The Darkest King: A Dark Mafia Romance (The Dark Kings of NYC Book 1)
Chapter 17

The last of the boxes are taken upstairs, and I leave Mack to see the movers out. Since leaving the marines, I haven’t shared a living space, so it will take some adjusting having Mia in my home.

The novelty of having her sexy body to fuck whenever I want will soon wear out. Not that it’s why I’ve agreed to marry Mia Mancini, I remind myself.

I’m playing two fake roles here.

The first as her fiancé, as far as the world and her family are concerned. The second as a billionaire who wants a woman to fuck while benefiting from the trust she’ll get paid once we marry.

Jesus, she must think I’m an asshole.

I walk upstairs and replace Mia in the guest room, going through a box. She’s in a pair of light sweatpants and a tight sleeveless sports top.

“You can store things you don’t need in here, but you will sleep in my bedroom,” I say, sticking with the role I’ve adopted.

I’m mildly concerned about the nightmares, but she’ll hear them if she’s in my bedroom or the guest room, so I’ll deal with it when it happens.

Mia turns her head.

“I know,” she replies with a sigh. “Do you really want me sleeping in your bed? Why don’t I sleep in here, and we can…you know…then go our separate ways.”

I almost smile.

Instead, I crouch and make her look at me. “And when your family visits and sees your bedroom? What then?”

She lets out a groan.

“I’m not fucking with the mafia and doing this halfheartedly. If I’m going to lie to Joe Mancini, we do it my way, or not at all.”

She turns back to her box and mutters something about I could say you snore.

“Mia…”

She climbs to her feet in a rush as I stand. We collide. I grab her arms and fight the urge to slam my mouth down on hers.

“What?” she asks breathlessly, just as affected by our closeness.

Which is not the plan.

I’ll fuck her and enjoy it, but I don’t want to desire her this much. This powerfully. Not like this. Not like I need her lips on mine in the next sixty seconds.

Then, I remember. I’m not a gentleman, and I’ve told her I will take what I want from her, so I pull her tightly against my chest and lean down so our eyes meet, our mouths inches apart.

“Kiss me,” I demand.

Her pupils turn dark, the mist of that blue ice sparkling as she fights her desire. Then her lips part, and as I start to close the gap, Mia’s meeting me with the same passion we had the first night.

Our lips crush.

I sweep my tongue inside and reach around to press her against every inch of me. My other hand threads through her long dark hair and grips it as our kiss deepens.

God, I wasn’t imagining it. She still tastes so damn sweet. Cinnamon and honey.

I take from her, wanting to throw her over my shoulder and fuck her on every surface in this damn penthouse. Then I remember I have something important to do. When I force myself away from her moist, hot mouth, she lets out a sexy moan. I hold her eyes, then lick my lips.

Mia slides down my body slowly and looks at me in question. Waiting.

I take a step away, my hand on her hip, and slip my hand into my pocket, pulling out a small box. I glance quickly around the guest bedroom filled with boxes and hate this is how she’s being proposed to.

Nathan is right. This is fucked up.

A flash of anger spears through me. No one gave my family a second thought when Carlos was shooting bullets into their bodies. When he shot Rebecca dead at only three years of age.

Mia Mancini is a means to an end. My doorway to the revenge I deserve.

Get on with it, Connor. This is fake.

I release her hip and open the box. Her eyes drop, then she gasps.

I hate how happy that makes me.

I understand why, though. The eight-carat square solitaire diamond set in platinum is simply stunning.

Her eyes dart to mine in awe, then she breathes out my name. “Connor.”

Goddamn her.

“It has to be believable,” I growl, ignoring the wistful look in her eyes, and take her hand. It’s warm in mine, and I fight the urge to squeeze it and make her smile.

This is so fucking wrong.

I slide the two-million-dollar ring on her finger. When our eyes connect, I see her vulnerability and hate myself.

“One day, Mia Mancini, a man who deserves you will do this a whole lot better that I just have. Someone who loves you.” I then drop her hand and walk away.

I ignore the noise she makes as I keep walking.

Because I can’t do this if I care.

My family deserves to be avenged.

I will protect Mia as much as I can, but the fact remains, she will hate me at the end when she learns the truth.

I WAKE WITH Mia lying across my chest.

She was already asleep when I went to bed. I wanted to give her space—or perhaps it was me who needed it, after putting that fucking ring on her finger—so I undressed, slid under the covers, and pulled her body up against mine.

Our limbs were not strangers after our first night together, but it surprised me when she wriggled in her sleep and then settled.

My cock hardened, and as my fingers drifted over her hips and down between her thighs, her body reacted. Her legs slid apart to give me access.

“Good girl,” I growled into her hair, pressing inside her.

When she arched and let out a little sleepy moan, I began pumping. Slowly at first, then harder. The need to fuck her, the woman now wearing my ring, overcame me in a way I did not expect.

I thumbed her clit, and it didn’t take long before she was panting and pleading as her orgasm struck. As if she had needed my touch all day. I then flipped her onto her back and positioned myself, lifting her legs over my shoulders.

Icy blue eyes connected with mine in the moonlight, and fuck me, they had the power to reach under my skin.

“Condom,” she said, and I cursed.

Fuck. How could I have forgotten?

Once sheathed, I slid the head of my cock inside her and lifted my eyes to hers again. When she blinked, I stilled.

“Tell me you want this,” I growled, realizing there was no way I could do this without her permission.

“I want my freedom, so yes,” Mia replied, after a really fucking long second.

Fury stormed through me. I leaned down and gripped her jaw. “Then tell me you want me to stop.”

She winced, her body tugging my cock inside her, and I smirked.

“Didn’t think so,” I replied and thrust deeper inside her.

Mia arched, gripping my arms, and her nails dug into me with all the passion and desire she was trying to hide. One arm on the sheets beside her, the other on her hips, I slammed in deep, pulling back and then again. Anger and desire weaved its way between us as we fucked each other for our own reasons.

She wanted freedom.

I wanted revenge.

I realized then there was no way this was going to end well.

Afterward, Mia closed the door in the master bathroom, and when she came out, I did the same. I tossed the used condom in the trash, cleaned up, and then leaned my palms on the marble and stared at myself in the mirror.

I am a hard man; I know that.

Seeing your parents murdered in cold blood would do that to a man. But Mia’s touch, those eyes, the softness of her skin, is doing something to me.

Perhaps it is a natural need to protect someone innocent, but the thought of her being handed to a gangster who will fuck her rough and abuse her makes me want to kill.

Nobody touches Mia. She is mine.

The hell? She doesn’t belong to you.

Stay on task.

When I returned to bed, Mia was rolled in a ball, unlikely to be asleep but clearly wanting space. I lasted about twenty minutes, lying prone and staring at the ceiling, until I pulled her into my arms, and within minutes, I was asleep.

I stayed asleep.

No nightmares. I don’t have them every night, but I’m pleased she won’t wake and question me about it so soon.

It will come, I have no doubt.

Now she’s breathing softly, her hair tickling my chin and hand tucked around my bicep, which is flexed because my arm is propping my pillow up. She’s like a damn jigsaw piece fitting against me at every angle.

I watch the sun rise behind the buildings, creating an orange haze in my bedroom, and as I glance around, I wonder what Mia sees.

It’s huge, with a giant bed covered in black silk sheets. There’s also black cabinets and a chaste lounge in the corner of the room. Black, of course. But there is a cream cushion.

She probably likes that.

And the matching soft cream rug, which lies in the middle of the room over the polished wooden floors.

Everything is hard and masculine. Like me.

Even the artwork hanging on the far wall.

She must hate it. I will let her redecorate, but no fucking pink.

“What’s wrong?” Mia asks, startling me.

My eyes drop to hers, and I brush the hair from her forehead.

“Morning.” I shift and tug her against me. Playing the part.

After all, she’s here for my sexual enjoyment—that’s the deal we agreed to and what she expects from me.

“You look unhappy,” Mia says, blushing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to use you as a life-size pillow.”

Yeah, I’m miserable. Waking up with a gorgeous woman draped over me is hell. Utter hell.

“I think I can defend myself.” I smirk.

“So, you’re just not a morning person?” Mia’s eyes graze over my face. She’s trying to analyze me. It’s what people do when they’ve lived with controlling parents. The goal is to be one step ahead of the issue to survive.

I don’t like that she doesn’t trust me, but she shouldn’t.

“I could show you how much of a morning person I am, but I suspect you might be sore,” I say, letting that sink in.

She presses her lips together, and I palm her ass, nudging her against my hard cock and suppressing a groan.

“Get in the shower while I go workout. We have press to meet with this morning.”

Mia sighs, her eyes moving to my lips as if she wants me to kiss her. Does she?

Then something else occurs to me.

“Think you can pretend to be my fiancé?” I ask. “Appear to be madly in love with me. Kiss me like you can never live another day without me?”

I’m taunting her.

“I’ve kissed you,” she says, sounding almost offended.

“Like you want to fuck me, not marry me,” I reply, my brow quirked.

Her eyes move from mine and roam the space behind me. I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking. She hasn’t asked me the same question in return.

Can I convince the press I’m in love?

I don’t know.

It’s not like they’ll expect I’ve turned into Ryan Gosling overnight because I met a woman I loved. I’m not the type of man into public displays of affection.

I’m stoic.

Yet we need to be convincing.

“I don’t know how I’d kiss a man I love,” she finally says, surprising me. “I’ve never been in love before. Have you?”

“No,” I answer without hesitation.

We need the world to believe us, so we better get it right. Convincing her father will be a whole other challenge. While I’ve not met Joe Mancini, I know powerful men. They’re clever and astute.

He also knows his daughter, and I bet he’ll spot a fake relationship a mile away. We have two days until we go to dinner to perfect our act.

Either she’s an excellent actress, or I need to make it look like we’re madly in love. I decide a little manipulation is in order.

“Well then, you’ll probably be as unconvincing as me,” she says, pressing at my chest.

I rise over her, and my nostrils flare when she draws in a little gasp. “Sweetheart, I’ll make the world believe you’re the love of my damn life. I’ll kiss you so damn passionately, even you’ll be wondering.”

Then I lower my mouth, and as those big blinking eyes watch in anticipation, I move to the side, kiss her neck, then climb out of bed.

“You’ll have to wait for the cameras.” I walk out of the bedroom and head to my gym.

Naked.

I know she’s watching my ass.