The Devil I Don't Know

by LK Shaw

  The Devil I Don’t Know

  Brooklyn Kings, Book 1

  L.K. Shaw

  The Devil I Don’t Know, Brooklyn Kings Book 1

  © 2021 by LK Shaw

  Cover design © 2020 by PopKitty Designs

  Editor: Dayna Hart at Hart to Heart Editing

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  All Rights Reserved.

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  No part of this book, with the exception of brief quotations for book reviews or critical articles, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  The Enemy in My Bed

  Acknowledgments

  A Birthday Spanking

  Book List

  About the Author

  Prologue

  “By the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

  I steel myself for the assault. Instead, his dry lips barely ghost over mine and then he’s turning us to face the small crowd comprised of my family and the two men I assume are his. I can hear the priest speaking behind me, but I’ve blocked out the words again. My mother is crying while my father sits stoically by her side. I can’t look at my brothers and sister. My gaze, instead, locks on Grand-da. His expression is one of satisfaction. Why wouldn’t it be? He got what he wanted.

  He rises from his seat. “Come to my office.” He turns on his heel, expecting us all to follow.

  My—I swallow hard—husband places his hand on my lower back, and I flinch at his touch. I hear a heavy sigh at my side. Like a sheep being led to slaughter, I leave the music room and enter my grandfather’s lair. I stand near the desk, out of the way. I’m surprised to discover the only people who arrive behind me are my new husband and the huge, terrifying man.

  My grandfather scowls at his appearance. “You may leave.”

  The man ignores the command and positions himself against the wall, arms crossed, with a bored expression on his face. My jaw nearly drops at the blatant disregard.

  “I’m afraid Pierce doesn’t take orders from anyone but me,” my husband says, drily, his voice deep and low.

  A vein throbs near my grandfather’s temple and his face turns the color of a ripe tomato. No one disobeys him. At least not without suffering the consequences. With a deceptive calmness he moves to his desk and picks up a pen lying on top of a piece of paper. My eyes land on it. Certificate of Marriage.

  “Sign.” He holds the pen up in front of me.

  I stand frozen, unable to move. With my signature, everything is final. There’s no undoing any of this.

  I can’t do it.

  There’s a flash of movement and then blinding pain. Tears spring from the impact of Grand-da’s hand across my face again. On its heels is a roar of rage. I turn my head in time to see my grandfather pinned against the wall, clawing at my husband’s hand wrapped around his throat.

  “I don’t give a fuck how powerful you think you are. If you ever touch my wife again, I’ll slit your throat and bury your body where no one will ever find it. Do you understand?” he growls.

  Grand-da’s face is turning deep purple. He manages a short nod…and my husband releases him. He coughs and chokes and desperately tries to suck in air. Utterly disregarding the man gasping for breath, my husband turns, and in a blink, he’s standing before me. He towers over me, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him. A shadow of brutality lingers in his eyes. He reaches out, and despite myself, I flinch…again. He merely picks up the pen my grandfather dropped and holds it out to me.

  “Our marriage is a business arrangement, so I understand your being opposed to it. Neither of us wants this, but one thing I can promise is that I will never lay hands on you in anger.”

  I shiver at his gruff tone. Wait. If he doesn’t want to be married to me either, then why did he do it? My eyes travel over his shoulder to latch onto my grandfather, who’s still rubbing his neck and glaring at me. Next they move to the massive man who remains lurking in the corner. He’s staring at Grand-da. His continued silence and steely glare unnerve me. There’s an alert readiness in his body, as though he’s waiting to dive into action and defend his boss. At last, I turn my gaze back to my husband who’s still holding the pen in his hand.

  I take him in again. His dark hair is swept back off his forehead, his eyebrows a sharp slash over eyes that bore into me. A chill dashes across me at their intensity, and I could almost lose myself staring into them. They’re the color of my father’s favorite cognac. Despite the ferocity he displayed only moments ago, they seem almost gentle now.

  In a move that surprises me, I reach out and take the pen. Our hands brush. Before I change my mind, I scribble my signature on the line above my printed name. I can feel my husband’s eyes on me. He takes the pen from my fingers, his skin gliding along mine. Goosebumps travel up my arm. Confused over my reaction, I hastily take a step back while my husband—Emilio—signs his name next to mine.

  He rolls up the certificate and tucks it into the inner pocket of his suit. It’s final. I’ve signed my life over to a stranger. A man who, only moments ago, showed me how brutal he is. Despite his promise, I don’t know if I can trust him.

  Dear God, what have I done?

  Chapter 1

  Jacob

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  The faintest scent of the ocean floats in on the wind. It reminds me of my mother. Of the trips we used to take to Coney Island during the summer when I was a kid. Where, for a brief few hours, I could ignore my destiny. The same destiny I’ve been running from the past seven years. My self-imposed exile isn’t going to last forever. Sooner, rather than later, la famiglia responsibilities will call me home. Long before I’m ready.

  I rest my forearms on the railing of the second floor deck of my estate and stare out across the vast expanse, down into the valley where the small town of Pinegrove, North Carolina lays. The harsh spring breeze penetrates the layers of my suit and undershirt to skate across my skin, and I breathe in the salt-tinged air. It’s quiet here. No horns honking. No police sirens. Just nature.

  A throat clears behind me. I briefly close my eyes, inhale one last lungful of cool, salty air, and then release it. Only one person would intrude upon my solitude. I turn to face six-and-a-half feet of solid muscle. The hell-fire red eyes of the skull tattoo covering his entire throat glare out at me from between his open shirt collar. Pierce is an intimidating fuck
er on a normal day. Today, his expression is grimmer than usual.

  “You have a phone call.”

  “Take a message.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s Sal.”

  It would seem sooner just arrived.

  Calmly, I head inside and take a seat at my solid cherry wood desk. Pierce positions himself against the wall, arms crossed, waiting. Unable to avoid my fate any longer, I let out a breath before picking up the phone.

  “Hello, Father.”

  “The time has come for you to return home.”

  Is that fatigue and pain in his voice? “I think you and Uncle Paulie are handling things just fine without me.”

  “Emilio—Jacob—I’m dying.”

  The air in my lungs freezes at his statement. At the name. Not once, in thirty-six years, has my father ever called me Jacob, even though it’s what my mother called me, to his great dismay. To hear it from his lips now? It’s a plea. And Salvatore Ricci didn’t become head of the Brooklyn syndicate by begging for anything.

  “How long?”

  “The doctors say three to six months, depending on treatment.”

  “Does anyone else know?” If the news got out that my father is sick, there’s no telling what our enemies would attempt.

  “Only Paulie.” He pauses. “For now.”

  Paulie Lasco. My adopted uncle, and my father’s consigliere for the past thirty years. I close my eyes and count to ten before opening them again. “Pierce and I will be on the next flight to New York.”

  The man against the wall straightens at hearing his name.

  “Paulie will meet you at the airport. He’ll fill you in on things before you get here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Emilio…I’ll be happy to see you.”

  I open my mouth and then close it. I pause a moment before opening it again. “I better go pack.”

  I hang up the phone. A roar bursts from deep in my chest. In a single move, I launch to my feet and swipe everything off my desk onto the floor with a loud crash. I collapse back into my chair, my breathing harsh in the quiet of the room.

  “I’ll have Agnes come and clean up.” Pierce steps toward the door to call in my housekeeper.

  “No,” I bark. “I’ll take care of it.”

  He pivots back to me. “What’s going on, Jacob? Aside from the fact that we’re heading back to New York.”

  There’s not a soul on this planet I trust more than the man standing across the room. He chose to exile himself with me seven years ago. Right after we slaughtered the enemy who hurt Francesca. He’s been my best friend our entire lives.

  “My father is dying.”

  Pierce moves to the chair opposite me. “What?”

  “It’s time for me to return and take my place as head of the syndicate.”

  He blows out a ragged breath and runs his hand down his face. “Christ. I can’t believe it. I thought Sal would outlive us all. How long’s he got?”

  “No more than six months.”

  The implications that come with my father’s death are widespread. Civil war between the families. A contract on my life. Our enemies will band together to destroy everything my grandfather built.

  Pierce has stayed in constant contact with Paulie over the years. With the exception of my father’s illness, he no doubt knows more about the current state of our organization in Brooklyn than I do. He’s far more prepared to take over than I am. He has no desire to be in charge, though. I’ve been groomed for this from the moment I took my first breath.

  “You know there will be those who challenge your right to take your father’s place.”

  There is no doubt in my mind. A few would like nothing better than to usurp my position. Especially given my long absence. “They can try, but they will fail.”

  I may not want the role thrust upon me at birth, but with my father’s death on the horizon, it’s mine nonetheless, and I will kill anyone who tries to take it from me.

  “They’re going to want you to prove your loyalty. Not only to your father, but to the whole syndicate. You’ve been gone a long time. Things have changed. Alliances have changed. Our enemies are not who they once were.”

  “Which is what I have you for. I trust you to share with me everything you know on our flight back to the city. Uncle Paulie’s meeting us at the airport.”

  Pierce rises from his chair. “I’ll call the pilot and let him know when to expect us. I’ll have the car ready in an hour.”

  I nod absently. I rest my forearms on my desk and turn them over to stare at the palms of my hands. Hands that are covered in blood. Her blood. I still see her body lying in the middle of the bed.

  Pale.

  Cold.

  The red sheets that, only hours earlier, had shone a bright white. I clench my fists as though I can wring the blood out of them. Like usual, it doesn’t work. It’s still there. Mocking me. Reminding me.

  I rise from my chair and, piece by piece, pick items off the floor and return them to my desk. Then I stride through the house and enter my bedroom. My private domain. I drape my garment bag across the bed and lay several suits inside. Methodically, I pack my toiletries. I open the top dresser drawer and push aside the perfectly folded undershirts. In the darkest recesses my fingers latch onto a small velvet pouch.

  With careful movements, I tug the string and tip the bag on its side. Out slides a nearly empty bottle of women’s perfume. I bring it to my nose and inhale, pulling in the scent of lilacs. I bought this bottle for her birthday eight years ago. It’s the only thing of her I have left. I deposit it back inside the velvet sack and tuck it inside my luggage.

  Bags in hand, I make my way down the staircase where Pierce is standing. He takes them from me without a word and walks out the front door to the waiting town car. My emotions are volatile, and he senses it. I stand there a moment, and then I follow him outside. I have responsibilities and a dynasty I can no longer ignore.

  Less than two hours later, the private jet skids across the runway before slowing to a snail’s pace. It creeps toward the row of hangars lining its perimeter and the black town car waiting there. Two figures stand outside the vehicle. The aircraft comes to a jerky halt. One of the men steps forward to greet us as we descend the stairs.

  “Emilio, it’s good to see you.” Paulie embraces me with a hug and several slaps to the back.

  “You as well.”

  “Come, we’ll talk in the car. Your father is anxious to see you.”

  Once we’re all settled in the vehicle, Paulie reaches into the dry bar. He pours each of us a drink before leaning back against his seat.

  “I assume Pierce has caught you up on the current state of things.”

  “Yes. I never thought I’d see the day that Salvatore Ricci would form a tentative alliance with the Irish. Especially Colm Donnelly.”

  The head of the Irish mob has always been a ruthless bastard. Rumor has it he had one of his own sons killed.

  “The Russians have become a nuisance. They seem to have forgotten their place, and it’s up to us to remind them of it. By aligning ourselves with Donnelly, we’re sending a message to those who think they can come in and take what isn’t theirs.”

  Still, it is a risky move. The Irishman is cold, calculating, and unpredictable. I don’t think much has changed in the time I’ve been gone from New York. Even the slightest perceived betrayal could unravel an alliance.

  “What happens if Donnelly decides an alliance is no longer to his advantage?”

  Paulie and Pierce exchange a knowing glance. One I don’t care for. My eyes dart back and forth between the two of them.

  “What aren’t either of you telling me?”

  Chapter 2

  Brenna

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  “Grand-da wants to see you in his office.”

  I jerk my head up from the book propped against my knees and narrow my eyes at my twin brother, Paddy, standing in the doorway of the library. He knows better than to inter
rupt me while I’m reading. Then it strikes me what he said. Grand-da never wants to see me. Hell, even if he looked straight at me, he wouldn’t see me. I am invisible.

  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Now, he said. He’s in a mood, too.”

  With an annoyed sigh, I pick up the cloth bookmark my younger sister, Caitlín, had made for me, and tuck it in between the pages. Then, I drop to my feet from my perch in the padded window seat that overlooks the small garden my mother likes to keep.

  “Why are you following me?” I ask Paddy, who is almost stepping on my heels.

  “I was told specifically to escort you there.”

  It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes. I’m sure the instructions weren’t that specific. We reach the door to our grandfather’s sanctuary, and I stop in front of it, hesitant now that I’m here. What does he want with me?

  “Go on,” Paddy nudges my shoulder.

  I smack at his hand in irritation and bare my teeth at him. Inhaling a deep breath, I reach out, turn the doorknob, and let myself in. Seated behind the behemoth oak desk is my grandfather, Colm Donnelly, patriarch of one of the most powerful families in the Irish mob. He’s a fearsome looking man despite his full head of white hair. His presence fills the room even sitting.