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

by Shanna Handel

  I stare at the earrings in the mirror, how they hang so beautifully along the curve of my face. “He… ordered each of these pieces for me?”

  She reaches out, fingering the different bracelets on my wrist. “Oh, yes! This one is from Spain. This one, Germany. And this sapphire one, the prettiest in my opinion, was a gift from the Duchess of York.” She eyes me, curious. “Why are you wearing them all at once? Are you playing dress up?”

  “Something like that.” I slide the bracelets from my arm, their weight almost making me feel guilty for planning to hawk them for cash, and put them on the dressing table “Tell me more about before my arrival. How long has he been…preparing for me?”

  “Well, ever since your engagement, of course. It was only a month, but Vincent is a man that can get a lot done in a short amount of time. And he was eager to make sure his wife had the best of everything.”

  A month? Was it only one month ago the man buying the purple roses came into the shop, running his finger down my cheek and changing the trajectory of my life forever?

  It seems like a lifetime.

  I feel Esme’s hand on my shoulder, bringing me back to the moment. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No. I just didn’t know the timeline. I know he came to my father’s store a while ago, but I was only informed of the…marriage…about forty-eight hours ago when his men came to collect me.”

  She shakes her head. “No, no. That’s not right. He’s been engaged to you for over a month, via a promise from your father, but he’s been talking about you much longer than that.” Her gaze goes hazy, as if she’s confused by my words.

  Why would he have been talking about me? He didn’t even know me? Did he?

  He didn’t even know me until that day he came in to buy the flowers. He only knew my father through his borrowed money, his mounting debts.

  How long has Vincent been planning this?

  I search her gaze, wanting to ask a thousand questions, and yet none form on my tongue. My brain finally catches up with my silence, telling me if I’m to escape today, it’d be best for Esme to know as little as possible.

  It’s clear now—there’s no way I can take her with me. She belongs here. Everyone but me does. They all love it here. I can see why—if I wasn’t married to such a cruel man, I might like it myself.

  Besides, it’ll be hard enough to get me and my father out of the country.

  The thought of leaving Esme tears at my heart. I’ve become so fond of her in such a short time. I’ll tell her goodbye now, secretly, in way she won’t understand until later.

  “Esme—you’ve been so sweet to me. Such a help getting through the wedding and everything. I don’t think I’d have made it through without you.” I reach for the sapphire bracelet sliding it on her wrist. “This is for you.”

  Her eyes widen as she twists her wrist, watching the jewels sparkle. “I couldn’t, Felicity. I can’t accept this gift.”

  I rest my hand over hers. “It would make me happy for you to have it.”

  She studies my face. “Really? Do you mean it?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “If you really mean it, then I’ll keep it.” She pulls me into a tight hug. “Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome, Esme.”

  “This feels selfish, to ask something of you when you’ve just given me such a generous gift.” She pulls away, worry filling her pretty brown eyes. “But, I have one favor to ask of you.”

  Does she know I’m leaving? Does she want me to take her with me? “What is it?”

  “Please, please, please, put in a good word with Sophia for me. If she knows how much you like me, she’ll let me come as your assistant when Vincent travels to Greece.” She does a spin, her hands clutching her heart. “Can you imagine how beautiful the Parrish is? A private island of mansions. And the Bachman men are so handsome, such gentlemen. I can’t wait to go. I’ve been dreaming of it all day since I first heard Vincent was taking you.”

  I break away from her gaze. “I…I’m not sure…”

  “We’ll have so much fun!” She rushes back to my side, grabbing my hands in hers. “Please, please, please, Felicity. Say I can come with you?”

  The eagerness in her beautiful face, unblemished by the hurt and disappointment of this cruel world makes me feel just a touch lighter, more hopeful. I want her to have this trip.

  If I run off now, who knows if she’ll get to go.

  And, if I’m finally admitting to all of the secret fantasies I’ve been harboring, the truth is I’m dying to travel, to see new places, to meet new people. I’m craving excitement, new experiences. I’m a huge nerd of Greek Mythology. I’ve read three different translations of Homer’s Iliad. So why would I pass up an all-expenses paid trip to Greece?

  Even if it’s under the controlling gaze of my asshole husband.

  I’ll stay. I’ll get my dream vacation, Esme will be happy.

  For her joy, and for my own need of travel, my other plans can wait.

  “Esme, there’s no way I’m going without you, darling. Tell Sophia to tell Vincent, I’m lost without you and I won’t go if you don’t.”

  “Do you mean it? Oh, Felicity, thank you!” She grabs me in another tight hug, her slight arms surprisingly strong, the gems of the bracelet digging into me.

  There’s a hard rap on my door. Vincent. I hold in a dark laugh remembering his whispered words, plan on the very same, tonight.

  Let the games begin.

  “Why don’t you get to bed? It’s getting late.” I open the door and Esme sees herself out, scuttling past Vincent. As she passes, he grabs her arm, gently, pulling her close and whispering something in her ear. I look away, not wanting to eavesdrop but still hear his words. “Get yourself to bed, young lady. No fraternizing with those Bachman Brothers.” He bids her goodnight.

  The young single men of the Bachman family are handsome and charming. I’ve seen Esme eyeing them.

  I almost smile at his fatherlike ways.

  Then I remember why Vincent lurks outside my door.

  He wants to play games.

  You want to play games, husband? Bring your best because I’m going to slay you.

  He makes me want him with his rough ways. Let me turn the tables on him. Make him do the begging for once. I slide my hand up the edge of my open door. Curve my lips in a sultry smile. Gaze at him from beneath my lashes.

  I run the tip of my tongue over my lip. “You wanted me?”

  His brow furrows as he takes me in, confused by my poise. “What are you…doing?”

  “Don’t you know what I’m doing? I’m going to make you want me. Then I’m going to make you beg for it.”

  His eyes widen but before he can answer I grab the end of his tie, pulling him into me for a harsh kiss. I thrust my tongue in his mouth, grabbing his hardening erection in my palm, rubbing it over his trousers.

  Without breaking my kiss, he grabs my wrists, pulling me over the threshold and kicks the door shut with his heel. He moves his mouth to my ear. “You want to play games, little girl? Let me tell you now, I always come out victorious.” His mouth is back on mine, his kisses bruising my lips.

  He shoves me against the wall, my shoulder blades hitting with a dull thud. His grasp on my wrists tighten as he pulls my arms above my head, pinning my hands to the wall above my head with one strong hand. His other slides down my face, over my breasts, grabbing and squeezing until my breath catches in my throat.

  He’s winning. He always wins. Hasn’t he made that clear?

  My body responds with no reservation, a warm throbbing between my thighs, as my mind screams with anguish. Why do I let him do this to me? Why do I want more? I’ve got to score a point; I’ve got to get the upper hand if only for a moment.

  He’s got my hands bound, my body pinned against the wall by his chest. I slide his bottom lip between my teeth, and bite. The tang of his blood hits my tongue. I wait, expecting his furious retaliation.

  Instead,
he punishes me in the worst way possible, by making me want him more.

  He pulls back, burning me with his smoldering gaze. His fingertip finds his lips and he draws it across, gathering the blood. Lowering his fingertip to my heart, he glides his finger over my chest. I look down, finding a red V over my heart.

  Cocky bastard.

  He gives me a dark smile. “Mine,” he says, and his mouth finds my neck, repaying the bite with one of his own on my tender flesh.

  My head lolls back, bumping the wall behind me as I let out a low moan. With his hand pinning mine to the wall, his mouth punishes my neck, and his other hand slides down my belly, parting the waistband of my clothing from my flesh.

  His hand dives down, his finger slipping into my slick folds. He plays with me, dipping in me, stretching me, then taking his slick finger and teasing my clit with rough circles. My hips buck, begging for more.

  His kisses move up my neck, nipping the lobe of my ear. “Beg me.”

  No.

  I refuse.

  Let him leave—I can take care of my own pleasure when he closes that dark wooden door.

  He adds a second finger to the first, stretching me further. As he fucks me with his fingers, he pushes my wrists higher above my head, making me stretch up on the tips of my toes. He licks my neck, his tongue leaving a hot, wet trail as he goes. He returns to that most sensitive spot above my clavicle, sucking and nipping as he runs the pad of my thumb over my aching clit.

  My breath catches. Perspiration dots my hairline. My mouth opens to cry out, and I snap it shut.

  Fuck him.

  I’m going to come all over his rough, punishing hand.

  I move my hips, chasing the climax, taking every ounce of pleasure I can get from his hand.

  I’m on the brink, my pussy tightening around his fingers—and he stops.

  His hand freezes, his two fingers buried deep inside me, his thumb pressing down on my clit. I moan with frustration, grinding my pelvis against his hand, demanding my release.

  He gives a low, dark chuckle. “Bad girls with no manners don’t get to come.”

  “Fuck you, Vincent.” My words come out in pants. “Bad girls make themselves come.”

  My words are a farce. I want this, I need this, I’m at his mercy. I know if he leaves now, and I’m left to finish myself off…I’ll only be wishing it was his hand pleasuring me.

  Shame fills me.

  I’m going to beg.

  He strokes the pad of his thumb over my clit. “Are you sure you don’t want to apologize and beg for your climax like a good little girl?”

  A whimper rises in my throat. I swallow down my pride, every ounce of it. “I…I want you to make me come. Please.”

  I’m rewarded with only one thrust of his fingers, one circle over my pulsing nub.

  “Tell me you want me. Beg me to put my cock in your wet pussy.”

  I give a heady moan. I need more. I’ll die if I don’t get it. I’m almost crying, my voice breaking as I beg. “Please, put your cock in me and fuck me, Vincent. Fuck me hard until I come all over your cock.”

  “Such a dirty mouth on my pretty wife. I know how to handle dirty girls.” His hand slides from my pussy and I ache for his fingers the moment they leave me.

  Where’s his hand going? What’s he going to do to me?

  He yanks at my pants and panties, pushing them down to my knees. My arms ache, my wrists are sore where he still holds them against the wall, but that’s all forgotten when he steps to the side and draws his hand back, slapping his hand against my pussy.

  The smack leaves a tingling over my skin, making my clit throb. “Oh my God!”

  “You’ll learn to curb your tongue.” Another stinging slap lands on my pussy, making my clit throb even more. “I’ll teach you.”

  I can’t take another spank. I need to come. Now. I tell him what I think he wants to hear. “I’m sorry, sir. Please, put your fingers back inside me and make me come.”

  His fingers stroke the slickness at the apex of my thighs. “Tell me how wet I make you. Tell me you want me even when you hate me.”

  “You make me so wet. I hate you. And fuck yes, I want you.”

  With a deep growl, he lowers my arms, dragging me over to the bed. I struggle to keep up, my legs tethered by my clothing. He shoves me down onto the bed on my belly, my face buried in the plush covers. I grab the fabric with my fists, biting down to hold in my cries as he enters me from behind with one punishing thrust.

  I stretch and burn, my body taking all of him at once. He fucks me, fast and furious and hard. Real, raw, fucking. Animal fucking. Fucking for the only purpose of release. He slaps my ass, grabbing my hips hard, pulling me down onto his cock, burying deeper inside of me.

  Fuck! I’m coming so hard white stars appear behind my eyelids. I bite down harder on the covers, refusing to give him the satisfaction of crying out as another climax racks my body. He comes, hot seed bursting forth and filling me as he growls.

  For just a moment, he lies over me, our bodies pressed together as we recover.

  I lie limply on the bed, completely spent as he stands, zipping his trousers and buckling his belt.

  “Pack your bags. We leave in the morning.” He closes the door behind him.

  Game over.

  6

  Vincent

  My wife will accompany us to the Parrish. And with her, Sophia and Esme, along with several of her staff. Not the gentleman’s trip I was planning, but I’ll make do.

  Having my wife with me has its benefits—access to her beautiful body, making her sigh that little whispered word, more. Fucking her until she calls my name. Losing myself in her smell, her taste, her touch.

  Having her close also has its detriments, distracting me, leaving me thinking of her with every waking hour. After having her, wanting to hold her close and kiss her softly. To treat her gently.

  So unlike me.

  At the last minute, I almost called the whole thing off. Remember the unsettling way I felt when she left the library without a second glance to me, how I wanted to hold her close, rock her body against mine and whisper sweet nothings to her all night long.

  Disgraceful.

  I more than made up for it by the way I fucked her last night, making her beg for the man she hates. But when I left the room, she stayed in the forefront of my mind. By making me think of her constantly, she’s taking away my power over her. And that is one thing I cannot tolerate.

  I’m in control.

  I win.

  Always.

  In the end I decided, yes, I will take her to the Parrish, just to prove to myself I am still the one in charge. But then my wife asked me to bring Esme with us, staring up at me with those soft, green-gold eyes, pleading with me, and despite my reservations, I found myself agreeing.

  Yet another way she’s won me over.

  As she slides into the seat beside me on our private jet, I’m instantly surrounded by her scent. Vanilla and freesia and…Felicity. She wears a sleeveless white silk top, tucked into light colored linen pants and soft leather shoes.

  All clothing I’ve picked out to complement her complexion.

  I’ve done well.

  As she’s bending down to slip off her shoes, a thick strand of her dark hair brushes the back my hand. I want to wrap it around my palm and tug her head back, kiss her neck.

  Torture.

  Our shoulders touch. She quickly moves as far to her right as she can, creating a space of a few inches between us.

  I can breathe again.

  Ignoring her as best I can, I pull my laptop from my bag, flipping down the oversized tray from the wall, making a desk. I slip my glasses from the inside of my suit jacket, put them on, and turn on the computer.

  I feel her curious gaze resting on me. I look at her, confining my suspicions. She’s staring.

  I raise a brow. “Can I help you?”

  A tiny smirk dances at the corner of her lips. “It’s nothing. Just that a man so
powerful as yourself needs glasses to read the words on a computer screen?”

  It’s bothered me over the past two years that my perfect 20/20 vision has let me down. Trust her to point out my flaws. “Astute observation. Have you no chinks in your own armor?”

  She sniffs, resting her head back on the seat. “Many. But I don’t act as though I have none.”

  I push the glasses down the bridge of my nose, looking at her over their silver rims. “When have I ever claimed to be flawless?”

  “Just an air you give off.” She gives a bored shrug, pulling a book from her bag and opening it to the center where she’s turned down the corner of a page to mark her place.

  She’s no respect for her husband or his property, I see.

  Reaching over, I flip up the corner of the page, smoothing the crease she made in the paper. “Well, the air you give off is one of ungratefulness. And carelessness. Has no one taught you how to properly keep your place in a book?”

  She snorts. “Grateful to be forced into marriage?”

  Opening my bag at my side, I rustle through it, looking for an adequate bookmark. I find a scrap of paper and hand it to her. “Here. Use this instead.”

  She takes it from me, smoothing it out and reading the words on it. She’s suddenly very quiet. Too quiet. I look over at what’s she’s reading. I recognize the words.

  I’ve made a horrible mistake.

  I thought the paper I’d handed her was a scrap from one of my many meeting notes.

  It wasn’t.

  It’s a poem. One I jotted down the other day when Esme brought my tea into the library. One I’d written for Felicity but would never dare to show her.

  Felicity’s lips barely move as she murmurs the prose to herself.

  They call you the black pearl

  Though precious you are, cold and dark, you are not

  To me, you are the sun

  You made your arrival on a dark day

  And forever changed me

  Bringing light and warmth into what was a bleak, cold world

  She slides the paper between the final page of the book and the back cover. She says nothing of the poem, but I feel her sneak glances at me over her shoulder.