Savage Ruler: A Dark Italian - Irish Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Sinfully Savage)

by Kristen Luciani

  Mistake number two.

  My first one was turning my back for that split second.

  A strong hand grips my ankles, and I claw the leather seats as I am dragged out of the truck. My head hits the running board before face-planting into the dirt. My vision blurs, a stinging sensation exploding down the side of my face.

  The guy standing over me doesn’t waste a second dragging me away from the truck. I kick and scream, but he barely gives a look back before he positions me next to the trunk of his car.

  “Patty!” I yell, my voice hoarse. My brother has managed to slide out from under his assailant and now he’s got the guy on his back, but I’m still dangerously close to being thrown in some crazy fucker’s goddamn trunk.

  The guy grabs my hair in his fist, yanking me to my feet. He tries to fling me into the trunk, next to a heap of drop cloths and paint cans, and as I fall backward, I drive my knee straight into his groin. As he falls into me, I grab his hair and shove him ass backward into the trunk, jumping out of his way to help my brother.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Patrick yells, still smashing the guy’s face in.

  He grunts and groans, covering his head as much as possible until a single gunshot pierces the air, the sharp sound sending Patty and me straight to the pavement. The engine of their car growls behind us just as a police siren blares out. The guy Patty was beating on rolls out from under him and darts over to the passenger’s side of the car. He jumps inside and they peel away from the curb, zooming around the Hummer and disappearing around a corner.

  I leap up, running after the car. “You motherfuckers!” I scream, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over.

  Patrick hobbles toward me and puts a hand my shoulder and I yelp with pain. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

  I shake my head. “Patty, I had your gun,” I say, rubbing my arm. “I had it, and I didn’t fire it. I didn’t fucking fire it!”

  “Listen, we were jumped, Heaven, by God only knows who. You did the best you could. We both did.”

  I shake my head. “I should be ready for anything,” I grumble. “At any time!”

  Patrick looks around the otherwise quiet space. “Come on, we have to get out of here,” he mutters. “We don’t need to deal with the cops.”

  A minute later, we’re in the truck and zooming away from the attack scene. My chest heaves, my breaths slicing into my lungs as I fight the sob rising in my throat.

  Those guys weren’t muggers.

  We were targeted, I’m sure of it.

  But fuck me if I know by whom or why.

  “I could have done something,” I mumble, clutching my shoulder. “They hurt you and they almost took me,” I say, my voice rising in panic.

  “Stop it,” Patrick says in a gruff voice. “You can’t save everyone, Heaven.”

  But, really, I’m beginning to wonder if I can save anyone.

  Chapter Seven

  Matteo

  I jump out of the back of my blacked-out Escalade, straightening my coat as Roman joins me on the sidewalk in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen. Dusk has fallen, hints of the orange sun barely visible through the cracks between tall buildings lining the street. I glance around, not entirely familiar with the area. Red brick buildings with fire escapes command much of the real estate on 42nd Street, save for a few restaurants and bars. I pull my coat tighter to fight against the wind as a chill sweeps over us, courtesy of the Hudson River.

  “What’s the name of the place, again?” Roman asks, looking left and right.

  “Molly’s,” I say, pointing to a sign hanging over a small pub across the street. I walk around the truck and stop at the driver’s side door. My driver, Gio, rolls down the window.

  “Stay here and keep an eye out,” I murmur. “This could take a while.”

  He nods at me. “Sure thing, Mr. Villani.”

  I walk toward the pub entrance, ready to pull open the door when I hear Roman hiss at me.

  “Matty.”

  I turn around, shooting him a questioning look.

  “You sure this is the best way to handle things?” His brows furrow, his eyes filled with reservation.

  And dammit, for a split second, it gives me pause. Not because I think it’s a bad idea, strategically. It’s perfect. It will get me everything I want.

  But the fallout is potentially dangerous, mainly because I let myself get too caught up in a whole lot of very inconvenient feelings the other night with my bride-to-be. I swore I could do this with zero emotion, that it was just a business arrangement and nothing more. My objective was clear…until it got fogged up by a fiery ginger with a sharp tongue and blazing eyes that could boil my resolve down to nothing.

  I may have Heaven physically, but I’ll never have her the way I want her.

  The way I want her to want me.

  She will hate losing her livelihood to me, and even if she eventually comes to terms with it, she’ll hate me for other reasons.

  There will be no shortage of them.

  And until Roman opened his big damn mouth, I’d managed to push all of those reasons into the far recesses of my brain. I’d been able to forget about them for a little while.

  But the obsessing about Heaven hasn’t really stopped since she left me back at the club.

  I haven’t been able to focus on much else, which is very bad for a man in my position. I need to have my attention in a lot of different places at once or else I risk losing everything.

  Someone is always watching and waiting for a slip-up.

  Someone is always waiting for a chance to pull the rug out from under me.

  Someone who is even more power-hungry than I am.

  I let out a frustrated sigh and creep toward Roman so we’re out of ear-shot of the pub. “The plans are in motion, Romo. The first part has already been executed.”

  “Yeah, about that.” He shakes his head. “Shit really could have gone sideways today. Philly said the girl had a gun? I mean, what the hell would’ve happened if that clip was full and she fucking fired it? She coulda killed both of our guys!”

  I sweep a hand down the front of my face. “But she didn’t,” I say in a terse voice. “I admit, they weren’t prepared for that, and I hammered them for waiting until they were back at their car to attack. That was not good.”

  “Yeah, no shit.” He squares his shoulders. “It just doesn’t feel right to me, this whole thing.”

  “Shake it off, Romo. This is happening.” I clap him on the shoulder. “And we have a lot to gain from it. You always have to look at the bigger picture. If there’s one thing I can teach you, it’s that. Things may go wrong along the way, but if you stay the course, you win.”

  He nods slowly. “Do you really feel like you can win with so much at stake?”

  “I always win, Roman,” I growl. “No matter what. And this won’t be the exception, I can promise you that. Look at how far we’ve come in a year. And in another year, I’ll have everything.”

  “Will you?” he asks and a sharp pang makes my chest ache.

  I remember the days when I lived my life like Roman, when I didn’t have to worry about things like building empires and warding off enemies and survival of my family. Those days were fucking great, until that freedom dissipated like a fart in the wind.

  I was too busy enjoying my life.

  I was too focused on myself instead of the bigger picture.

  And something went wrong…very wrong.

  All because I lost sight of the bigger picture.

  That was the night everything changed, and I vowed to never make the same missteps again.

  So I fight back against the ache in my chest because it won’t do me any good, or anyone else for that matter.

  I let things get out of control too many times in the past, and I’ve learned the hard lessons.

  Now, I live for that control because I’ve seen what can happen when you have too little of it.

  I can see the doubt in his eyes, and it’s the same on
e that’s been twisting my gut since I met Heaven.

  When I requested her as my payment, I hadn’t met her. Hadn’t seen a single picture. It was business, pure and simple. I saw my endgame, and Declan was so blinded by panic that he missed it entirely.

  What I wanted was within reach. All I had to do was grab it.

  I wasn’t thinking about the potential aftermath and what I’d risk in return.

  I smelled power and I let it infuse my whole being.

  I lost sight of everything else.

  But then she showed up at my club, and because of her idiot brother’s oversight, I tracked her down. Suddenly…and startlingly…she became so much more than the personification of dollar signs. And that’s despite the fact that I’d known her for a grand total of about half an hour, and a fair amount of that time was spent with her lashing out at me.

  Damn if it didn’t make me want to bend her over my knee and show her how mouthy girls get punished.

  I live, eat, sleep, and breathe this underground erotic playground, and it took a year for someone to enter one of my parties and actually turn my head.

  The last time that happened, things went sideways and never really straightened themselves out. At least for me, they didn’t. And that’s something I carry with me every day, my secret and burden to bear.

  Since then, I always avoided romantic entanglements because who the hell has time? Or energy?

  Besides, anything that takes my attention off of my businesses makes me vulnerable to attack. I’ve seen that firsthand.

  Last night was the first time I took my eye off the real prize to indulge in something slightly more salacious.

  And dangerous.

  I square my shoulders.

  I can’t let that happen again, no matter how much my cock hates me for it.

  “Yes, I will have everything.” I grit my teeth and place my hands on Roman’s shoulders. “This is happening. Now. So let’s go.”

  I take a deep breath and pull open the door to the rustic-looking pub. I walk inside and the floor is sticky beneath my feet. The place is filled with cigarette smoke, the air so clouded I can barely see. I blink fast, my contact lenses now glued to my eyes from the dry heat. There are a smattering of patrons scattered at tables in what looks to be a dining area, and there are a few pool tables in the back left corner. My eyes sweep over the entire place in seconds.

  Occupational hazard.

  If someone’s going to jump out with a machete, I need to be ready to take him…or her…out.

  Surviving this life is all about being prepared for the worst and having a battle plan in place.

  Be execution-ready at all times.

  Those are the words I live by.

  I slide a palm over my back pocket where I keep my Beretta.

  I don’t think I’ll need it, but you never can tell.

  I walk over to the bar, my feet sticking to the floor with each step I take. A flaming red ponytail peeks out from under a baseball cap, swinging wildly around as the bartender stacks shelves with bottles of liquor and clean glasses.

  “Excuse me,” I say to get her attention. Declan has a private office somewhere in this building and told me he’d get someone to escort us from the bar when we arrived.

  I guess maybe she’s the someone.

  The girl whips around with a glass in her hand, startled and looking ready to pounce.

  My breath hitches when I see her.

  “Fuck,” I murmur without even realizing it. “Heaven…”

  Even though she’s got the bill of the hat pulled down low over her eyes, I can still see the dark bruises on the side of her face and around her eye.

  “Villani,” she says in a cold voice, not bothering to drop the glass.

  But she doesn’t fling it at my head either, so that’s a good sign.

  “What the hell happened?” I grunt, a knot taking up residence at the back of my skull. I ball up my fists, the ache to pummel Alfie and/or Philly into the goddamn ground making them clench so hard that my fingertips start to numb.

  “Oh, so you’re the business partner who actually gives a shit beyond money, huh?” she snips, twisting around to finish loading the glasses onto the shelves. “Don’t waste your breath. I’m not in the market for any more friends.”

  My pulse rockets, red staining my vision.

  And there will be plenty more of it when I get my hands on those two clowns.

  My instructions were to rough up Patrick Mulligan.

  Heaven wasn’t to be touched.

  Clearly, something was lost in translation, and it seems like they might need me to clear the fucking wax out of their ears for them…maybe by cutting them the fuck off!

  I rub the knot that grows tighter with each passing second, all thoughts of my meeting forgotten as I watch Heaven work.

  Roman nudges me. “Are you gonna ask for Declan or what? We’re moving, yeah?”

  I nod, swallowing hard. “Where’s your father?”

  Heaven sets down a bottle of whiskey and does a half-turn, hiding the bruises. “Go and knock at that door,” she says in a tight voice, nodding toward it. “Conor is waiting and will let you in.” She turns away just as quickly, pouring herself a shot of the whiskey and knocking it back as she works.

  I tear my eyes away from her and stalk over to the door, knocking once. It creaks open within seconds and I’m greeted once again by the dickhead who put his family in this situation.

  I should thank him for being such a hot-headed ass since his missteps are about to become my fortune. He narrows his eyes at me and then Roman. He eyes my outfit — black overcoat, black shirt, black pants — and snickers. “A little overdressed, aren’t we, Villani?”

  “I’m about to be engaged. Jeans and a Whitesnake t-shirt didn’t seem classy enough,” I mutter.

  “You think you struck gold with this whole plan of yours, don’t you?” He grimaces, letting us through. “If you think marrying Heaven is gonna get you anywhere close to our fortune, you’re more of a dumbass guinea thug than I thought.”

  I turn to look at him, a tight smile on my face. “No more of a dumbass thug than you, right, Conor? After all, I’m not the one who sacrificed his whole world because he had to get into a dick-swinging battle with the wrong crew.”

  He pokes a finger at my chest. “Don’t you fucking mouth off to me.” He snickers. “I’m your fucking employer, dickwad. Remember? We hired you, not the other way around.”

  I glance down at his finger, then up at him before I grab it and twist it back so far, it almost hits the top of his hand. He screams, clutching his now-broken finger, murder spewing from his pale eyes. “You motherfucker,” he seethes.

  “Don’t ever lay a finger on me again, Conor, or next time, I’ll snap the goddamn wrist.” I stalk toward an open door at the end of the hall with Roman chuckling behind me.

  “Way to make inroads with the in-laws,” he whispers.

  I roll my eyes as I step into an office.

  Declan’s office.

  He stands up from his chair, his eyes blazing with anger. “You sonofabitch!” he hisses.

  I grab Roman’s arm and nod toward the doorway. “Give me a minute.”

  He nods, a tight-lipped smile on his face, and steps back out into the hallway. I close the door and walk toward my soon-to-be father-in-law.

  “You said you would do something that would convince my kids that there is imminent danger at the hands of the cartel. You never said anything about anyone beating my daughter and giving my son two broken ribs!” he thunders.

  My throat tightens, the rage bubbling just beneath the surface once again at the thought of anyone hurting Heaven, much less my own hand-picked guys. “Nobody was supposed to touch Heaven,” I grunt. “That was a mistake, and it’s one I will correct as soon as I leave here. But if we let your son get away without a scratch, how does that signify impending danger? The reality is, if Dominguez knew it was Conor who pulled that trigger…and believe me, he’s damn c
lose to that conclusion…he’d have left Heaven and Patrick for dead in that park and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  Declan’s nostrils flare, his chest heaving. I can tell he wants to lay me out, and I can’t blame him. I’d kick the shit out of me, too, if I were in his position.

  His baby girl, beaten and bruised like that.

  Anger floods my veins. It’s because of Conor that this is happening at all.

  That’s the bastard who needs to pay.

  And he fucking will!

  “So how exactly is this going to work?” Declan sneers. “I’m just going to bring her back here and tell her what? That I’ve signed her freedom away as payment for your security expertise?”

  Tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Why does it sound like he’s backpedaling? I grit my teeth. Is it because his faith is now tainted by the actions of my idiot crew? Does he now question whether or not I can actually keep Heaven safe? The evidence sure as hell speaks volumes to the contrary. My spine stiffens as the control I long to hold tightly to slowly slips away from me, desperation creeping into my mind. I have to convince him. I can’t lose her…er, lose this job. It’s all part of the fucking plan! “Declan,” I say, keeping my voice as steady and steely as possible. “Because of what happened today, she will understand the risks. Things didn’t go as planned, but the danger is very apparent. She’s one of your underbosses and is supposed to be untouchable. Patrick is supposedly one of your top enforcers. And yet, they were both compromised. That should be enough to convince her to take cover and get the hell out of the line of fire.”

  “Then you obviously have no idea who and what Heaven is because she’d never cower!” Declan fumes. “She’d never run and leave us on our own. She’s a leader and loyal to a fault. Heaven would never leave her family in dire straits, especially if she knew the dangers associated with the cartel. She’d take a bullet for any one of us if given the choice!”

  “Well, then, you’d better brush up on your powers of persuasion, Dad, because I’m not leaving here without her.”

  Fear flickers in his eyes and he pauses for a beat. “Do you really think Dominguez suspects Conor?”