Sweet Surrender: A Dark Mafia Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (King's Trace Antiheroes Book 1)

by Sav R. Miller

  Her chin tilts up, a fire sparking beneath her baby blues. A definite indication that she’s a Harrison. “Yep.” Lips popping on the p, a fight brewing in her bones. I can tell from the offensive stance she takes, hip jutted, arms akimbo. She really thinks she has a chance against a fucking mafioso. “Look, I know my rights. You can’t just keep me in here.”

  “I suppose not.” Dropping her license into my jacket pocket, I turn and walk around to the other side of my desk. Settling into the leather chair, I fold my hands together on top of the wood. “Tell me, Caroline, what does your husband think of you dropping by his club unannounced?”

  Her elbows slacken, gaze darting toward the floor. Clearing her throat, she brings her eyes back to mine, unyielding in her effort to maintain this charade.

  Young, indeed.

  “He’s totally fine with it. I mean, jeez, this place is guarded, right? I’m probably safer here than anywhere else in the world.”

  “Safe isn’t the exact word I’d use.” Pushing back from the desk, I cross one leg over the other, hooking my ankle over my knee. “Especially considering I asked my wife not to come here, under any circumstances.”

  Juliet’s face pales, her leg snapping back beside the other. A small, victorious smile splays at the corner of my lips, but I bite down on my tongue to keep it in check.

  “Elia.”

  “I’m a little offended you seem to have no idea what your brother-in-law looks like.”

  She shakes her head; the movement rattles her whole body. Reaching up, she digs the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, scrubbing with an intensity I can almost feel across the room. When she lets her hands fall to her sides, she breathes out a soft laugh. “Jesus. I know what you look like. At least, I thought I did. But I only saw your profile in the courthouse, and I’m also very tipsy.”

  “And underage, I’m guessing.”

  “Guessing?” Her mouth twists, the bright pink lipstick painted on her face rubbing off with each move. “You’re married to my sister, but don’t know how old I am? Now, who should be offended?”

  Holding my hands up, palms-out, I nod once, relenting. “Fair enough. That doesn’t change the fact that you’ve illegally gained access to an exclusive club with a strict twenty-one and up policy. Using my wife’s name, no less.”

  She snorts. “I think, on the scale of illegal activity going on at Crimson, a fake I.D. should be the least of your worries.”

  “That’s my decision, isn’t it? As club owner?”

  A shrug.

  Carding a hand through my hair, I exhale slowly, the slight buzz that convinced me she was my wife caused by the moonshine beginning to wear off. “How do you think your sister would feel if she knew you were here, right now?”

  “Please. I’ve been using Caroline’s name and face my whole life. It’s the only way I ever got anyone to look twice at me.”

  I shift, uncomfortable with the emotion in her voice. Drunk girls are prone to tears, right? Maybe I should text Gia and ask him to bring me a box of tissues. “Surely, that’s not true.”

  “Would you have given me a second glance if you didn’t think I was her?”

  Interesting. Though Caroline doesn’t talk much about her family at all, I suppose I’ve assumed she and her sister would be close, especially considering her presence at our ceremony.

  And yet, it seems as though there’s a hidden animosity here.

  “Probably not, but that’s because I seem to only have eyes for your sister.” This last part comes out a little begrudgingly, and I rake my hand through my hair to offset the tone. Make it sound nonchalant, like I want feelings for my wife. I make a sweeping gesture toward one of the wingback chairs in front of me, and she obliges, an air of caution about her. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

  Maybe she isn’t as stupid as she looks. She crosses her arms over her chest, obeying me; pulling down the hem of her miniskirt, she sits, staring holes into the wood of my desk.

  “Look, I don’t want any trouble, and I don’t want Caroline worrying about me. She’s always trying to protect me, keep me from making mistakes. But I’m not like her, okay? No one cares about me, not like they do her.”

  “I think your sister cares about you, greatly.”

  “That’s not always enough, though, is it?”

  She stares at me, eyes full of an incomprehensible sadness, and I find myself struggling to look away. Hers are like a black hole, a chasm with no end in sight, and it physically pains me to observe the suffering.

  Especially when it’s clear she doesn’t understand it—doesn’t know how her own sister suffers. And fuck, neither do I, but I know something is off.

  “It’s hard being completely invisible to your parents. Mom, at least, ignores both of us. She’s a real bitch. But Daddy, he always, always favored Caroline. Said she outranked me in beauty, brains. All of it. So, you can sit here and think of me as a spoiled brat like everyone else, but I don’t care.”

  What kind of a father would say that to his kid?

  Probably the same that would compliment the other, so he could abuse her and keep her silent about it.

  She continues, gripping the gold locket around her neck. “Care used to say he abused her, and no one ever... they acted like she was a ghost. Like what she said didn’t matter. And I always thought if they could ignore something like that, what would they do if they knew the truth about me?”

  Tapping my index finger along the toe of my loafer, I wait. Wait for a confession, an admission of guilt, for derisive laughter that often accompanies sadness with her generation. But the gaze staring back at me no longer holds anything; her blue eyes look almost empty, devoid of everything.

  Like she got tired of waiting for people to notice and turned it all off instead.

  What’s eating you, little one?

  She rolls her eyes, brushing a strand of golden hair from her face. “I don’t know why I’m even spilling all of this to you, a complete stranger. I must have had way too much to drink.”

  “Strangers often make the best therapists.” Made men do not. I don’t mention how her speech isn’t slurred in the slightest, how her pupils seem to have relaxed like she’s coming down from whatever high she was on. It’s not my place to point out, to ask why she’s pretending to be drunker than she actually is.

  “It’s just been weird having Caroline out of the house. I’ve been back from school officially since last week, and usually, we hang out all summer because she’s never doing anything else. Other than stupid shit for Daddy.”

  A heavy pressure rankles in my chest, squeezing my heart. “She never does anything? No work, charity, nothing like that?”

  “Caroline’s a homebody. She doesn’t like the attention she gets from being Daddy’s princess, so she stays home, baking until she loses her mind.”

  I process that, coupling it with the surveillance I’ve seen since we’ve been married of her spending all her time in my kitchen, rolling doughs, and using whatever’s available in the pantry. A natural chef, just like my mother, and it feels like that potential goes to waste with each passing day she spends at home.

  “If you ever want to surprise her, and I only suggest this because I know you could do it, you should get her a bakery. Like, one to own and operate. She’s had the name picked out since we were kids: Care’s Crazy Cakes.”

  A smile ghosts over my lips as I observe the wistful expression on Juliet’s face. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Daddy always said that she wasn’t business-savvy enough to own one. Said us Harrisons were bred just to serve men.”

  “That’s a dick thing to tell your daughters.”

  She shrugs, picking at a loose thread on her skirt, trying to pretend it doesn’t bother her. But I can tell by the downcast eyes, the flush of her cheeks, that it does.

  My throat constricts, words barely able to pass through. I can’t help wondering how far the abuse extends from
Dominic, how badly he’s broken these girls. “What kind of stuff are you interested in?”

  “I don’t know. I’m in school for marine biology, but... we’ll see, I guess. I’ve not put a lot of thought into it.” She eyes me, lifting her chin. “But that doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

  “I wouldn’t imply otherwise.”

  “Well, you’d be the first.” Pushing a stray hair out of her face, she slumps back in the chair, smacking her lips together. “I hope you don’t tell Caroline about any of this. She’ll just worry, and probably hate you for not calling her immediately.”

  “Why would I call her?”

  “Everyone always calls Caroline when I’m in trouble like she’s my mother or something. Like I’m a child in need of supervision.”

  I cock an eyebrow. “And that’s not the case.”

  She glares at me through half-lidded eyes. “No, it’s not. I can take care of myself. Whatever Caroline thinks she’s protecting me from, I guarantee I can handle it.”

  The way she hurls words at me, accusations laced with venom, makes me think she might already know something is up with her sister. But it’s clear she doesn’t know what, and it irks her.

  Same as it does me.

  Watching her, I take note of the exact moment her chest begins rising and falling more slowly. Her breathing evens out as the fight leaves her. We sit in silence for a few minutes before I page Benny into the room, instructing him to send her to my house in a cab and make sure she gets inside okay.

  It feels as if I have fewer answers to the mysteries of my life than I started the week with.

  I plan to get to the very bottom of my wife’s true history soon and figure out what she’s hiding, but for now, I’ll sit in the shadows, watching, keeping her safe.

  Hopefully, Kieran and her father will lose interest.

  Because the only way I’m letting her go now is if they pry her from my rotten corpse.

  “Juliet? Are you okay?”

  The younger Harrison slurs something sleepy and unintelligible, and I slink back further into the shadows, not wanting Caroline to see me just yet. Pressing my back into the shrubbery surrounding our back patio, I try my best to blend in as Benny helps my sister-in-law inside. As they drag Juliet to the couch, I make my way to the door, which they leave open, and lean my ear against the jamb, listening. “She passed out, and you just happened to find her?”

  “Yep. I called the boss, and he said to drop her off here.”

  “Okay, well... thank you, I guess. I’ll take care of her from here.”

  Benito walks out, fist-bumping Leo on his way through the door, and stops to look at me for his next order. I hold out my hand for the tablet he keeps on hand, strapped to his side next to his gun.

  He sighs, handing it over. “You’re real creepy; you know that?”

  I roll my eyes and wave him away, then set up camp on a chaise lounge slightly obscured from Caroline’s direct line of vision outside. Pulling up the security footage app, I let the camera load as I stretch out, dialing up the volume.

  Caroline kneels beside her sister on the couch, pressing a damp rag to the young girl’s forehead. She stirs, trying to brush her away. “Ugh, where am I?”

  “My house. One of Elia’s men dropped you off.”

  “Oh.” Juliet blinks, a blush spreading over her cheeks. “Well, this is just like old times, isn’t it? You trying to keep me from a massive hangover.”

  “I thought you stopped doing this, Jules.”

  “And I thought you weren’t gonna cut me out of your life anymore. Why haven’t I heard from you since you got married? Did your heart shrivel up and die or something?”

  Caroline sighs, sitting back on her haunches. She reaches behind her and picks a muffin off a tray on the coffee table. “Here, eat this. Maybe it’ll absorb some of the bitterness in your gut.”

  “I’m not bitter. I just miss you.”

  “And I’m not actively trying to cut you out. Married life is hard, and it’s taking more of an adjustment than I’d first anticipated.”

  “Well, what am I supposed to do when I need you? Sometimes I do, Caroline, even if I don’t want to admit it. Mom and Daddy can be so... cold, sometimes.”

  They’re silent for several beats, and then Caroline’s voice filters through, her tone icy. “Has Dad said or done anything to you?”

  “Like what?” Caroline doesn’t answer, so Juliet shrugs, rubbing her forehead. “No, he just acts like I’m not there. As usual.”

  Caroline bends down, dropping the untouched muffin back to its pan, and shoves herself under Juliet’s legs. She hugs her knees to her chest, and they just sit there, not talking, just existing.

  A love I can’t comprehend—a protectiveness that rivals my own.

  After a while, Caroline pats her sister’s knee, and I can hear the faintest whisper drop from her lips. “I see you, Jules. You’re not invisible. You never have been.”

  My heart feels oddly full, watching Caroline dote on and care for her sister. It’s clear that she’s looking for an outlet, something to channel the goodness within her, to distract her from the evil vying for her soul.

  She’s caring, considerate. Warm and soft, all the things I can’t imagine ever being, and it makes me want to walk inside, scoop her into my arms, and never let her go.

  Fuck, I’m gone for this little nymph.

  “YOU MAY BE INTERESTED to know that I caught your sister at Crimson the other night, using a fake driver’s license.”

  Caroline tucks her hair behind her ears, turning from her bathroom sink to look at me. She has on a sleek, thin pink robe, tied loosely at the waist. The curve of her tits strain against the part in the middle, begging me to take a step forward and untie the knot, but I hold back.

  There’s a storm in my wife’s blue eyes like she’s jonesing for a fight.

  And what I’m about to tell her is sure to start one.

  She has no idea I sent Juliet here that night, no idea that we’ve been in constant contact since.

  “I think you need to reevaluate what topics you find interesting.”

  “What about the fact that she used your name and picture?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Please. Juliet’s been using me since I turned twenty-one, and she’s not exactly slick about it.” Pushing past me in the doorway, she continues into her bedroom.

  Since moving in, she’s transformed the place from its basic, pristine whites and added splashes of color here and there. The sheets and curtains are a satin material, blood red, which feels more fitting here than anything else. Her makeup decorates the built-in vanity, clothes splayed in piles on the bed, and draped over the back of the vanity chair. A smirk tugs at my lips; who’d have thought this proper, pristine woman would be messy?

  “I like what you’ve done with the place.” Walking in behind her, I situate myself on the window seat across the room, folding my legs, so the soles of my shoes press against the wall.

  She glances around, picking up a pair of sleep shorts from the bed, running her fingers over the soft material. “I’m going through my things. Getting rid of stuff I don’t need or wear.”

  “Less to pack when you run, right?”

  Her eyes widen, face flushing. “No, I just have too much shit. My... dad bought me new outfits for every occasion he forced me to go to.”

  I don’t miss the way she swallows over the word dad like it physically pains her to even mention him. That makes my announcement harder. “Right, well. If you’re planning on sending them as hand-me-downs to that brash sister of yours, you’re in luck.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Reaching around to the back of my neck, I scratch at the skin just beneath the collar of my dress shirt. “I, uh, invited our families over for dinner.”

  Dropping the shorts to the floor, she whirls on me, eyes blazing. “Are you serious?”

  “Sure am, sweetheart.”

 
“Oh, God.” A low groan comes from her throat, and she glares at me. “Don’t fucking call me that. I can’t believe you did this. Jesus, you’re an idiot.”

  Raking her hands through her hair, she begins pacing back and forth, short little steps that match the way breaths stagger from her nose. I watch her, curious over whether she’s panicking because she doesn’t want to see them or if it’s because she doesn’t think we’re prepared to entertain.

  Even though I’m sure it’s the former, I focus on the latter, tucking my arms behind my head and gazing out the window. The lawn care service I hire periodically clips the hedges lining our fence, the summer heat blaring down on them. One guy wipes at his brow, waving to me once he notices me watching.

  I lift a hand in response, then turn to Caroline. “Don’t worry about the food or anything. I’ve got Benito and Leo bringing take-out from Portland, and my grandmother’s sending her world-famous Italian wedding soup.”

  She pauses, cocking an eyebrow. “First of all, they’re bringing food from Portland? That’s three hours away.”

  “I mean, that’s where the closest authentic Italian market is. The food will be cooked here.”

  “By who?”

  “Benito and Leo.” I tilt my head, studying her. “What’s confusing you?”

  “Those guys know how to cook?”

  “Oh, Christ, yes. It’s in our blood.”

  She waves me off, returning to her pacing once again. “Okay, well, whatever. Food’s taken care of. But why would you invite my family?”

  “I don’t know. Consider it a delayed wedding reception, since ours was interrupted. And I haven’t gotten to know my in-laws yet. I feel like it’s time.”

  “Did Juliet put you up to this?”

  “No, although she did help get your parents on board. Your mother does not like me.”

  She scoffs. “My mother doesn’t like anyone.”

  “Well, I plan on winning her over.”

  Perching on the edge of the bed, Caroline exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This is not going to end well.”