by Jax Hart
By
JAX HART
©2019
[email protected]
Dear Reader,
I meant to get these words to you sooner, but life got in the way. 2019 had more curves in my road than I could see coming. Too many lives left my world. Two hit me hard. They were unexpected. Time is short and promised to no one.
I hope whoever you are, wherever you are, my words are an escape… a rabbit hole to another place to get lost from whatever you need to get lost from. Then the world turned upside-down overnight. Take nothing for granted. Even basic liberty. We shall overcome. This is our time. Our fight. Protect others by staying away. It will pass but not unless we all do our part.
JH
GLOSSARY
Zio- Uncle in Italian
Zia- Aunt in Italian
Cara- Darling
Mi familigia- My family
il sovrano- the ruler
Don- Mafia boss
Bella- beautiful
The Outfit- slang for mob
FOREWORD
“HE’S SO DEAD! ARGH!” My hand grips the handle of the knife. It sings through the air and lands dead smack in the middle of his sexy face. He’s all over the tabloids. His cousin’s wedding to some schoolteacher was hardly newsworthy. But him? Roque Salvatore, mob king extraordinaire dancing the night away with a mystery brunette? That was big news.
He’s a recluse.
Private.
Heavily guarded.
The dark king’s rule is absolute.
“And who in the hell is she?”
My blood heats as I pluck the knife from the board where I pinned up their tabloid pic. His eyes. Those damn mesmerizing, hypnotizing bedroom eyes stare down at the woman in his arms. His face is all angular planes, with a classic Roman nose and full lips for a man. His perfect teeth gleam.
He’s a shark.
A demon.
A damn nuisance.
A splinter festering under my skin that I just can’t get out.
A man I loathed and loved for a heartbeat. A stupid, foolish moment in time where I deluded myself into thinking he changed.
I was seventeen and he was brutally sexy and dark. Everything a high school girl should run from instead of run to. And yet I still hoped he didn’t grow up to be the monster I glimpsed one night a lifetime ago.
“I’m going to destroy you like I always said I would. Right after I make that black heart of yours beat only for me. You’ll only look at me like that. Want. Breathe. Live. All for me. Then I’m going to burn your empire to the ground and end your reign.”
My hair the color of a burning sunset in autumn flies around me as I use my anger to fuel my plans. On bare feet, wearing black leggings, I’m as swift and graceful as a prima ballerina. My feet are light, but my hits are hard when I make them.
And I’m saving the hardest one for Romeo Roque. While he slowly built up his empire, I’ve been watching and waiting from a distance making contacts with those who want to see him burn just as much as I do.
“Ugh. I can’t believe I kissed him. Let him touch me!” I scream out loud to my empty walls. I check the Internet, seeing more pics of him and some woman named Lucille. So, she has a name. These new photos are from a club. Her bed hair is perfect. Her dreamy eyes give her away. Maybe I’ll cut her ass up too, if it hurts him even slightly. Fuck him and his crazy, exotic sea-blue break-your-heart eyes of his.
Slapping my laptop closed, I get busy packing up my few possessions, drop a rent check for six months in the mail and leave the lights of Vegas behind.
I’ll live right under his nose. I’ll silently stalk my prey and when it’s time, I’ll move in for the kill.
PRESENT DAY
“DO YOU EVER SLEEP?”
Pausing, I lift my pen from paper as the girl I saved from certain ruin crosses my penthouse toward me.
“You don’t sleep much either.”
“That’s because I keep having nightmares of what would’ve happened to me if you hadn’t saved me and Freddie that night before Christmas.” She tried to give me a hug, but I stepped away. She’s too good. Too kind. Too trusting for a monster like me to ever get close.
“I don’t bite.”
“I do.”
“Gross. TMI.”
I shrug, “Don’t get any ideas. I’m—”
“Blah, blah, blah. I know. You’re an evil monster… the Grim Reaper who sucks blood and chops body parts… You’ve said it a million times and yet I sleep safer in your home than any home I’ve ever known.”
“Don’t get too comfortable. I’m sending you away.”
Her face pales to the color of the moon glowing over the city I rule. The city I’ve made mine—Chicago. “No, please. I-I’ve lived too many places, slept in too many strange beds.”
“There’s no other choice. The life I live… there’s no place for a girl like you in it.”
She rolls her eyes and it shoots me back in time to the last girl who loved doing that to me.
My heart sneezes. I’m allergic to love. Never again. Never will I ever, let myself get close to that flame. The burn was hotter than even I ever imagined.
“You should go back to bed, Chloe.”
She huffs and before I can stop her, the little shit has the poem I was working on in her little hands.
“Give that back.” My voice is soft thunder rolling over hills. It’s the voice I use on my enemies right before they’re dropped. You’d think it would scare the fuck out of a teenage girl.
Nope.
She clears her throat, pauses dramatically and spills my darkest secrets. My innermost thoughts…:
Blood falls like rain.
It drips from the cut in my heart.
The one you made.
First it was small. A tiny tear.
But now it’s jagged. Goes from corner to corner.
You left me standing in the rain.
It was cold and dark.
Just like you.
Just like me.
I was always the dark one. The sinner.
While you pretended to be what I thought I wanted. The opposite of myself.
But under your layers of silk and satin you are just as ugly as I am.
We are both twisted. Wearing crowns of thorns and lies. We entered the world with these crowns on our heads.
I foolishly thought it was a sign. That the two of us could rule together. Fuse the sins of the past and let our union be the answer.
But you wanted vengeance instead of peace.
So be it, baby.
My love is now a weapon. I’ll use it to destroy you.
Just as you’ve destroyed me.
“Wow, who was she?”
“No one.”
“Come on, spill! Who knew the baddest mob king who ever lived is a closet poetic genius!”
Now I roll my eyes and stick out my palm. “I’ve killed people for less than what you just did.”
She hops up on the window ledge, crosses her slim ankles, cocks her head and snorts, “doubtful.”
My eyes move past her to the night beyond and the skyscrapers keeping it lit. Sometimes I wonder if it was real at all… the things I felt when I was with her. So, I kept journals, started writing it all down and buried all the notes full of ink that told our story inside my vault with my guns and blood money.
“It’s nothing. Just words on a page.”
She glances down at my bared soul in her hands. “This is everything. Come one Roque. I need a good bedtime story. No one’s ever told me one.”
“Never?”
“Ever. My mom was
hooked on drugs. The state took me over at seven. I’ve bounced from place to place never landing anywhere good until now.”
Chloe.
The little blonde’s best days are ahead of her. I’m going to make sure of it. I found her and Freddie, another warden of the state minutes before a pack of wanna be thugs were ready to hand them over to human trafficker. I killed the bastard and freed all the girls he held.
I might be a monster. But I don’t trade souls. I take them for myself instead. A business acquaintance, Dare, “Darren” Prescott adopted Freddie and found himself a girlfriend shortly after. I’m the only damn bachelor left. I deserve it too. Afterall, the devil has no mistress; no one to love him.
Her private school in Switzerland is already expecting her. She’ll want for nothing ever again. At least she’s one soul I can save because well… all I’ve done is damned everyone else to hell with me.
I stand from my seat at the club chair and cross to where she’s perched.
“Give.”
“Okay, fine. But I’m not letting you send me away,” her chin wobbles.
“Chloe. This was never permanent. I was always upfront about that.”
“…but Dare took Freddie. She got her happy ever after. What about me? I’m no trouble. Am I?”
“No, you aren’t. It’s not you, it’s me.”
She rolls her eyes… “I can’t believe you just said that. That’s cheesy as all hell.”
“I’m sorry. But it’s for the best. You’ll be safe where you’re going.”
“And where might that be?”
“The best boarding school in Europe. You can study whatever want. Be whoever you want to be. Few get that chance.”
“Who were you told to be?”
I grimace. “Many things, but the dark truth is Chloe, I’m exactly who I wanted to be.”
“The most powerful man in the world?”
“Hardly, but I’m working on that.”
“I’ve seen how they all look at you.”
“Who?”
“The women. When you took me shopping, they all cooed over me and made a fuss. But it was all fake. All they wanted was dirt on you and if you were single…”
“They all want the power. The money.”
“No, Roque. I might only be fifteen, but I already see it too. They want you, Just you, Your sexy and dark, all broody but cocky. Trust me even nuns would swoon in your presence,”
I wince, “Please, Chloe. Don’t crush on me.”
“As if. That’s gross. You’re what like twice my age?”
“Just about.”
“Don’t worry. I see you as my fairy-god-uncle.”
“Drip the fairy part, squirt and get to bed.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Not until you tell me your story. And hers.”
“It’s not a bedtime story. Our story will only give you nightmares.”
“It won’t. You don’t know what I’ve seen what was done to me.” My fists clench at the thought someone dared to hurt the honey-blonde who barely weights a hundred pounds. “Please?”
“Maybe. Will you go to boarding school and make something of yourself?”
She nods. “Only if you never forget me?”
“As if. I’m your fairy-god-whatever remember?”
She finally hands back my poem and I take her hand, turn on the remote to the gas fireplace and tell her to sit. I cross to the wet bar and make myself a scotch—neat.
“It started years ago… in Italy, Palermo specifically. My family… we were at war with the Fiorelli’s. Both of us wanted more. We were fighting on who would rule the city. We slaughtered each other’s families. Blood for blood. A life for a life. It was before the digital age grew to what it is now. It was easier to cause bloodshed and mayhem then. Not that the police could ever stop the mob when we owned them too.
But to understand my story, you must understand hers. I reach behind the mantle, pulling a lever. A secret cubby emerges where I pick up her words. Her ink isn’t as fresh as mine. I’ve spent too many sleepless nights reading her words over and over and that’s what keeps whatever this was between us alive. Because I stubbornly refused to let it die.
“What’s that?”
“Her notebooks. She kept diaries starting from when she was twelve through high school.”
“Where did you get those?”
“I took them from her apartment. She’s been running from me for years. I almost captured her once, three years ago in Spain. Her neighbor tipped her off that three large mafioso looking men ransacked her place.
“You stole her diaries! That is so wrong!” Chloe taps her foot angrily.
I arch a brow. “So, I did. Do you want to read her words and I’ll read mine?”
“Like reading a play?”
“I guess,” I shrug.
Chloe gingerly takes the stolen diaries from my hands. “Did you only love, her? Was she the only one?”
“I wouldn’t call what we had love. It was more of an obsession. At least I was obsessed. She… I don’t think to this day she even knows what she felt for me. I have met two other women over the years that I thought maybe there could be something…”
“What happened to them?”
“Other men found them first.”
“Ouch.”
“Exactly.”
“You could’ve taken them. I know it. Every woman who sees you wants you for herself.”
“Maybe. But I never fully pursued either. Not when the ghost of the girl I really wanted was always there lingering in the cold shadow of my frozen heart.”
“Write that down! It was brilliant!”
“Teenagers,” I mumble, but do as she says.
“So, are we doing this fucked-up Romeo and Juliet story or what?”
“Umhummm,” I clear my throat, almost smile and roll my eyes at myself for turning into such a pussy. But I begin, “Long, long ago in a land far away there was a little girl named Romina…,” I lift my hand indicating she should start with the first faded cracked leather book in her hand…
CHAPTER ONE
Palermo, 1999
“WHY DO I HAVE TO GO?” I pouted, not wanting to dress up and attend a funeral. I hate funerals. The endless line of black cars. The weeping nonna’s burying their grandson’s. Some of them so young they never married.
My father pinched me on the arm. High enough that my sleeve would cover the bruise. I stopped protesting. I was expected to fall in line. I was a disappointment to him since birth when my mother delivered a girl instead of the son he craved.
“Chin up. You’re a Fiorelli. You don’t cry, ever cower and I expect you to stare down men. Look everyone in the eye. Understood?”
“Yes, Papa.”
But I didn’t understand. Not at all. All I knew was my family was powerful and corrupt. That Papa was a bad man and expected me to understand why any of it was important.
Our guards followed us. I hated them all. They were loyal to Papa of course and witnessed how mean he was to me and never helped. Besides, I knew what they did—kill people. Papa and the Salvatore’s were in a fight for Palermo. Guards followed us everywhere; lived with us, ate with us. Papa said he had better connections than “that imposter outfit”. But I was afraid. Papa was getting older, bolder and more reckless. Dragging me to a funeral for a man he “offed” under the ruse of paying respect was out there even for him. But I had no choice. I was Papa’s heir. Girl or not and expected to toe the family line.
As soon as we entered the building, the stench of fragrant flowers started to make me feel sick. Funeral flowers. They masked the scent of death with the perfume from their powerful petals.
“How dare you.” A woman pointed at Papa.
Guns were drawn.
More death was coming. I felt it in the air.
I slowly backed up, keeping my back pressed against as wall until I noticed a door from the corner of my eyes.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
> My hands flew up, covering my ears.
I ducked low and ran, opened the door and hid behind long coats.
Screams and shouting. It felt like it went on forever, much like death. Then the quiet came with new smells. Burning metal, blood, and gun smoke. I knew Papa was gone. I just did.
He terrified me but he was also my father. My mother was killed years earlier by them and now I feared Papa walked straight into the same fate. He was too arrogant to think it wouldn’t ever happen to him.
A shadow moved under the door. I held my breath.
“Where did she go? Fiorelli’s brat must die with him. We’ll bury them both right next to his wife. Their reign is over and ours will begin. But his line must end with the girl.”
“Check out back. She couldn’t have gone far.”
I waited until the footsteps went away then slowly creaked the coat closet door open. I knew if I stayed, I’d die. They’d find me. It’s what families like mine were good at—the killing—the death.
I crept out from the shadows and toward the carnage. I saw Papa. He was lying in a pool of his own blood. His eyes widened with shock.
Men were everywhere. Out front. Out back. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.
I backed up, hitting something. Jerking around, my gaze met his. I did what Papa told me. I kept my chin up. I looked him in the eyes. I never showed him my fear.
He stared down at me as if I was dung. Because, to him, I was.
“Do it.” I challenged him. I’d rather this boy with his sea green-bluish gaze and perfectly shaped lips take my life instead of the monsters who’d do much worse to me before taking it.
A lock of his hair fell across his forehead. My eyes never left it. That one single, perfect ebony curl.
He was perfect.
The most perfect monster dressed to the nines with a body transforming from a boy to a man’s.
“I dare you.” I goaded. Knowing we were trapped in a moment where mere seconds would decide my fate.
“Go.” He nodded to the front door.
“They’ll mow me down with bullets the second I step outside.”