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

by Shanna Handel

  She gives a heavy sigh. “He fears for your life. He hates to let you out of his sight.”

  “I know.”

  Sophia sits on the bed beside me. “Sweet one, have you ever considered the fact that he’s scared to let you go because he’s afraid you won’t come back?”

  I think of the times I planned my escape, of how I wanted nothing more than to leave this castle. If I had a choice, would I choose to stay with Vincent? Or have I been in denial, lost in a dark fairytale, never having made a conscious decision to choose to be with Vincent?

  Is my father’s illness the thing that finally forces me to look at my circumstances with truth and honesty?

  I’m a revenge bride.

  A payment for a debt.

  Nothing more than a win to Vincent Russo’s ego.

  He doesn’t care about me. Not really.

  He’s not even told me he loves me.

  But then I think of the feel of his hands on my body, the heat in his gaze when I catch him looking at me, the things he’s done to ensure my comfort, my father’s care and safety. I’m confused, distraught, drained. There’s only one thing I know for certain—I must go to my father, now.

  Vincent send armed guards, more than necessary in my opinion, and they flank me like a small army as I make my way into town. He told Sophia he’d send my things on later. I think he’s hoping I change my mind.

  I won’t.

  When I leave the castle, he takes me in his arms, kissing me with that harsh, possessive energy I’ve come to crave. He releases me. “Come back safe, Bella.”

  I reach my father and know I’ve made the right decision. His face is pale and damp with sweat. There’s a team of nurses here, employed by my husband, and they offer him tender care.

  But when he sees my face, a light shines in his eyes. “My Felicity.”

  I sit at his bedside, holding his hand. I let the medical staff heal his body while I take over the job of healing his soul. I tell him funny stories from my childhood, beautiful memories of my mother, I remind him of how I used to work the bodega counter in New York with him.

  The bodega, where Vincent first saw me. Thinking of it reminds me how he never forgot me after that day. How he wanted me for so long.

  I’m not just his revenge. I’m not just a payment for my father’s debts. But being here with my father reminds me of who I was. A woman with freedom. A woman free to choose, or deny a marriage proposal. I hold tight to his hand, pushing Vincent from my mind.

  Dr. Lombardi arrives. I find myself exhaling a breath of relief I didn’t realize I was holding. I hover at his side as he listens to my father’s lungs. He speaks quickly, a flow of Italian, and after living in the castle speaking mostly English, I find my ears straining to keep up.

  He hears crackling in my father’s lungs, a sure sign of pneumonia. He says my father’s oxygen levels seem good, for now. He prescribes an antibiotic and a steroid. He’ll be back in the morning.

  I give my father the first doses of his medication and he falls asleep. I dismiss the nurses till morning—I can handle the night. I make myself a light meal of tea and toast. Eating at the small kitchen table, I gaze over the city, watching the deep red of the sunset turn to an inky blue.

  Several men stand guard before the door to the shop. Without gazing out the back, I know there are men there, too. It makes me feel safe.

  It makes me miss him.

  The apartment is quiet, save for my father’s soft snores. I miss the hubbub of the castle, the clanking of dishes as dinner is prepared. Sitting by Vincent’s side, candlelight flickering on his face as he asks about my day.

  I wonder what he’s eating tonight.

  I wonder if he misses me.

  My father stirs, a rumbling cough rising from his chest. I rush to his side, helping him sit up. “Dad, you okay?”

  His cough deepens and I reach for the steroid inhaler the doctor has left me. One hand supporting my father’s back, I hold the other to his mouth, puffing a cloud of medicine into his lungs.

  He coughs and sputters, and finally, calms. “Felicity, what are you doing here? You should be home. Where are the nurses?”

  “I’ve sent them home.”

  He pats my hand. “It’s kind of you to stay with me, but you should be home, with Vincent.”

  “I’ll go home once you’re better. Just rest.”

  Soon, his soft snores fill the room once more. I lie down on the couch and try to sleep but I find myself staring up at the cracks in the ceiling, listening for each one of his breaths. Should I have sent the nurses away? What if I’m not capable of caring for my father? My cell phone bing bongs an alert. I have a text.

  It’s from Vincent.

  Why have the nurses been sent home?

  I tap back a reply.

  Hello to you too

  He sends back his response.

  Hello

  Now where the hell are the nurses

  I can practically hear the furrow in his brow.

  Me: I’m here

  Him: You’re not a nurse

  He needs professional medical care

  I want to type back, and you’re not the boss of me, but I can’t risk him busting up in this apartment, belt in hand.

  Me: Thank you for your concern sir

  Him: Don’t step foot out of that building without alerting me

  His concern warms my heart. And pisses me off. Bossy man. I type back my final reply, leaving so many words unsaid.

  I won’t

  Goodnight

  It’s a long night of keeping my father comfortable. I have to give him several more puffs from the inhaler. Several times he chokes so hard, I fear I’ll lose him. When the nurses arrive at first light, I’m relieved. Vincent was right, I’m not a medical professional, and last night, that’s what my father needed.

  I go to call Vincent, to tell him so, then I remember that look of pride in his eyes, denying me having my father move to the castle, and I silence my phone, returning it to my pocket. I snooze on the couch, dozing in and out of sleep as my father is fed, bathed, his vital signs under constant surveil.

  Dr. Lombardi returns. He feels my father is doing well but will need to remain under full-time physician’s care until he turns a corner. He suggests transporting my father to the hospital, or bringing more equipment here.

  Since my mother’s death, my father has been terrified of hospitals.

  Because of Vincent, the necessary equipment can be bought and brought here, the nurses’ shifts can increase. Because of Vincent, my father will be able to rest comfortably in his home as he recovers.

  I should thank him.

  I pull out my phone.

  Five unanswered texts stare back at me. They must have come in while I was sleeping.

  How are you?

  Felicity, answer me

  Text me back

  Don’t make me come there

  I know you’re there my men can see you

  I give a snort. He can’t handle not being in control, even for a moment. I’ll call him. He picks up on the first ring.

  “Why weren’t you returning my texts?”

  I give a yawn. “I was sleeping. It was a long night.”

  “I hope I didn’t wake you.” His voice is gruff.

  “I slept through the notifications.”

  His voice is stiff. “Hmm…well…how’s your father?”

  “Better. Thank you.”

  There’s a long pause. One that says more than words can. In the silence I feel he can hear my fears, my worries. Do you love me, as I love you? Do you miss me? Why is there always this tension between us? Will it always be this way?

  He’s the first to break the silence. His voice breaks as he speaks. “Come home.”

  “I can’t. Not yet. Not without my father.”

  His voice is tight. “You know I won’t allow it. I can’t have men outside my circle in the castle.”

  “I have to stay with him.”

  He
clears his throat. “Is there…is there anything you need?”

  I smile, shaking my head. “We’re fine. We have everything we need, thanks to you. Thank you…for everything.”

  We say our goodbyes.

  I hear a soft chuckle. I look over to where my father lays in the hospital bed they’ve brought him. I smile at his smile. “What are you laughing at?”

  He shakes his head. “You don’t need to be here.”

  “Yes, I do. You’re sick and you need me—”

  He holds his hand up, cutting me off. “Hear me out. You don’t need to be here night and day. I mean, look around…I’ve got a full time nursing staff, and you’re sleeping on a couch. You could be spending your nights in the luxury of your castle. If I know my girl, you’re here because you’re playing your hand in some way with that powerful husband of yours.”

  I feel my cheeks flush. Is my father right? Have I used this opportunity to play some game of control with Vincent, without even realizing it?

  That doesn’t sound like me….and yet. When he told me my father couldn’t come to the castle, an ire rose in me, a desire to be in control for once.

  As my father dozes off, he whispers one more thing. “You love him.”

  The words strike my heart.

  Because, they’re true.

  My husband is stubborn, controlling, possessive, but…he’s mine.

  The way he is makes my blood run hot, my body feel as if it’s found home in his hands.

  Maybe I am playing my hand.

  I’ve fallen hard and fast for a man who’s orchestrated my life by his hand, his will. Maybe I just need a moment to catch my breath.

  Maybe, I’ll choose to stay.

  14

  Vincent

  Felicity is like no other. In a sea of stars, she burns bright enough to light my path.

  She is brave and kind. Soft spoken, but with a quick wit and a sharp tongue. She speaks her mind but never wastes words. When threatened, she hardens with fire in her eyes. When safe, she’s soft and gentle, still with a warmth in her gaze. She speaks to the servants with a humble grace. They’ve quickly fallen for her, happy to call her their queen.

  They miss her.

  She opens herself slowly, in her time. Her quiet, soft, and steady beauty reaches to my core. I lose my breath when she enters a room. I’ve memorized the curves of her face, the way the dark tendrils of her hair move against her shoulder as she looks off into the distance, her hazel eyes focused on a point far away. I wonder what she thinks of as she stares; is her mind lost in one of her stories she loves so much?

  It makes my chest ache just to look at her.

  My chest aches now, knowing she’s not here.

  I miss her.

  She’s not replied to my first five texts.

  I’ll send more. I’ll send a thousand if I have to.

  I type more furious texts, then erase them, one after the other.

  Come home now

  Come home or I’ll come there and stripe your ass with my belt

  Get your ass home where you belong

  I type one more, one that tells her how I really feel.

  Please, come home I miss you

  I erase that one as well.

  What is she playing at? Her father is stable. I’ve bought him the best care available.

  So why isn’t she coming home?

  Fear strikes my heart, making dampness creep over my palms. What if she doesn’t want to come home? What if she doesn’t want to come back to me?

  I’m driving myself crazy. I need a distraction. I go to my office, locking the door behind me. I sit at my desk, overlooking the latest numbers for the arms deals with the Bachmans. I check my phone.

  No texts.

  I make a few calls. Reach out the John Romano to see if he’s gotten my Christmas gift—a whole suckling pig, freshly butchered—he doesn’t answer. I check my texts. Nothing.

  Finally, I’m able to lose myself in my accounts, double checking each staff payment for the month. The numbers soothe me and I pour myself a bourbon, the amber liquor further relaxing me.

  My phone rings—it’s her—and I answer it before the ringing even stops. I can’t hide the harshness in my voice. “Why weren’t you returning my texts?”

  She gives a yawn. “I was sleeping. It was a long night.”

  Fuck, it’s good to hear her voice.

  She sounds tired. Have I woken her during her only time to rest with my relentless texts? “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  She yawns, dismissing my concerns. “I slept through the notifications.”

  I stiffen. Was her phone even on? We can talk about that later. “Hmm…well…how’s your father?”

  “Better. Thank you.” It’s a curt answer, a formal answer.

  And it fucking breaks my heart.

  Does she not love me, as I love her? Does she even miss me? Why won’t she come home to me?

  My throat is tight. I clear it but my voice still breaks as I speak. “Come home.”

  She speaks softly. “I can’t. Not yet. Not without my father.”

  She knows that I can’t give her that. I can’t have my enemies thinking me weak, letting a gambler, a man who owed massive debts I forgave into my household. “You know I won’t allow it. I can’t have men outside my circle in the castle.”

  “I have to stay with him.”

  She’s not coming back. She won’t be here where I can protect her myself, provide for her every need from our home.

  “Is there…is there anything you need?” The offer comes out more gruff than I’d hoped.

  There’s a small smile of gratitude in her voice. She thanks me, for everything.

  We say our goodbyes.

  I leave the office, going back to the living room where Sophia is polishing the wood with a lemony scented balm. I pace the floors, making Sophia more anxious by the minute. She follows behind me with a cloth in her hand, dusting pieces of furniture as we pass by them.

  I run a hand through my hair. “I’m her husband. I want her back here. At least for the nights.”

  Sophia rubs the cloth over the wooden frame of a painting of the castle at night. It’s one of my favorites. She catches my eye. “Nights are important for marriages. I know you miss her.”

  I quickly correct Sophia. “It’s not that I miss her. It’s the principle of the thing. I’m her husband and if tell her to come home, she will come home.”

  What I say makes perfect sense to me, but it makes Sophia snort. “Yes, that’s the way to win over a fiery wife. Demand her obedience.”

  Sophia is the only one allowed to speak her mind to me, but she’s walking a thin line.

  I stop my pacing, eyeing her. “What do you suggest then?”

  She stops dusting, putting a hand on her hip. She pushes her wire-rimmed glasses higher on her nose. “Il mele catta più mosche, che non fà l'aceto. Flies are attracted to honey.” She gives me a pointed look.

  Honey.

  The word makes me think of the sweet taste of Felicity’s arousal. The things we do at night, wrapped in one another’s arms. I miss her taste, I miss the feel of her body against mine.

  Okay, so I fucking miss her. Like crazy. Nothing’s the same, here without her.

  Sophia’s still staring at me, awaiting a response.

  I give her a growl. “You think I’ve been an ass?”

  “Il lupo perde il pelo ma non il vizio.” She raises a brow, her hands moving further up on her hips. “Old habits die hard.”

  Old habits die hard…and my oldest habit is the one that drove Felicity away…my stubbornness. I heave a sigh of surrender. “I’ve been an ass?”

  “Have you?” She gives me a shrug. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  I shake my head, holding in a laugh.

  I’ve taken Felicity from her home. Tortured her for the first of her stay. Now, I’ve refused her only request, having her father here, not wanting to swallow my pride and have a man outside my circle in my
home.

  I have been an ass.

  But you don’t get to be in a position of power like I am by being soft. My hardness has served me, brought me wealth, built me an army. Why would I change now?

  But she’s not here. She’s not at my side. And suddenly, that seems to matter more than all the wealth in the world.

  I need help. God, it pains me to admit that. My throat feels tight and I swallow back my pride. “Sophia, how does a man like me…become honey?”

  Esme chooses this moment to pop up from a nearby doorway. I’ve no doubt she’s been listening in on this entire conversation. Her eyes twinkle. “You needed some honey?”

  Sophia tilts her chin at me. “Mr. Russo has decided it would be best to bring Felicity and her father back to the castle.”

  “How do I go to her? Knowing me, I’ll end up storming over there, demanding she return, and make a mess of things.” I run an agitated hand through my hair.

  Sophia gives a decisive nod. “Yes. That’s exactly what will happen.”

  I shoot her a look.

  She gives an exasperated sigh. “It’s simple, Vincent. You apologize.”

  I give a gruff growl in response. I never, ever apologize.

  As the driver makes our way toward Main Street, I recite my carefully formulated speech in my mind. Felicity, it would be better for the family and the castle if you returned home. Felicity, would you do me the honor of coming back. Felicity. Felicity. Felicity.

  I arrive at the shop. The new awning looks cheerful. There’s a young male store clerk behind the counter with a straight nose and a crooked smile. A little too good looking to be working in the shop right beneath my wife. I make a mental note to have him replaced with a young woman. Then, he gives me a helpful smile, reminding me why I’m here.

  To not be an ass.

  I guess he can stay.

  He stands to greet me. “Can I help you, Mr. Russo?”

  I nod to the bouquet of flowers. “I’ll take a dozen of the purple roses.”

  He gathers them, carefully wrapping them in brown paper. He offers no easy chatter and for that I’m grateful. When he’s done, he offers the bundle of roses to me.

  “Thank you.” I go to take them, but my hand pulls back.

  What if she says no?

  I’ll have to endure not only the humiliation of her rejection, but also the embarrassment of being turned away with an armful of roses. “Keep them here. I’ll get them on the way out.”