The Don’s Secret Heir (Crowned in Sin #6)

1. Liana

LIANA

“I’m sorry, Li, but you’ve just got to find somewhere else to go,” Felicia Rossi, my stepmother who is only about six years older than me, says flatly. She sweeps her bleached blonde hair out of her face as I stare at her, shocked.

I can’t breathe. It’s like my windpipe has narrowed into a pinhole and I wheeze before I speak.

“Papa has only been missing for—” I start, but she cuts me off.

“Two weeks,” she barks, picking up Sonny’s things from around the living room and stuffing them into a box.

She doesn’t say it but I know what she means. Two weeks missing in the wiseguy lifestyle might as well be twenty years. I know that my father is probably dead, and I'm grieving him in my own way.

Our relationship was... complicated.

I watch as she shoves Paddington, his favorite bear, into the box and I grab it and snatch it away from her.

“You’re kicking out your grandson, too?”

Sonny, my little boy, turns six this year, and he’s always lived in this house. He’s never known anything else. Thank goodness he’s at pre-school right now, because this whole situation would stress him out.

“Grandson is a bit much,” she huffs. “I only met him two years ago.”

“Yeah, when you married my father!” I exclaim. “I’ve lived here my whole life and Sonny has too, you’re the newcomer. Why shouldn’t you move out?”

She looks at me, mouth agape, clearly offended. “I’m his wife. This house? In my name. His bank accounts? Also in my name. You think he wanted the feds to be able to track him?”

My father is... was an enforcer for the Gallo family. He’d been doing it since he was young, and he’d amassed a fortune that I’m not ashamed to say I’d gotten used to. My father had always taken care of me, and especially after I got pregnant with Sonny...

I swallow hard as Felicia thrusts boxes into my hands, a pit in my stomach. Where will I go? What will I do? I’ve never lived outside my father’s house. I draw in a deep breath, trying not to panic.

“You’re really doing this? Kicking us out into the cold?”

“You’ll be fine,” she says, and it’s clear from her actions that she doesn’t care what happens to me or Sonny. “Call Sonny’s father.”

I feel the blood run out of my face. Sonny’s father.

A slow grin, dimples popping out of his cheeks, making him look ten years younger. Closer to my age.

His hands, large, long, pianist's fingers driving me mad as he trails them along my skin.

I was the one to walk up to him, the one that started all of this. It was at a mobster dinner party, a particularly boring one.

I was there with my cousin, Marisa, and she was a mobster groupie at the time, wanting only to date those in power. So she insisted that we ride along with my father when he went to the meet.

I found it boring, but Marisa acted like it was the most wonderful place on earth. She was like a kid in a candy store, and I... well, I stood out like a sore thumb.

My hair, bleached blonde at the time, was straightened. My olive skin, which outed me as Italian, looked like a mere tan since the winter had been cold and I’d stayed in the house.

My father disappeared into a room with Viktor Gallo, and I made a beeline to the bar, needing to get some alcohol in my system.

The man with the slow grin and the dimples was leaning over the bar, hitting up the bartender. I should have just moved on, but God, he was handsome. Dark, unfathomable eyes. A slow grin, dimpled and sexy.

There was just a hint of gray around his temples, his face unlined, jaw sharp. He was closer to my father’s age than mine, I could tell just from the way he held himself.

“Hello, if you’re done bothering the bartender, I’d like a martini,” I grumbled as I stalked up to the bar.

The bartender looked at me and laughed. “Vodka or gin?”

“Vodka. And filthy.”

She nodded and went about her task while the older man’s eyes turned to mine.

His were a soulful, dark brown, almost black. And they looked intrigued as they stared down into my face.

“And who are you?”

“Who are you?” I asked pointedly, and he chuckled.

“You know who I am.”

I stared at him. “I really don’t. My father works for Viktor Gallo.”

He frowned. “You really don’t?”

I shook my head. “Not everyone knows who you are, Mister Ego.”

He blinked at me, as if surprised, and then barked out a laugh. “Alright, miss. I’ll bite. What’s your name?”

“Liana Rossi. My father is—”

“Dante.”

I nodded slowly. “So you know Viktor?”

“Unfortunately,” he drawled.

I bit my lip. I didn’t want to say Viktor was a good man—he wasn’t—but he’d been good to me. Good to my father.

“He’s your enemy?”

“He’s certainly not an ally.” He shifted, turning to face me. “I’m Dario Conte.”

Conte. I’d heard the name, knew Dario was an up-and-comer. His father was the one with the power, but Dario did a lot of the legwork.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said politely.

“You wanna get the hell out of here?” he asked, leaning down to whisper it in my ear.

I frowned. “I haven’t even gotten my martini yet.”

He grabbed the martini out of the bartender’s hand, sliding her a folded hundred-dollar bill. “Drink.”

I looked at him curiously for a moment, trying to decide if I wanted to throw caution to the wind. I looked around for Marisa but of course, she was nowhere to be found. Probably hooking up in a linen closet somewhere.

I shrugged and chugged my martini, the vodka burning down my throat before I placed it on the bar.

Dario grinned and took my hand.

We made it as far as the elevator before he stepped closer to me, backing me up against the wall.

I looked up at him, my breath catching in my chest.

“My place or yours?” he hummed, his voice low, like honey spreading across my skin. His breath felt hot on my throat, he was so close.

“Yours,” I mumbled. I didn’t bring men home since I lived with my father. Not only would it be awkward, but he’d interrogate them. He was a little overprotective.

Dario brushed his impossibly soft lips across my throat and moved away as the elevator doors opened.

Then he interlocked our fingers and tugged me to the valet, who brought around a cherry red muscle car.

I raised an eyebrow. “Flashy.”

He chuckled. “You’re the only person in town who doesn’t know my face, so I saw no reason to be subtle.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“Thank you. I restored her myself,” he said proudly.

He opened the door for me and I slid onto the soft leather, my breath catching in my throat again as he buckled my seatbelt for me, brushing across my body with his chest as he did so.

The muscle car appeared to be a manual, and something about watching him shift the gears made heat coil up in my belly.

We arrived at an apartment complex, going up the elevator to the penthouse. I glanced over at his ring finger—bare.

Surprising. Usually when mobsters had a penthouse like this, they were hiding from a wife, a family.

“You’re not married?”

He glanced at me as he unlocked the door with a code. “Would it matter if I was?”

I scoffed. “It would to me.”

Dario turned to me as he pushed the door open with one broad shoulder.

“Oh? Morality? Don’t see much of that in this life.”

“I’m no saint,” I mumbled, slightly embarrassed.

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound making my lower stomach clench with need.

Everything about him was sexy, from his tailored suit and the white gold watch on his left wrist, to the low timbre of his voice. It wasn’t like he was the first hot mobster I’d encountered, but I had to be honest with myself—it'd been a while since I’d wanted someone so badly.

“Could have fooled me. I’m not married, though. Never even thought about it.”

“Why not?”

He barked out a laugh, his brown eyes sparkling with mirth as he looked down at me. He cupped my face with one hand, brushing his thumb across my cheekbone.

“Do you really want to have that conversation right now?”

“I guess not.” My voice dropped to a whisper as I tilted my chin up.

He gave me an unrelentingly sexy half-grin, a dimple appearing in his cheek, before he leaned down to press his lips against mine.

I opened my mouth immediately and I didn’t have to wait long before his tongue traced my bottom lip, delving into my mouth.

I melted against him, my arms going around his neck. He moved his hands to my hips, pulling me close against him, my breasts bouncing against his hard chest.

He threw his keys down on the counter and picked me up, pinning me against the wall of his living room with his body.

“Oh,” I gasped when his hands skated down my curves, pushing up my dress, bunching it around my hips.

I wore only a beige thong under my dress. It was a tight one and didn’t leave much to the imagination. His dark eyes scanned my body, his gaze moving over my ample cleavage.

His long fingers trailed up my thigh, making me draw in a sharp breath.

“This what you wanted, pretty girl? To be touched? To be wanted?”

“Yes,” I breathed. I squeezed my eyes shut when he slid his fingers through my wetness, groaning against my neck as he presses his face there.

“So wet already.” He pressed two fingers inside me, up to the second knuckle but not quite deep enough.

I rocked my hips for more friction, whining, but he just chuckled again, scooping me up by my ass and thighs and carrying me to his bedroom.

The whole penthouse was well-furnished—leather couch, leather recliner, black silk sheets on his bed. I didn’t have time to appreciate it as he put me down.

He stood at the end of the bed with my legs wrapped loosely around his hips, looking down at me. His erection was obvious in his tailored slacks, thick and heavy against his thigh.

“Look at you, all spread out for me, pretty,” he murmured, and then his fingers pressed back inside me and I arched my back, crying out.

“More,” I pleaded, my body on fire from his touch. “I want more, please, Dario.”

“You do remember my name,” he mumbled, his eyes on my body instead of my face as his fingers pumped in and out of me. “I’m going to make sure you remember it for a long time.”

God, how true that turned out to be.

I blink, coming back to myself as Felicia shoves the box of Sonny’s toys into my arms. I look at her for a long moment, wanting to hit her, narrowing my eyes.

But... it’s not worth it. She’s not worth it.

So I go, thankful that I’ve kept up with my savings. I have about three grand in an account that’s in my name, but that’ll go fast. Especially with hotel rooms. I groan and go to a nearby hotel, checking in and setting up the room for me and Sonny.

What am I going to tell him when I pick him up from preschool? That his beloved Papa is missing, probably dead, and his asshole grandmother kicked us out?

I sit down on the edge of the hotel bed, looking into space.

What the fuck am I going to do?