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

by Shanna Handel

  He runs his fingers up the inside of my thighs. “My pretty little wife is so wet, so ready for me. Tell me, do you want your husband’s cock inside of you?”

  “Yes.”

  His hand leaves my thighs.

  He gives my hair a sharp pull, bringing my head back toward him. He’s leaning over me, his mouth finding my neck, kissing and biting. His other hand pulls back, slapping my bare ass, hard. “And are you going to obey your husband, princess?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good girl. Now ask me to take you.”

  He wraps his hand tighter around my hair.

  “Please, please take me with your cock.”

  He’s unbuckling his belt, I hear the metal clanking. A rustle of fabric as I wait, aching for him.

  Finally, I get what I’ve wanted so badly.

  The head of his cock meets my pussy.

  With one harsh thrust, he fills me, all the way.

  I lose my breath, bending further forward to take him.

  He tugs my hair back. Kissing my neck as he pushes into me. “There’s my good girl. Take it all. Take all of me.”

  He’s so big and his cock is going so deep inside me in this position, I fear I can’t take it, but then he thrusts and the head of his cock rubs against a new spot, somewhere just below my belly button, sending a warm flushing feeling through my entire body, making my knees go weak.

  “Oh, right there. Yes.”

  He tugs at my hair, kissing my flesh, moving his hips in a circular motion, making the head of his cock rub at that spot, over and over again. My jaw hangs slack, my body sagging as I try to form words, but they end up coming out in a strangled moan.

  Now, he’s slapping my ass, his hand striking my still sore flesh, tugging at my hair, the tips of his teeth nipping at my neck as he thrusts over and over again, harder and harder until I can’t take anymore.

  My fingers dig into the arms of the chair, my head flying back. “Oh, unghh…aaaaah!”

  He gives my ass one final smack, then grabs my hips, pulling me down onto him, making my ass slap against the fronts of his thighs. That last thrust undoes me, making me come so hard I feel like something bursts inside me.

  He gives a growl, holding me still as he comes. His cock twitches in me, filling me with his hot seed. “There’s my baby. There’s my good girl.” He leans down, kissing my cheek, slipping from inside me.

  I hear him fixing his clothing, buckling his belt. And I lie limp over the throne. Spent.

  He gives a deep chuckle, grabbing the hem of my skirt and tugging what he can over my ass. “Now go and get yourself changed. Right now.”

  “I think I’ll just go to bed. I can’t move.”

  “Do you need to be carried?”

  I let out a pant. “Maybe.”

  He gives a chuckle. “Fine with me.”

  And as if I weighed the same as a sack of flour, he scoops his arms under my legs and lifts me up to his chest. My arms go around his neck and I laugh as he carries me from the room.

  He raises a brow, looking down at me. “Is your ass hanging out?”

  I feel the skirt inching up my thighs as he carries me down through the winding halls to our room. “I’m afraid it might be.”

  “See. Too damn short.”

  We enter our room and he sets me on my feet.

  I hold my hand out, waiting.

  He gives me a look. “What?”

  “My panties, please?”

  He gives his head a shake. “I’m afraid you’ve lost that privilege today. Now put on a pretty dress, something modest. Something that covers your ass this time.”

  He leaves me, closing the door behind him.

  No panties?

  Knowing I’m not wearing panties and knowing it’s because he told me I’m not allowed to is only going to make me need them all the more.

  I clean up with a warm cloth, put on a bra, then search my wardrobe for a cotton dress, one made of the thickest material possible. I go for a floral pattern, better to hide the arousal that’s already pooling between my legs. I pull the gown from the hanger, realizing it’s one Luca’s bought for me, but I’ve never worn it.

  I hope it works with no panties.

  He so loves to do these little things to me.

  To be in control.

  To show me his power over me.

  And it fucking melts me.

  I slide the soft flowery dress over my head, slipping my arms through the sleeves. It’s a V-neck, a little lower in the front than he might like, but if he complains, I’ll just remind him that he bought it.

  And that this place is no longer a convent. I don’t need to dress like a nun.

  The fabric goes down past my knees, so that shouldn’t be an issue for him. I slide my hand to my waist. Is that a pocket? I slip my hand inside. It is!

  The dress is comfortable, cozy, and I feel pretty in it. Not sexy…but pretty. After what he did to me on that throne, I have no need to look sexy today. I think I hit my quota with my first outfit.

  I find him in the kitchen, sitting on a stool, his long legs splayed, an apple in his hand.

  I guess he never did get his mid-day fruit.

  “Thank you for the dress.” I do a little twirl, showing off the dress he bought me. I slide my hands in the pockets. I shuffle over to him, showing them off. “Did you see it has pockets?”

  It’s obvious by the look on his face he approves.

  “You are a beauty, aren’t you?” He wraps an arm around my waist, bringing me to him, holding me between his thighs.

  “You sure seem to think so.” I don’t know why, but suddenly the most important thing in the world is that he likes me in this dress. Feeling shy, I muster up the courage to ask. “But do you like this dress you bought me?”

  “Depends.” He tosses the apple up in the hand that’s not holding me, catching it mid-air.

  “On what?”

  “On whether you’re naked underneath.” His hand slides over my ass, feeling for panties. Not finding any, he gives me a groan. “Good girl.”

  He’s kissing me again and I’m melting into him.

  It seems I’m always…melting into him.

  He breaks our kiss, pulling away too soon. He gives my ass a pat. “I’ve got to go.”

  I find myself pouting. “So soon?”

  He raises that brow. The one that tells me my lower lip will get me nowhere but into trouble.

  “Soon? I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on. Someone,” he gives my ass a hard pinch that sends me up on my toes, “distracted me all afternoon.”

  “I’d happily distract you the rest of the day, too.”

  He kisses my forehead. “Be good. I’ll be home late. Take care of Nonna for me?” He shoots me an imploring look.

  “Always.”

  “Thank you.” His hand goes to my shoulder and I know he’s going to get in one more kiss. He always does. This one is soft, right on the top of my head. “I love you.”

  I smile up at him.

  I want to say the words back.

  I truly, truly do.

  But I can’t.

  I clear my throat, breaking his gaze. “Have a good day.”

  A tiny flicker of disappointment flashes in his gaze but he quickly hides it, giving me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

  I watch the muscles in his shoulder roll under his shirt as he walks away, biting the apple and humming to himself.

  I recognize the little tune he hums.

  It’s the one I’ve written on the piano.

  God damn, why does he have to be so sweet.

  And so perfectly dominant.

  And everything I’ve ever needed in a man.

  He’s given me everything.

  When I can’t give him the one thing he wants in this world.

  Three. Little. Words.

  I feel them.

  I want to say them.

  But when I go to, they dry up in my mouth, my tongue turning to sandpaper.


  Am I too shy?

  Is it too soon?

  Or am I just not capable of saying them.

  Because the truth is, I’ve never, ever said those words before.

  To anyone.

  When you’re abandoned as a baby, left in a basket on a doorstep, those words can be hard to say.

  I just hope, one day, I can say them.

  For his sake.

  I tackle my classes on my laptop. Biology and Trigonometry. I don’t yet know what I’ll do with my degree, but I’ll be happy to have it. And Luca insists upon me finishing college. When I’m done, I spend the evening with Nonna. We order our pizza, drinking sparkling apple cider with it. Feeling fancy eating from our fine china.

  She goes to bed.

  And I wait for Luca.

  I go to the kitchen, moving to the window, staring out over the moonlit grassy hills that lead down to the sea, the water glittering. The waves crash on the shore, spray rising in foamy bursts.

  I think of Luca, the night he climbed up to my room, wanting me as just Esme. I think of our wedding day, his deep laugh as we waltzed, the colorful ribbons wrapping around us. I think of yesterday, how I couldn’t get my boot over my heel and he knelt right down on the ground and pulled it up for me.

  I think of him and my heart fills, threatening to burst like the crests of those waves.

  I part my lips. Exhale my breath. And I whisper those words to him. “I love you. Luca, I love you.” Once I’ve released them into the world, I feel…free.

  Clean and free and unafraid.

  Smiling to myself, I realize, I can say them. And it’s not just that I can.

  I want to.

  I want nothing more in this moment than to tell him that I love him.

  I hear the door to the kitchen open. It’s him. He’s come back.

  Ready to confess my love, I turn, to face him.

  Only it’s not Luca in the doorway.

  The smile falls from my face.

  14

  Luca

  We’ve got a shipment coming in from Rome tonight. Hailing from Greece, the Bachmans are sending us semi-automatic pistols and rifles with detachable magazines, and semi-automatic shotguns. We will have our own army.

  This is our land, and now with the help of the Russos, we can hold our claim for generations to come.

  Through trial and error we’ve learned the best way to bring a shipment in. We do smaller batches now. A pain in the ass, yes, but it keeps our profile low.

  We trust only one man outside our family to get the job done. Michele. He’s been fishing these waters for over fifty years; his boat is older than I am. He’s ready to retire from long nights of casting lines, his nimble fingers would hook pieces of octopus to two hundred hooks each night, casting them out into the dark water.

  Standing atop his small boat, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, he would catch cernia, knowns for their wide lips, and fragolino, the ‘little strawberry’ named for its pink scales. Then come back to the shore and sell his haul.

  Now, he chooses to bring our shipment from the city to the shore of our seaside town instead.

  His pay has tripled, his work hours cut in half.

  I stand at the shore, waiting, a truck of my men parked behind me, the headlights cut. Michele’s boat appears in the distance.

  Right on time.

  He slows the engine to a crawl, pulling up on the shore. I wear tall, heavy boots, and I tromp through the waters to greet him. “Alright?”

  He gives me a gruff ‘harrumph’ and a nod. “All good.”

  I wave to my men, signaling for them to come from the truck. Without a sound they make their way down to me.

  I’ve had long coolers made, the size and shape we need for storing the arms. Over top of a tarp, Michele puts bags of ice, lines of fish.

  He asks for the fish back, every night, without fail.

  We haul the coolers to the back of the truck. I have a smaller one I bring to transfer the ice and fish to for Michele for safekeeping. I know it’s his dinner.

  I go to open the coolers, but I feel a hand on my arm stopping me.

  Michele’s come to the shore. He never leaves the boat.

  He runs a hand through his silver hair. “No time tonight. I want to get this boat parked and head home. I’ve got an…eerie feeling tonight. I just want to get back.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. A man who’s spent as much time on the sea as Michele holds a connection with the universe. A deep one.

  If he feels uneasy, then so do I.

  “What is it?”

  He looks off in the distance, pulling a fresh box of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, packing them against his palm. “No idea. Just—something’s not right tonight.”

  My mind instantly goes to Esme.

  Doesn’t it always?

  I need to get home.

  We finish loading.

  Getting in behind the wheel, I call to the men. “Load up!”

  “Let’s go!” Lance slides in passenger side, the others jump into the bed of the truck, guarding the arms.

  I drive up to our place, flying over the sandy roads. Lance puts a hand on my shoulder. “Slow down or you’ll draw attention to us. What’s got you tearing up the road, anyway?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  He shoots me a look. “Doesn’t feel like nothing.”

  But it is nothing, isn’t it? Just an eerie feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  I pass our turn to the Russo Castle.

  Lance watches it go by. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m going home. Then you’re taking over and getting the men and the arms back to Russo’s place.”

  “Why—” he lets out a laugh, running his hand over the back of his neck. “Shit. You aren’t spooked by what that old man said, are you? You know he’s crazy. Hell, he’s lived half his live alone on the water in the dark.”

  “Wouldn’t that make him more prone to having a sixth sense about things?”

  “Sixth sense? Hell—you’re not going all superstitious on me, are you?” He punches my shoulder.

  Our fields, our orchards come into view and I feel my pulse slow.

  Am I being ridiculous? Michele has a bad feeling and here I am, tearing home?

  Just to see her face.

  Doesn’t matter.

  I’d rather be wrong a thousand times, to look like a complete fool, just to know she’s safe.

  I throw the truck in park, looking to Lance. “You got this?”

  He gives a nod. “Yeah. Go on, you old married man. Make sure your little wife is safe in bed.”

  “That’s exactly what I hope to do.”

  I hop down from the truck and Lance slides across the bench seat to take my place. He pulls the door closed, hanging his head out the window. “You know, I give you a lot of shit, but if I had myself a little girl like that, I’d want to know she’s safe, too.”

  “Thanks, bro.”

  He turns the truck, pulling down the road.

  My gaze goes to the house. I start walking toward it, then break out into a jog. With every stride, my heart beats faster. The earlier relief I felt when I saw the house has evaporated.

  I feel…dread.

  Deep, in the pit of my stomach.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  My pace quickens, turning to a run, then a sprint.

  I burst through the archway. The portico is silent, the house asleep. I take the hall entrance, the closest to our room. It’s well after midnight, Esme should be sound asleep in our bed.

  Blood thrums past my ear, the sound of my own heartbeat echoing in my mind.

  I throw the door open, only to find what my gut has already told me.

  She’s not there.

  The bed is made, untouched.

  Where is she and how long has she been gone?

  I tear down the hall to the kitchen.

  No Esme.

  I check the great hall, the throne room.<
br />
  Every. Fucking. Room.

  No Esme.

  My father, Nonna, and Sergio are sleeping.

  My guards have no idea where she is.

  Taking the steps two at a time, I fly down to the cellar, through the cellar, ignoring the greetings from our customers, going behind the bar, straight to my control room.

  Manny is on shift. He’s watching the screens like a hawk. If anything happened, he’d have seen it.

  Hearing me enter, Manny looks up, his brow knits. “Hey, boss. Back so soon?”

  “I left the arms shipment to Lance. I’m looking for Esme.”

  “When I said, back so soon, I meant—” The color drains from his face. “I thought you left with her. An hour ago.”

  No…

  My hand goes to the desk, holding my weight. “What do you mean?”

  “I…you left this note…and I saw you two leave just like it said in the note…” He shakes his head, stumbling over his words. “I had no idea.”

  My racing heart seems to stop beating, freezing in my chest, my skin growing cold. “What note? Give it to me.”

  His fingers shake as he grabs for the paper.

  I read the words.

  They look just like mine.

  Manny-

  I’m taking the night off with Esme.

  A little surprise date.

  Don’t wait up.

  Luca

  Sweat beads at my temples as I crush the paper in my hands. “Show me the footage.”

  He finds the screen that goes to the front gates, playing back the recording.

  Esme.

  I see the back of her blonde hair. She turns her head over her shoulder, giving a glimpse at the camera. Her mouth moves, forming one word.

  Help.

  She was trying to send a message.

  My heart tears in two, my breath coming in gasps.

  She’s accompanied by a man in a hooded jacket, my height with a slighter build. If you weren’t looking closely it could very well be me. He has his arm wrapped around her back, guiding her from the castle.

  We never see his face.

  Fuck.

  This is just like him.

  Cunning.

  Conniving.

  Broken.