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

by Shanna Handel

  What would give him cause to come home? Mice. My father’s arch nemeses. We once had an infestation that threatened to shut us down. For good reason, no one wants to buy food from a store that has a rodent problem.

  Since that time, my father has become a vigilante against the furry little creatures. Going crazy at the first sign of one.

  I grab the broom by the fridge. Go to the corner of the apartment where the dining table is, the space that sits directly above the cash register. Using the end of the broom, I make scritch scratching sounds against the floor.

  It works.

  I hear a shout. Heavy footsteps on the stairs. I have to put a hand over my mouth to hide my laughter.

  “Where are you, you little pest!” My father bursts through the door, a hammer in one hand. His crazed words are cut off when he lays eyes on me. “Felicity! My love! What are you doing here?”

  He tosses the hammer on the counter, rushing over to me. He takes me into a bear hug of an embrace. It feels so good to be in his arms. He always smells the same. Of figs and cigars.

  I pull back, gazing at his face. “Dad. I can’t stay long. I just wanted to check on you.”

  He holds me at arm’s length. Looking me over. “You look good. Healthy. Happy. How is it that you’ve managed to leave the castle without an escort? I understand Vincent runs a tight household.”

  I wave my hand through the air dismissing his concerns. “I get out every now and again. Let’s sit.” I pull out a chair, but before I can slide in, he grabs my hand.

  His blue eyes are wrought with pain. “Felicity. I’m so glad you’re here. The guilt has been weighing on me ever since you were taken to the castle. And I couldn’t tell you this when I visited, as Vincent was with you every moment, but I need to tell you now how sorry I am. I can’t believe how foolish I was, how selfish. I let my addictions lead to you having to be forced to marry a stranger. I’m so, so sorry and I will never forgive myself, but…” Unshed tears fill his eyes, pain etching the lines of his face. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  How do you forgive your father for his sins, sins that led to insurmountable debt, debt that could only be paid with your freedom?

  As I gaze into his aging eyes, my only thought is how can I not forgive him? I don’t know what it means to struggle with addiction. Other than my addiction to the pleasure Vincent gives me.

  Vincent…

  Does it matter how I came to be with him? Or only that I am with him?

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” Everything has worked itself out somehow. I give my father’s hand a squeeze. “I’m happy.”

  “You’re…happy?” He looks to me with hope, as if it couldn’t be true.

  But it is true. And I am happy. “I really am, Dad.”

  A visible weight is lifted from his shoulders as we sit at the little table in the kitchen. Two chairs as always, one for me and one for him. Now, I hope sometimes he has the company of a lady friend in my open chair. The casserole dishes in the fridge give me hope he’s not spending his nights alone.

  I catch his eye. “I just wanted to see you for a second. And ask you something.”

  He gives me a curious stare. “What worries you, my darling?”

  “It’s just that I heard this strange song. About Esmerelda Bianchi, my grandmother. And a scorned lover. A Russo. Do you know anything about it?”

  He waves his hand in the air. “Just a nursery rhyme. A silly love song.”

  Why isn’t his gaze meeting mine?

  “But Esmerelda Bianchi, that’s my grandmother’s name. Surely, the song is about her.”

  “A coincidence. Do you know how many Bianchis there are in Italy?” He gives a laugh. It sounds forced. “And Russo? Such a common name. It’s just a silly song. Nothing to worry yourself over.”

  His words are meant to reassure. But his gaze still refuses to meet mine. He’s hiding something. Whatever it is that Sophia didn’t want me to know, my father doesn’t either.

  “But Dad. That doesn’t make sense.” I go to say more, but he’s standing up from his chair.

  He holds his arms out to me. “You’re happy! You’ve said it yourself. Leave the past in the past and enjoy your future.”

  Unsatisfied with his answer, I force myself to let it go. He’s clearly uncomfortable with the topic and I’m not going to press him. I rise, going to his arms. “You’re right, Dad. What does it really matter?”

  He offers me a big smile. “Come, my love. I must go back down to the store, or those shoppers might rob me blind. And you, my dear, you must get back to the castle before your strict husband finds you missing.”

  I don’t want my dad to worry over me. “Vincent will be busy with work all day. He won’t look for me till dinner. I’ll be fine.” I kiss my father’s soft cheek.

  He gives me a long stare. Then another tight hug. Together, we leave the apartment. I hurry down the lane, avoiding the busy storefront.

  I reach the road that leads to the castle. It’s noon now and everyone’s in town, or home having their midday meal. I’m alone, the only sound the gravel crunching beneath my boots.

  The noise is soothing. Soon, I’m lost in thought. Trying to piece the morning together. Sophia’s song. My father’s strange reaction to my questions. The idea that none of it matters.

  Not really.

  I’m pulled from my mind by the sound of more footsteps. Many more. Not soft and careful like my own. Harsh. Heavy. Determined. A chill runs down the back of my neck.

  Who do they belong to? Vincent’s men, come to collect me? Dare I turn around?

  My decision is made for me. I’m suddenly surrounded. Four broad-shouldered men with dangerous faces circle me like wolves. Snarling.

  A massive man with a shaved head and scarred face steps toward me. “She is as pretty as they’ve said.”

  Ice crawls through my veins.

  Another with pale skin and piercing blue eyes runs his tongue over his lips. “You should see her in her nightgown.”

  Who are these men and…have they been…watching me in my bedroom? Somehow the idea is more terrifying then having them cage me on the road like this.

  What can I do? What can I say?

  I think of my only line of defense. My husband’s anger. “Vincent won’t be happy that you’ve delayed me. He’s expecting me.”

  The blue eyed man gives a gruff laugh. “Is that so? We’ve been told you never leave the castle without his guard. Never.”

  The giant of a man steps forward. Venom seeps through his thick accent. “Seeing you out here now, alone, with this dark cloak covering your head,” he reaches out, flipping the hood over my shoulders, “leads us to believe he doesn’t even know you’re gone.”

  “Out of his sight.”

  “Far from his men.”

  “Alone.”

  Panic and bile twist together rising thick in my throat. I can’t run. I can’t overpower them.

  The Giant speaks again, his voice chilling me to the bone. “You husband is up to something. Ships are headed this way, full of crates, coming from Greece. Would you know anything about that?”

  He takes a step toward me, wrapping a huge hand around my upper arm.

  The crates—the arms from the Bachmans—these men must be from the Romano family, Vincent’s rivals. I know what is in those crates. And I’ll never tell.

  If I go down, I will go down fighting.

  “I know everything.” I widen my eyes. Look up at the giant through my lashes. “My husband sent me here. Knowing you’d follow me. He wanted me to pass on a message. To the strongest of the men, he said. That must be you.”

  “He sent you to lure us?”

  “Yes. To lure you and then to tell you, only you, what is in those crates.”

  “I am the strongest man here.” A flicker of pride sparks in his eyes, he straightens his shoulders. “What message does he have for me?”

  My hands shake uncontrollably, but I keep my voice steady. “Come closer. It’s
for you alone. I must whisper it in your ear.”

  His gaze clouds. His brow knits. I’ve lost him. But now, he steps toward me. “Go on, then.”

  Willing my fingers to stop shaking, I reach up. Placing one hand on each of his shoulders. I move my mouth to his ear. He smells of sweat and violence.

  I steady my voice. “He wanted me to tell you this—"

  Pressing my hands down on his shoulders, I bring my knee up with all the force I can muster, right between his thighs.

  He hisses, doubling over. I take the opportunity to push past him and run.

  Adrenaline surges through my body as though it’s been injected with a needle. Leaving the road, I fly over the grassy hill, toward the castle. Air fills my lungs, burning.

  I stare at the gates of the wall of the castle, focusing only on my goal.

  Strong arms circle me, pulling me to the ground. Knocking the wind from my body. Pinning me to the earth.

  “Stupid girl.” The giant’s furious face glares down at me.

  Fear settles into the very marrow of my bones. My stomach ties in painful knots. An invasive, prickly heat covers my skin.

  The terror is so real, a sound like horse hooves beating against the ground pulsates through my ear. I’m shaking so hard it feels as if the earth below me vibrates with me.

  His sick smile is a sneer. Victorious. Wretched. Deadly. And yet…

  His smile fades. His brow furrows. His huge head slowly turns over his shoulder.

  A loud crack rips through the air. The giant’s head flies back, his body hits the ground with a massive thunk.

  I blink hard, dazed by the vision before me. Vincent is before me, on top of a majestic black horse. A great wood club in his hand.

  A sick laugh rises in my throat. Can this be real? Am I saved?

  Vincent flies off his horse, tossing the club to the ground. He kneels down beside me and when his strong, warm hands cup my face, I know for certain.

  This is real.

  He is real.

  He has come for me.

  His army of men quickly overtake the other three wolves. Binding their wrists. Dragging them away.

  “Vincent, I...” My words trail off.

  His eyes stare into mine, the connection between us hitting me deep in my soul, stopping time, stopping my heart from beating in my chest.

  Everything I need, everything I want, is in his gaze.

  He strokes my hair back from my face. “Bella. Are you alright?”

  Words won’t come.

  Worry etches the lines around his eyes.

  I manage a nod. “I’m fine, now that you’re here.”

  Leaning down, his presses his lips against mine. I close my eyes to feel the fullness of his kiss. As our lips touch, I feel our souls touch, too.

  He pulls away, searching my gaze with fervor. “I’m so glad we found you…when we did.”

  The words he leaves unsaid reform the knots in my stomach. What could have happened if he hadn’t gotten here so quickly—it knots my stomach so hard, I can’t even think about it.

  “How did you know? How did you find me?”

  “There was trouble at the castle. I went to find you.” He gives his head a shake. “I always check on you throughout the day. At least every few hours. It’s just something that I do. Something I’ve always done since you came. I can’t explain it.”

  He checks on me? The knowledge brings a warmth and a calm to my chest. “And you didn’t find me?”

  “No. You were so quiet at breakfast. Then the men, they found bootprints around the wall.” He stops, swallowing hard. He looks away as if he’s afraid he’ll let me down with his next words. “They…were looking into your bedroom.”

  The pain that shoots through his face takes my breath away.

  “Yes. The big one there.” I nod to the giant as Vincent’s men drag his massive body away. “He said he was watching me.” My hand slides up the side of his face. “But you came for me. You found me. And that’s enough.”

  “Where did you go, Bella?” The pain moves through his gaze.

  “I wanted to know what the song meant. I wanted to know why my grandmother’s name was connected to the Russos. Will you tell me, now?”

  “Of course. I should have told you sooner.” He gives a shake of his head. “Not only was your father in debt, but my marriage to you was also my grandfather’s dying wish. He was once betrothed to your grandmother, Esmerelda. He was crushed when she married another and left, breaking off their engagement. When he’d discovered that your family had moved back to the village, your grandmother’s home, he made me vow to avenge him, to take her granddaughter for my wife.”

  He studies my face, anxious, waiting for me to respond.

  My grandmother scorned his grandfather, and he took me as revenge.

  I should be angry, livid, the Injustice of it all burning hot as a fire in me, making me lash out at him.

  But I don’t.

  Whatever dark thing is inside of him, inside his family that brought us together, though I may not understand it, I accept it.

  Because without our torrid past, we’d never have come together.

  And I want to be with him.

  I love him.

  He reaches out, running his finger down the curve of my face like he did that day at the store. “Bella, speak to me.”

  I give a shake of my head, smiling. “I don’t care about the past. I don’t care how we came together.”

  Relief floods his face. “I’m so happy to hear you say those words. And I’m so sorry that these men found you, that I wasn’t here sooner to save you before they could even lay one finger on you.”

  “No.” I give my head a shake. “This will sound strange, but I’m glad they came.”

  His brow knits, confused. “What do you mean?”

  “It opened my eyes.” I’m suddenly so grateful the terrible experience has led me to this moment.

  Because it let me see.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Having you save me. Seeing the pain in your eyes. It makes me know how much you care for me. What you would do for me. It makes me not give a damn about Sophia’s song, or the spurned lover, or the fact that you brought me here as a payment.”

  He strokes a lock of hair back from my face, giving me an astonished smile. “You are an amazing woman. Strong, and beautiful, and brave.”

  His words wash over me, filling me with joy. “Vincent, I want to tell you…”

  He cuts off my words with a kiss. And when our lips meet, the bond that forms between us is stronger than any wedding vow we’ve made to one another.

  He pulls away too soon, urgency in his tone. A tortured look creeps back into his face. “There’s more.”

  “What, more?” I sit up on my elbows, haunted by the look in his eyes. What has he done?

  “The time you first met me in your father’s store, that day I left you the roses?”

  “I remember.”

  “It wasn’t the first time I saw you.”

  What is he speaking of? Had he seen me about in the village? But knowing his habits, I don’t think so—he rarely leaves the castle. “I don’t understand.”

  “We met once. In America.”

  America? I lived there so long ago. “We did? How is that possible?”

  “It was in New York. My father brought me to your father’s store there. They were doing business with one another. I think your father was taking bets on horse races at the time.”

  I think of our little bodega, on the corner of Queens Street. I’d pull a stool up to the counter. Do my homework there. Count out the customers’ change for my father. “I remember the store.”

  “I saw you. Sitting there on the stool. I remember, my father was angry. He thought your father had cheated him out of some of his earnings. My father grabbed him by the collar, threatened him.”

  I vaguely remember the day he speaks of. My heart, beating in my chest. The fear I felt.

 
“You came running out from around that counter. You stood there with your fists on your hips. You looked my father square in the eye. Told him to let your dad go. Then, you kicked him right in the shin.”

  I remember, with a rueful smirk. Thinking this big man was threatening my father, and that I had to do something to protect him, foolishly thinking that I could. “I remember.”

  “Just about the same way you handled the Romano’s giant just now. So brave. You never gave a second thought when it came down to protecting someone you loved.”

  “And you remembered me?”

  “Yes. I moved back to Italy in my late teens, just a few years after your family came back. There was a murmur around the town about a pretty shop girl. And when I found out it was you, the little Felicity from the store in New York, I became intrigued. I began to keep tabs on you.”

  His eyes raise to mine. “And my grandfather found that Esmerelda’s granddaughter had come to the village. I discovered you were one and the same, the little Felicity. So, when your father looked for funds, I made sure to be the one to provide them.”

  Wait—he approached my father to enable the gambling? I don’t mind that he kept tabs on me, but to come after my father? To take my father’s addiction and prey upon it? “You…orchestrated this? You sought him?”

  He gives a shake of his head. Denying. “He was asking around. I came to him first and made the offer.”

  “You knew about his gambling problem. You knew he was going to get further and further into debt…you wanted him to be in debt to you…you let him build those debts…so you could have me?” Anger, disgust, shock, they come in strong waves, clouding my vision. I go to stand.

  “No. That’s not what happened.” He reaches out for me. “Bella. Wait.”

  It seems silly to forgive him everything else, to accept the rest of the sordid story, yet be hung up on the fact that it was him, not my father, who initiated the loans, but I find it’s my breaking point.

  I don’t care that he married me as promise to his grandfather, or even to wash away my father’s debts. But to orchestrate this from the moment of my arrival? To seek my father out? Intentionally providing him what he needed to keep his addiction going? Just to up the price until it was so high, only a wife was enough to pay back the debt.