Savage Beast: A Dark Mafia Enemies to Lovers Romance (Sinfully Savage)

by Kristen Luciani

  “But…but I can’t! They’ll never let me have the drugs back!” Frankie sputters. “And I don’t even know how to find them! They came to me!”

  “Well, those are big problems, aren’t they?” Roman hisses. “Looks like you’ve got a lot of work to do, especially if you don’t want to end up like your friend, Sal, who’s recently been sunk to the bottom of the goddamn Hudson River!”

  I gasp. “If he tries to steal the coke from them, they might kill him!”

  Roman turns slowly, regarding me with his penetrating gaze. “I guess he’s gonna have to come up with a stellar plan, Marchella. That is, if he doesn’t want you to be plunged into a watery grave just like his pal, Salvatore.”

  My throat tightens. “You’re a fucking monster!”

  He doesn’t respond right away, but his lips pull into a tight line, his face a mess of anger, regret, and disgust. “I am,” he growls. “And you’d be smart not to test me.” He nods toward Frankie again. “You have one week. I want my drugs or the cash equivalent, and I want the fuckers who thought it was a smart idea to take it from me. You deliver on all that, you get your sister back. You try to fucking cross me again, and I’ll tie you to a chair to watch me violate her before putting a bullet between her eyes. Then, once you think you’ve suffered enough, I’ll make sure you suffer even more before I plunge a knife into your skull. You’ll beg and plead for death by the time I’m done with you.”

  Frankie struggles to his feet. “Don’t you fucking lay a hand on her!” he bellows with as much strength as he can muster.

  Roman grabs him by the shirt collar to hold him back. “Then do your fucking job, dick. Otherwise, death will be the least of your concerns.” He eyes one of his guys. “Get him the hell out of here.” He lets go of Frankie and gives him a smack on the cheek. “Don’t get any ideas, Frankie. I’ll be watching. If you make any moves, you know exactly what I’ll do.”

  “Fuck you, Roman!” he yells.

  “Frankie, stop!” I scream. “Just do what he says and stop—"

  But I don’t even have time to finish my thought before Roman punches him, sending Frankie flying to the floor again, clutching his already-shattered jaw. “I don’t appreciate the tough-guy act. And if you try it again, I’ll make sure you go home with every finger broken.”

  I watch as Roman’s guys drag Frankie out of the office, leaving a trail of his blood behind him. Bile rises in the back of my throat, making me gag. I know the dark red streaks are just the beginning. There will be puddles if Frankie doesn’t deliver to this madman.

  When he walks toward me, my spine stiffens. How could I ever have felt anything but disgust and disdain for this man? My God, could I be a worse judge of character? He is a savage and sadistic pig, for fuck’s sake! And I let him kiss me!

  “What if he can’t meet your demands?” I ask. “If he doesn’t know how to find those people, how can he find your drugs? He was your best friend! How can you do this to him…to me?”

  I see a flicker of remorse in his eyes before they ice over once again. “Frankie is a resourceful kid. They found him once. I guarantee they’ll find him again,” he says gruffly.

  “But you only gave him one week! What if—?”

  “People in my line of work don’t sit around on their asses planning their next big moves. They strike while the iron is hot. And this time, it’s fucking scorching. If they think they found a weakness, they’ll come back to hit it again.” He narrows his eyes at me as he approaches.

  “Don’t you come near me, you sonofabitch,” I say through clenched teeth. “He’s all I have left, and if you try to hurt him again—”

  “What are you gonna do?” he murmurs, backing me against the couch cushion. “Huh? Are you gonna hit me? Stab me? Kill me?”

  “I’ll do worse,” I say, my voice quivering. “I promise you that!”

  “Good.” He nods. “Then I’ll have something to look forward to.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Roman

  I pull up to my building about half an hour later, stabbing the security code into the keypad of my private parking garage. The engine of my Bentley hums as we wait for the gate to lift. When it finally does, I slowly drive into the darkened space, pulling around the side to my regular spot. I shut off the ignition and turn to look at Marchella. She’s still stewing, but at least she’s smart enough to know that if she wants to keep her brother alive, she needs to cooperate with me.

  I want to tell her not to worry, that I have no intentions of killing her or Frankie. But as long as the threat hangs over her head, she’s under my control. And right now, that’s where she needs to stay.

  I get out of the car and walk around to open her door, but before I can grab the handle, she opens it herself, shoving the door into me. I jump back but not in enough time and she swings the door into my gut.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she says in the fakest sweet voice I’ve ever heard. “I didn’t realize chivalry is still alive and well in your domain.”

  “Don’t press my buttons, Marchella,” I seethe, pushing her against the door. My head gets a little fuzzy at her nearness, her sweet scent intoxicating me even as repressed anger bubbles in my veins. She’s always had that spark inside of her. I guess recent events have really made them ignite, and fuck me if I’m not turned on by the woman she’s become. “You won’t like what happens if you do.”

  She tilts her head to the side. “Well, let’s see. You’ve already stalked me, kidnapped me, drugged me, and threatened my life. What’s left? And let’s be real. You aren’t going to kill me…yet, anyway. You need me alive to make sure Frankie delivers, right? I’m the incentive.” Her eyes shoot white-hot flames. “So guess what? I’m going to push, push, push — harder and faster than you ever thought possible,” she seethes, trying to sidestep me. “I’m not the same girl you remember, Roman. Never forget that.”

  I grab her wrist, yanking her back so she’s forced to look at me. “Let’s get something straight. You’re here because your brother fucked up. And until he makes things right, you’ll stay here, next to me, under me, on top of me…any which way I want, understand? You’re fucking mine until I say you’re not.”

  My pulse throbs as her gaze becomes decidedly more murderous, although I’m pleased to see a bit of shock settle into her expression as well. I want to keep her on her toes. I want her to wonder what I’ll do next.

  “Let’s get another thing straight. The only way you’d ever have me on top of you is if I was about to impale your heart with a steak knife. And the only way I’d ever be under you is if I was comatose or dead.”

  “I like a challenge,” I growl, breathing her in, letting her rage infuse me. As if I need any more of it. “Game fucking on.”

  I move away, letting her stomp away from me. I have to forcibly drag my eyes away from her Spandex-covered ass as it swings left and right while she stalks toward the only door visible. It leads to my private elevator. This is bad news…bringing her here, having her so close to me. I follow behind her, sticking my key into the door as she stands next to it, her hands over her chest.

  I lead her toward the elevator and stick my key into the lock next to it. Lots of security is required in my line of work. When you blank out on safety precautions, shit goes sideways and you end up being robbed of five-hundred grand worth of blow.

  Cue the fucking irony of that one.

  The elevator door slides open and she just stands there, staring straight ahead, as if getting in will mean she concedes to this whole thing. The reality is, she conceded once she got into my car. Resisting now is kind of futile.

  “You getting in or what?” I say after a few seconds. My patience is wearing thin, and I have a lot of shit to deal with once we get upstairs.

  She clutches the sides of the elevator, her shoulders quaking. I furrow my brow, knowing that the alarm will sound unless the doors are allowed to close.

  “I c-can’t,” she rasps.

  “Look,” I sigh. “I alr
eady told you, play your cards right and all of this will be over before—”

  She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers.

  “Unless you try to fuck with me—”

  “No!” she thunders. “No fucking elevator!”

  I lift an eyebrow. “You got a problem with elevators?”

  Marchella turns to look at me, her face pale, her eyes swirling with sadness. “Yes.” She pushes past me. “Now, where are the stairs?”

  I fist the sides of my head, following her as she walks deeper into the basement parking garage, pulling open another door. I can see her shoulders relax when she’s greeted by the cement stairs. All five flights of them.

  By the time we get to the top, I’m out of breath and sweat trickles down my spine, making my t-shirt cling to me like Saran Wrap. I collapse against the door and stick my key into the lock. I own the whole building, and the other apartments are about to undergo some serious renovations when I combine all of the floors into one, five-story living space. But for now, I’m staying on the top levels.

  With Dante.

  I silence a groan, twisting the knob and pushing open the door. I’d better come up with a way to spin this to him and fast.

  Marchella turns a critical eye at me. “You really need to build up your stamina.”

  “Are you offering to help with that?” I rasp, my heart still beating hard and fast against my chest from the impromptu exertion.

  She flips me off and walks into the apartment, stopping short in the foyer.

  It’s pretty damn impressive, if I say so myself. Not that I had much to do with the décor. I paid a very expensive decorator to handle all of that. It’s an open floor plan without doors. Sunlight streams into the space through the large windows that line the perimeter of the apartment. There are two floors in my apartment, the top accessible by a set of tempered glass stairs in the center of the living area. Stainless steel railings glimmer in the dusky light, and polished porcelain tile floors bring a touch of modern glamour to the space.

  At least, that’s what the decorator told me when she presented me with the hefty bill for her services.

  The entire place is painted, white which makes it look even grander than it is. And carefully curated pieces of abstract art in bold colors are strategically placed to offer pops of color and brightness. And the view?

  Fucking outstanding.

  I’ve got every high-end piece of electronic equipment, a gym, and a top-of-the-line Viking kitchen that would give celebrity chef and personal friend of mine, Tommy Marcone, a hard-on.

  Everything.

  None of it makes me happy, though. Not when I know one wrong move can shatter my perfect and expensive-as-hell bubble.

  People think this stuff gives them legitimacy. I guess I did, too, when Matteo first put me in charge. I figured I needed all of the components to really be the part I wanted to play. As time went on, I realized how fast the rug can be pulled out from under you, and material things don’t do shit to cushion a steep fall from the top of the food chain.

  You’ll just crash…hard.

  And the possessions won’t do you a damn bit of good if you’re in traction.

  Or dead.

  People may be impressed by all of this, but to me? It’s just more to lose, more hanging in the balance, more of a noose around my neck.

  More pressure to not fuck up, worse than I already have, that is.

  A sharp pain shoots down my arm from the stress.

  How fast your life can go from being great to being hell.

  Speaking of hell, I’m sure Matteo will be calling at some point and he’s gonna want an update on his organization, the one I’ve just shrunk down by about five-hundred grand.

  “So, this is my gilded cage for the foreseeable future, huh?” Marchella says, stepping into the apartment, her sneakers squeaking on the floor. “Or are you going to keep me locked up in some dungeon?”

  I toss my keys onto a nearby table and wave a hand around. “You see any doors?”

  She folds her arms over her chest. “I’d say you have great taste, but I’m pretty sure it’s not your taste I’d be complimenting.”

  I shrug, leaning against the stairway. “I’m not offended. I know the skills I bring to the table, and interior design ain’t one of them.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” she says darkly. “I believe murder and kidnapping are two of those said skills.”

  “Whoa, those are some harsh words.” Dante struts into the foyer with only a towel wrapped around his waist. He nods at Marchella. “Who put the rusty nails in her Cheerios this morning?”

  I roll my eyes at my brother. “You couldn’t have put on pants, Dante?”

  “You’re lucky I have on this towel. I prefer to be free as the day I was born, but I wouldn’t want to offend your guest…or make her jealous.” He gives a long, appraising look at Marchella, and the skin on the back of my neck prickles.

  “I’m not a guest,” she hisses, although it takes her a second to respond since she’s focused on Dante’s pecs. A little too focused for my liking, actually. “Your brother here kidnapped me. And if memory serves, we’re old family friends.”

  Dante gives Marchella a long look and lets out a whistle before raising his eyebrows at me. “Damn, Romo. Looks like you left out a few details on the phone last night. You that hard up for a date that you had to kidnap your old girlfriend?”

  “Fuck off,” I huff, raking a hand through my hair. “This isn’t social.”

  “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” she mutters.

  Dante looks between us and finally his eyes settle on me. “Sounds like there’s a story here. I could use a drink, but oh, shit. You didn’t bring me the Jack I ordered.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t realize laying low was a requirement when you’re on vacation,” I snap. “You’ve got legs and cash, yeah? Couldn’t you have DoorDash’d that shit?”

  “Ouch, some host you are,” Dante grumbles at me. He grins at Marchella. “I can see why you’re a little prickly about him. He’s become kind of an acquired taste, you know? Like sushi.”

  Her eyes widen. “Actually, he’s more like a fucking lethal poison, the kind that paralyzes you and slowly and tormentingly kills you, shutting down one organ at a time as it infests your body.”

  “Wow, that’s…graphic,” Dante says, nudging me. “You hear that, Romo? She’s definitely not your biggest fan anymore. You’re gonna have to do lot of work to get her on her back, bro.”

  “He’s not getting me on my back!” Marchella yells, her fists clenched. “He’s not getting anything from me except a fucking right hook if he dares to come too close! He’s a slimy, derelict thug bastard who drugged me, beat up my brother, and kidnapped me! And the only reason I’m here right now, the only reason why I haven’t clawed out his eyes with my fingernails, is because of Frankie.” She turns to me, her chest heaving. “Trust me, though, Romo. I am fucking stabbing you with a hot poker in my mind right now!”

  Dante turns to me with an eyebrow lifted. “What the fuck does Frankie have to do with this?”

  “Long story.”

  Dante looks between us. “I’ve got time.” He walks over to the bar. He pulls a bottle of tequila off of one of the shelves and pours three highball glasses of the clear liquid. “Since you have no more Jack,” he says with a pointed look at me.

  “Next time you invade my space, I’ll make sure I have a fucking case,” I grumble, turning the glass away when he tries to hand it to me.

  Marchella takes hers, though. She tilts her head back and gulps it down before Dante has a chance to raise his to his lips. Then she grabs my shot and guzzles that one, too. Her face contorts as the liquid fights a path down her throat. She then holds up her empty glass, pointing it at me. “He had one of his goons shoot me with a freaking tranquilizer gun!”

  Dante pours her another shot and she drinks it down, her lips twisting yet again. I can tell Dante is enjoying this little show, especially
since he’s not the one in the line of fire. He smirks at me, leaning against the bar, still in his fucking towel. “I’m waiting for more. I have a feeling this is gonna get good.”

  “Do you know what he had the nerve to do before shooting me on the street while I was trying to help a tiny little stray dog?” she says, a little slur lacing her words since she probably has nothing in her stomach at all. She walks toward me, holding out her glass and pointing. “This sick bastard stalked me in the park and sexually assaulted me! In public!”

  “Tsk-tsk, Romo,” Dante says with a shake of his head. “Have I taught you nothing?”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake! I didn’t assault her! I kissed her!” I focus my glare on Marchella’s now-flushed face. “And if I recall, you loved it! It’s not assault if you were begging for it!”

  “What?” she shrieks. “Don’t flatter yourself, dick! I didn’t beg for any of that! You saw me and took advantage of the situation! I should have dumped that whole bottle of scotch on your lap last night at the restaurant!”

  I stomp toward her, my jaw twitching because I have so many more words to hurl at her, but more than yelling, I want to pin her against the wall and run my hands down the sides of her trim torso. I want to feel her body plastered against me, her lips crushed against mine.

  Again and again.

  Luckily, before I can act on any of it, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to see Matteo’s name flash across the screen. I can’t send him to voicemail again, so I stab the Accept button.

  “Romo, what’s going on? I tried calling you before. Why didn’t you call me back?”

  I rub the back of my head “I, ah, was in the middle of a meeting. I was gonna get back to you tonight. How’s Heaven?”

  My sister-in-law, Heaven, is about eight months’ pregnant right now, and from the looks of her, ready to pop any day. That’s the reason why they decided to stay in Vegas for a while longer. She hasn’t been able to fly, and they have a pretty posh setup at our family’s hotel, The Excelsior. Matteo is using the time to his advantage, working hard to expand our businesses out West along with a few other mafia families of Red Ladro, the syndicate we formed a little over a year ago.