Ruthless Prince : A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Dark Syndicate Book 1)

by Faith Summers

  Now he’s gone.

  I reach for the satin pillow and bring it to my nose, inhaling the musky, masculine scent of him that still lingers on the fabric. As the scent fills my nostrils, I conjure up the image of the perfect godlike man who climbed my body all night. He took me ruthlessly, over and over again. Beautiful and dangerous, temptation at its finest.

  God… what the hell am I doing? What have I done? My emotions are all over the place. Yesterday, I was hell bent on escaping. Yet by the time the sun went down, I was jealous of Massimo and Gabriella. Hours later, I found myself tangled in bed with him.

  Despite the fact that my father sold me to pay off a debt, I feel as if I betrayed him by sleeping with the enemy. Craving the enemy’s touch all over again.

  If I’m going with the story that Dad was forced to do what he did to me, then I have betrayed him. I’m not supposed to feel this way for a man who wants to destroy my father.

  But then there is the other side of the coin, the part I still don’t know about Dad. The vague information I’ve been given is exactly that. Vague. It’s not enough to form any conclusion regarding me personally.

  So… what now?

  What do I do now?

  What do I do about Massimo?

  I pull the covers close to my chest to cover my nakedness. Sitting up, I look around the room and run a hand through my messy hair. It’s bright outside. It must be late morning.

  Once again, I don’t know what shape today will take. My days are spent

  roaming through the house or along the beach when I get to go outside. I know it’s Saturday. Two whole weeks since I was pulled from my life. Two weeks I should have spent in Florence. I would have started the summer school in prep for the official start of the term in six weeks. Thinking about such things isn’t doing me any good, I know. I just can’t help it.

  Deciding to get up, I take shower and wash last night from my body.

  The area between my thighs is very sore, and as the water cascades over my pussy, it feels raw and burns. It’s a good burn, though, that I can’t say I’m unhappy about.

  I get out, change into a little summer dress, and pull my hair back into a ponytail.

  There’s a little rap at the door. I already know it’s not him. He wouldn’t knock. He’s never knocked.

  “Come in,” I call out. Priscilla opens the door. Candace is behind her carrying a tray with toast and coffee

  “Morning,” they both say.

  “Hi, there,” I answer.

  Candace looks at me. I blush when her eyes twinkle with something that makes me think she senses what Massimo and I got up to in here last night.

  “We are not having another day like yesterday,” Priscilla proclaims. “It’s nearly midday, and you haven’t come down for breakfast.”

  My eyes bulge. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t realize the time.” There’s no way I would have thought it was so late. I’m not the kind of person to have a lie-in. When I lived at home, I’d be up early to paint.

  “You will eat this, and we’ll be back in ten minutes,” she answers.

  “Massimo arranged something nice for you today,” Candace beams.

  I can’t imagine what that might be. “What is it?”

  “Something you’ll like, dear,” Pricilla answers. The corners of her eyes crinkle as she smiles.

  I bite the inside of my lip and try to look happy. It’s probably more wedding stuff. I know they both liked helping me pick out dresses the other day, and when the seamstress came back, we did everything else together as well. Other people to do with the wedding have come by, and as far as I know, there isn’t much left to worry about because it’s all being taken care of.

  “Eat, and we’ll be back to show you.” Candace looks pleased. That heightens my curiosity.

  “Okay,” I agree.

  I’m curious to know what this could be. What has Massimo arranged? In my heart I pray it’s not something that will remind me why I’m here and spoil last night.

  They leave. I eat all the food in a similar fashion to how I devoured the food two weeks back after I hadn’t eaten for a couple of days.

  Ten minutes later, Candace returns. The suspicion in her eyes makes me think she came back alone to question me.

  “You ready?” she asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “We’re going to a different part of the house.”

  “Are we? What part?”

  “It’s on the left wing,” she answers. “You look better than when I left you last night,” she notes.

  “Do I?” I ask, feigning innocence. I know full well what she means. Earlier, when I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, my skin was glowing like a lightbulb.

  “Yeah, in a good way. Are you okay?”

  When I nod, she gives my arm a gentle squeeze. That’s all she does. She doesn’t ask me anything more.

  We walk across the atrium and then head down the wide marble steps leading down to the hall where I tried on my wedding dress. We get to the hall and continue down the path to another set of stairs. These are stone and lead to a large set of oak wood doors that have always been locked. Whenever I’ve seen them, I’ve thought they led outside. Apparently not. And the doors aren’t locked today. Candace opens the door wide, revealing a hall. What I see inside steals my breath away.

  Art.

  That’s the best word I can use to describe the scene before me. Art.

  Art in abundance. There are oil paintings all along the walls. We walk in, immersing ourselves in the glorious artwork that makes my nerves spike and tingle.

  The paintings are a mixture of landscapes and people. Because I love landscapes so much, I’m drawn to those more. I recognize some of the places. They’re in Italy. Florence, Verona, and Sicily. All so beautiful.

  “Oh my God,” I mutter and turn back to face Candace. “These are amazing.”

  “Yeah. Massimo’s mother was quite the artist.”

  Surprise rushes over me. “His mother painted all of these?”

  “Yeah, she was incredible. That over there is me when I was little, playing with the boys,” she says, pointing to one of the larger paintings to our left.

  On it are five small children running through the meadow. A little girl, four boys, and a Golden Retriever.

  We move closer to it, and she points to the boy nearest the dog. “That’s Massimo. He must have been eight there. Maybe seven.”

  I notice the way the blue of his eyes sparkles. The bright smile on his face, though, is something foreign to me.

  “These are all truly amazing,” I say.

  “They are. I guess Massimo must have thought you’d be more at home inside here. He came in here early to finish setting up the room for you,” she answers.

  My mouth goes dry. “What? He set up the room for me?” I stare at her in disbelief. She nods.

  “It was more of a storage room. He never invites anyone in here. But he brought those in the other day, and I helped him clean the place up.”

  She points to the corner of the room. I turn to see a stack of boxes and an easel set up by the large archway overlooking the beach.

  The boxes look familiar. I move to them and gasp when I recognize them. They’re mine. My boxes I packed my paintings in, and all my art supplies. Everything I was going to take with me to Florence. The realization makes me rush right over. The boxes are open and set up so I can finish arranging the contents. Candace has a bright smile on her face. An uncontrollable tear tracks down my cheek as I rasp out a ragged breath.

  I didn’t realize just how much I missed my art. Having my clothes was nice and eased my mind. But… this calms my soul.

  “Hey, there,” Candace says when I wipe away the tear with the heel of my hand. “You okay, Emelia?”

  “No,” I answer because that’s the truth. I’m not okay.

  This act of kindness has placed me in a tailspin, a whirlwind of flux. I don’t know right from wrong, or who to trust. It would be easier to hate Massim
o if he behaved like the monster I met in my father’s office. The same monster who locked me in that room and chained me to the bed. Naked, to teach me a lesson. It would be easier if he were truly awful. Him doing this for me makes me wonder how I’m supposed to feel.

  “Be strong, Emelia. Be strong and listen to your heart.”

  “I don’t know about that, Candace. Listening to my heart would make me betray my father.” God…I’ve probably said too much.

  She shakes her head. “Think of yourself. Nobody else. In the end, that’s what you have to do to survive this game. You can’t think of anybody else. The moment you do, you lose yourself.” She taps my shoulder and gives me a reassuring smile. “I’ll leave you to get reacquainted with your stuff.”

  She gives me a curt nod. I get that sensation again that she’s leaving because she doesn’t want to say more.

  I watch her go. The door closes, and I’m left to my thoughts and the beauty of the art surrounding me.

  Pulling in a deep breath, I decide to look around at the paintings on the walls. I want to see what kind of woman Massimo’s mother was before I dive into my own painting.

  I walk to the painting Candace showed me earlier and find myself staring at Massimo, at his eyes. I can tell from the way his mother painted that she worked with emotion. It’s embedded in the brushstrokes of the painting. The hues and gradients she used in the background texture all work together to create its own story. This was a happy day she painted.

  Massimo said my father made sure his family lost everything. This was a day before that happened to them.

  What must my father have really done? What cruel thing did he do? The more I think about it, the more I realize I don’t know him. And I don’t know who the monsters are in this story.

  I thought it was my husband-to-be.

  Now I’m not so sure.

  I really am the princess in the tower if I continue to pretend that I think my father is a saint. I know he got his hands dirty. I know he did bad things.

  He must have committed pure evil, however, for Massimo and his family to hate us so much.

  In the deepest corner of my heart, there’s a place that doesn’t want him to hate me.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Massimo

  I walk into the hall and see her.

  I was right. She looks at home in here. The same way Ma’s paintings look like they belong.

  Emelia is so engrossed in her painting that she doesn’t hear me walk in.

  My mother was the same. She’d get lost in her work. I’d seen examples of Emelia’s work when I looked through the boxes the other day, but watching her create something live is another thing.

  She has a large canvas set up on the easel. On it she’s painted a stormy sea against the darkness of night, and a midnight black horse with vapid wings riding the water. It’s a dark fantasy.

  She gazes out momentarily to the sea outside. Against the night it moves in shadows, looking nothing like her painting. But that’s what she sees, what she still sees as she continues to gaze out the archway.

  My gaze travels over her body as her little dress rides up her ass, and I think of all the ways I took her last night. I could have kept going, but I wiped her out. I left her bed this morning in a state of conflict and must have watched her sleep for a full hour before I got up and came in here to sort the place out. I had the idea the other day, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to share this piece of me yet.

  Now that I see her in here, I’m glad I have.

  I stop paces away. She oblivious to my presence. I don’t like that because anyone could sneak up on her. Not that it’s likely to happen here.

  “There’s a horse in the water?” I say as calmly as possible, but she jumps, startled, and turns to face me, clutching her chest. I don’t know how, but she looks more beautiful today than when I left her this morning.

  “Didn’t mean to frighten you,” I say.

  “You’re home,” she breathes.

  “I’m home. See, you don’t have to wonder where I am. Came straight home from work.” That’s a little white lie, but she doesn’t need to know details like that.

  I was with Tristan and Andreas, questioning a few people who we knew had links to Vlad. Out of the five we questioned, one lived, but I’m sure he’s very close to the verge of death. That happens when you’re left to bleed out. All five were the worst kind of sick fucks anybody could come across. Right when we happened upon them, they’d kidnapped a young girl who I was sure could be no more than sixteen, and I know they were all getting ready to rape her. Pierbo’s death aside, that was enough for me to end them.

  “You came straight home,” the beauty repeats, pulling me from my thoughts. I focus my attention on her because I’m having a repeat of last night.

  “I did.”

  “Thank you,” she says. I know she’s not talking about me coming home. She’s talking about what I did in here for her.

  It’s completely out of character for me.

  “For coming straight home?” I ask. That smile I wanted to see appears on her face. The smile just for me.

  “No, not for coming straight home. For this. I didn’t know my art stuff came too. This is perfect.”

  Here is where I should crush that lightness in her presence toward me. I should place her back in line and stop her in her tracks from feeling for me. But I decided I don’t want us to be that way. Taking her last night was exhilarating because she gave herself to me and allowed me to do what I wanted to her body. Tonight, I want to fuck her hard, the way I like to fuck. That won’t work if she’s scared of me.

  I move closer to her, and she sets the paintbrush down.

  “Perfect enough for you to see to paint?” I ask, and she nods. “Is that what you see outside?” Ma used to talk like that.

  “I do. I see this stuff all the time. It just presents itself in my mind. Sometimes I think I can touch it.”

  “Black Pegasus rising from the waters.” There’s a spot that she hasn’t finished, but she’s started painting an orange glow on the water’s surface. “What happens next, Princesca?” I ask, placing emphasis on Princesca. She was only half right about what she said last night. About me calling her that when I was mad at her.

  She tenses at the word, and the smile recedes from her face. I catch her face before that pretty little mind of hers starts wondering.

  “I like calling you that. That’s all. I’m not mad.”

  “I’m not a Princesca though.”

  I chuckle. “You are mine. Now answer the question.” I motion back to the painting and release her.

  “It’s a portal in the sea. The horse is going back to the land it came from. Beyond the portal is a reflection of this world. Mirror images of itself.”

  I gaze back, fascinated by what I hear. “That’s impressive.”

  “Thank you. Your mother’s paintings are beautiful.”

  “Glad you like them.”

  “My mother was an artist too. That’s where I got it from. We used to paint together all the time.”

  “You’re very talented.”

  “Thanks.” She looks like she appreciates the compliment.

  Enough talk now though. I need to taste her. “Come here,” I say. She steps closer, coming to me willingly, like an obedient servant.

  I brush my finger over her cheek, and as we stare at each other, the air thickens with desire.

  Pressing my mouth to hers, I kiss her, and she kisses me back. She opens her mouth, letting our tongues tease and tangle as we taste each other.

  She knows what I want. So, she doesn’t stop me when I lift the hem of her dress and cup her pussy through the satin of her panties.

  The doors are open, but few venture down here. I’ve waited all day to have her. Now that I’m with her, I’m going to have her right here. I don’t care who’s listening. If they hear us, it’s warning enough to stay the fuck away.

  I deepen the kiss and slip my hands into her hair to pull
it from the ponytail. I like her hair down. I want to run my fingers through the velvet strands while I fuck her.

  I devour her mouth when she tilts her head back and the band slips from my grasp. Her luscious mane of locks tumbles down her shoulders, pouring over my fingers like liquid silk. I love it, the same way I love the feel of her willowy body in my hands. Fragile and delicate but tempting with the dip of her curves and the mounds of her breasts.

  I manage to move the little fabric away from the crotch of her panties so I can finger her pussy. She jolts, gripping my shirt. She moans against my lips, and a shudder of pleasure runs through her when I slide my fingers deeper into her passage. Her pussy walls convulse, and she pants, her lips now trembling.

  Pulling my fingers from her juicy cunt, I pause my assault on her lips to taste her wet desire. The sweet nectar covers my fingers, evidence of her arousal for me. Surprise tickles her cheeks pink when I place my fingers in my mouth and lick off every drop.

  “You want me again…” I state.

  She looks at me like she doesn’t know what to say. I get it. After all, we both have the same problem. We’re supposed to be forbidden. This isn’t supposed to be enjoyable, but here we both are, craving each other like a rare exotic dish.

  I smile at her, and the beauty does the strangest thing. She slides her finger up my jaw and traces my lips. I allow her to, wondering what she’s doing.

  “What?”

  “A smile that’s not mocking me,” she whispers. Her voice quivers. As I look at her, I know she doesn’t deserve any of this.

  She doesn’t deserve to be with a man like me who’s full of hate and death. I shouldn’t have caged her like a wild bird. She deserves to be free.

  I take her fingers and kiss the tips. The beginning of a smile lifts the corners of her pretty mouth. When seduction fills her eyes, though, the urge to be inside her comes rushing back.

  I lean close to her ear and whisper against it, dirty words I know will curl her toes. “Is your pussy still sore, Princess?” I mutter