by Piper Stone
Cruel Prince
Piper Stone
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
Afterword
Books of the Merciless Kings Series
Books of the Mafia Masters Series
More Mafia Romances by Piper Stone
Books of the Dark Overture Series
Books of the Club Darkness Series
Books of the Dangerous Business Series
Books of the Montana Bad Boys Series
Books of the Alpha Beasts Series
More Stormy Night Books by Piper Stone
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Copyright © 2021 by Stormy Night Publications and Piper Stone
All rights reserved. No part of this book 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 permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.
www.StormyNightPublications.com
Stone, Piper
Cruel Prince
Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson
Images by DepositPhotos/HayDmitriy and Shutterstock/STILLFX
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.
Prologue
Matteo
There are some who say death is easier to accept when you can see it coming.
But in this case, the moment of reckoning was nothing more than foresight into the future.
Blood. Revenge. Passion.
Those were the three words that would forever burn into my mind.
And I would exact all three.
So. Help. Me. God.
New York City
“Mr. Benedetti. Will there be anything else, sir?”
Roberto glanced up at the trembling waiter, waving his hand. “I am finished. This was delicious. Please give my compliments to the chef.”
The waiter exhaled, the sound rattled. “Yes, sir. I will be happy to do so. Let me remove your plate.”
Inhaling, Roberto shifted his full attention to the man sitting across the table from him. While he allowed a smile to cross his face, there was nothing but concern in his mind. He remained uncertain of his decision, even though the presentation had been excellent. “I’m not certain you can handle the business or the volume. I won’t tolerate bullshit or any insecurities, and you have them written all over your face. That doesn’t please me on any level. Unless you have something else, I think our business meeting is over.”
William flinched visibly, crawling his fingers across the table to collect the pile of papers he’d presented. Then he gave Roberto a discerning look, one full of confidence. “I know exactly what I’m doing, and I plan on making both of us a significant amount of money. I thought this was what you wanted. If not, I can go somewhere else.”
Roberto eyed him carefully, taking and holding a deep breath for several seconds. When he spoke, he kept the volume of his voice low. “I enjoy taking risks, William. That’s why I’m powerful as well as rich. However, I’m also no fool. I will allow this to take place but heed my words. If you dare fuck with me, I will hunt you down and there will be no place you can hide. Do I make myself clear?”
William opened his eyes wide. “I know what I’m doing. I’m not in the business of letting people down.”
Roberto took a sip of wine, swirling it several times before returning it to the table. “You have three hours to sign the first contract. Not one second more.”
“Understood. I need to make a phone call.” William tossed his napkin, moving to a standing position. “I have no doubt the business will be profitable.”
Roberto took another sip of wine. “Let’s hope so. For your sake.” He studied the younger man’s face, shaking his head as William started to walk away.
As the waiter reached across Roberto, snagging the plate, Roberto caught a glimmer of sun coming from an awkward location outside the oversized window leading to the street. He called for his Capo at the same time the waiter dumped the remainder of Roberto’s zucca tortelli directly into his lap.
Then all hell broke loose, the window shattering.
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!
The spray of gunfire was powerful, the rapid shots overwhelming the screams of other customers.
Then there was silence.
And blood…
Chapter 1
Matteo
Tuscany, Italy
Rage.
I was prone to bouts of anger and had been since I could remember. I took what I wanted when I wanted without fear of consequences, which often kept me in trouble with my teachers and on several occasions the local law enforcement. However, my particular skills had also helped keep the family’s enemies on a short leash. The rumblings I’d heard during the recent trip to France had pissed me off. At some point, a few of our business associates would need to be handled.
After all, they were dealing with the Benedetti Empire. Betrayal wasn’t an option unless the person had a death wish. But there were several riding that fine line. At least I’d provided a warning to the French mob to stay the fuck out of our territory unless they wanted additional bloodshed.
The hard slam of the door was just as powerful as I’d intended. There was nothing I loathed more than being summoned by the family Consigliere, especially after the long trip I’d endured. While my constant travels were necessary in order to keep the Benedetti fortune growing, the recent back-to-back trips did little but push me further into a foul mood.
That my father had called a meeting at my house in particular meant my mother had another party planned, likely as a welcome home gift for her beloved. At least he had a soft spot for someone in the family. As the firstborn son, I worked closely with my father, a man considered brutal, violent, and completely unforgiving.
There wasn’t a member of the family who hadn’t told me more than once I’d grown up just like him. Even though my father had been a tough taskmaster, I took that as a compliment, becoming more brutal in the way I handled business.
I dropped my bag near the front door, stripping off my jacket and tossing it across one of the living room chairs on my way to the bar. After the tumultuous flight, even in first class, I needed a drink. Maybe more than one.
I’d barely gotten ice into my glass when I heard the sound of the front door opening, the voices of my two brothers filtering into the room. I cringed then poured a hefty amount of scotch over the two cubes of ice. Their boisterous conversation was a clear indication that they’d spent the time indulging in whatever sadistic pleasures they required while I was gone.
Snickering, I leaned against the bar, waiting for them to enter the room. Stefano was the first to appear, his wide grin exactly as I’d expected. Enrique seemed more pensive, his jaw clenched, his approach somewhat slower. As the youngest of the three of us, he was also considered the darkest, a mean streak appearing only a year after he was born. His behavior had been difficult to control, even now, but I adored him.
My mother had often called us her three little princes, boys who would grow up to rule
a kingdom. From where I stood, we’d sold our souls to the devil a long time ago. As far as running the Benedetti Empire, my father was king and commander, often telling us he would never retire.
I swirled the liquid in my glass before taking a gulp.
“Difficult trip?” Stefano asked, pushing me aside so he could partake in the same libation.
We were Italians, born and bred in Tuscany, yet our father had insisted that we learn several languages, including English. He’d insisted we speak Italian only around our mother, who refused to allow what she called the immoral western world into our household. She loathed all things from America whereas I found them to be nothing short of a new adventure.
“Not as difficult as it could have been,” I said quietly as I walked to the triple set of French doors, staring out at the picturesque view of the mountains and gorgeous greenery, a view I rarely saw and cared even less about.
“Does that mean you handled the situation?” Enrique mused, adding a subtle but demonic-sounding laugh at the end.
I shot him a look then shook my head. My brother enjoyed the more arduous tasks we were often required to handle. Especially bloodshed. His penchant for violence was well known, which was why our father almost never sent him to handle the complicated situations. He could inadvertently start a war just by roughing up those who owed us money.
“I handled it appropriately, but I don’t think the hard push from the French bastards is over,” I answered, refusing to take any guff from either one of them.
“If your warning doesn’t work, then we take out the city.” Enrique’s suggestion wasn’t necessary a bad one, but I doubted our father wanted to start a war over a lousy two million lost in revenue.
“As a last resort,” I chided. “Have you talked with Pops?”
Stefano flanked my side, shaking his head. “Not since yesterday morning. He confirmed his arrival time today but said little about how the meetings had gone.”
Why my father had insisted that he needed to handle basic transactions with distribution companies regarding the Benedetti wines had been beyond me. While we maintained a certain level of business in New York, none of it included either wines or olive production. His desire to take away a portion of the drug running business from the Irish mob had been in the initial stages, but he’d said almost nothing about it in recent months. My father never did anything without extensive planning. Maybe he thought the legitimate businesses would provide a different inroad, allowing him access to clients who would purchase large amounts of the party favors we offered.
“As if we need the money,” Enrique added.
That was true enough. The family’s holdings had crossed into the billion-dollar range and were growing. Granted, only a portion of our wealth had been procured through legal methods, the other through our wide network of buyers for cocaine and heroin as well as cigarettes and guns. We were a family to be feared and respected, my father demanding both.
The sound of a short knock followed by footsteps indicated Enzo had arrived with our father in tow. Enzo Pazzi had been close to my father since they’d been teenagers, his counseling often proving to be helpful.
Even if he attempted to act like our second father, something all three of us resented.
As the footsteps grew closer, I realized there was only one set. What the fuck was going on? Growling, I glared at the door, my brothers flanking my side. We always knew when bad news was about to descend.
When Enzo walked into the room unaccompanied, my hackles were immediately raised. I walked closer, eying the thick sealed envelope he held in one hand, his iPad in the other. That wasn’t nearly as disconcerting as the look on his face, his expression one of sadness.
My father had told me on the day I’d turned thirteen that we had significant enemies. I’d already known that given I’d been witness to the brutal elimination of one of them when I was eleven. I would never forget the horror on the man’s face the moment his throat was slashed or the way my body jerked from being covered in a spray of blood. My father had disciplined me for ignoring his rules much later, my snooping allowing me to watch as the man who’d betrayed my father had been forced to endure my father’s wrath.
The incident had excited the darkness inside of me, my hunger to learn more about my father’s business never far from my mind.
On this terrible day, I knew my father had met the kind of tragic end he’d warned me about.
“One day the devil will come and take his due. Be prepared because that will occur without warning.”
His words burned in the back of my mind.
“What the hell is going on?” Enrique demanded.
Enzo couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable as he approached, gently placing the unlabeled envelope on the coffee table before clearing his throat. “I’m sorry but I need to bring you some bad news.”
“Our father is dead,” I said with little emotion.
The Consigliere trembled before shifting his head in my direction. “He was gunned down in a restaurant in New York City yesterday.”
A moment of utter silence filled the room, the same odd tension that had occurred during every family crisis.
Then Stefano exploded, roaring like some caged animal. “What the fuck happened? And who should we hunt down and kill?”
Enzo held out his hand, trying his best to maintain a calm demeanor, but I could see the sadness in his eyes. The man was gutted. “I don’t know for certain.”
“You’re just telling us this?” Enrique accused.
“I just found this out two fucking hours ago!” Enzo snapped. I could tell how rattled the man was by the fact he cursed, something that almost never happened.
“How in God’s name could that have happened?” Enrique barked.
Stefano locked eyes with mine, ignoring our brother’s outburst. He was similar in nature, his anger kept hidden by the kind of calm demeanor that no one ever wanted to face. My brother didn’t need to utter a word for me to know what he was thinking.
We would hunt, secure, and eliminate the people responsible.
I moved closer, gazing down at what Enzo had brought into the room. “You’re certain our father is dead?”
The older man exhaled, the sound more distraught than I’d ever heard. He nodded only once before fiddling with his iPad, half closing his eyes as he positioned the small computer on the coffee table, pressing a button then immediately walking toward the bar. I stared at him as he prepared a drink, another behavior I rarely saw him indulge in. The man was rattled as fuck.
“Yes, I’m certain he’s dead. He had no chance to flee, the fuckers taking him down right after lunch.” Enzo’s voice was strained. “The poor bastard was all alone, with the exception of his Capo.”
I heard Enrique’s anger manifest itself, words of vengeance spouted in Italian. He’d been the closest to our father, my brother doing everything he could to walk in our father’s shoes.
“Calm down. We need clear heads,” I hissed, glancing from one to the other. Whoever had been responsible had obviously planned the attack, selecting exactly when Pops had been the most vulnerable. It was possible that Michael O’Sullivan, the notorious thug who led the Irish mob had found out about my father’s other plans. If so, that meant a traitor was in our midst.
I’d faced death so many times during my life that the loss of life often didn’t faze me. However, I could tell my muscles were tensing, my blood boiling as the news began to settle in. I moved behind my brothers as the news broadcast the afternoon before from the United States began to roll.
The images of the well-known restaurant, one of my father’s favorites, flashed onto the screen, my blood turning to ice. The scene was horrific, the shattered glass and obvious bloodstains soaking through several of the white linen tablecloths something that would burn in the back of my mind for years. The second clip was just as disturbing.
The dozens of reporters covering the tragedy crowded closer to the police commissioner as he attem
pted to give a press conference. I barely heard the words the pompous asshole spoke, other than to learn the shooting had been gangland style, the brazen actions in the middle of the lunch rush a shock to the city. That was exactly the kind of activity O’Sullivan enjoyed, acting as if he ruled half the country.
“Mario was killed as well,” Enzo said after I walked away. I could feel his presence behind me, his voice trembling. Mario had been the only man my father had taken with him, the Capo serving my father for several years.
A cold chill shifted down my spine, my anger morphing into something explosive. As my body began to shake, I heard the exclamations of both my brothers from the horror they’d just witnessed. The rumble in my gut increased and soon, I would be unable to control my rage.
I raked my hand across my desk, tossing everything aside. Then I threw my arms back and roared.
The quiet in the room was deafening. After a few seconds, I rubbed my eyes then turned to face them.
“Who did this?” Enrique demanded, unable to keep emotion out of his voice.
I studied Enzo’s face. My father would have discussed his final decision to move into America with the man even before mentioning it to me. A mixture of thoughts and images revolved in my mind, including how the hell I would find a way to tell our mother the news. She would be crushed, her entire world crumbling at her feet. I fisted my hand, fighting the building rage that could become my enemy. The last thing I needed to do was fly off the handle.
