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

by Sav R. Miller

  “Why do you think that?”

  “I just know my family, okay? They won’t behave themselves. My mom will continue asking if I’m pregnant because she was really convinced before the wedding. My dad will try to push his weight around like I’m still his property, and Juliet will probably rifle through your things, looking for something valuable to steal. Or drink all your hard liquor.”

  Pulling my suit jacket together, I remove my feet from the wall and push upward, making my way over to where she sits. She brushes the neckline of her robe, absently exposing more of her skin.

  I crouch in front of her, placing my palms on either side of her body, flush against the mattress. So close, I can smell that fruity, floral scent that lives in her pores. “I can remedy all of those problems.”

  Her eyes lift, meeting mine, hand stilling. “How?”

  My hand glides up, caressing her thigh on the ascent up to her hip and over her ribcage. Grazing the underside of her breast, I stop when I reach the valley between her two peaks. I drag my thumb slowly over the flesh not covered by her robe, reveling in how she shivers beneath my touch.

  Breath hitching in my throat, my cock comes alive, pushing against my pants. I lick my lips, dragging my gaze from her nipples, puckered under her clothing, letting my thumb travel higher. “I’ll put Benito on Juliet duty; no one’s ever stolen a thing from me, and I’ve had lots of guests.”

  “Lots?” She asks, her voice barely audible. Breathy. Needy. Her chest rises and falls, deliberate in its attempt to remain calm.

  I nod, passing the column of her throat, smoothing my calloused hand over the soft expanse. “Lots. None as important as you, though.”

  She closes her eyes as my thumb reaches her pretty pink mouth, rubbing gently over her bottom lip. “And my father?”

  “That fucker won’t even be allowed to look at you if you don’t want him to.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Done.”

  Her tongue darts out, swiping at the tip of my thumb, and I follow its retreat, pushing into her mouth. She swallows, laving around the digit as her warm, wet mouth encases it, and I swear I almost come in my slacks right then. Sucking softly, pulling me into the knuckle, she flutters her eyelashes, waiting.

  “As for your mother,” I growl as I push my thumb further inside, pressing down on the flat of her tongue. The organ struggles to break free, her cheeks hollowing out as her body wars with logic and pleasure. Defiance flares in her irises, darkening them, and my cock swells to the point that it feels like it might fucking explode. “We can get started on that. Prove her right. Give her a reason to stop speculating.”

  She freezes, eyebrows drawing in. Jerking back, she releases me with a shove, and I get to my feet, letting her. I don’t know what it is about her fire that gets me, but each time she pushes me away or slices me open with her mouth, my heart turns to putty, aching for her to give in.

  “You can’t say shit like that to me.”

  “Is it so crazy to want an heir from my beautiful, intelligent wife?”

  “Our marriage isn’t like that, and you know it. We’ve been over this.” She gets to her feet, pulling her robe tight against her body, and walks to the door, standing beside the frame. “You need to leave.”

  “And if I don’t want to?”

  Her jaw clenches as she crosses her arms. “You don’t want the answer to that.”

  We stare at each other, breath still struggling to return to normal, blood still draining from certain body parts, but she doesn’t budge. She’s unwavering, and it makes me want to take her even more, to conquer her, body and soul.

  Make her mine, for real.

  But I don’t. Not tonight, anyway. I push past her and head downstairs, calling over my shoulder, “Be ready in half an hour.”

  MY MOTHER SIPS from her spoon as Leo refills her wineglass—Screaming Eagle Cabernet Napa, 1995, which she brought as a wedding present and decided to drink anyway. Her hair sits twisted in a tight bun on top of her head, a string of pearls clasped around her recently-botoxed neck.

  Elia’s stayed true to his word, at least about two of the issues with having my family in our home; my father hasn’t spared me a single glance, instead opting to talk to my father-in-law about the state of Maine’s pension fund. Benito flanks my sister’s side, even as she sits at the table, eating like the rest of us, his eyes trained on her.

  It won’t surprise me if she ends up dragging him off to an empty bathroom before the night’s over. For all the sadness she seems to collect, she’s never been one to turn down a quickie.

  So far, we’ve broached the subject of my future, which is nonexistent at this point; it’s hard to make plans when you have no idea what’s going to happen in the next few months. Still, I’ve expressed my love for baking to Orlando, Elia’s father, who regaled me with a story about Elia’s mother and the scones she used to make for them.

  The story very clearly made Elia uncomfortable, so when my father requested the elder Montalto’s attention, I let him have it.

  Even if I do want to know more about his mother, I shouldn’t.

  I push my soup around with the butt of my garlic bread, unable to eat. My stomach churns, a violent storm I’m trying to tame.

  Elia reaches for a saltshaker, his hand brushing mine as he leans over. “Doing okay over there?”

  Nodding, I switch to my spoon, ladling soup broth and then dumping it back into the bowl. “Feeling a little sick is all.”

  “Do you need something? Anti-nausea medicine? Water?” He waves to Leo, requesting a glass with ice.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” Our conversation is hushed, meant not to draw attention. “I was rude to you upstairs.”

  “I’m a Montalto; we have thick skin, carina.”

  Leo returns with a glass, a blank expression on his face as he pours from the stainless-steel pitcher at the center of the massive dining table. I take it, bowing my head gratefully as he returns to the other side of the room, and gulp down a big sip. It glides down, icy and shocking to my core, and I welcome the distraction.

  “And,” Elia continues, his lips curving against my ear, “I won’t lie and say I don’t like it when you’re rude to me. I told you long ago; your mouth is my favorite part about you. I’m excited to see what else you’re capable of.”

  The water stills in my throat, choking me, and I sputter some of it up into my hand. He reaches over and rubs my back in a fluid, soothing gesture, while my father glances over at me for the first time since he’s been here.

  “Don’t mind my wife.” I can practically hear the smile in Elia’s voice, and as I work to clear my throat of the liquid obstruction, it pisses me off. “She can be so overeager sometimes, is all. Isn’t that right, love?”

  I nod, silent, pulling my napkin from my lap to wipe my mouth. Returning the glass to the table, I swallow, straightening up against the scrutiny I’m not receiving.

  “Caroline, eager?” My father snorts into his wine glass. “You must be getting her confused with someone else. Caroline isn’t excitable in the least. I had to drag her to every one of my galas when she was younger.”

  “That’s odd. She was entirely too excited to marry me.”

  “She’s probably out for your money,” my father mutters, cutting into his lasagna.

  “Or pregnant,” my mother adds, swirling the wine in her glass. “I swear, don’t you think she looks a little plumper since she left us?”

  Juliet frowns, lifting a shoulder. “I don’t know, Mom. If she says she’s not pregnant, then I think we should believe her.”

  Catching her eye, I send her a soft smile. She’s never really been on my side, too absorbed and sheltered in her own life to see beyond. But I’m glad for this, at least, that she might try to protect me in her own way, the way I’ve always tried to with her.

  “I’m just saying.” My mother shrugs, diving back into her soup. When she comes up for air, s
he points her spoon at Elia. “I blame you for corrupting her, regardless. Look at this house—where’s the character, the personality? According to the Gazette, Caroline never even leaves. When she was with us, she went to all of Dominic’s functions, helped out with everything. Are you keeping her here, tied up all day as some kind of sex slave?”

  “Mrs. Harrison, all due respect, but I’m not going to discuss my sex life with you. Certainly, you get enough from your husband that you don’t need to sniff around other couples’ bedrooms.”

  She huffs, tossing her spoon down. “This town talks, you know. We know what goes on at that little club of yours, and we know what girls have reported about what you like sexually. The stuff of deviants, honestly. I can only assume you’ve drawn my Caroline into some kind of demonic sex cult, and that’s why she was so willing to jump into a loveless marriage with you.”

  “Now, hold on a minute—” Elia’s dad tries to cut in, but my mother starts back up, apparently releasing a month’s worth of pent-up anger.

  “If that’s not the case, then explain it to us. Tell me why my daughter suddenly felt the need to marry you, to tie herself to a murderer, when she’s lived her life thus far without a single ripple in the water.” She inhales, cutting her gaze to me. “This isn’t you, honey. You’re not spontaneous, or irresponsible. If you’re in trouble, just tell me. I can help you.”

  Not anymore, you can’t.

  I feel Elia’s hand curl around the back of my chair, fingers tangling in the ends of my hair. “Maybe someone broke her spirit.”

  My father scowls, fork clattering to his plate. “If you have something to say, son, by all means. Let’s hash it out at the fucking dinner table. I’m sure the princess has filled your brain with her lies about me.”

  Elia leans back in his seat, smoothing his free hand over his tie. His father cocks an eyebrow at us on his other side. “I’m sure I don’t know what lies you’re talking about.”

  “No?” Reaching into the pocket of his khaki pants, he pulls out a folded sheet of paper, tossing it in our direction. “How about that list of names, then? You see that shit? Notice whose name’s circled at the bottom?”

  My husband tosses me a glance, then swipes the paper, unfolding it and scanning the page. It’s a list I know by heart, one I was sure I’d deleted from every hard drive at the old house and purposely never printed out.

  The names of every man that ever involved himself with my father sit there, some worse than others. Some simple groomers, like him, and others full-on creeps. Elia’s is one of the few there just because of association, outlined in bright red ink.

  “Tell him what it is, Caroline. What you’re planning to do to these men.”

  Everyone waits for an answer, but he speaks over me. “She wants to fucking kill us, all because of her misunderstandings about how networking works. She’s claimed I abused her for years, that I let my men touch her when they shouldn’t have, that I prepped her for pedophiles, but there’s never been any substance to her allegations. She’s just a dumb little girl way in over her head.”

  Mouth drying up, my palms grow sweaty. The bread in my hand falls to the table, forgotten, and I try to talk through the desert forming on my tongue. “I don’t know—”

  My father’s fist comes down on the table, causing the dinnerware to rattle with the impact. I flinch out of habit. “Stop fucking lying, whore.” I glance at Elia from the corner of my eye, watching his nostrils flare, eyes darkening.

  “Get the fuck out of here.”

  My father falters, mouth dropping. “Excuse me?”

  Elia stands abruptly, his chair sliding into the wall with the force of his departure. “You heard me. I shouldn’t have invited you in the first place. Caroline was right.”

  “She was right? Son, I hate to break it to you, but your wife’s a lying little—”

  Rounding the table with a ferocity that makes the walls shake, he stops in front of my father, gripping his collar, and hauls him from his seat, slamming him back against the wall.

  His elbow pushes against my father’s windpipe, cutting off his air supply; the older man’s eyes bulge, face reddens, and a sick wave of satisfaction washes over me, thinking this might be the night my nightmares come to an end.

  That everything I’ve been working toward culminates here.

  “If you keep talking about her like that, I swear on my mother’s grave that I will gut you, right here in front of your family. And I’ll let the Mrs. mop up your fucking blood afterward.”

  I press my thighs together, trying to relieve the inappropriate ache between them. Jesus, I’m a mess.

  My father’s hands raise in sweet surrender, and Elia moves back, shoving him in Benito’s direction. The guard comes over and grips the senator’s bicep, dragging him behind as he makes his way to the living room and through the front door.

  Juliet and my mother sit frozen at the table, the latter’s eyes wide as saucers. My appetite seems to have renewed itself, and while they watch me, incredulous, I finally dig into my pasta. “This pesto is delicious,” I say to Leo, even though I know he won’t respond.

  Elia’s father clears his throat, getting to his feet. “Son, can I talk to you in private?”

  He nods, following him from the room and avoiding my gaze, leaving the three of us with Leo.

  My mother pushes her dish back, gathering her sheer scarf around her shoulders and stands up. “Well, it seems you’ve won over a very dangerous man. Congratulations, dear. I hope he doesn’t kill you in your sleep.”

  I kind of hope he does.

  She exits the house the same way Benito and my father did, heels clicking against the marble floors and echoing through the house.

  Juliet takes a drink of her wine, not phased in the slightest. “That was super-hot.”

  “Which part? When Dad called me a whore, or when Mom told everyone I look fat?”

  “You know how Mom is.” She sets her glass down, leaning forward. “What was that list about, though?”

  I lift a shoulder, shrugging. “No clue.”

  Her eyes narrow, studying me. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Everything. “Nothing.”

  “Caroline.”

  “Juliet. It was a bogus list Dad brought to stir shit up. He probably falsified the whole thing, thinking he could turn Elia against me.”

  She scoffs, raising her eyebrows. “Trust me, no one in this world could turn that man against you.”

  I ignore the way her words make my heart fill with blood, how it feels like my veins constrict and swell all at once.

  She chews on her lip, adjusting the spaghetti strap on her minidress. “Well, this was still fun, in any case. King’s Trace is boring this summer. Lonely, even. I needed some entertainment.”

  “Fucked your way through town, huh?”

  A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Besides your husband and his family, there’s only one man in town I’ve not been with. I’m just waiting for him to come down out of that ugly castle.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, what? You want to fuck Kieran?”

  “God, yes. Haven’t you seen those pictures of him online from before he went into hiding? Sex on legs, Care, I’m telling you.” She tilts her head, a dreamy look in her eyes. “I mean, I know you were supposed to be promised to him, or whatever, but I figured since you’re married now, you wouldn’t mind?”

  “I don’t, but I know someone who will.”

  “Who, Elia?”

  “They’re rivals, you know. He stole me away from him, and from what Luca’s told me, he’s not exactly happy about it.”

  “I bet I could make him forget all about you.”

  I hesitate, remembering Elia’s warnings. “I don’t think he’s a good man, Jules. I think he could hurt you.”

  “Is there a man out there capable of not hurting us?”

  Relenting, I push back from the table and stand, figuring
that Elia and his father won’t be returning for a while. Walking to the front door, I peek out one of the large windows, pushing aside a curtain; there are no cars outside, indicating Benito took our parents’ home.

  Turning on my heel, I smile at Juliet, who downs the remainder of her wine like a woman that isn’t sure when she’ll get her next taste. I pull her up and hook my arm in hers, starting up the stairs to my room. “Let’s remedy the loneliness, shall we?”

  We settle under the comforter on my bed, eating chocolate I have stashed in my nightstand and giggling at reruns of Friends. It’s not until much later, after I’ve heard the front door open and close a few times and Juliet’s head lolls on my shoulder, that I think back to their questions about the state of my uterus, wondering where the hell my period is.

  I glare at Jennifer Aniston’s nipples, trying to dispel the thought from my brain. I don’t exactly have time for this.

  Slipping lower beneath the comforter, careful not to jostle Juliet, I pull her limp body into mine, hoping I can keep her safe a little while longer, that this night didn’t ruin everything for us.

  Elia pokes his head in after I’ve just started to fall asleep; he perches on the edge of the bed, a hand reaching out and running down over my shoulder. I crack one eye open, peering at him in the darkness, and he stills. “I can feel you looking at me.”

  “That’s creepy,” I whisper, mindful of my sister’s sleeping form beside me.

  “Not as creepy as that list you had.”

  I bite my lip. “Are you... what are you going to do?”

  He stays quiet for a long time, the only sound between us Juliet’s light snores. Finally, he sighs, cupping my knee through my comforter. “Did those men hurt you?”

  No response. I don’t know what to even say.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, his voice impossibly soft.

  “No,” I whisper.

  His fingers squeeze me. “I’m gonna fucking kill them.”

  “Elia, no, you can’t just adopt my problems for yourself. This is my pain, my fight to be had.”