Dark Crown: A Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Russo Royals Book 1)

by Shanna Handel

  I don’t miss the flash of surprise in his eyes as he says, “What have you heard?”

  He thought their arrangements, like many of their practices, were secret.

  They are not, not to me. I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere.

  “I’ve heard that the Bachman men, much like the Russos, like to dominate in all aspects of their lives, including their relationships. That a Bachman man, much like a Russo, will not think twice to take a wayward bride over his knee, instilling discipline when necessary.”

  “What else have you heard?” He lifts the glass again, and this time he takes a sip of the clear liquid—sparkling water with a twist of lime—that I’ve never known him to drink.

  Leaning in, I divulge his secrets. “I’ve heard that at least two of the recent marriages in your clan were a result of your wife threatening the bride in some way, in order to speed up the process and lock the younger men from your Brotherhood down. To create order and stability in your ranks through commitments.”

  He doesn’t even blink. “And?” His cool confidence is second to none.

  Except mine.

  We’ll make excellent business partners.

  I press further. “And, quite shocking to our traditional landscape, a picture was painted to me of the most recent wedding, where the bride was wed to not one, but two of the men from your Brotherhood. A ménage marriage?”

  He lifts his hand in the air, waving my words away. “Hearsay. Gossip. Salaciousness. Why do you bring up these tales to me?”

  “I say what I’ve heard, not to judge you. Obviously, I’m not sinless in the ways of love. My bride is probably plotting her escape as we speak.” I think of her trying to leave these walls and find my palm twitching against my thigh. “I only convey them to show you how similar we are. How much our two families have in common. And to let you know I guard your secrets as my own.”

  I sit back in my chair, assessing him. Will he accept my proposal?

  “You tell me this to earn my trust.” His gaze meets mine, calculating, inquisitive. “Because you have a proposition for me, no doubt.”

  I swirl my drink, enjoying the way the ice sounds as it clinks against the glass. “Yes. One that I believe will benefit you greatly.”

  “I’m listening.”

  I set the glass down on the coaster—Sophia will have my head if I leave a ring on the wood. “I’d like to bring a store of arms here, to the bunker beneath the castle. Something like what you have on your private island—The Parrish—I heard you were the one who started the family branch there.”

  He gives a nod. “Yes. Named after the priests I bought our first boats from. Now it’s a thriving community, and a home base for our arsenal.”

  “I’ve heard its quite impressive. Something I’d like to model ours after.”

  He sits back in his chair, thought creasing his smooth skin. “And in exchange?”

  “Though you may possess immeasurable funds in dollars, I have what you lack. Bars of gold, to be exact.” I snap my fingers.

  The door opens and one of my servants appears, a shiny gold bar on a black tray. He crosses the room, presenting it to Rockland.

  “My gift to you. Please,” I gesture for him to accept it, “take it. Hold it in your hand and feel its weight.”

  Rockland takes the bar from the tray. “That’s heavy. How much is this worth?”

  “The brick you hold is approximately twenty-seven pounds of pure gold and its current worth is five hundred thousand dollars. And unlike paper, it cannot blow away in the wind.”

  He places the brick back on the tray. “You want to trade gold for secrets?”

  “Yes.” I give my servant a nod, dismissing him. He leaves the room, tray in hand, returning to the vault. “I have many bricks to start your collection. In return I want to take a trip with my most trusted men to the Parrish. See your armory. Learn how to replicate it for ourselves.”

  He strokes his beard once, then gives a nod. “I’ll allow it.”

  Checkmate. “Excellent.”

  A slow smile spreads over his face. “Under one condition.”

  I don’t live by others’ terms. I feel my brow raise. “Which is?”

  “You bring your pretty wife with you. And during your stay, you both drink and dine and dance beneath the stars, the ocean air caressing your faces.” He takes a sip from his water, awaiting my response.

  “Ah—so you are a hopeless romantic just as I’ve heard. Are you now matchmaking me and my wife? Though she may be reluctant, I’ve already put my ring around her finger.”

  “My wife’s requested it.” He gives a shrug. “Every new marriage deserves a honeymoon. Appease me. Felicity is quite charming and the women of my family will enjoy her company.”

  My trips are strictly business. Just me and my most trusted men. Other than my staff, I’m not used to having the company of women.

  I think of Felicity’s lithe body. How beautiful she is as she sits beside me, that resting scowl of disapproval on her face. It makes me hard just thinking about how she despises me until she feels the pressure of the head of my cock against her sweet pussy.

  Then, she melts. Her will dissolving.

  Losing to me.

  As she will, every time.

  Why not mix a little pleasure with business? I hold my hand out to him and he takes it, his grip firm. “I accept.”

  He gives a chuckle as we shake. “You never know, Vincent. Greece is such a beautiful place; you might just find yourself falling in love.”

  “I highly doubt that.” I may be a tad obsessed, but love?

  If I was capable of love, I’d have fallen by now.

  I don’t fall.

  I climb. And I have—to the highest point on the coast. To a magnificent castle with an army of devoted men and riches beyond anyone’s wildest dreams.

  I have everything.

  Brando, my right hand man, with shoulders like boulders and a mind as cunning as a fox, comes to escort Rockland back to his wing of the castle. We say our goodbyes. I stay behind, sitting in the library, staring at the fire, and drinking my whiskey.

  We left the reception before cake. I suddenly have a taste for dessert.

  I summon Brando back to me. “Brando. Bring me my wife.”

  He answers with a nod, closing the library door behind him.

  A few minutes later, she arrives, with flushed cheeks and angry eyes.

  Her naked breasts press against the white cotton of the nightgown I chose for her, her deep pink aureoles showing through the thin fabric, the outline of her already peaked nipples showing.

  I’ll bet she’s already wet between her thighs, too, just wanting me to take her.

  Brando holds her body against his, unsure whether to keep her, or release her to me.

  I feel like taking a risk. She may try to run, causing a disturbance in my castle at this late hour. If so, she will pay the price.

  Which I’m happy to charge her. With a taste of my belt.

  Let’s see which way she wants to play. I do love a game.

  Not bothering to rise to greet her I take another long swig of the liquor. Licking my lips, I admire my bride, her long dark hair mussed from sleep, tumbling over her shoulders.

  Her hazel eyes are more gold than green, as they flash with anger. She doesn’t speak, her luscious lips a grim line.

  “My wife. So lovely to see you. I’ve been sitting here. Thinking of you. Thinking of your beautiful body.” Starting at her feet, I allow my gaze to devour every inch of her. The light from the fire is behind her, making the nightdress all the more transparent. I take in her curves, the sight of her dark curls at the apex of her thighs, her heavy breasts, heaving up and down with her breath. “I did well choosing this gown for you.”

  She finally speaks. “I didn’t waste one moment thinking of you.”

  “Naughty girl. Lying to your husband.” I make a tsk tsk sound, standing and making my way to her. She pulls backward, pressing against Brando, now
the lesser of two evils. “We both know all you think of is me.”

  I stand, crossing the room to her and bring my mouth to her neck, touching her only with my lips. Finding that sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder—I know exactly how she loves it to be kissed from our time in the butler’s pantry. Pressing my mouth harder to her flesh, I kiss and suck, nibbling with the tips of my teeth.

  Despite her resolve, she lets out a sigh, her head lolling to the side.

  I slide my hand up her belly, softly cupping her breasts. My mouth finds her ear, and in it, I whisper, “Brando is going to let you go and leave us now. If you try to run, know this—my belt will stripe your ass before this night is through.”

  “Asshole,” she breaths.

  I take her breast, squeezing it roughly and pinch her peaked nipple between my finger, until a squeal rises from her pretty lips. “Your choice.”

  Her brave eyes lock on mine. “Tell him to go.”

  Stepping back, I dismiss him. “Brando, you may go.”

  He gives me a nod, though seeming a bit reluctant to leave before the show. He closes the library door behind him.

  To my surprise, and slight disappointment—I did so wish to see my belt make long red lines against her beautiful ass—she makes no move to run; instead leaving me and going to the fire.

  Her back to the flames, she faces me. Though a bit shaky, her jaw is clenched, her gaze firm. “If you think for one second I will let you take me against my will, you have another thing coming.”

  I cross the room to her in two long strides. “I won’t need to take you against your will. I know you want me. I know you ache between your thighs for my cock.” Winding my hand through the back of her hair, I pull her into me, cutting off her words with a punishing kiss.

  Her fists pummel my chest. With my other hand I easily overpower her, locking her wrists with the circle of my fingers. My lips press harder against hers, my tongue fighting for entry.

  I give her hair a tug to make her obey. She parts her lips and I swipe my tongue against hers.

  She’s pressing her body against mine. And kissing me back.

  Still holding her wrists, our mouths locked, I take a few steps back, dragging her with me in our passionate tangle. Sliding down into my chair, I pull her onto my lap.

  I can’t give her time to think, time to question her feelings toward me and how despicable they are.

  I only want her to feel her body responding to mine. I want her to know how wet my force makes her. Make her see she likes the fight as much as I do.

  Kissing her deeper, I release her wrists, running my hands over her back. Sliding under her ass, I move her legs so they splay over mine. She has to grab around my neck to keep from losing her balance.

  Once I’ve got her straddling me, I ruck up her gown, exposing her bare thighs. My cock is hard and it strains against my trousers. My hands slide beneath her ass cheeks, I lift her, arranging her body until her pussy is pressed against the mound of my cock.

  Slipping my hand up her gown, I take her breast in my hand, palming it while I kiss her. Raising my hips, I press the hard bulge of my erection against her sex.

  I’m rewarded by her unabashedly grinding against my lap. Her hands find my hair, and her teeth nip at my bottom lip. She lets out a moan. “Fuck you.”

  “Please do.” I’m unbuckling my belt. She moves her hips back, giving me room to unzip my pants and free my cock. It stands at attention, glistening with arousal.

  There’s a break in our kissing. Her gaze burns down into mine. “Just because I want to come, doesn’t mean I want you.”

  “Fine.” I lean forward, catching her lips, and reigniting the fire of our kiss. “But I know you want me.”

  I’ve never felt like this with a woman before. I’ve admired their bodies, felt pleasure at their touch, enjoyed the conquest.

  But in this kiss, I feel a passion I’ve not known.

  When I kiss Felicity, there’s a stirring in my soul.

  If I have one.

  She’s hungrier now, grabbing my shoulders as she rises onto her knees, one pressed on either side of my thighs, resting on the generous cushion of the chair. As she rises up, she breaks our kiss, locking her gaze on mine once more.

  My hands slip to her hips, staring up in wonder as she looks down on me. Her eyes are more green than gold now, her dark hair swirls around her face in waves, tumbling over her shoulder.

  The strap of her gown has fallen, leaving one creamy shoulder bare for me to mark. I lean up, kissing and sucking her skin until I know she’ll wear a bruise.

  Giving a sigh of pleasure, she brings her hot sex down on the head of my cock. She gives me one hateful gaze, then says, “Fuck you, Vincent,” as she lowers herself.

  Her vicious words, the feel of her against me, it stirs something in my chest. Anger? Desire? The two seem to be one, to me. The head of my cock pops inside of her. Grabbing her hips I dig my fingers into her flesh, pulling her down onto me, with one hard thrust.

  I’m buried deep inside her.

  Her head lolls back and she moans, her fingernails digging into my shoulders. I smell the scent of her arousal; it’s becoming a familiar perfume.

  Lifting my hips, I thrust into her again. She cries out and from her cry, I know it won’t be long before her pussy is locked around my shaft, milking it for my come.

  I hold her hips, bringing her down onto my lap, my hips thrust upward, pummeling her pussy with the full length of my member, then lower as I bounce her off my lap and upward.

  We find our rhythm, our bodies slamming into one another, each time furthering the building tension in our cores. My balls tighten, the glory of an orgasm strengthens in the base of my cock.

  Her pussy tightens around me, gushing for me.

  I pull her down, hard, and with that final penetration, her pussy clamps down.

  “Vincent!” as she comes, she cries my name, and it makes me harder, knowing how much she’ll hate herself for it.

  I’ve won. Again.

  I thrust again, this time my own climax exploding, my come bursting forth. I fill her with my seed.

  Marking her as mine.

  My lips brush hers, my hands caressing her body as she trembles through the aftermath of her orgasm.

  Something strange comes over me. A disturbing thought.

  I want to hold her.

  She pulls away from my kiss, climbing from my lap. She smooths her gown over her body. Without a backward glance, she turns, and walks to the door.

  I watch her as she leaves the room.

  I’m alone again, the only evidence of her the scent in the air, the glistening wetness on my cock.

  I find myself wanting more of her.

  Wanting to wrap my arms around her gently and hold her, softly kissing her lips.

  Leaving me wondering, who here really won?

  4

  Felicity

  Was that longing in his eyes as I turned to leave him?

  Once again, our bodies came together it that terrible, beautiful tangle of heaven and hell. Our connection a fiery blend of hatred and desire that cannot be ignored. But this time, when I untangled my body from his, I felt his desire to reach out, to hold me against him, and his hesitance to carry through with the gesture.

  I left before he could make up his mind.

  Despite my humiliation, the complete loss of my pride, the dignity that he has stripped from me—I have some relief in this madness. My physical desires are satiated.

  For now.

  Leaving the library I walk silently down the hall, followed by his man, Brando.

  I’m returned to my room. One that is fit for a queen, not a captive.

  Another gift from my adoring husband.

  The room is beautiful, decorated in pale pinks and soft golds. A plush white fur rug tickles my feet as I make my way to the bed, a four-poster in a white-washed wood, covered in stacks of thick pillows and piles of warm blankets in a dusty rose. In the same
style wood, there’s a desk, a dressing table with creams and lotions, a wardrobe filled with elegant dresses, all tailored to my size, and a dresser, its deep drawers filled with fine lingerie.

  He’s thought of everything. My few belongings from home are carefully placed around the room. There’s a bookcase in the corner next to a comfy oversized reading chair, my books carefully lined on the shelves in order of size. My gaze goes to the black lacquered mantel of the stone fireplace, where the mantelpiece clock my father gave me sits; the only family heirloom he didn’t hock to pay for debts.

  And the cut crystal vase, the one Vincent had given me the day he came to arrange our marriage, the one I’d saved. It sits at my bedside table, filled with fresh purple roses. I want to take it, throw it against the wall and watch as it shatters into a million sharp fragments.

  I don’t.

  My one solace of this evening?

  The happiness in the knowledge that my father will have his store, and with it, his restored place in the community.

  I rip the gown from my body. I need to shower, to scrub the memory of him from my body. As I stand in the stream of hot water, washing his seed from my thighs, I think of him, his filthy, possessive words, the feel of his mouth on my skin.

  Damn him.

  I shampoo my hair, and think of his gift to my father instead.

  My family moved here from the United States when I was young. My father, a hopeless romantic, wasn’t doing so well in his business in New York, and thought we’d best go back to our roots, move back to the town his parents immigrated from.

  When I was a child, it all sounded so exciting, so charming, to move to Italy and be a part of our heritage. Looking back, I find myself wondering if my father had been running from money problems then. Maybe even running from the New York mafia to try and get away from unpaid loans for his secret gambling addiction.

  When we arrived in the village, he set up a little general store, nicer than the bodega we’d had in New York. I worked the counter. I liked school, loved to read. Always having my nose in a book, the after school job worked for me. I could read all I liked and I didn’t mind helping the customers when they came in.