Dark Throne: A Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Russo Royals) Read online

  Dark Throne

  Shanna Handel

  Contents

  Welcome

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Bonus Content Sneak Peek

  Russo Royals Book 3

  More Bonus Content

  Russo Royals Book 1

  About the Author

  Also by Shanna Handel

  Welcome

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  (NOTE: To avoid spoilers only read Dark AFTER you’ve read Dark Crown)

  Shanna Handel

  Copyright © 2020 Shanna Handel

  Cover Art by Pop Kitty

  All rights reserved.

  Dark Throne: A Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance

  Russo Royals; Book 2

  I want him. And I hate him.

  I’ve known him my whole life.

  He’s the boy who loved to torment me,

  pulling the ends of my braids.

  But when he catches me on his family’s property,

  He does worse than that.

  I plan to pay him back for his punishments,

  but my little prank goes awry.

  I’ve made a terrible mistake,

  angering our family’s deadly rivals.

  And now, my obedience is being demanded to make amends.

  Our crime families arrange my marriage to my enemy.

  I loathe him.

  And yet…

  When he bends me to his will…

  with his harsh ways…

  I find myself wanting more.

  I want to be his queen.

  To sit on his dark throne.

  The man I now call, husband.

  Prologue

  Luca

  Ever since I’ve known Esme Russo, I’ve harbored a deep desire to protect her.

  She’s…impulsive.

  In our mafia world, there are unbending rules. Breaking them leads to harsh consequences.

  It’s time the princess of the kingdom learns that lesson.

  And if her daddy won’t teach her, I will.

  She’s sweet and kind but her lack of attention to her own safety always rubbed me the wrong way.

  Sometimes it led me to torment her.

  As a boy, I pulled her hair, called her names. The flush in her cheeks made my blood run hot.

  As a man, I want to see that color in her face once more as she feels shame at the touch of my hands, her body wanting me as her mind hates me for it.

  I want to protect her.

  I want to claim her.

  She will be mine.

  Whether she wants me or not.

  I’ll have my princess, riding high on my throne.

  1

  Luca

  Romanos are known for the sweet fruit we grow.

  And the bitter wars we start.

  I stand on the highest point of our land, just outside the walls of our estate, gazing over the lush rolling hills that have been so good to us, and I think of the man I am named for: Luca Romano. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and ice blue eyes like mine, my ancestor who procured this place over three centuries ago, giving it his name.

  The Romano Estate was originally a sprawling convent, built in the thirteenth century, then abandoned in the late seventeenth century after Napoleon’s invasion. Searching for a place to establish his empire, Luca fell in love with the property for its simple, but awe-inspiring architecture, as well as the beauty and fertility of the land.

  The main building is built of a creamy tan-colored stone standing the test of time. The red tile roof brings out the darker threads of color in the stone. The building wraps around to the right and the left, like two loving arms, embracing the expansive courtyard, a place we like to rest in the shade of the trees as well as hold celebrations.

  The exterior stone wall that surrounds the main house was later added for security. Romano made many enemies along the way as his power grew. Keeping with the beauty of the place, he commissioned wrought iron gates from a local artisan, a blacksmith who had a flair for creating intricate swirls in his unique work.

  Luca, like me, enjoyed working the orchards with his bare hands, feeling the sun on his back as he nurtured the earth, coaxing fruit from her rich soil. I carry on his legacy, pruning and picking and taking from the land what she will give me.

  We own four hundred acres; half of it is arable land, dark and fertile soil, the rest green grass and dense forests. Before me, the hills tumble down until they reach the foamy waves splashing onto the rocky shore of the Adriatic Sea. To my right stretch our vineyards. Rows upon rows of dark green leaves, each leaf almost as broad as your hand, heavy fruit hanging from twisting vines. An ecosystem thrives between the rows; wildflowers and grassy weeds drawing in butterflies, bees, and earthworms to keep the soil rich.

  To my left are our orchards, growing shiny red and green apples, so crisp juice flows down your chin when you bite into their flesh. You can hear the sound of the waves crashing in the distance, feel the salt breeze rise off the ocean as you pick fruit.

  It’s a beautiful, peaceful place.

  Luca, though he loved the land, was not a peaceful man.

  He took what he wanted.

  Gave our surname power.

  He created a mafia.

  He also enjoyed gambling, fine wine, and beautiful women.

  I only inherited the taste for two of those things.

  Wine and women.

  I don’t care for gambling. I need to be in control, I must be in control. There is no other way for me. Betting on the turn of a wheel or the roll of dice takes away that control.

  No dice.

  And women…beautiful, sensual, enchanting women. I admire the fairer sex. Their strength, their soft curves, their nurturing ways. I’ve been known to date from time to time, to admire a woman.

  To taste her.

  To love her body.

  To pull soft moans from her mouth the same way I pluck the grapes from the vine…

  With a firm, steady hand.

  I enjoy a glass of wine—or two, never more. I like the tang it leaves on my tongue, the warmth it brings to my skin; wine that’s been aged right here on the grounds where I walk. I’ve been known to even enjoy both vices at once from time to time, sharing wine with a lovely woman, under the moonlight on the shore, listening to the crash of the waves, listening to her laugh and talk.

  Always thinking, wishing…wanting…her to be someone else.

  Because though I have a taste for wine and women, my heart belongs only to one.

  Esme, the lovely princess of our rival family, the Russos.

  When she was younger, they called her perla negra, the black pearl, for those piercing big brown eyes and the way they contrast with her light hair. She’s impulsive and sweet and when I was a boy, she always rubbed me the wrong way, making me lash out in cruel ways, though I only ever meant to protect her.

  Esme is so light, so carefree. I not only worried over her…I envied her for
her easy smile, her carefree nature.

  Perhaps, it was because so much responsibility rested on my own young shoulders. My mother died just after giving birth to my youngest brother, Sergio, her fourth son. Something came over my father after that. He’s a good man…but when she died, his mind went somewhere…else.

  He became distracted. Reclusive. Easily irritated.

  Luckily, we had our dear grandmother Nonna, to look after us when she wasn’t caring for our sick grandfather. Thankfully, my father’s men were able to step in during those times my father went dark, teaching me and my older brother Lance and I what we needed to know. We broke our backs to earn the respect of our men, but we succeeded.

  As children, Lance and I knew we had to carry on the Romano legacy. As teens we worked our asses off, trying to keep up with men twice our ages, working the land, learning to run the family’s orchard and vineyard business.

  As we aged, we took on more responsibility. As brothers, we grew closer with each year, working as a team to take on the darker side of the business. The Wine Cellar, an underground gambling den, resides in a secret hall beneath the main building.

  Men come from all over the country to roll the dice and worship lady luck. Many of them are regulars, escaping their own cities to relax at our vineyard by day, drinking wine in the sun, making bets in our den by night, the air filled with the smoke from their cigars.

  We older brothers continue to grow the business.

  And as the years go on, my father backs further into the shadows.

  The men still look to him for direction as he is the head of the family.

  But they all know it is me who whispers in my father’s ear, advising him.

  I long for the day the men can come to me openly. It’s difficult to keep order and sometimes things fall through the cracks under his watch, but I would never disrespect my father by dethroning him.

  And so, I wait.

  I wait for my crown.

  And I wait for my queen.

  A slap on my back makes me jump, tearing me from my thoughts.

  It’s Lance, mischief sparkling in his dark eyes. That rogue lock hangs over his forehead, a dimple appearing on his left cheek as he smiles. “Snuck right up on you, didn’t I bro? Maybe you should be watching your back.”

  I sling my arm around his shoulders, turning us back to the house. “Why would I need to do that when I have you to do it for me?”

  He gives a laugh. “Work day is over. What’s got you staring out at the sea so hard you didn’t even hear me come up? Rethinking being a farmer? Thinking about trying your hand as a fisherman?”

  I try to joke. “Nah. Just plotting to take you out so I can finally be the head of the family when the old man kicks the bucket.”

  He gives pause. “Sometimes, feels like he already has.” His smile fades.

  We walk, a heavy silence between us until we reach the gate, both thinking of our father and how he used to be.

  I bring my hand to the gate, letting it rest on the metal bar. “What happened to that powerful bear of a man we knew? With the booming voice and big laugh? He could rally his men with only a few words.”

  Lance gives a shrug. “We were kids. He probably seemed bigger than he was.”

  “He did seem larger than life.”

  He shakes his head. “We shouldn’t speak of him like this.”

  “How?”

  “Like he’s already gone.” His smile returns but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Wine?”

  “Sure.”

  We walk through the gate into the courtyard, stones forming a circle under our feet, swirling around the olive tree that grows in the center of the court. The olive tree symbolizes the eternal link between man and the earth.

  There are five Romano men left.

  My father John, Lance, me, and our younger brothers, Rocco and Sergio.

  And one day, we will all go back into this Earth.

  It’s my job to make sure that day is as far in the future as possible.

  I ride my younger brothers hard, but only because I fear for their safety. They listen, for the most part, but they are still maturing and sometimes they cut their eyes at me and I know that they are thinking, You’re not my father.

  And I so wish they had the father Lance and I had growing up.

  Before my mother’s death.

  Before everything changed.

  Before that dark day.

  Before that heavy weight rested itself on my shoulders.

  Esme

  As a baby I was abandoned in front of the Russo family castle. Wrapped in a blanket and laid in a basket, my fate was set that day when Vincent Russo, king of the mafia, found me on his doorstep.

  They say I never cried. They say I reached up, wrapping my tiny fingers around his thumb. As if I knew this was meant to be. As if I knew, in my infant mind, this man would one day be my father.

  Last year, on Christmas Eve, he made our relationship legal, permanent, by officially adopting me. Making me the princess of our mafia. And nothing could have made me happier.

  But, today, on my eighteenth birthday, I find myself feeling a bit restless, unsettled. I’m pacing the stone floors of the castle, wearing lines on the red rugs with my boots.

  I need to get out of here—just for an hour. I grab my cloak, the dark one with the wide hood.

  I’m now an adult, but still under lock and key. Ever since I became his legal daughter, taking the Russo last name, Vincent’s feared for my safety. He won’t let me go anywhere alone.

  Today, for just a few hours, I want to escape the eyes of my father’s army, to leave the castle unencumbered by his guards.

  I do this from time to time…sneak out and wander the streets of the village like I used to when I was just Esme, a resident of the castle. We live in a seaside town in the countryside, our cobblestone Main Street could be straight out of a fairytale with its charming little shops, their doors painted in cheery yellows, blues, and reds. A constant, soft breeze blows in from the ocean, the salt air refreshing on your skin. It’s soothing and I need to be there now.

  Pulling on the cloak, I tug the hood over my hair, pulling it around my face. I head out through the big stone kitchen, the embers of a dwindling fire crackling in the fireplace. Sophia is napping in her favorite armchair in the corner, the velvet one with the pale pink flowers, her head lolled back, a book resting in her lap, her wire-rimmed glasses sitting on the top of her steel gray hair. I pause, risking waking her by giving her papery cheek a soft kiss—she’s been the best chosen grandmother an abandoned baby could have asked for.

  I slide past her and sneak out the back door.

  Keeping my head down, I make my way through the lower bailey to the main gates. There’s a group of workers leaving for the day, and I join their ranks, hoping to blend in. My boots crunch over the gravel. I hear a shout, wait up, and I startle, turning to see who’s calling out. It’s only one of the cooks, catching up with a friend. The shout was not for me. I breathe a sigh of relief.

  I pause a moment, gazing behind me, staring at the castle I’ve called home for so many years. Built of gray stone with tall towers and turrets, it’s the kind of castle fairytales are made of. The proud gothic cathedral stands behind and to the side of the castle, the walkway lined with green topiary trees, narrowing into cones as they rise from the ground. It’s where Vincent and his wife Felicity were married, and it’s where I hope to be married too, one day.

  I’ve always longed for a family of my own.

  A loving husband…and a precious baby.

  One I will hold in my arms.

  One I will never, ever let go.

  But today is for fun, frivolity, and being young.

  I hold my breath, tension rippling through my muscles as walk past the high stone walls. I glance up, seeing Vincent’s guards standing in open slats of the tall wooden galleries, overlooking the land.

  As I glide through the gates, a little ripple of excitement runs through me.
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  I’m free.

  If only for a few hours.

  I love the castle, in fact, it was my choice to begin university online, after graduating school, not wanting to leave home for a strange place. But still, when you turn eighteen, officially a woman, you need to take a few hours to yourself.

  Right?

  I think of Vincent. His stern brow and dark eyes, that gaze of disapproval he sometimes gives me. Oh, the trouble I will be in if he finds out. I shake my head.

  There’s no way he’ll find out.

  Every so often I slip past our walls, undetected, just for the fun of it, just for the thrill.

  I’ve never, ever been caught.

  Why should today be any different?

  We reach the dusty road that leads to Main Street. I break off from the group as they head down the narrower paths to their homes. I’ll go to town, maybe grab an espresso and one of those flaky chocolate croissants the bakery is known for.

  I’m licking my lips, dreaming of a delicious pastry when I feel a tug on the hood of my cloak. The cloth falls back, my blonde hair spilling out.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” I turn my head over my shoulder to see who’s tugged my hood.

  My stomach drops into my boots as I look right into the ice blue eyes of Luca Romano—my arch nemesis since childhood. He loved to yank the end of my braids and call me Goldilocks and basket baby, among other names.

  He’s an asshole.

  And was a schoolyard bully, always getting into fights with other boys. Now, he stands tall with broad, rounded shoulders, a full grown man. Four years my senior, I guess he is one.