Dark Mafia Heir (Mafia Vows #3)

Chapter 1

1

Vivienne

T he man sitting across the club has his dark eyes pinned on me. He’s swirling a glass of whiskey in one hand, while giving me a predatory smile that sends a shiver down my spine.

I’m celebrating my twenty-first birthday with my sister at De Angelo, one of the biggest Italian clubs in New York. My papa said today is the day I transition into full adulthood, which could mean a lot of things.

For girls outside the mafia, it might mean they’ve finally grown up to earn their freedom. But it’s different from girls in my world. For us, becoming twenty-one only means we’re way past the age to be traded off like breeding mares.

The man’s smile turns into a smirk as he signals for me to come closer.

I cringe, almost rolling my eyes. Does he think I am a stripper or something? Whatever, I don’t care. He gives me the ick.

I turn around to face my sister, who’s vibrating with the music and flipping her hair. Honestly, I can’t tell if she’s very excited or if she’s just drunk from all the drinks she’s had—which is only a few shots, by the way.

Harper is nothing like me. I’m a party animal, and my sister is the ladylike one—the one with good grades who makes our father proud. And she’s pretty, just like our mother used to be.

The only thing we have in common is our father’s emerald eyes. I look more like our mother with my straight red hair.

I poke my sister’s ribs to get her attention, and she shudders. “Are you okay?”

She stops flipping her hair and raises her head to look at me. Her emerald eyes crinkle under flickering neon lights, and she has the wildest smile plastered on her face. “I am. This is just so fun.”

I chuckle as I hold her hand and join in her dance. The bass thumps through my veins, syncing with the pulse in my ears as I let the music take over. I’m not thinking about anything except the rhythm, how it moves through my body, the way it makes me feel alive.

But more than the music, I am glad Harper is having some fun at last. “Come on, Harp! Don’t hold back!” I shout over the music, grabbing her hand and pulling her closer to the center of the dance floor.

We’re both so lost in the noise around us that I don’t notice the man from earlier striding towards me until he wraps his arm around my waist.

I jerk, repulsed from his touch, as I turn around to face him with a frown.

The asshole has the nerve to smile. “I see you girls are having fun,” he says. “I want in, and maybe we can go somewhere else from here.”

I tuck Harper behind me and square my shoulders. We’d sneaked out tonight and there’s no bodyguard here with us. A stupid decision I made in the heat of the moment—a decision I’m now regretting. Papa will be so mad if he finds out I got Harper in danger.

“The only place you’ll be going from here is your grave if you lay your hands on me again.” I tilt my chin, looking at him straight in the eyes, and ignoring the way my heart is pounding against my ribcage with fear.

“Feisty.” He pulls on his lower lip, eyes glinting with irritating lust under the flashing strobe lights. “I like it. I like you.”

I give him a once-over, at least making a feeble effort to assess him. Short dark hair sits in an unattractive mess on his head, his nails have dirt in them, like he works on engines at a car shop, and, worse, he smells bad.

Imitating Papa’s intimidating glare, I stand my ground and square my chin, hoping this loser gets the hint. “But I don’t like you. Scram, jerk face. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to have fun with.”

The wry smile melts off his face like heated wax rolling down a candle, and the real ugliness inside him is unmasked. Jerk face grabs my wrist, his fingers curling around my skin so tight, I know it’ll leave a mark as bright as a ruby bracelet. Snarling, he yanks me forward, momentarily cutting the breath from my lungs. I stagger. I didn’t see that one coming.

“Vi!”

“Stay back, Harper.” I wave her away, not wanting her even an inch close to this mad man. I am scared, terrified, in fact. My heart is running a marathon inside my chest, and my head is pounding.

But I’d rather fight until I draw my last breath than allow this man to even touch a hair on my sister’s head. She’s staring at me, lips quivering, fingers fidgeting helplessly, and eyes tearing up quickly. And I know, if I don’t do something soon, Harper is going to call Papa. And then all hell would truly break loose.

“I’m warning you for the last time: let me go, or else?—”

“Else, what?”

When his dirty finger touches my lips, my skin crawls, and a wave of nausea hits me at once. I want to puke and scrub off every trace of this man’s hand on my skin.

The world around us is still in crazy motion. It’s ridiculously loud. Neon and stage lights blink in rhythm to the ongoing beat while they jump, dance, and sing in unison to “Be My Lover . ”

The DJ cranks up the vocals, and the energy spikes to the roof. Jerkface pulls me closer, snaking his lean arm around my waist, while he peers into my eyes like he wants to steal my soul.

“Thinking of different ways you could scream, baby doll?” I hold my breath while his finger goes down my neck. His breath smells like citrus and rum, and it stirs the queasiness in my belly. “No one’s going to hear you.”

He is right, except I manage to release a supersonic scream; the party animals in this hall are most likely deaf. In a flash, an idea hits me; a sneaky strategy I’d seen Papa’s men use during sparring sessions. All I have to do is distract him and make a run for it with Harper.

“Fine.” His brow twitches, saying he doesn’t understand. “Let me go, and I’ll go with you wherever you want without making a fuss.”

A frown crosses his lips. “That easily? All of a sudden, after you asked me to leave?”

I try to keep my expression neutral and my tone, resigned to make him believe I sincerely agree with him. “Yes, because I am not stupid. I can see you are right; struggling is going to do no good in this noisy environment. So, let me go, and I’ll go with you.”

Doubtfully, he looks at me, and I hold my breath, praying this tactic works. That he actually falls for it and releases his hand from my waist to grant me the opportunity I need.

Five seconds pass— because my brain can’t stop counting how long it’ll take until freedom finally comes —and, after watching me closely like a hungry predator, he finally shrugs and drops his arm.

Perfect.

Elation and adrenaline had to be the best combination of emotion and energy that a human could experience, because that powerful combo flows through my veins, fueling my burning desire to put a fist in the man’s face, like dried sticks feeding a fire.

I don’t hesitate. I don’t pause. I curl my fist as tightly as I learned from Dabi, one of Papa’s men, and swing my arm, aiming directly at Jerkface’s jaw.

Screaming, Jerkface falls to the floor on his side, cursing, whimpering, and holding the side of his face.

But I am startled because my fist still hangs in the air. I didn’t touch him.

“That was a friendly warning.”

The rich, smooth, resonant baritone from beside me ignites a fire in my core, its vibrations coursing through me, spreading molten heat that tingles all the way down to my toes, and I turn around, only to be blown away by a sight too surreal to be true. Like a perfect stranger from one of Alisha Rai’s novels.

To top it off, he checks off all the other boxes; tall, dark-haired, and stunningly handsome. The type of handsome that makes you forget to look out for other characteristics of their personality. The type of handsome that makes a woman feel like a woman. She just wants to be in his arms, touch the hard lines of his muscles, and sleep on his chest. That type of handsome is this stranger standing beside me, glaring at Jerkface with cold, dark eyes that hold promises of death.

He slides his hand—the same one that sent the mad man crumpling to the ground—into one of his black dress pants pockets and raises a brow.

“What are you waiting for? Get out.”

Jerkface doesn’t waste another second. Without another word, he hops to his feet, clutching his bleeding mouth as he scurries away without looking back.

My hand drops to my side as Harper, and I stare at this hero in awe. Even though, technically, I am the only one between us who appears grateful to the stranger for literally swooping in to save the day. Harper looks terrified, probably still deciding whether to call Papa or not.

Slowly, I muster a small smile at the stranger, who still has his eyes trained on the shadow of my harasser.

“Thank you...” my words hang in the air while I sweep my gaze over this man’s striking features. Firm, bow-shaped mouth, chiseled jawline, eyes that don’t just look but see, and a classic fifties pompadour haircut. The stranger appears young, but his aura, the way his shoulders stand stiff, the swiftness of his punch, the hard lines at the corner of his eyes... everything about him oozes years of experience navigating through this crazy world.

Regardless, I am not deterred. Older man or not, he rescued me from the snares of that idiot. So, he deserves my gratitude. I try again.

“Thank you, sir.”

That startles him. A deep, sexy chuckle rumbles at the back of his throat, and with a smoothness that makes me fall even harder, he turns and faces me with a bedazzling smile. Dark eyes, the color of molten chocolate, lock on mine, assessing every inch of my body, from bare shoulder, down the length of my mini pink slip dress, making my skin tingle in awareness. I am feeling light-headed, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the few drinks I had, or the effect of this man not-so-subtly checking me out.

My knees wobble, and I clear my throat. Damn.

“Sir?”

I didn’t take note of it before, but now, as I listen keenly, I hear an accent. And the best way I can describe it is like a tempting roll of the tongue like olive oil drizzled over fresh bread, with his words stretching long and smooth, like melted mozzarella. My ears itch to hear more of it. I beam back, easily forgetting what brought him here in the first place.

“Is it strange to be called that?”

A playful glint crosses his eyes, like it’s fun to indulge me.

“No.” He shakes his head, still giving me that dark, delicious, intense look that swallows up the noise around us and makes me feel like I’m the only one in the room. “I’ll prefer if you call me by my name.”

I suddenly remember that I’m not the only one in the room. Harper. My eyes find hers, and I try to snap out of whatever spell this man has me in.

“I’m sorry, but we have to go.”

He looks over his shoulder and smiles at my sister. “Don’t you think I should buy your sister a drink? That man tried to ruin your night, but I can make up for it.”

Harper does not look too convinced. Her eyes tell me she is uncomfortable and wants to leave, but his charm seems to have worked on her, too, because she rubs her arm and nods. “Sure. You did help us, so I guess one drink is not too much to ask for.”

“ Grazie.” Thank you.

And my stomach dips with a warm sensation when it makes a seamless click. It makes so much sense, that poise, the insane level of unearthly beauty, and the accent.

He’s Italian.

By the time I snap back to the present moment, he’s telling Harper something about taking me to the bar across the street because the drinks there taste better. He extends the invite, but Harper doesn’t want to join in. He directs her to stay in his VIP section because it’s safer there and advises her to keep her phone close.

He’s a stranger, and we should not trust strangers, but I can’t help the tug in my chest as I watch their interaction and his gentleness with my sister.

Harper gives me a cautionary glance, one with a message: don’t hesitate to scream or call if you have to.

I nod. Message received and sent back.

Satisfied, she clutches her purse and walks away with a bodyguard we hadn’t seen standing there, leaving me and the perfect stranger alone.

“She’s safe, don’t worry.” He turns back to me and extends his arm. “Shall we?”

The music pounds through my chest, a deep bass that makes the floor vibrate beneath my feet, although I think my heart is beating for some other reason.

Shyly, I blush and hook my arm through his, allowing him to lead us through the sea of gyrating bodies and smooching partners. His tall frame, which stands out like a six-feet-three athlete, cuts through the masses like a knife, and I follow close behind, my fingers slipping into his without thinking.

We move towards the back of the club, away from the pulsing lights and sweat-slick air, to the back door with the neon exit sign gleaming atop. The heavy door creaks as he shoves it open, and a rush of cool night air hits me, sharp and refreshing against my flushed skin.

Quietly, I laugh when he closes the door behind us, blocking the thrum of the club, and ushers us into the narrow alley, dimly lit by flickering streetlamps at the far end. It’s quieter out here, but my heart’s still racing, the adrenaline the night pumping through my veins.

I brush my hair behind my ears. “This is crazy.” I smile up at him. “I don’t even know your name, and we’re in an alley.”

Mirth flashes through his eyes, but he just stands there in all his intimidating glory, with his hands tucked into his pockets. He looks sharper than a knife with a black button-down tailored for his broad chest.

“Antonio.” His shoulders nudge towards the bar at the other end of the street. “And I really did bring you out to get a drink across the street.”

Something cackles in the air between us, thick and suffocating, like static before a storm, and it pulses between us with every glance, every breath. It’s a heat that crawls across my skin, making the space feel smaller, until it’s just the two of us, locked in this silent, unspoken thing.

I swallow to find my voice. “But?”

There’s a dark, sharp flicker behind his eyes, somehow daring me to look away, but drawing me in at the same time. When he takes steps towards me, I take a step back.

He moves again, and I move back, slamming into a wall behind me. My pulse quickens, a steady thrum in my chest that echoes this tension cracking between us.

The corner of his lips curve upwards and I can tell he’s enjoying this. I square my chin, narrowing my eyes with a feigned defiance. “The bar is across the street. Why aren’t we moving?”

He’s too close, not close enough, and every nerve in my body screams for more, for less, for something to break.

“Because, what’s crazy is that I don’t even know your name, and I feel a crazy urge to kiss you senseless, until one of us gasps for air.”

Damn. That didn’t just leave his mouth. Did it?

My breathing falters as the heat flares higher, the tension pulling tighter like a thin rope about to snap, and I know he feels it, too. It’s in the way he’s standing, just barely holding himself back, as if one wrong word, one wrong move, and we’d be crossing a line we can’t come back from.

Nervously and on impulse, I blurt, “Vivienne. And it’s my birthday today.”

Hearing that seems to snap something inside him because his hands leave his pockets and find solace on my cheek, like he needed the slightest excuse to touch me. They are big and warm; I can’t help but lean in.

“I should give you a gift then.”

Gently, his fingers trace the curve of my mouth and the loud thrashing of my heart in my ears makes it hard to think or breathe. I should say no. I should turn on my heels and head back inside, grab my sister, and leave without looking back at this handsome Italian stranger.

This is escalating very fast, but I can’t bring myself to move from this spot. My body calls to his own; a wild, irrational yearning to feel the weight of the man on me, to know what it feels like to be suffocated by his strength. I want—no, crave—every inch of him. Every muscle, every taste.

He lowers his lips to mine, and my heart flutters when the dim streetlight casts a warm glow on his olive skin.

“ Buon Compleanno , Vivienne.” Happy Birthday .

When his mouth closes on mine, fireworks explode in my head. I grip his shirt, my fingers curling into the crisp fabric to steady myself. He cradles my face and moves against me like he fears I’ll break. I moan into his hot mouth, tugging on his shirt. I don’t want the restraint. I want him to unleash. For a moment, it’s just us, lost in a bubble of wild passion with no cares or worries.

Then, a crack splits the air.

I recognize the sound too well.

Gunshot.

I freeze, breaking our kiss as I pull away from him, the sound ringing in my ears. Panic replaces passion, fast and hot, and my mind snaps back to reality.

My sister is inside.

“Harper!”