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

by Kristen Luciani

  I stand up suddenly, scraping the chair back against the scuffed floor. “I’ll take this up with Conor,” I grumble. “Is he at this regular office today?”

  “Yea,” he mumbles, sneaking another look at Matteo.

  “In the meantime, go back to the tracking method I showed you, got it?”

  Sean nods and backs away as I storm around the desk and out the office door. I stomp out the back and pull open the door to Matteo’s truck. He slides into the driver’s seat beside me and I press my fingertips to my temples, trying to process what I’ve seen and heard today.

  “He’s completely undermining the way that I direct,” I mutter. “I mean, how fucking stupid is he? Logging payments for drug shipments with legitimate food and spirit costs? I mean, how can you fucking justify a five-hundred-dollar crate of red potatoes and cabbage? He has no clue what he’s doing.”

  “Yeah, he clearly missed Money Laundering 101.” Matteo lets out a sigh. “I’ll talk to Declan.”

  “No,” I say. “I will handle it myself. Now.”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “Look, Heaven, I know you’re upset, but we’ll figure out how to handle it together. It’s as much my problem as it is yours.”

  I shake my head. “No, it’s not. I mean, yes, from a financial perspective since you’re almost bound to me, but from a personal one? This is all on me to fix. He cannot be allowed to run this organization into the ground, Matteo! I’ve been out of the game for a week, and look at all of the issues I’ve found with our business records! All of the accounting is fucked! Every business is using a different tracking method, and why? Because the asshole is skimming! He was just waiting for me to get pulled out so he could do what the hell ever he wants! This the last straw and I’m not going to cry to my father. He already made it clear that I’m on my own. It’s up to me to prove he’s fucking everyone!” I point to the steering wheel. “So, drive!”

  He presses the ignition button and the engine growls with the same kind of ferocity bubbling in my veins. “Where are we headed?”

  “42nd Street and 11th Avenue,” I say. “He’ll be down there today. And just so we’re clear, this is a meeting I’ll take by myself.”

  Matteo’s jaw tightens but he doesn’t argue. I don’t know if that means he’s saving it up for when we arrive, but I’ll deal with it then.

  After twenty minutes of fighting city traffic, we finally roll to a stop in front of a warehouse-type building. Matteo stares up at it, his brow furrowed. “This place looks like a breeding ground for scumbags. You’re not going in there alone.”

  “The hell I’m not,” I snap, pushing open my door and hopping onto the curb. Matteo turns off the car and jumps out, grabbing my wrist before I make a break for the black steel door. “This isn’t a smart idea. You asked that guy Sean where Conor is. What if he made a call to warn him that we’re coming? I’m going with you, Heaven. I don’t trust that asshole.”

  “Which asshole? Conor or Sean?”

  “Both of them,” he grumbles.

  “Well, guess what?” I yank my arm away from him and straighten my jacket. “You don’t own me yet. And I’m going in there by myself, whether or not you approve.”

  But before I can twist away from him, he wraps an arm around my waist, dragging me toward him. “Don’t test me,” he murmurs, his fingertips digging into my hip.

  Suddenly, the desire to do just that crashes over me like an all-consuming wave, the kind that threatens to sweep you away as you tumble right, left, forward, and backward, desperate to regain your footing. Oh God, do I want to test him. I want him to show me something…any emotion at all…that tells me he gives a shit about more than just money and power.

  Because after a mere ten days…I swallow hard, his hot breath fluttering against my cheek…regrettably, I do.

  Then his grip loosens and the shield slams down in front of his ice-blue eyes.

  I see nothing because he feels nothing.

  My nostrils flare and I back away, my head shaking as I stomp across the pavement.

  I guess I have my answer to the question I asked him this morning. There is a reason why he avoids me when we’re behind closed doors.

  And it’s because he doesn’t give a damn.

  Looks like I need to take a page from his dickhead playbook.

  But I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I have a more pressing problem, one that is threatening my fucking livelihood.

  “Heaven!” he calls out just as his phone rings. I hear him let out a few tense words in another language that tell me he’s less than pleased with the person on the other end of the line. “Yeah, I forgot about our meeting,” he mutters. “I got caught up with something else. No, I haven’t forgotten about our arrange—"

  I pull open the door in a huff, not in the least bit interested in whatever other ‘arrangement’ Matteo has concocted for the benefit of his organization. I head straight for the office my brother keeps at the other end of the hallway. I scrunch up my nose. The place reeks of sex, weed, and cigarette smoke. Super classy digs for an aspiring mob boss. I roll my eyes, my heels clicking along the scuffed floor. My skin crawls as deep voices get louder and more rowdy. Then, I hear a female squeal and my throat tightens.

  Oh, fuck. Please don’t let me walk into a goddamn sex fest.

  I can already feel last night’s dinner churning in my stomach as I knock on the door.

  “Who is it?” Conor barks out.

  I don’t reply, though. I just throw open the door. I don’t need to announce my arrival. Why give him any chance to prepare for the lashing I’m about to deliver?

  “What the fuck, Heaven?” he yells as the squealing girl rides him. She gasps and twists in my direction, clutching her breasts, despite the fact that two of my brother’s dipshit guys are smoking in the corner.

  Right, so I’m the intruder here.

  I walk into the office, a scowl on my face as I glare at my brother. “Get rid of the bitch now. We have something to discuss.”

  He takes a long drag of a joint and drops it into the ashtray to his right, giving the girl a loud smack on the ass. She practically falls off of him, he hits her so hard. I shoot a pointed look at the other guys, Maze and Dax. “You, too! Out, now!”

  Conor gets up, pulling on his jeans. He walks around the back of his desk and takes a swig from a near-empty whiskey bottle. “Where do you get off giving my guys orders?”

  “Please, let’s not talk about getting off, okay?” I sneer. “That image is permanently branded into my memory for fucking ever!”

  He flashes a lopsided grin. “You can use it for your own personal highlight reel. You’re welcome.”

  This time, when the bile rises in my throat, I’m almost certain it’s going to spew all over the place.

  “By the way,” he says. “What the hell are you doing outside of your ivory tower, anyway? I thought that was the deal. You stick by the side of the Italian until you get hitched and officially hand over the reins to me.”

  “In your dreams will I hand over anything to you!” I swallow hard, clenching my fists so my hands don’t shake. “Tell me, Conor. Did you really think you were going to get away with it? Screwing with the books like you did? Making it easy for you to skim from the top since nobody is watching anymore, right?”

  His bloodshot eyes narrow and he grabs the joint and takes another deep drag. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re even talking about.”

  “Really?” I sneer. “So, it’s just coincidence that in the week and a half I’ve been out of the game, you’ve given the order to completely change the bookkeeping for our businesses? Get off it! You were hoping my new role as wifey-to-be would keep me out of your hair, so you jumped on the opportunity as soon as I left! You figured nobody would finger you, right? And that you’d be able to steal from your own fucking family? Well, guess again! You’re caught!”

  Conor drops the joint back into the ashtray and downs the rest of the whiskey before shattering the neck against th
e side of his desk. He leaps at me like a rabid dog, throwing me against the wall, holding the splintered glass bottle at my neck. “I figured when Dad signed away your pathetic excuse for a life, I’d be spared the job of fucking slitting your throat. Looks like I was wrong!” he roars, spittle flying out of his mouth.

  I scream, driving my knee straight into his groin before kicking my foot into his chest with all the force I can muster. He flies backward into the desk but doesn’t drop the damn bottle. I search the space, looking for anything to use as a weapon.

  Anything besides my knee, that is.

  But my search is futile, unless I can get to the joint and snuff it out in his eye.

  He slices the air with the bottle and it whirs past my ear. I dodge and duck away from it with not much of an option to escape. My eyes fall on a pen close enough for me to grab.

  “You think Dad will believe you, Heaven? He sold you off to Villani to get you out of his hair! Because you’re such a pain in his ass, always looking to take, take, take! Marrying you off was the only way he could shove you out of the picture.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I yell, grabbing the pen as inconspicuously as possible before I make my move.

  “You were never gonna be boss, Heaven,” he growls. “You’re a fucking girl and you’d never be taken seriously.”

  “Oh, so if I’m a lying, scumbag pig, I’d have a better shot?” I yell.

  He lets out a loud grunt and jumps at me, swinging the jagged head of the bottle. I yelp as one of the sharp slivers slices at my arm right through the fabric of my jacket.

  “I hate you!” I screech, driving the pen right into his shoulder.

  He finally drops the bottle, stumbling backward against a chair, moaning like a bitch. He pulls out the pen and turns his crazed eyes at me before grabbing a knife from the back pocket of his jeans. He creeps toward me, holding it above his head, and I scramble backward toward the door.

  “Ahh!” My leg gets caught on a nearby table and I fall onto it as he closes the space between us, the knife clutched in his hand. He holds it over my head, ready to drive it into my chest. Just as his arm comes down like a goddamn guillotine, I roll to the side and he jams the blade right into the wood.

  I struggle to my feet and jump as I hear a gun cock.

  “Make a move, you fucking piece of shit. I wanna pull this trigger so fucking badly, you have no idea!”

  Matteo’s deep voice makes my shoulders slump with relief, and I collapse against him, still clutching my bloody arm. “Are you okay?” he murmurs.

  I give a quick nod.

  “Get over to the door,” he says under his breath. “Run if you need to.”

  My jaw drops as he moves toward Conor who just pulled the pen out of his shoulder. He flings it at me, a murderous smirk on his face. “Is that how it’s gonna be, Heaven? You get hitched and inherit all this new muscle to back ya up?” He sways toward Matteo, who still has the gun in his outstretched hand. “You think I’m afraid of you, you dumb guinea? You think I’m intimidated by your fucking army and your family?” he hisses. “Well, I’m not.”

  “I know,” Matteo says in a tight voice. “You’re clearly too stupid to be afraid of anything. And let me be the first to tell you that pride and ego will kill you before any of your other…” he looks around the room. “Hobbies.”

  Conor’s face flushes, his eyes glassy. “So now you’re giving me life advice, brother? Guess what? I don’t need it. I have everything, or did you not get the fucking memo? This organization is mine.”

  “It’s half yours,” Matteo corrects him. “And soon it’ll be half ours.”

  A tiny shiver runs through me when he says the word ours.

  Huh. That’s what elicits an emotional response from me? Not the fact that my brother just attacked me with a knife?

  “You’ll never get your goddamn greasy hands on anything I own,” Conor growls, swinging the knife in Matteo’s direction. I yelp as he jumps out of the way.

  But Matteo isn’t the kind of guy to be on the defensive for too long. He lunges for Conor, closing his hand around Conor’s throat, and throws him backward against the wall. He lets out a loud groan and rolls over, clutching his head. Matteo steps next to him, and then presses his shoe against Conor’s neck. “Next time you so much as look at your sister wrong, I won’t just throw you into a wall. I’ll put you through the goddamn thing.” He kneels down next to Conor, who is still groaning. “Brother,” he seethes, contempt dripping from his lips. “You just make this whole thing too easy for me.”

  I furrow my brow.

  What’s that supposed to mean?

  Matteo straightens up and sticks his gun back into the waistband of his pants before helping me out of the dingy building. My teeth chatter so hard, I can barely speak a word through them. Once we’re back in the truck, he examines the slash on my arm, but I pull away, my body trembling. I clutch the sides of my head, my skin tingling as beads of sweat pop up along the back of my neck. “He…was…going…to…kill…me!” I sputter. “Holy fuck, he’s goddamn sick!” I pull my clothes away from my body, fanning myself with the material. “Matteo,” I choke out. “If you hadn’t come in when you did…oh my God, one more second and I would have been—”

  “No, you wouldn’t have,” he says, pulling me into his arms and holding me tight. “He’s a sick bastard, but you managed to get away from him before I got there because you’re strong, probably the strongest woman I know.”

  I tilt my head back to look up at him. My breaths are short and sharp and my heart is about to erupt out of my chest at this moment. I knew Conor was fucked up, but this little visit took things to a whole new level of deranged. He smooths back a stray strand of hair that dared escape my tight ponytail and reaches past me for the glove compartment. “Take off your jacket,” he says, a mini first-aid kit in hand.

  I wince when he dabs alcohol onto my skin. “It’s not deep enough for stitches,” he mutters, patching me up like an emergency medical technician.

  “What a pro you are at this,” I say with a small smile.

  He shrugs. “Occupational hazard, I guess. I think the biggest danger to you is probably tetanus.”

  “I’m up to date on my shots.”

  “Good,” Matteo murmurs, running his fingers over the bandage, his blue eyes dark. Lust and rage battle in the depths, causing warmth to coil in my belly. It’s silent between us, but yet so much is being spoken.

  I finally clear my throat. “Thank you. For everything.”

  A hint of a smile plays at his lips, and I sweep my tongue over my own, in anticipation? Maybe. I know that since we’ve met, I’ve never wanted to kiss him more than I do at this second.

  “I, um, I think you should take me to see my father,” I say, turning away and effectively breaking the spell. “He needs to hear about this, all of it. The money, the attack, everything.” I tug at my ponytail, waiting for Matteo to start the truck. The rush of anger comes fast and furious, immersing me in Conor’s toxic aura. “I won’t let him get away with this. He’s going to pay!” I tap my foot against the floor. “Come on. What are you waiting for? We need to handle this now!”

  But instead of hearing the car ignition start, I feel his fingertips graze the top of my hand. I jerk my head toward him, surprise gripping me.

  “Matteo,” I say, my eyes darting from his hand to his face. “Let’s go!”

  He shakes his head. “Heaven, you can’t see your father like this. Once you storm in there, you’ll spiral out of control, and if you think he doubted you before, he definitely will now if you go in there on a rampage.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I yell, yanking my hand away from him and cringing at the same time because of the sudden jolt of my arm. “I’m just supposed to go home, pack away the shit show that almost just got me killed, and forget it all?”

  “I’m not suggesting that we forget about it. I’m just saying that you need to be in a calmer place before you go to him
.”

  “Oh, so now the King of Cool is giving me advice?” I give my head a swift shake. “I can’t believe this is actually happening right now! You saw what he did!”

  “And I also know how these things work. Listen, Declan knows Conor is a fuck-up. Trust me on that. But you won’t gain anything by shoving that into your dad’s face. He doesn’t need anyone to tell him what a liability Conor is.”

  “Then how can he possibly think that Conor can run things?” My voice breaks, and I know tears are coming. “Conor said I’d never be boss, that Dad was never going to give that role to me. What if he’s right? After everything I’ve done, could my father really fuck me like that and put that asshole in charge?”

  “Conor is digging his own grave,” Matteo says darkly. “So far into the ground that he’s gonna hit the damn core of the Earth. Your father knows who and what he is, but you rubbing his face in that knowledge isn’t going to work for you. Running in there, making accusations, telling him you know better than him…what’s that going to do for you?” He runs a hand through his hair and a thick lock falls over one of his eyes. My fingers itch to push it back, to run down the side of his face, to stroke the back of his neck and—

  Oh, crap.

  That was an inconvenient time to tune out his voice.

  His eyes narrow, jolting me back to my reality, the one where I’m trying to keep my head from spinning off my neck. “You need to pull it together before you take this to him. Conor expects you to run right to Declan. Don’t do it. Don’t give him the satisfaction. Guys like Conor always fall hard if you lead them to the edge of the cliff.”

  “Okay.” I swallow hard past the growing lump in my throat. “Let’s go home.”

  He nods after a silent minute of staring at me, then starts the engine, maneuvering the truck back onto 42nd Street and turning right onto 11th Avenue.

  I tap my fingers against the window, watching the buildings whizz past. “I’m losing control,” I mumble, more to myself than to him. “And I can’t seem to stop it.”

  “You only think you are,” he says in a low voice.

  “No, I know it!” I cry out. “And I’m not just talking about today. Do you even know what it feels like? You, who never loses his shit ever!”