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

by Shanna Handel

  I quickly picked up the language. Became a favorite of the regular customers, the older ones pinching my cheeks or tugging on my dark curls, saying, Come sei carina, how cute you are.

  My mother passed away about seven years ago during my final year of school. As my father grew deeper in debt, I gave up the idea of university, educating myself through books and working more and more hours, keeping the shop open later, opening it on Sundays, hoping my hard work could save us.

  I failed.

  I’ve heard Vincent too began his life in America. He moved to Italy in his early twenties as a recruit for the mafia here, bringing his family’s Italian-born maid, Sophia, with her as his translator. Sharp and cunning, he quickly moved up the ranks. In his early thirties, he took the place as the head of the family.

  Now, he’s lived here over a decade, but his household is a mix of people from all over the world, every staff member bilingual. This week, he’s making a very powerful connection with a family I must dine with in the morning. They are the Bachmans, and though just as wealthy as the Russos, they prefer to live in secret, valuing their privacy over fame.

  Vincent wears his crime like a crown. The king of the mafia. Taking what he wants.

  Including me.

  After the long, hot shower, I sit, wearing a clean silk nightgown, another one he chose before my arrival.

  I loathe him.

  And I will never, ever love him, this man I am forced to call my husband.

  Exhausted, I flop down on my bed.

  He’s a monster.

  And yet, I wanted every intimate moment I had with him.

  Tears of frustration and exhaustion burn in my eyes.

  There’s the lightest knock on my door. Esme. She’s so delicate in all of her approaches, I know it must be her.

  I don’t want to see anyone, but if I turn her away, she might be hurt. Wiping at my eyes, I steady my voice. “Come in.”

  Sitting up, I face the door. Her small face peeks between the crack, letting a thin sliver of light shine over the center of the room. “Are you alright?”

  I nod. “Yes. Just a little overwhelmed by the first day.”

  She tiptoes across the room, her long, pale nightdress catching the moonlight coming in from the windows. I never sleep with the curtains closed—I like to see the sun as it rises. She slips into bed beside me, lying on her side, her pretty face cupped in her hand, propped up by her elbow resting on the mattress.

  Her eyes are dark, like his.

  But her gaze holds a kindness his could never muster.

  She gives a soft sigh. “You know, he chose all of this, for you.” Her hand waves around her.

  “Yes, I know.” She’s sweet and naive. She has no idea what the comfort of this lifestyle is costing me.

  “I just mean, he’s not all bad, you know. He’s been very kind to me. And to the others.”

  “He does seem to be generous with his staff.” My stomach roils at having to sing his praises to her.

  She gives a smile. “Do you want to know the story of how I came to the castle?”

  In her presence, I relax. Nestling further into my pillows, I give a nod.

  “I was a baby, wrapped in a blanket, nestled in a basket. I was left on his doorstep. He’d only been in charge here a year when he found me.”

  I picture her as a little baby with those dark brown eyes and golden curls and my heart hurts for her. “Oh, Esme. I’m sorry to hear that. Your parents must have been in a very difficult situation—no one would ever want to give you up.”

  With a shake of her head, she continues her story. “I guess we’ll never know. Either way, Mr. Vincent took me into his home. Had a nursery made just for me. Hired a nanny. He was very kind.”

  “You’re so young. When did you start working here at the castle?”

  “It was my choice. He treated me almost like a daughter, spoiling me when I was young, offering to send me to the best schools as I grew up, but I wanted to go to school in the village, and be here, at the castle. When I got older, he hired me a tutor but I would finish my schooling in the morning and had hours to spare. I just started pitching in in the kitchen whenever I could. Then, this year when I turned fifteen, I began to help Sophia with the guests. I just kind of ended up forcing my way onto the staff.”

  I turn up the corners of my mouth to hopefully soften my question. “Isn’t that a lonely life for a young girl?”

  She gazes out the window. “Not for me. I love the bustle of the castle. There’s never a dull moment. And all the people I love are here.”

  She speaks of him as if he’s a father to her. Is he even capable of love? “Well, it sounds like you were meant to be here. Maybe fate had a hand in landing you on this doorstep.”

  “I like to think so.” She stretches, giving a huge yawn that makes her look even younger than she is. Nestling down under the covers, she mumbles something I barely catch. “And I think fate brought you here, too.”

  And she’s asleep.

  The sound of her soft, deep breaths calms me and I find myself drifting off, wondering, who is this man I call my husband?

  The morning comes with the golden light of the sun shining in the room, the promise of a new day. Esme is already gone from my bed, a little curled impression left behind in the covers where she laid.

  When I shift my weight to stretch my limbs, I find myself sore between my thighs. And I remember…

  How he beckoned me to his library, had his guard manhandle me. How he kissed my neck as his man watched, Vincent biting and bruising my flesh.

  And I find the soreness warming. Melting. Throbbing. Wanting.

  Shaking my head in disgust, I throw the covers back from the bed. If Esme can show up as an abandoned baby at this castle and make a life for herself, then I can show up as a captive bride and do the same.

  Until I can escape.

  Though now my plans have become more complicated because I want to not only take my father with me, but Esme as well.

  I shower again, scrubbing all traces of him from my body. Two women come to dry and curl my hair, to choose my dress. To apply a natural layer of makeup.

  I’m too tired to fight them. I let them pamper and prepare me. As they make me over, I sit in silence, letting my mind plan my exit.

  When they’re finished, they look upon me with pleased eyes. They murmur to one another in Italian, not knowing I’ve learned the language over the years.

  The taller woman nods. “She’s such a beauty. No wonder he chose her.”

  “I heard there was another reason. A family secret. Either way, she’s in no need of the makeup we just put on her.” She smiles, holding her hand out to me and speaking in English. “Come, lady, let us take you to breakfast.”

  Standing, I smile, locking eyes with her. “Grazie mille.” Thank you very much.

  Pink rises in her cheeks.

  I follow them down to the hall, wondering what she meant. A family secret? But we reach the hall, and the bustling crowd distracts me.

  Breakfast today will not be a quiet occasion; it looks as if all the wedding guests have been invited to dine with us. We make our way past the curious sets of eyes, the hushed whispers, the nervous smiles.

  To the head of the table. Where he waits for me. He stands, greeting me with a warm, soft kiss on the cheek. “Good morning, Bella. I trust you’ve slept well?”

  “Like the dead.”

  He gives a wry grin. He pulls my chair out for me, the one to the right of his.

  I slide down into my seat, taking the linen napkin from the table and smoothing it over my lap. He takes his seat at the head of the table.

  Rockland Bachman sits directly across from me, to Vincent’s left. A big man with a stoic face, the outline of a black swirling tattoo just peeking out the top of his crisp, white, button-down shirt.

  His red-headed wife, Tess, a beauty with a calculating intelligence in her eyes, slips into her seat beside him. She gives me a cunning smile. “How
was your first night as Mrs. Russo?”

  Her words make my face go hot, as if she knows what happened. How rough he was with me. How much I gave in to him.

  I swallow down a gulp of ice water. “I barely remember it.”

  She gives a laugh, the sound of a tinkling bell. “Isn’t that always the way with weddings? The bride is so busy she doesn’t even get a piece of her own cake. Does she?” A smirk appears on her pretty face.

  Is she referring to the fact my husband took me away from the reception? Did everyone know exactly what was happening?

  Inwardly, I cringe.

  Rockland’s hand disappears from the table, slipping beneath its gleaming top. He must be giving her thigh a discreet squeeze or something, because her face instantly turns as red as her hair. “Now Tess, let’s not forget our manners. The poor girl has only been in the family twenty-four hours. I’m sure it’s overwhelming, to say the least.”

  She gives a nod of her head. “Forgive me. I’m sure it was a lovely evening for you both.”

  I find their interaction strange, yet thrilling. The way he curbed her sharp tongue with a gesture from his hand and a few words.

  Feeling Vincent’s gaze on my face, I pass him a fleeting glance. He’s observing me, watching me, as I watch them. There’s a calculating look in his dark eyes, as if he’s accessing me.

  Forgetting them all, I turn my attention to breakfast.

  Like dinner, the food is amazing. Pastries, light and flaky, still warm from the oven. Fresh fruit cut into bite-sized cubes. A variety of meats and cheeses. Hot coffee is served from French presses, the dark liquid swirling to tan with a pour of cream.

  The meals, I could get used to. The husband, I’m afraid, I cannot.

  I sneak glances at him as I eat. He and Rockland speak in hushed whispers between bites of their food, sips of their coffee. Luckily, Tess is entertained by a dark haired, equally beautiful woman to her left. I’ve no desire to speak to anyone.

  As I’m reaching for a second pastry, I feel a timid hand fluttering on my forearm. Turning to my right, I find a nervous woman with brown eyes and dirty blonde hair smiling at me. “Hi. I’m Hannah. Hannah Bachman.”

  Offering her a smile, I hold up a danish with silver tongs. “Would you like one of these?”

  She gives a nod.

  I place the flaky almond treat on her empty plate. “I like a woman who eats.”

  She gives a good natured roll of her eyes. “I know what you mean. Before I met the Beauties, I’d only known women who were counting calories, or priding themselves on how long they could go without eating.” She takes a bite.

  “The Beauties?” She says their name as if they are a tribe. “Who are the Beauties?”

  Giving a laugh, she waves her hand over the couples seated beside her. “That’s what us Bachman women call ourselves. Though they are far more beautiful than me, they accepted me like a sister when I married Nicholas. At first, I was intimidated by them. They were all so gorgeous, so well dressed. But they took me into their fold and I found that they were a group of loving, kind women who lift one another up. And eat as much as they cook. That’s the one way I will never fit in with them—I’m a terrible cook.”

  I like her. I give her my real smile. “If it makes you feel better, the only dish I’ve mastered is Spaghetti Bolognese. Oh, and toast. I can make a really nice piece of toast.”

  Covering her mouth with her hand, she laughs. “I can also make a pretty mean piece of toast. I lived off it in college. And oatmeal. So, I guess I can cook!”

  I put a second pastry on her plate. “Tell me about the Bachman Village. That’s what you call your town, right?”

  She gives a little laugh. “Yes, when we say ‘the Village,’ people assume we mean Greenwich, but it’s actually our very own village, hidden in plain sight behind the walls of our businesses.”

  “A secret town? That’s amazing.” It sounds like something from one of my books.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful! These neatly ordered, pristine, tree-lined streets, like you see in the movies. The homes are three stories tall, in long rows along the street. Each one is painted a different color to suit the couple inside. There’s a beautiful grassy square in the center of town where there’s little tables. Nick and I like to take our dinner out there with a bottle of wine.”

  “I’ve heard your family has other places, too.”

  “Yes. There’s the Hamlet. That’s a town in Connecticut where couples go when they have children—there’s no children in the Village, since it’s the hub of our businesses, it’s not safe—and there’s a private island off the coast of Greece.” She nods her head toward Rockland. “He actually established the Parrish before he became the head of the family and moved back to the Village. Rockland started the whole thing pretty much with two fishing boats he bought off of a local priest.”

  “That’s why he calls it the Parrish?”

  “Yeah. Funny, huh? But what he built it into—oh, it’s so beautiful. Huge, white stone mansions with verandas on each floor, overlooking the ocean. It’s paradise.” Sitting back in her seat she gives a sigh. “You’ll see it soon. You’re going to love it.”

  See it soon? I was under the impression I’d never leave the grounds of the castle unless it was on foot under the dark cover of night. “What do you mean?”

  Before she can answer, a man with dark curly hair and deep dimples in his cheeks touches her arm, smiling. “Hannah, sweetheart. We don’t want to give all our secrets away to our new friends.” He kisses her cheek.

  Her face turns pink. “Sorry, Nick, I just got carried away. I chatter when I’m nervous and I’m always nervous in new situations.”

  I feel Vincent’s gaze on me. “Bella.”

  I look up, meeting his eyes.

  “You look tired. Let the ladies take you to your room to rest. I know you’ve had a long night.” He stands, ready to pull out my chair for me.

  He wants me gone from this room.

  Why, I’m not sure. Is he afraid Hannah will tell me something he doesn’t want me to know? Dotting my mouth with my napkin, I place it on my plate, excusing myself from the table.

  Shoving my chair back, hard, I grin with satisfaction as he lets out a groan, the wood making contact with his knee as I stand. “You know, I am quite tired. I kept having nightmares—it was impossible to sleep.”

  Taking my arm roughly, he pulls my body into his. My breath catches in my throat as his mouth finds my ear. “Plan on the very same, tonight.” He releases me with a hard stare, giving me over to my maids.

  5

  Felicity

  Holding my head high, pretending he hasn’t brought a heat to my face that is clearly visible to everyone in the room, I give Hannah a goodbye wave with the tips of my fingers. I make my way from the hall, my women following behind me.

  I send the women away. The heavy door closes and I’m finally in the privacy of my room. In the quiet stillness, a heavy exhaustion comes over me. I crawl in bed, dozing off. I sleep through lunch, waking as the sun is setting over the hills, the oranges and reds stretching across the sky.

  Sophia brings me dinner. “You looked so tired at breakfast, I thought you might enjoy a quiet dinner by yourself.” She gives me a worried look, setting a tray of food on the dressing table. “It’s my famous wedding soup with homemade bread. I hope you enjoy.”

  I offer her a tight smile. “Thank you. This looks delicious.”

  “You look thin, I put a little extra butter on your bread. Don’t worry. I’ll fatten you up.” She pats her round belly, leaving me with a laugh. “I’m quite good at it.”

  I sit at the dressing table, ignoring the food, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Dark circles rim my eyes. My skin is pale beneath my rosy cheeks. His words ring in my mind. Plan on the very same, tonight. They make a slick aching grow between my thighs.

  I must stop this madness. I must leave. Now. Before he can drag me into any more of his dark, sensual games.

/>   Hannah made it sound as if he has plans to take me to this Parrish. I’ve no intention of traveling with him. My escape has to be soon, before we leave for Greece.

  I stand so quickly, the chair topples behind me, landing with a crash. I leave it where it lands on the floor. Rushing around the room, I find a large black purse, big enough to carry my necessities, but small enough I’ll not grow tired from carrying it.

  I’ve a long walk ahead of me.

  In the bag I throw the minimal toiletries necessary for travel, a few changes of undergarments, yoga pants and thin long sleeve shirts, articles of clothing that won’t take up much room.

  Glancing around, I search for the smallest items that I may be able to trade for cash: jewelry. Though I’m surrounded in wealth, I’ve no currency of my own. I find pear drop earrings that look to be real diamonds. I slide the hooks into my lobes. Digging through the ebony jewelry box he gifted me, I slide on bracelets, hang sapphire necklaces around my neck, sliding them under the high neckline of my dress. Pile gorgeous gem rings onto my fingers.

  I throw the bag over my shoulder to gauge its weight. Nerves flood me. Why wait? Everyone is still in the great hall, chatting and dining. I could leave now. Going back to the mirror, I stare at my reflection. If I can get past the guards and back to town to fetch my father, I’ll look like a lady out on the town, nothing more.

  I can do this.

  There’s a knock at the door. The light fluttering one that means its Esme. “Just a moment!” I slide the purse into the bottom of the closet. Removing the rings from my fingers, I toss them into the jewelry box.

  Righting the chair, I sit down. “Come in.”

  As always, Esme timidly peers through the door before she enters. Her gaze rests on my earlobes, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, pretty!” She comes rushing into the room, admiring the earrings. “These are the ones he had sent from England. They were part of the Queen’s collection. I can’t imagine what he had to pay to get them. But he was insistent that you had have them, that they would suit you perfectly, and they do.”