Angel of Darkness (Lords of The Commission: New York #4)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

ALISON

3 years ago

“ W hy is it so important to you that I meet these men?” I asked my mother as we arrived at Nostro Imperium, the restaurant that served as a front business to the real profitable deals that were made in the shadows.

Cliché red checkered tablecloths and green cushioned chairs. Classy pizza, mouth-watering ossobuco, expensive wines, high dines, and deep pockets filled with dirty money. That was Nostro Imperium.

The name was spot on and clear enough for anyone with two brain cells to understand — Our Empire. Because that’s where the king of the New York underground ruled.

My grandfather, Giancarlo Battaglia, was the Cosa Nostra’s Don. The man who was both feared and respected by anyone who knew what was good for them.

“Because, amore mio, ” My love, she started, stopping in front of me and fixing the strands of my hair that had dared to leave their designated spot, “It’s better to have a choice than to have someone make it for you. They can’t give you away if you’re taken.”

I knew what she meant. I was a mafiosi princess, after all, which was synonymous with being a trading coin for the deals that required a blood sacrifice. My weight in gold wouldn’t hold a candle to the reward of marrying into the Battaglia cosca.

“Are they interesting, at least?”

“I think that what you need is boring and demure, not interesting. Meaning safe, Alison. That’s all I want for you.”

It’s not what I wanted for myself. Living a dull life painted in gray, with pearls-a-thousand to clutch like a lady. A white picket fence and fake smiles to hide the brain death of a normal life. That’s what my brothers wanted for me, too. They’d kept me away from this life as if theirs depended on it. Or maybe mine.

I was always in the dark. An outsider inside my own family. And if the killings and less mindful deal tactics made me thankful for it, feeling like the odd one out surely didn’t.

“Don’t tell me you brought the accountant?” I asked.

Jesus Christ, the expression on my mother’s face told me she had indeed invited the Barrington dude. What was his name? Harry? Beni? Not a single thing about him was memorable.

No, I’m lying.

It takes him forever to shut up. He’ll tell you the story of his life only to explain how hard it rained on his yearly trip to the Hamptons. He reeked of old money stashed in a hefty trust fund as deep as a hooker's pockets. Missionary for life, or maybe no sex at all because it’s dirty and can leave a mess on his precious, pearly-white satin sheets.

“Barry is a fine gentleman, Alison.” Barry Barrington. Need I say more? “He can give you the security a woman like you needs.”

“I thought I was supposed to stay away from Gentlemen .” I chuckled with absolutely no amusement in my tone, referring to the men of honor that had no right to entitle themselves as gentle men. Because they sure weren’t. “The only security I need in my life right now, Mom, comes from a belt, hopefully not mine, and wrapped around wrists, not waists.”

Not that I’d know if that’s what I like. I’m still a damn virgin at twenty-fucking-two.

“Alison!” My mother warned, her tone as repressing as the thought of marrying Barry Barrington just to steer clear from the life of crime my family led.

Did the ocean even hold enough pearls for innocent little Barry to grasp if he found out exactly how dripping red the money in his bank account really was? Or should I say, his father’s bank account.

“Let’s just get this over with, Mother .” I loved her to death, but every year since I turned eighteen, she tried to match me up with someone to escape my mafia princess fate. “It’s almost midnight, and Liam and I have a little tradition we can’t skip out on, so let’s just go inside.”

It wasn’t almost midnight. I just chose to think that way to make the parade that followed easier.

My birthday parties had quickly gone from glitter and unicorns to these huge, luxurious soirées, and all I looked forward to was the moment when my brother Liam gave me our secret escape signal and took me to one of the clubs they owned.

“Be nice.” Teresa Battaglia warned again, this time with a candid smile that melted any resolve in me while squeezing my shoulders for reassurance.

“Yes, Mom. ”

I turned on my heel and walked into Imperium, and the place was completely unrecognizable.

Most of the tables were gone, making space for a little dance floor, while the rest were pushed against the walls, covered in fine linen cloths. They held a variety of finger foods that looked up to standard for a three Michelin star restaurant, while waiters made their way through the crowd with champagne flutes.

The lights were low, dimming the place to a more intimate darkness. But not even that was enough to stop the piercing ray of ice-blue orbs from slashing straight through my chest as soon as I walked through the door.

Lord have mercy!

A man I’d never seen before stood alone towards the end of the room, his eyes as sharp as an eagle’s, watching everything and everyone. The scowl on his brow sent a shiver down my spine, and not even when our gazes collided did it soften.

If anything, it just deepened. And somehow, that sullen and closed expression was even more thrilling than an inviting smile. Maybe because that’s what everyone did when they saw me. Plastered a smile on their face, ready to wish me a happy birthday.

Why did I hate it so much?

I scanned the crowd with a smile of my own before letting my gaze float back to his. Those eyes were magnetic. I couldn’t help it even if I tried, and well, truth be told… I didn’t try.

He was one of my brother’s men, I was sure. A soldato. Not a single bit boring.

Not a Barry Barrington.

He was all ice and spice, most definitely not nice, and that thought alone was enough to intrigue me .

Matt, my older brother, was second in command, being trained and groomed to take over my grandfather’s place one day and rule over our kingdom. Their kingdom.

He was slowly gaining his place at the top of the food chain, and the newer ones tended to be sworn to him. I knew every other soldato in this place. Some of them since I was small, looming around my grandfather’s house where I’d spent most of my childhood.

But not him.

I was sure he wasn’t one of the eligible bachelors my mother had invited either. The edge of darkness on him was too sharp for him to be a good guy. It didn’t matter that his looks resembled an angel because the stain of crimson was embedded in his soul no matter how clean his hands appeared to be.

He had dark blonde hair that matched his perfectly groomed beard. A black fitted suit hugged his arms and thighs as if it had been sewn onto him instead of for him. Beneath it, an impeccable white button-down that showed just how sure he was that no blood needed spilling tonight. Any well-trained mafioso knew better than to wear white if the night promised bloodshed — no amount of club soda or holy water was enough to erase those stains.

He wasn’t one of those muscle mountains, but it was clear that if my fingers had the pleasure, they’d trace ripped abs and tight pecs. And those eyes? Their blue was so clear that it was bone-chilling.

Angel, indeed. But a fallen one for sure.

His glacial stare froze me to my spot for a moment as it traveled the length of my body before coming back up to my face. From frost to hell, his eyes had changed from indifference to reverence in under a second. Yet still, that scowl remained .

I couldn’t help but wonder what indecencies ran through his brain as he perused me from head to toe. What scenarios polluted that mind for him to look at me like I was a midnight snack and a walking STD in equal measures?

“Alison Battaglia. Beautiful as ever.” Barry’s monotonous voice said from behind me, and my eyes rolled in their sockets before I turned around.

“Larry,” I said on purpose, trying to tone down my annoyance since he interrupted what seemed to be a little moment between me and my mystery soldato .

Possessive pronoun, Alison? Really?

He didn’t even have a name, and I was staking a claim over the broody mafioso already. Maybe he was the easiest means to an end for a new adult like me to do exactly the opposite of what was asked of her. Mom would be so proud if she had access to my thoughts.

“Barry.” He corrected with a smile, taking my hand to his lips and placing a kiss on my skin. “I was thrilled to have received your invitation. I guess I left a pretty good impression to have such an honor.”

“Indeed.” I politely lied, following my mother’s warning to play nice. Little did I know how much that was about to backfire.

“I’m glad that’s the case. Because I think we’d be a perfect?—”

“ Fiore mio, ” My grandfather called as he approached us, and I was never so grateful for an interruption.

I have absolutely no interest in knowing what Barry and I would be perfect for, and honestly, I was dreading what was coming from his mouth.

“ Tanti auguri. ” Happy birthday, he continued, pulling me into a bear hug that practically covered my whole body. “Allow me the intrusion, Mr. Barrington, but it’s my favorite granddaughter’s birthday, and she’s barely set foot into her party. I’ll be taking her away to greet her family before other guests.”

I hid the snicker that rumbled in my chest at the disguised scold. What my grandfather was really telling Barry was that he should know his place and significance. In his old school Sicilian manners book, family always came first, and Barry keeping me from getting to them, at my birthday party nonetheless, was crudely rude and distasteful.

“Yes, Sir. I apologize.” I saw the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nothing but dry air, his face paling two shades lighter. Maybe Barry knew a thing or two, after all. “We can pick up where we left off later, Miss Battaglia.”

Hopefully not.

Barry scurried away with his little trust fund tail between his legs, making me notice those pretentious Sunday golfer loafers of his even more.

“Mom,” I said, replying to the silent question that had the great Giancarlo Battaglia’s brow lifted as he looked at me.

“I thought so. But he’s beneath you.”

He’d never be beneath me. The thought alone gave me the creeps. But that wasn’t what he meant. He wasn’t the kind of man my grandfather would choose for me, even if one day that could end up being an enemy.

Nonno guided me through Imperium towards my two brothers, who stood towards the end of the restaurant, their smiles wide and welcoming. Yet all I could see was the scowl of the mystery soldato who stood to my left, following each step I took as if my life depended on it.

“Happy birthday, Principessa .” My brothers said in turn, greeting me with a kiss on each cheek and a hug made out of love and pride. It didn’t matter how old I got. They still treated me like a six-year-old .

“Are we on for later?” I asked Liam.

“It’s tradition. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“That’s if Mom doesn’t marry you off before,” Matt chimed with a sarcastic grin on his face, taking another puff from his cigarette and hiding behind the cloud of smoke.

“Ha-ha, very funny. She’s just trying to make sure you don’t beat her to it.” I replied with my own little stab.

“Not that I’d ever marry you away, but at least I’d choose better.”

“Oh, sure, because all mafiosos are tall, dark, and handsome.”

“No, but they wouldn’t need Mom as a bodyguard.” Matt gave me a small nod, gesturing to something behind me, and to my astonishment, Barry Barrington had fallen into step behind my mother, marching towards us with his chest inflated like a damn peacock in heat.

No fucking thank you.

Without a second thought, I turned to leave, noticing those blue eyes set on me once again while all the other soldiers kept their heads down and their glares diverted.

In five wide steps, I was passing right in front of him, grabbed his hand, and pulled him to the middle of that makeshift dance floor. There was no resistance. As if understanding my predicament, he let me lead him away from his spot, even though the burn in my brother’s glower was hot on the back of my skull. Maybe even his.

I turned to face him, and his hand instantly landed on the small of my back. Warm and gentle, unlike the hard expression still etched in his features. I took the smallest step forward, fusing my body to his, my heavy breathing making me too aware of how hard my nipples were as they grazed against him.

Surely he couldn’t feel it through his suit jacket, right ?

His hold on me tightened. If there was breathing space before, now I was left with nothing but the riveting scent of his cologne. Masculine and dangerous. Alluring and mouth-watering.

Right on the curve of my ass, I felt his fingers curling into a fist, gripping my dress as he took a sharp inhale, his nose now buried in my hair. There was a rumble in his chest that I could only hear because of our height difference and the fact that my ear was now resting on his chest.

That sound was enough for my underwear to soak. There was something primal and urging behind it, as if it was a hunger rumble that came from his heart instead of his stomach.

Was he hungry for me? I’d never been devoured before, and at twenty-two, I was craving the experience more than I should admit.

I swallowed those intrusive thoughts and whispered something less dangerous instead. “Dance with me? Please?”