Asher Black: A Fake Fiance Mafia Romance Novel (The Five Syndicates Book 1)

by Parker S. Huntington

  No way is this a guestroom, but I ask just in case. “Is this the guestroom for me?”

  Asher shakes his head. “It’s my bedroom. The master.”

  It’s surreal standing in his bedroom. There’s a sitting room that leads into another room for sleeping, separated only by an archway the width of a school bus. In the main area of the room, there’s a bed in the center and a large flat screen television set. The bed is a giant Alaskan king, covered in silky black sheets, a black down comforter and a decorative red throw blanket.

  The floor, like the rest of the penthouse, is all dark hardwood. There’s an opened door that leads into a sleek walk in closet and another doorless archway that serves as the entrance to a giant master bathroom.

  I am amazed by the sheer size and opulence of the place. I can’t even imagine what my guestroom will look like. “Can you show me to my room?” I ask.

  Asher spreads his arms out, as if to gesture that this is it.

  I frown. “You’re giving me the Master?”

  “We’re sharing the Master.”

  I shake my head vigorously. “No. No way.”

  Asher shrugs. “You could always take the couch.”

  “I’m the one doing you a favor. I’m not taking the couch. I’ll take the bed.”

  He shrugs again. “Go for it.”

  I nod, satisfied. I leave him there, entering the closet instead to get ready for bed. It’s double the size of my dorm room and can easily be mistaken for a high end men’s clothing boutique. I shake my head in disbelief at the lavishness. After grabbing a soft cotton t-shirt, I take it with me to the bathroom, purposefully ignoring Asher, who brushes by me on his way to change out of his suit.

  Like the rest of the place, the bathroom looks expensive with its white Carrera marble flooring and black modern cabinetry. There’s a toilet in its own little room. The standing shower, encased in grey marble, is separated from the room by a glass door. Inside of it is a bench and multiple waterfall style showerheads. Beside the shower is a white, jetted bathtub fit for five.

  I go to the toilet. Afterwards, I wash my hands and pull out a drawer under the sink, finding an unopened toothbrush in it. I brush my teeth with it, rinse my face of mascara and grime, and decide to take a quick shower. After tossing my beloved LBD in the hamper. I stop at my underwear, realizing that I have no clean panties to wear. Mine was soiled by the whole dance floor incident. I remember how drenched they were and make a face.

  Gross.

  I won’t be able to sleep in those. I toss the underwear into the hamper, too. Then, I set my phone on the counter, after remembering to send a text to Aimee, letting her know I’m safe.

  Lucy: At Asher’s place, safe and sound. Be safe tonight! See you soon.

  And because I’m a coward, I turn off my phone before she can text me back. I know tomorrow I’ll be waking up to a million questions that I don’t know if I’m allowed to answer. I’ll have to talk to Asher about the parameters of this arrangement later. I still haven’t signed a nondisclosure agreement, too.

  When I’m done with my shower, I have no other choice but to tug Asher’s soft t-shirt on over my bare body. I feel incredibly naked underneath. Wearing another man’s shirt is intimate enough, especially given the fact that I’m not wearing a bra nor panties. The knowledge that it’s Asher’s and he’s nearby, somewhere in the same penthouse, makes my cheeks flush.

  When I reenter the bedroom after blow drying my hair, I’m frightened to find Asher in bed. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of black Calvin Klein boxer briefs.

  I avert my eyes. “I thought we agreed that I’d get the bed.”

  When I look back at him, he’s shrugging, but his eyes are focused on his shirt on my body.

  “No one is stopping you,” he says.

  “But…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Who knows how long you’ll be here for? I’m not sleeping on a couch indefinitely in my own damn house.”

  “This place is huge! It has to be, like, 10,000 square feet!”

  “Twenty.”

  My jaw drops. “Twenty thousand square feet and you can’t even make up a guest room for me?”

  “It’s only a ten bedroom home,” the rich prick says.

  He ticks each finger in a visual count.

  One finger. “Master.”

  Two. “Office.”

  Three. “Library.”

  Four. “Armory.”

  Five. “Shooting range.”

  Six. “Theater room.”

  Seven. “Security room.”

  He lifts all ten fingers now. “And the rest have been combined and renovated into a personal gym.”

  I can’t believe this. The dude has a shooting range, armory, gym, theater, library, security room, and office in a New York City apartment? I know he has money, but this is just insane.

  He continues, “You’re welcome to sleep in any room you want to, but I can guarantee you that this bed and the couch are your best options.”

  I groan. I am not spending who knows how long sleeping on the couch. I might as well start getting used to sleeping on a bed with Asher. With a long, exaggerated sigh, I make my way to the empty side of the bed. When I pass him, I catch his eyes rolling. He seems to do that a lot around me.

  Asher goes to brush his teeth and shower before he returns to the bed. By the time he settles in, I still haven’t gotten used to the fact that we’re going to be sleeping in the same bed for however long I’m here for.

  “Lights,” he commands into the empty air, and we’re immediately flooded in darkness.

  I scoot over until I am on the absolute edge of the bed. Since it’s an Alaskan King, there’s a generous amount of space between Asher and me, but it doesn’t feel like enough. I can’t sleep like this.

  I am considering falling asleep on the couch when Asher sighs and scoots my way. I can picture him rolling his eyes as he wraps a strong arm around my waist and pulls me toward him. He nestles his body into mine, positioning us so he’s Big Spoon and I’m Little Spoon.

  Now, with his muscled front pressed against my back and the feel of his breath on my shoulder, I really can’t sleep. I’m even more aware that I have nothing on underneath Asher’s shirt. We stay like that for a moment before Asher squeezes my body and sits up.

  In a surprisingly chivalrous move, he takes a pillow and the extra throw blanket and relocates onto the floor. He’s out like a light within seconds, leaving me to wonder…

  What the Hell was that?

  When I wake up, it’s still relatively dark. Though the blackout curtains are drawn, I see bright light peeking out underneath an uncovered edge of the wall to wall window. A glance at the clock on the bedside table tells me it’s a little past one in the afternoon. After sleeping late last night, I’m still tired, though this is the best sleep I’ve gotten since the Hallway Incident.

  I lift onto my elbows a little when Asher enters the room. He’s in a suit and has a pretty black box in his hand. There’s an intricately tied bow wrapped around it.

  When he sets it on the nightstand and begins to leave, I ask, “Where are you going?”

  He pauses for a moment, halfway to the door. “Work.”

  I nod and lay back down, not bothering to answer. Because, really? Who works on a Saturday? I’m so tired right now, I can’t even fathom working at this moment. I let my slumber take over my body, lulling me into another deep, dreamless sleep.

  When I wake up again, the place is empty. There’s a note on the nightstand attached to the box Asher dropped off earlier.

  At work. Dinner at 6. Wear this.

  It’s not signed, but the note is clearly from Asher. Inside the box is a silky, emerald green evening gown. It’s safe to assume that wherever we’re going is fancy. A glance at the clock tells me I have an hour to get ready. I’m not surprised I slept in until 5 P.M. I haven’t been sleeping well lately, but now that I know Asher needs me too much to harm me, I’m looking forward to catching up o
n many missed hours.

  Asher strolls in by the time I have the dress on and am ready to go. My face is bare of makeup, because I don’t have my beauty products with me, but I was able to wrestle my hair into an elegant up do with some hair ties and bobby pins I found lying around in one of the bathroom drawers. I don’t even stop to consider who they belong to.

  Gross.

  Asher hasn’t looked up at me since he entered, but I know he’s aware of my presence. I shift uncomfortably, unable to tear my eyes away from his bare chest as I watch him undress. When he tugs his pants down his legs, revealing taut, muscular thighs, I zero in on his package, encased in navy blue Calvin Klein boxer briefs.

  I haven’t stopped lusting after Asher. It’s stupid, I know, and I’ll do well to remember who he is. But when an attractive man is standing in front of me in nothing but his underwear, I’m going to look. It’s impossible not to. I’m not a nun. Hell, I doubt a nun would be able to look away from a shirtless Asher.

  I clear my throat. “Where are we eating?”

  When he looks up at me, his eyes burn a slow trail up my body, starting from my heeled toes, traveling up the exposed skin under the daring slit of my dress, and eventually leveling onto the abundant swells of my cleavage heaving out of the dress. Once his eyes lock on mine, there’s no doubt in my mind that this lust is mutual. He’s giving me the same look he gave me the first night I met him.

  I take an instinctive step back, trying to distance myself from it.

  “L’oscurità.”

  L’oscurità is a fancy Italian restaurant in TriBeCa with a waiting list over a year long. I know this because Minka once stood in the hallway, going on and on about how exclusive it is after going there for a date with some old hedge fund guy. I’m not sure if I have the table manners for a dinner at such an ornamental place.

  At my hesitant look, Asher says, “Don’t worry about it. We’re just eating dinner with my family. Think of it as a trial run to work out our kinks.”

  I nod, but now I’m even more horrified on the inside…

  I’m going to meet his family?!

  That’s worse!

  “Does your family know this is fake?” I gesture back and forth between us.

  He nods. “They know everything.”

  Everything?!

  Memories of Asher’s fingers in me, his lips sucking on my clit, flood through me. I wince, hoping they don’t know about what happened in the alley that night.

  Chapter Eleven

  Being deeply loved

  by someone gives you

  strength, while loving

  someone deeply gives

  you courage.

  Lao Zi

  The drive to the restaurant is a short one. We go straight from the underground private garage of the penthouse building to the underground garage of the restaurant’s building. I never even breathe in the New York air.

  Asher opens the door for me, offering me a hand that I proudly refuse. I’m a 21st century woman, damn it. I can get myself out of a damn car. Instead of his hand, I use the door to help me up and accidentally press one of the buttons near the door handle. As soon as it happens, wheels pop out of the bottom of the door.

  My eyes widen at the bizarre sight. “Did your car just grow wheels?!”

  “They’re there in case the car is halted during a shootout.” He ignores my sharp intake of breath. In my defense, the idea of needing protection from a shootout is so foreign that it’s outlandish. “The door can be removed from its hinges, and we can hide behind the bulletproof door while we move somewhere safer. The wheels are there so we don’t have to carry the door.”

  That’s… genius.

  But also ridiculous.

  A shootout?!

  Asher presses the button again, and the wheels slide slowly back into the car door. He offers his arm to me, and I place my hand on the crook of his elbow, worried that if I don’t accept his help again, something might grow out of him, too. Like maybe horns from his temples or a devil’s tail.

  We’re led into the restaurant by the maître d, who calls Asher “Mr. Black” and me “Ms. Ives” without any introductions needed. How he knows my name, I have no clue. He takes us from the private underground garage into a private room. Asher’s guards, who accompanied us in the front seat of the town car, station themselves at the door—one outside and one inside.

  I take in the room. It’s a large room, but there’s only one table in it, a fancy ovular table with four place settings made up. On one wall is glass, stretching across the expanse of the entire wall. On the other side of it is the kitchen, though I assume the glass is one way, because the kitchen staff don’t seem to realize that we’re on the other side.

  I’m shocked to see the guy from my first night at Rogue—Bastian, I think—there, talking to what looks like the head chef.

  Asher’s eyes follow my line of sight. “He’s my manager.”

  My manager.

  Boss.

  My mind quickly pieces everything together.

  Asher owns L’oscurità. Bastian is the manager. That’s how Bastian works for him.

  When we’re seated beside one another, waiters arrive and pour us wine without taking our orders. Once they leave, Bastian enters the room with an older man, probably in his late forties. They’re both dressed in suits, walking into the area with confident body language. Asher said we’re meeting up with his family, but I notice that neither Bastian nor the man look anything like Asher does.

  Asher stands up and hugs the man tightly. Seriously.

  When they pull back from each other, Asher asks, “How are you, Vince?”

  “Business is well. I can’t complain.” Vince turns his eyes to me, and they light up. “You must be Lucy. My name is Vincent, but you may call me Vince or Vinny.”

  I nod and move to shake his hand, but he pulls me into a hug, too. Flustered, I return it, albeit weakly. When we’re all seated, I look between the three men.

  I must look curious, because Vince laughs and says, “It’s not a blood relation, dear.”

  Bastian scoffs. “Yeah, no way am I related to that ugly face.”

  A genuine smirk crosses Asher’s “ugly” face. “I can recall a few of your ex-girlfriends that have said otherwise.”

  Wait.

  Back up.

  Did he just make a joke?

  Asher just made a joke.

  This is weird.

  Why are they acting like it’s normal?

  It’s definitely weird, right?

  Mafia killers don’t joke… They sit around in dark rooms by themselves, brooding and listening to classical music in between their kills.

  Vince laughs wholeheartedly, ignoring my bewilderment, and says to me, “That’s how this all began. Bastian and Asher were dating the same young lady, a—”

  Bastian smirks and says, “She was no lady,” at the same time Asher snorts and says, “We weren’t dating. We were fucking.”

  Bastian’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, yeah. You think you’re hot shit, Ash. We know.”

  Vince ignores the two. “Bastian finds out about Asher, and he goes to confront him.”

  “And I fucked him up,” finishes Asher. “He had a baseball bat, too.”

  “I have three brothers—Elias, Gio, and Frankie,” Vince says.

  I still. Frankie is the head of the Romano family, which would mean that Vince is not only a Romano but also a high-ranking member. I’m essentially eating dinner with mafia royalty… and I’m not even scared.

  How badass am I right now?

  “Bastian is Gio’s son, which would make him my nephew. I was head of enforcement, so I was sent to deal with Asher personally, Bastian being my nephew and all. I wasn’t expecting what I found. Naturally, Bastian lied and told us he was beaten by someone older, but at the time, Asher was just a 15-year old boy, almost five years younger than Bastian. So, I looked at him and said—”

  “Where are your shoes, boy?” Asher finishes.

>   “And Asher said—”

  “I ain’t got none.”

  “And I said—”

  “Well, let’s go get you some.”

  There’s a look of fondness on Asher’s face. It’s so vulnerable, it takes me completely by surprise. I’ve been looking for his weaknesses since the moment I met him, and here it is, and it’s so unexpected…

  Asher loves somebody.

  His love for this man is palpable, as tangible as the ground I walk on and the chair I’m sitting on. It’s the biggest weakness I’ve seen of his yet, the most vulnerable side of him he has shown me. I didn’t even think he had any vulnerabilities. I almost gave up searching.

  I’m ashamed that I immediately wonder how I can use this to my benefit.

  As perceptive as ever, Asher narrows his eyes at me and leans in, whispering softly into my ear, “Don’t mistake my love for a weakness, Lucy. That love was strong enough to turn an eighteen-year-old boy into a ruthless killer. Heed my warning. There is nothing I won’t do for the ones I love.”

  I back up sharply at his words, quickly scooting my chair over a little in the process.

  … strong enough to turn an eighteen year old boy into a ruthless killer.

  There’s a rumor that, when Asher was eighteen, he was living with a Romano caporegime when they were attacked by members of the Andretti family. This was during the territory wars, and the Andretti family sent two dozen people to kill the capo, which must have been Vince.

  After a fight broke out between Vince’s guards and the Andretti soldiers, there were still over a dozen Andretti soldiers left alive. They thought they won, that Vince was theirs. They didn’t know that Asher was living there. They weren’t ready for him. Maybe they never could be. He killed them all, and then he infiltrated the home of one of the Andretti capos and did what they had tried to do to Vince.

  Only he succeeded, killing an Andretti capo and dozens of his men.

  A shiver runs down my spine.

  There is nothing I won’t do for the ones I love.

  I’ll remember his warning for as long as I live. I was wrong. His love isn’t a weakness. It’s his greatest strength.