Ruin Me With Lies (Black Gold Sinners #1)

Chapter One

Stefano

A LONG TIME AGO, the Bible gave me a choice: God, or money.

Naturally, I chose money.

There are moments when I regret that choice.

Fleeting, razor-thin moments. Because when you kneel at the world’s altar, darkness isn’t just a shadow.

It’s a predator. It clings to you, invades your every pore, owns you.

And unless you learn how to master it, wield it, become it…

it will devour you. Leave you mangled. Begging for the God you rejected.

And right now, as I stare down at the text on my screen, is one of those moments.

Santo: In Vegas. Need to meet. Urgent. JB urgent.

Just like that, my spectacular mood is up in smoke. I was riding high half an hour ago. Walked out of my private grooming suite sharp as a blade. Fresh trim, beard lined to perfection, neck loose from a deep-tissue beatdown. Hands handled, smooth as silk.

And now… “Shit.”

Oscar, my driver, catches my attention in the rearview mirror. “Everything good, boss?”

“Not a chance.”

There was a time when seeing “Guy” on my phone screen meant good news.

But ever since “Guy” dropped his decade-long facade and revealed himself as Don Santo Luciani?

His name’s the last thing I want to see on my screen.

“Santo” brings me nothing but bad news and dire warnings. He’s a goddamn black cat.

An in-person meeting? Yeah, some shit’s about to go down.

But if that son of a bitch is here to dump ashes in my garden, he’ll have to wait.

I pocket my phone and step out of the car, straighten my jacket and cufflinks, then head inside the building, right up to Mayor Lucy Rainford’s office.

“You’re early.” She flicks her auburn hair over her shoulder and hits a button on her desk phone. “Renee, hold my calls.”

“I’m right on time.” I lock the door behind me and close the distance to her desk. “Did you get the signatures?”

She straightens from her chair, grabs a manila envelope, then sashays around the desk and perch that fine ass of hers on the edge. “I’m a woman of my word.”

I snatch the envelope and check the pages inside. Every signature’s right where it should be. “That you are.”

She tugs up her skirt, parts her tanned, toned legs, then grips my tie and pulls me in. “Time to pay up.”

When I was a boy, my papa told me: “With every warm body a man fucks, he leaves a sliver of his soul behind. Piece by piece. Until he wakes up empty. Soulless.”

Said it brings nothing but bad luck, misfortune, and an early grave.

Maybe it was bullshit. Maybe not.

But I chose to believe it. Chose to not have pieces of myself scattered in strangers. I’m greedy like that. Selfish like that.

Some men could fuck a hole in a wall and be just fine.

I’m not one of them.

If I’m going to be losing pieces of myself, it has to be for something more valuable than a fleeting orgasm. I’d rather go without than waste myself on a powerless pussy.

Pussy without power is a waste.

Sex, for me, is transactional. Sex is business. Always business.

I’ve got an irresistible appeal and a praised prowess, and I wield both like a weapon. My dick is its own currency. It speaks in the languages of high-level favors, leverage, blackmail…death.

And every time it’s used, a debt is owed. A price is paid. A power shift is sealed.

Since the mayor used her influence to secure me a big win, I’m more than motivated to take her on a euphoric trip to nirvana.

Twice the win for me. Because Lucy Rainford? She’s a fucking bombshell.

~

AN HOUR LATER, Santo Luciani saunters into my office.

A year ago, he was a brownnoser in suspenders and bowtie. A disguise so good we never saw the mafia don underneath. Now that mask is off, he’s all Italian cut suits, wing tips, and menace.

“Aw, you came all this way just for me? I’m flattered,” I say. “Let me guess, I made the naughty list again?”

“Narcissistic as always. No, I’m not in Vegas just for you.” He unbuttons his jacket and lowers into the armchair across from my desk. “But yes, you’re in deep shit.”

See what I mean? This fucker never brings good news. “Of course I am.”

We belong to THE O, the most powerful secret organization in existence. And lately, Santo has become the head honcho’s new favorite. Which is why he’s the one delivering this message.

“The short of it all? You’re on Black.”

Translation: I’m on the kill list. “Well, fuck. I’m all out of strikes, huh?”

“All out.” He leans back. “JB’s done with you. Thinks you’re irreverent, reckless, and a constant pain in the ass. Her exact words were, ‘He’s an insolent mongrel.’”

I let out a whistle. “Ooh. Be honest, she’s into me, isn’t she?”

He stares back at me. Stiff, stolid, impassive.

Man, I miss the old “Guy.” He was less of a tightass.

I’ve never been good at being controlled or following the rules. But no matter how high you climb, how much power you hold, there’s always someone more powerful. Someone to answer to.

Even if it’s death itself. The ultimate boss.

Fate accepted, I rock back in my chair, fingers laced behind my head. “How long do I have to get my affairs in order?”

There’s something else going on. THE O doesn’t do death warnings. When they decide you’re done, that’s it. That I’m even getting a heads-up about it is highly unusual.

“You were supposed to be assassinated last night.” His tone is flat, detached. “But…don’t ask me what changed. All I know is, she called it off. Decided to throw you one last chance.”

What? Who the fuck interfered with my death? I’ve been looking forward to its glory for a while now. “Who said I wanted a chance?”

Santo blinks at me like he doesn’t understand the question.

Right. Not many people are as welcoming of “the big end” as I am.

Santo continues, “They’re putting hot coals under your feet.”

Of course. We’re all JB’s little playthings, dancing to the beat of her drum. “What does she want? Me on my knees, begging? Because that’s never happening.”

He shakes his head. “Not her style.”

Wouldn’t know what her style is. I’ve never met the woman in person.

Have only ever seen her face once, when she randomly video-called me to tell me I’m a pain in the ass.

Cold, curt, threatening, she made it clear that if not for my familial ties to their East Coast kingmaker, Torin Garza, she would’ve buried me a long time ago.

People in power hate what they can’t control. Despise those who stand unflinching and untamed.

I should know.

“What is her style, then?”

He scratches his jaw. “How loyal is this city to you?”

“I rule with fear, not benevolence. Outside of the people closest to me, I’m convinced of no one’s ‘loyalty.’”

“Hm.” He tilts his head. “Not as narcissistic as I thought. That’s good.

” He leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“Because that loyalty is about to be tested. While you were busy grinding down the patience of the strongest ally you could ever have, someone’s been moving against you.

Right here. In your city. Right under your nose. ”

He lets that settle for a beat, then adds, “They’ve already locked in four strong allies who have agreed to back them when the time comes. And because of your unrelenting defiance? THE O let it happen.”

He checks his watch. “Now, JB’s stipulation: Uncover this person’s identity, their allies, and take them all out. Prove to her that this city is yours. You fail, then you don’t deserve this city. Or your life.”

Translation: she decided a clean assassination would be too dignified for me. A disgraceful fall at the hands of my own city, however? Savage. Wickedly cruel.

She’s got me right where she wants me.

This isn’t the first time power-hungry ingrates have tried to take me down. But here’s the thing about being hand-picked as king of a territory, no one can move me except the one who crowned me. Having THE O’s protection makes me bulletproof, invulnerable. Without it? Things could get…wild.

“And my protection? Is that gone?”

“Your protection is still in place. For now,” Santo replies. “My personal advice, though? Don’t trust it or rely on it. JB wants to punish you, so there’s a very high chance she will allow random cracks in the shield.”

“A simple point-blank execution would’ve been nice,” I grumble.

“They’ve also barred Red Cage—and that includes me—from helping you,” Santo adds.

“So here’s my last piece of advice: assemble a tight team, with people you trust implicitly.

Get yourself a tech expert. Restrict all details to that team.

Consider everyone else your enemy. Stay sharp.

Stay smart. Good hunting and good luck.”

With that, he stands, buttons his jacket, and walks out.

Goddamn black cat Santo.