The Darkest King: A Dark Mafia Romance (The Dark Kings of NYC Book 1)
Chapter 3

From the back of the room, I watch the tall, handsome billionaire speaking on stage. Mack stands several feet away from me, and Connor is holding every single person in the room hostage with his timbre, deep voice, and power.

Then again, who isn’t intrigued by a billionaire?

As if the act of listening to them could make you richer or gain even a small percent of the power and success they have.

Pfft.

Not me. I’ve seen what power does to a man.

Still, as much as I’m trying to resist, Connor Barrett is drawing me in. I just can’t look away.

In the flesh, he’s so much more. Gorgeous? Yes. But people can be beautiful and not make an impact. There’s an energy about this man unlike anyone I’ve met before.

Everybody has a unique energy signature. I learned that from my uncle. He said that’s how you can tell the truth of a man. How dangerous they are. He said it’s not the darkness of their eyes or how they hold themselves, or even their tattoos and piercings.

All of that is manufactured.

The essence of a man, my uncle Antonio said, could only be felt. And should be heeded.

“Use your heart, Mia,” he would say, “not your head.”

Power and control radiate from Connor Barrett—that’s for sure—but when I close my eyes and listen to him speak, I begin to feel his truth.

And his lies.

He does care about this cause, but he doesn’t want to be here.

In a wet tuxedo? I don’t blame him.

The crowd breaks into loud applause, and I open my eyes. People stand to greet him and shake his hand as he steps down off the stage and networks the room. His eyes reach me through the crowd, and I’m filled with that same searing heat.

Why is he singling me out?

Is he as attracted to me as I am him, or does he just want to ensure his dry cleaning gets done?

I nearly snort.

He will have employees to do that.

I’m not going to pretend there isn’t a chemistry between us, but I’m surprised he’s acting on it. Even the simple glances across the room.

He’s a powerful man and could have anyone he wants. Not a clumsy events coordinator.

In truth, I know I’m pretty. I have long dark hair, long eyelashes—thank you, Italian genes—and plump lips. But I’m five foot five, small-boned, and my hair is currently up in a messy bun. Along with my Bloom Events Management T-shirt, I’m wearing a boring black business skirt, which ends at my knees.

I don’t even have lip gloss on, which is rare as I am usually pedantic about it. Pulling it out of the fanny pack tied around my waist, I slide some on. Vanilla. I have about a dozen different flavors, but this is my favorite.

Rubbing my lips together, I glance up. Connor is staring at me while talking to some people.

I look away.

I can’t believe I poured bourbon on him. It was a glass I’d planned to take to our private room after a guest advised it had a crack. We hired crystal cut glasses for this event, so there was no way I was throwing it in the trash. Donna will want a refund. The cost per glass was insane.

Suddenly, I wonder if Connor has recognized me.

I don’t recall him being at any family events, where I would’ve been dressed in a designer gown, with full make-up and sparkling jewels. Quite different to how I look today. Even if he had noticed my slim figure and unusual light blue eyes, back then I would’ve been far too young for him to replace beautiful.

At twenty-four, I’m a decade younger than Connor.

Plus, if he’d been caught appreciating my beauty, he’d be swimming with the fishes by now. As my family would say.

Yeah, I know. Total cliché.

It would be funny if I hadn’t grown up replaceing bloodstains in the backs of cars or in the basement. Or worse, witnessed men being dragged—screaming or with a bag over their heads—through the front door.

My mother used to yell at my father and tell him to keep the business out of the house. Like they were bringing home boxes of cookies or car parts.

Not murder.

It didn’t matter. My father had ignored her wishes right up to the day she died, five years ago.

Rest in peace, Mama.

Just as my mind goes to that miserable place, Sienna comes skipping over and presses her shoulders up against mine. “OMG, Mia. One of my ovaries just exploded.”

“What?” I ask, my eyes flying open.

Sienna is my best friend. I have friends from growing up and the university, but Sienna and I clicked on a whole different level. The day I started working at Bloom Events, she immediately took a dislike to me. Donna put us to work on a project together, which seemed counterintuitive, but by the end of the week, we were best friends.

Sienna said she didn’t like me because of my beautiful icy blue eyes. I was too pretty, she said, and in her experience, pretty girls were always bitches.

While not a statistical truth, I had an inkling it was because Sienna had spent her life believing she was a wallflower. After telling me how boring-looking she was—and that her parents had repeatedly told her she needed to do well at school because “ugly kids needed to work harder in life”—I was ready to send one of my father’s men over to off them.

Momentarily.

I felt very protective of Sienna.

What irked me the most was she was gorgeous.

If only she would believe it.

That’s the thing about belief patterns—you almost created them when you bought into them.

One night, soon after we’d become close, I went to Sienna’s and did her hair and makeup, taking a couple of dresses with me for her to wear.

She nearly fainted when I let her look in the mirror.

Talk about sex goddess.

But she hadn’t felt comfortable, so we had toned it down, and she still got hit on all night when we finally left the house.

Slowly over the last two years, she has grown more comfortable in her skin and started to see how unfair her parents’ comments were. I can’t judge. My family is the furthest from perfect, but I still hate what her parents did to her.

I love Sienna completely. She is the first real best friend I’ve ever had. The only thing I haven’t shared with her is my real identity.

Okay, so that is a huge thing.

Sienna doesn’t know who I am, and it needs to stay that way for her safety.

What I will do if Joe makes me go home, I don’t know.

I’ll deal with that issue if it arises.

Sienna giggles, drawing my attention back to her. She nudges her chin in Connor’s direction.

“Don’t what me. Connor Barrett. Are you broken? Please tell me you noticed how hot that man is. Seriously, I know you’re picky, Mia, but that man is a ten going on twenty.” She laughed.

Oh, I noticed. Too damn much.

“Fine, yes, he’s a ten,” I reply, shooting Mack a glance and hoping he can’t hear us. My pride would die a quick death if he had.

“What I wouldn’t give for a night with a man like him.” Sienna sighs. “Do you think he’d be as good as all the books and movies make billionaires out to be? All dark and broody, making you come just by looking at him.”

I snort.

Sienna reads way too many steamy novels. Her sense of reality is a little unhinged. Twelve-inch cocks could wound a woman, and not in the have a bath and I’ll be fine for round two in a moment kind of way.

Not that I’d know.

I’ve slept with only two men.

“Just with a glance? No.” I laugh. “A bank balance doesn’t make someone a good lover.”

Except she is sure Connor Barrett has an offer every night of the week here in Manhattan to do all the practice he needs to be a very good lover.

She isn’t offering. Maybe in another life.

“Maybe they take lessons,” Sienna muses, holding her tablet up to her chest while she watches Connor.

His eyes replace mine and hold for a moment, before drifting back to the man he’s speaking with.

Damn, now he’s going to think we’re talking about him. Which we are. But the last thing I need is for him to think I’m interested in anything except his dry cleaning.

I’m not.

I press my thighs together. Fine, yes, if he threw me against the wall and kissed me passionately, I wouldn’t be able to stand afterward, and I’d like a lot more.

But he’s Connor Barrett, and I’m Mia Mancini.

He donates to good causes, and my family destroys societies. Plus, if I have only two weeks left of freedom, spending a night of it tasting the sweet pleasure of a man like Connor would be bittersweet.

Call it self-preservation.

I just can’t.

“Lessons? I think they call those teachers prostitutes,” I say, and we share a giggle. “Connor Barrett doesn’t need to pay for sex, I can tell you that.”

“I’m suddenly considering a change in career.” Sienna smirks, then nudges me.

I shake my head and laugh.

“Gotta go,” Sienna says when Donna instructs the teams through our comms earpieces. She shadows Connor around the room as he glides from group to group, cleverly making his way to the exit.

“Hey,” I call out to Sienna, “see you tomorrow night.”

The event is close to finishing, and it’s possible we won’t see each other during the pack-up of a function this size.

Every Sunday night, after the mandatory weekly lunch with my family, Sienna and I go to Toast Bar for drinks and dinner. Her friends, Duncan and Isabelle, quickly adopted me into their group, and they’re like a salve to my soul after being back in the mafia world.

Normal and full of hope and optimism about life.

“See you there. Oh, and can you bring my silver shoes?” Sienna says, referring to the pair I recently borrowed, and I nod as she disappears.

There are a dozen things I could be doing, but instead, I remain by the exit, waiting for Connor to leave, as he requested.

Bloom Events is Donna’s baby. She creates some of the biggest and most notable events in NYC. Tonight’s is not as big as some of the more lavish events we put on; however, the people in attendance are dripping in money. A man like Connor Barrett is important, so I’m not moving an inch.

“Excuse me, Ms. Mancini,” one of the conference employees says. “We’ve increased the heat in the room, so it should be okay now. Also, can I get your signature on this form?”

A request that took way too long to be actioned.

I take note to give Donna feedback so we can consider it when looking at this venue in the future.

“Thank you,” I reply, receiving the folder and scribbling my initials.

As she walks away, two things happen.

Mack takes a couple of steps toward me and I stiffen, feeling a body behind me. I’ve had a bodyguard all my life. I know the signs, I know who it is, but more than that…

I can feel him in my veins.

I swallow, hating the way my body has reacted to Connor, heating, without even seeing him.

I turn. “Mr. Barrett—”

Oomph.

“Lucky I put my drink down.” Connor’s dark chocolate eyes sparkle as he takes hold of my arms, keeping me upright after I faceplanted his chest.

Jesus, could he stand any closer?

I stare up at him, trying to suppress my scowl, knowing he did it on purpose. When our eyes lock, we both drop the act and chemistry explodes.

His gaze follows my tongue, which sweeps nervously over my lip. Nervous because this man is so masculine, so powerful, and so much more than any other man who has touched me before.

I need to get away from him as soon as I can.

I know my father has men checking on me. Someone could be in this room, and I’d not know. I’ve seen people in the shadows. Cars parked across from my apartment.

Less these days, but they are still there.

He wouldn’t leave me unguarded.

I’m the mafia princess, after all.