Dark Throne: A Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Russo Royals)

by Shanna Handel

  I hover in the shadows, torn between revealing myself, and listening in to be sure they aren’t planning on causing trouble. As always with my younger brothers, I choose to gather information before I confront them.

  Let’s see what the babies are getting themselves into.

  Their whispered words confirm what I suspected; having visited the Russo castle and seen his wealth, they’re bitter, angry, and want to go after Vincent.

  “He’s taken this village for his own,” Sergio grumbles, kicking a rock. He’s all of fifteen, but the size of man with broad shoulders like mine. He’s a good boy, patient and hardworking, but fiercely loyal to Rocco.

  Rocco is more reserved, a calculating look flashing through his dark eyes. A lock of his almost black hair falls over his face. He speaks with the authority of a man twice his age. “He’s grown too powerful. The Romanos need to put him in check.”

  With his cunning mind and ruthless ambition, Rocco’s the one I worry about most.

  Sergio’s brow furrows. “We need to send a message. Where can we hit him hardest?”

  Rocco smooths his hair back from his face, giving a sneer. “The girl. We didn’t keep our eyes on her, not realizing how much she meant to him. Now, with the adoption final, we know that she’s his Achilles heel.”

  Last year, without our knowledge, Rocco called an attack on Vincent’s wife, Felicity. He said Sergio worked with him, but Rocco is the brains behind the operation, able to talk grown men into doing his bidding with his smooth ways.

  I’m sure Serge was just going along with whatever Rocco said.

  Rocco has that effect on people.

  They sent a gang of our men to accost Felicity on the road, to surround her, to scare her, and send a message. Rocco insists he gave strict instructions for no one to lay a finger on her, he meant it only as a warning. But that’s not what happened.

  One of our men, a giant with a shaved head, laid his hands on her, pinning her to the ground.

  The result was a slit throat for the giant, and the rest of our men returned to the estate, battered and tied to their horses’ backs.

  My father was furious when he found out, threatening to cut off Rocco from our wealth if he pulled another stunt like that. We’ve been trying to repair the bond between our families ever since.

  I can’t let a repeat of that foolish incident happen again.

  I step out of the shadows, calling them by the childhood nicknames they hate. “Rock-head, Sergio-baby, have fun at the party?”

  Sergio startles. He avoids my gaze. “Hey bro. Just…shooting the shit.”

  “Well, don’t. Leave the family business up to Dad and Lance and me.” Not that dad is participating much these days… “We don’t need a repeat of that shit you pulled with Felicity.”

  A hint of anger flashes through Rocco’s gaze, but he knows to temper it with me. “One screw up, one wrong call, and you write us off, brother. I think Luca likes the girl too much. He’s growing soft. That’s why he won’t tell dad to plan an attack.”

  I bristle at him calling Esme the girl. “No. It’s got nothing to do with a woman. I happen to have a brain in my head. We could call a war, but then where would we be? They have arms, imported from the Bachman family stores in Greece. Something we could use to our advantage if we formed an alliance.”

  Rocco growls. “There will never be an alliance.”

  I shoot back. “Then those arms will be used on us, if you assholes keep up your short-sighted plans.”

  Sergio gives an immature sniff. “We have guns, too.”

  I give my head a shake. “The Bachman family is the most powerful of the American mafia. And the Russos, the most powerful in Italy. To fight one, is to fight the other. We need to join them. The time for war is over. We need to make peace.”

  Rocco’s jaw tenses. He’s thinking. He’s always thinking.

  He stares off in the direction of the Russo castle, his dark gaze calculating. “Vincent came back here when he was only a few years older than us. He slowly acquired wealth, and men. We can do the same.”

  Sergio crosses his arm over his chest, trying to look even bigger than he already is. “We will never make peace.”

  His hard gaze fixes on my face.

  Our mother’s stubbornness runs through our blood just as thick as our strength.

  There will never be peace.

  Will there?

  I long to work our fields, plow our land, pick from our orchards. My joy comes from the Earth. Long days, with sun warming my bare back as I work alongside our men.

  But my time is taken up with games, trying to outwit our opponent, stay on top, stay safe.

  If the Russos and Romanos were to combine forces, all of our families could live in peace, soaking up the rays of the sun, the peacefulness of the sea.

  Live our lives.

  But that can never be. Unless our two families find a way to unify. There is only one way for that to happen.

  To join the families through marriage.

  To make Esme…my wife.

  As much as I crave her, the timing isn’t right.

  I know, one day, I will make her mine, but today is not that day.

  I’ve had enough childishness for one evening.

  “Both of you. Go to bed. Now.” There’s no sense in talking to deaf ears. I wait, watching as they leave, them grumbling under their breath all the way.

  I make my way through the dark, stone halls of our home. Built as a convent, there are many winding passages, hidden places in the depths of the building. No one knows of the place I go now, other than Lance and my father and a few of my most trusted men. We know my younger brothers would only use it to serve their misguided attempts at revenge.

  It’s a room behind The Wine Cellar, a place holding a new project of mine.

  Left, down the hall past the kitchen. A sharp right into the pantry. Down the stairs to the root cellar. To the stone wall in the back. I run my hand over the wall, finding the loose rock and give it a tug.

  The only sound is the scraping of the rock against rock.

  The door slides open a crack, warm light illuminating the room, the sound of boisterous laughter and music filling the air. I step into The Wine Cellar. Our regulars throw me high-fives and fist bumps as I walk by the tables, stacks of chips and cards littering their green velvet tops, clouds of their smoke billowing before me.

  The place is packed tonight and I’m happy to see so many empty wine bottles lining the bar, their cream colored labels neatly facing me: Romano La Cantina.

  Our main heating system is giving out and we’ll need a new one before winter. A couple of night like this and we’ll have plenty to cover the cost. I never, ever dip into our massive savings if I can avoid it.

  Lance calls me penny pincher. I call it smart. How we spend money is the only thing my older brother and I don’t see eye to eye on. Yes, I splurged on a Montreal Green Alpha Romeo Giulia, but Lance?

  The man’s got three Porsches.

  I sneak past the bar, offering a nod of greeting to tonight’s bartender, April. She’ll be wondering why I never called after our last date. I have no answer for her, only that once again, the morning after our intimate evening, I found myself longing for another.

  She avoids my gaze, flipping her long dark hair over her shoulder.

  I dip past the bar, and head through the wine cellar where we store the gamblers’ wine. Running my hand over the back of the wall of the dark room, I find the spot that gives and push. Blue light floods my vision as I dive into my lair.

  This hidden room was built as a place for the nuns to hide, should the convent be attacked. Now, it’s the headquarters of my budding security operation—a new branch for our family’s safety I’m testing out. I recently installed cameras all around our property. As well as the outside of the Russo castle.

  Esme likes to sneak out of the castle every so often, free of her father’s men.

  When she does, I’m sure to keep an eye on
her.

  I have men who alert me when she leaves. Like, today, when she snuck past her father’s gates with a hood over her head. I met her on the road.

  Just to let her know someone knows what she’s up to.

  And how do I explain demanding that tormenting kiss from her?

  I can’t.

  I’ve given my men the night off to enjoy the Russo afterparty. Esme will be tucked in bed by now, the couples all gone home, leaving the single men of the village to drink borrowed bourbon behind the barns, and the younger singles to pair off into the night. Many of the men come here, to the cellar to extend the celebration.

  It’s a tradition, when the Russos throw a big party, their staff takes the extras home, all the grown men of the village sharing the expensive drink in the streets, in the fields, in the barns. Vincent turns a blind eye and for one night, everyone is as one.

  I slip into the chair behind the desk, scanning the screens. The Main Street of the village is quiet, other than a rowdy group of men singing old drinking songs outside the barbershop, bottles swinging in their hands. I scan to the gates of the Russo Castle. A few night creatures dash across the screens, but otherwise it’s quiet.

  I’m just about to call it a night when I see a dark figure dash past the gate, then press against the front of the wall, hidden in the shadows. A hand goes the neck of the cloak, grasping it closed.

  A thin gold band glints under the moonlight.

  Esme.

  What’s she doing out? Why is she sneaking from the castle so late? I’ve only known her to leave mid-morning, or mid-afternoon, often visiting the coffee shop for a pastry or a cappuccino, then hurrying home.

  She never leaves at night.

  She takes off running, her feet dancing over the grassy hills. She’s headed to one of the side gates of the castle, where the garages are, where they store their cars.

  She’s driving somewhere?

  Vincent never lets her. She’s a terrible driver. Always speeding through town, merely pausing at stop signs.

  Yet another thing about her that keeps me up at night.

  She unlocks the gate, pushing it open just wide enough to slide in. What is she doing? What is she up to? I grow agitated, waiting for her to return to the frame.

  My chest feels tight.

  A moment later, one of their sleek black sedans pulls up to the gate. She hops out, pushing it open it manually, her thin frame straining against its weight. Why isn’t she using the mechanics to open it? That little minx. She must have cut the power to this side of the gate, rendering their security cameras useless, cutting off the sensors that would alert her father’s men that a gate has been opened.

  If any of them are even sober enough to notice after all the liquor they’ve had.

  She hops back in the car, zips through the gate, parks the car, gets out again, this time tugging the gate closed. She gets back in the driver’s door and takes off down the road, the headlights off, only the moonlight to light her way.

  She turns down the dirt road that follows the curving creek.

  The one that leads here.

  She’s coming here?

  After all the warnings I’ve given her, all the threats I’ve made? After punishing her, she’s going to disobey me, to come onto our property.

  Why?

  I think of her impulsive nature, her love for practical jokes. How, after making her kiss me, she fell into my garden, and her childish words: I was going to pull a prank on you.

  It would be just like her, to sneak on our property, to pull a prank.

  Esme, don’t do this.

  My heart pounds in my ears at the thought of someone finding her before me.

  I stand from my chair, pushing my way through the secret door, careful to close it behind me. I ease my way through the cellar, hoping no one stops me to chat. I must be giving off heavy leave me be vibes because I make it out without anyone vying for my attention. I take the stairs two at a time.

  I don’t know what she has planned, but it’d be in everyone’s best interest if I’m the only one to witness it. I run faster, flying through the dark halls. I love the twists and turns of our home, but now, they are a menace, threatening to slow me down.

  Damn this place with all its winding paths.

  I’m just about to burst through one of the doors that leads to the courtyard when I hear a raspy voice whisper my name.

  “Luca? Luca? Is that you?”

  My heart tears at the familiar sound.

  Nonna.

  She must be having one of her dementia spells, wandering the halls again. I want to go to Esme, but I can’t leave Nonna shuffling these cold dark hall in her bedroom slippers. I’ve got to get her back to bed.

  “Nonna. What are you doing here?”

  I find her in the shadows. Her eyes are blue, like mine, and they look big and scared. “I was looking for Papa.”

  Papa. My grandfather, the love of her life, the beat of her heart. He died two years ago. I’m not like everyone else, trying to ingrain the truth in her, repeatedly reminding her that he’s gone.

  Why break her heart over and over again?

  I take her hand. It’s cool and paper thin in mind. I bring it to my lips, kissing the back of it. “Nonna, you know how much Papa loves you. He’d want you to be safe, asleep in your bed. Come. I’ll take you back.”

  “Okay. Okay.” She gives her head a shaky nod, her fingers gripping mine. “I’ll go.”

  I lead her down the hall, slowing my pace to meet hers. I want to scoop her up and fly to her room to get to Esme quicker, but her bones are frail. I patiently move with her as she shuffles beside me.

  “You’re such a good boy.” She pats my hands. “You know, Luca, you’ll meet the great love of your life one day, just as I met your grandfather.”

  She tells me this. Daily. “I know, Nonna.”

  We reach her room, the door left wide open. I guide her to the bed, help her to lie down, then bring the covers to her chin, tucking her in gently. “Now, please stay in your bed and dream sweet dreams for me.” I brush my lips over her forehead.

  She’s already nodding off to sleep.

  I creep from the room, pulling the door closed.

  Trying to make up the time, I sprint down the hall. I’m just reaching for the door to the courtyard, the same one I was at when I bumped into Nonna, when I hear a loud, blasting, crackling sound that makes my blood run cold.

  What’s she done?

  No matter what it is, I’ll protect her from the repercussions of her actions.

  I burst forth from the door, finding the courtyard in pandemonium, Buckles darting under the bench. It’s dark, only the silver moonlight lighting the area. Men rush from the doors in the walls, armed, their eyes wild, some of them still holding bottles of liquor, all looking for the point of attack.

  Another loud noise bursts forth, a cacophony of loud, angry pops, one after the other.

  Like gunshots.

  But not quite.

  Firecrackers.

  She’s playing a prank to get back at me. One that’s going to get her killed.

  I run to the head of our men, Frank. I pull him close. “It’s nothing. Just a prank. Firecrackers.”

  “Cosa stai dicendo?” What are you saying? He shakes his head.

  He can’t hear me over the awful popping noise.

  I turn my head, trying to find the direction the sound is coming from. A bright orange glow catches my eye instead. The thatched roof of the wooden garden shed on the far corner of the east side of the courtyard has caught fire.

  All thoughts of informing the men of Esme’s prank vanish. We must put out the flames. Now.

  My only solace in this dark night is that the fire is on the opposite end of the compound as the sleeping quarters and the fire shouldn’t damage our stone walls or tile roof.

  My mother was raised in England and she brought up us boys bilingual. English spread through the estate, and stuck. Most of our men speak both
languages but they all speak Italian.

  I shout into the night. “Guarda qui! Fuoco!” Look there, fire!

  They turn their faces to where I point. The flames are growing. We’ve got to put them out. I shout orders, grabbing buckets from beside the waterspout, filling them and lining them up. Men pull ladders from the crawlspace, forming a chain, grabbing the buckets as I fill them, passing them down the line, up the ladders, where Frank dumps the buckets of water, splashing them over the flames.

  My arms work like machines, filling and passing buckets until I hear a shout.

  “It’s out! Thank God, it’s out!”

  Rising from my knees, I look up to find the fire is nothing but smoke and ashes. The scent of burned timbers is filling the air. I inspect the damage. The shed is beyond repair.

  “Here. Look here! We found the culprit.”

  Rocco’s voice echoes through the night. I hear him, but I can’t see him. I’m on the far end of the courtyard.

  “It’s the Russo brat. Trying to pull a trick on us.” Sergio’s with him. “And almost burning down the house in the process.”

  Their voices are coming closer. I push through the crowd toward them.

  Rocco calls out, trying to rouse the men. “This is the last straw. This calls for war.”

  The men let out an angry cheer.

  Finally, I make my way to the center of the courtyard. My breath is robbed from my lungs.

  In front of the silvery leaves of the moonlit olive tree stand my brothers, and between their arms, they hold a trembling Esme.

  5

  Esme

  Well, that didn’t go quite as planned.

  I only meant to shoot off a few firecrackers. Scare the stupid thugs that invited themselves to my birthday party. Make them panic. See the fear on Luca’s face, then see the fear turn to shame when he realized he’d been outsmarted by a girl.

  I wanted to show him I could fight back.

  I hadn’t planned on burning down their shed.

  Oops.

  Not that these heartless Romanos will believe me.