating his role as head of the family. Head of the mob in NYC.  As if its required.

He was born powerful.

His dark hair is now gray, a seventies-style mustache thick on his upper lip and his face lined with knowledge and experience.

And death.

I’ve watched him flick his fingers, move his eyes, and had men kill for him. A nod and a trigger pulled.

As hard as my mother tried, she could not shelter me from the death and corruption. He wouldn’t let her.

This is her future, he would say. She must learn and respect the family.

Not a day goes by that I don’t hate that my apartment is paid for by blood. My clothes, my phone, my jewelry. At least I can say my groceries come from the work I do each day at Bloom Events.

“Boss,” Jimmy “Fingers” says as he walks into the room. Jimmy is Father’s head enforcer.

Gabrielle turns his head and watches him like a hawk. He’s in on everything going on with the business, and soon, Cade will take his place.

Then one day, step into my father’s shoes.

I sip my drink and watch them all, realizing I’m being watched back. Papa is staring at me. Fuck. I hate that I still can’t read him twenty-four years on.

He doesn’t move an inch to acknowledge Jimmy, but the man leans down to his ear and says something.

Papa nods once.

“Take him downstairs, and I will be down when I have finished lunch,” Joe says.

“Got it, boss.” Jimmy leaves, but not before he lifts his arm to indicate one of the guards should follow.

They both walk out.

Papa shoots Gabrielle a glance, and he pushes his chair out. “Excuse me,” and leaves.

It’s nearly over, and while I mostly hate these Sunday lunches, I do enjoy seeing my family. Just not with the dark cloud of my future hanging over my head.

Despite what they do, I love these mobsters.

Cade watches the interaction with Jimmy and my father—ever the eager apprentice. They share a look as my father wipes his mouth with his napkin and throws it on his plate.

Seriously, this is just another day in the Mancini family.

Hashtag MobLife.

Father takes a healthy drink of his wine, then drops it down, and his eyes land on me. Directly.

Oh, shit.

“Mia, I have given notice on your apartment. Two weeks, you are coming home,” Joe says, and my eyes fly open.

My stomach lurches, nearly bringing up my entire lunch, and it feels like all the blood leaches from my body.

I go cold.

I stay calm, though. It’s what you do with powerful, dangerous men. You never show fear.

“I thought we might negotiate,” I say slowly, as if this is no big deal.

Cade snorts and lifts his glass to his mouth.

Asshole.

“Two years. That was the agreement,” Joe replies.

I nod, lift my drink, take a sip, and drop the crystal glass back on the table. Cool, calm, and holding back a scream.

“Yes. Now, I’d like to discuss an extension to that agreement and the reasons why.” Then add, without taking my eyes off Papa, “In private.”

The room has gone quiet. My aunts are staring at me with their mouths open, and Riccardo’s eyes are darting between us.

I should’ve waited.

I should’ve agreed, then spoken to him when we were alone, but I’m tired, and the words just fell out because the truth is, I’m desperate to keep my freedom.

I’ll do nearly anything.

I know I’ve failed when my father stretches his arms out and places his hands on the corners of the table, palms down, that big ring on display.

I’m not prepared for this conversation. I thought I had a few more weeks.

“No. It’s time to come back to the family as we agreed. You must do your part in the business and prepare for when your brother takes over.” Papa’s voice is strong as he stares me down. Then he waves one of his hands around. “You think all of this comes for free?”

I know it doesn’t. I also know the price we all pay with our souls to live like this. The price people have paid with their lives.

But I don’t dare say it.

Know your audience, and all that.

“No,” I snap. There will be consequences for my attitude. I glance at Cade, and he’s staring at me with a smile that sends a cold shiver through me.

I narrow my eyes.

“What part?” I demand, wondering what it is they have planned for me. “What is it you see me doing?”

The darkness that flickers in my father’s eyes would terrify most people. It does me, but I’m the least likely person on earth he will kill.

Probably.

I’ve always pushed the limits, and I suspected it was the reason he let me go off on my two-year adventure, as he calls it. That and losing my mother was a shock to us all, and I know he was aware how much I grieved. Still grieve.

I played that card hard. Mom was my best friend. The person who protected me from all of this. And yet, she also tried to coach me for the mafia life.

A life I don’t want.

Now I have Sienna and a group of friends, a job and a life I love. I’m not giving up without a fight.

Which, apparently, I’m getting. Papa’s hand lifts and slams down on the table. China and silver clang. A glass tips and spills red wine.

I flinch but don’t jump.

“You do not demand anything, Maria Luna Mancini,” he growls. “Two weeks. Then Tony will collect you to bring you home.”

I press my lips together, glaring at him with all the hatred I can muster. In one conversation, he has taken my freedom, taken away all my choices, and taken my happiness.

My life now belongs to the mafia. As it always has. I’ve just been in denial, believing I had a choice when I never did.

Joe settles into his chair and tosses back the last of the red wine in his glass, then pins me with a stare. “And you will end things with Connor Barrett.”

My breathing halts. You what now?

My father knows about Connor?

Of course, he does.

Wait. End things?

Why on earth does he think it’s an ongoing relationship? It was one night.

I glance at my brother, and he’s rubbing his jaw, looking guilty as hell. Uncle Johnny is nodding at me, as if this is the right thing for me. I nearly scowl at him.

“We will find you a husband,” my father says. “I have a few in mind once you get settled. The last thing we need is all the media attention, with you dating that man.”

“What?” I gasp, unable to take it all in.

I’m. Tired.

And my life and independence have just been ripped from me. I rub my eyes and stare at everyone around the table. My family just sitting there, doing nothing, as my soul dies in front of them.

No way.

I can’t do this.

I won’t do this.

“I can’t marry them,” I cry.

Think, Mia.

“You will,” my father says firmly, in a tone indicating it is already done.

“I can’t,” I repeat. Then, a sort of insanity overtakes me. That’s the only excuse I have for what I say next.

“Because Connor asked me to marry him. And I said yes.”

Moments later, the entire room erupts into chaos.

I’M FINALLY FREE to go. After my father screamed, paced the room, sent everyone away, and punched a wall while letting out a whole bunch of you will tell him you won’t marry him’s, I told him I had to go.

I told him I would not cancel the engagement.

My fake engagement.

The one Connor knows nothing about.

Holy shit, what was I thinking?

I head up to my old bedroom to grab a pair of shoes I’ve been missing. My entire wardrobe was far too big to take with me two years ago, and most of it designer. Not exactly event-planning wear.

As I exit, I hear my brother from his room, talking in loud hushed tones, so I figure I should say goodbye. Fine, I’m being nosy. When I get closer, a few words I make out cause me to freeze.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cade snaps. “By the time it’s done, she will be married to Salvo.”

I take another step and lean forward. He’s on the phone, pacing.

“It has to happen. This engagement will secure the partnership,” Cade growls. “We’ll deal with Connor Barrett.”

Salvo?

That’s who my father wants me to marry?

Salvo “Sly” Vitale?

My stomach lurches for the tenth time today. Salvo is fifteen years my senior. Balding, enormous belly, hair growing from his ears—that might not be true, but in my head, he has—and he does this slurping thing when he eats.

Revolting.

More to the point, I do not love him.

No fucking way.

I race across the hall and down the stairs, grabbing my coat from out of Susanna’s hands, then out to the car.

Tony glances up as I leap in.

“Ms. Mancini,” he says, startled. He hates that he didn’t get to open the door.

“Go, please. I’m…I’m in a hurry. Late for a meeting.”

At approximately the speed of a snail, he turns the engine on, and we cruise slowly away from my family home.

Angry tears slide down my face.