Broken Crown Read online

  But what good would that do? Would that help my cousins? My best friends? Would that have saved Del all those months ago?

  The answer is a resounding no.

  So running would be to save myself, and from what?

  Everyone dies.

  Everything ends.

  I can’t stop it, just like I can’t keep myself from breathing.

  I rub my eyes, exhausted as hell, and join Del on the couch. I don’t look at her left hand, the same one that wears a diamond ring my family may as well have shoved onto her finger the minute we realized what we had to do.

  It wasn’t romantic.

  I wonder then, how she will tell our story? If she could tell it her way? If we have kids, maybe when we have kids, will we say it was an arrangement, or will she lie about a beautiful story where the king saves the queen?

  “You look tired,” she says without even looking at me.

  I snort. No shit. “I’m always tired.”

  “I bet.” She nods her head like she knows then turns to me. “You really should sleep more.”

  I want to kiss those full lips so bad it’s physically painful to sit still. I watch her instead. I look into her green eyes, and I tell myself that in another life, this would be the moment, you know the one.

  The one where you kiss the girl. Confess your love. Tell her all the amazing reasons you want to spend your life with her and pray to God you have enough time to spend with her until you burn in Hell for all the sins you’ve committed.

  I’m silent.

  I stay silent.

  I watch her.

  I finally sigh and find the words. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

  She smacks me across the chest. “Not funny, King.”

  “I’m fucking hilarious.” I rub my nose again, then my eyes.

  She reaches for me, and then she’s holding my hand, rubbing her thumb back and forth, back and forth over my skin. It almost burns, maybe because I’m burning for her. “Sleep, King.”

  “I don’t know if I can.” I yawn, trying not to stare at the three-karat diamond on her left hand yet powerless to look away because I am tired, and I do want her, and that ring represents a claiming I’ll never have.

  “You can.” She consoles me. She heals me. She makes me feel both brave and whole and doesn’t even realize it as she gently rests her head on my shoulder, still rubbing my hand, and sighs. “Sleep. With me.”

  It’s not the invitation I expect nor want.

  Typically, a guy would be like, hell yes, let’s sleep together, but somehow this is better. I’m closing my eyes with my heaven while praying to God she keeps hell away for just a few hours while I rest.

  She may not love me.

  But I vow to love her enough for both of us.

  “Until the end,” I whisper.

  “What?” she asks.

  “Nothing,” I lie.

  Until the end.

  Until the end.

  Until it ends.

  Amen.

  Chapter Six

  “The believer is happy, the doubter is wise.” —Edgar Allen Poe

  Del

  One Week Later — The Rehearsal Dinner

  King’s beautiful.

  I always think that though.

  It makes sense. After all, his name is King, and he looks like a monarch from the days of old, the one women would throw themselves at.

  Wow, I just said days of old. Someone save me.

  I shake the thoughts from my head. After all, he’s not mine to take, and even if he was, my heart belongs to someone else.

  “Hey there.” Roman elbows me and abruptly straightens up when my uncle walks by. I walk farther into the kitchen to refill my drink. “Champagne?”

  “Yeah.” I hold out my glass and take it all in.

  The fact that this is going to be my life.

  The fact that I’ll be sleeping in one bed while wishing I was in another. I bite down on my lower lip and nearly spill my full glass as Roman fills it to the brim. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” His eyes lock on my lips.

  My uncle walks past again, gives us a brief head nod, and keeps walking. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until Roman puts a hand on my lower back. It’s barely there, his hand, but it’s enough that I exhale and attempt to inhale a few more breaths.

  I don’t know why I’m still freaked out, but something feels off despite the whole we’ve waved the white flag between the families as I get married off to our freaking godfather.

  It’s like a bad Hollywood movie.

  And yet it’s my life.

  “You’re fine.” Roman leans down and whispers the words next to my ear, so close that I can feel the heat of him against my neck. I shiver. “Don’t do that, though.”

  “Hm, what?” I don’t even turn to acknowledge him; it’s too dangerous. I don’t trust many people.

  I trust Roman.

  I trust the second generation of the mafia.

  I do not, however, trust any of the older men wandering around the kitchen, my own family included. I’ve been brought up to protect myself, to protect my words.

  Reacting could mean death. So I sip my champagne and look straight ahead like the champagne bottle sitting on the counter fascinates me, and I put a dopey smile on my face like I’m drunk and stupid.

  It’s a part I’ve played my entire life.

  It’s a part that’s kept me safe, compliments of my late mother, who always said the most intelligent woman in the room will always look the dumbest when working with men who think they’re the most brilliant.

  She wasn’t wrong, and yet part of me thinks she wasn’t totally right either, not with how some of the other family bosses are looking at me.

  Phoenix Nicolasi, for example. He’s talking to my uncle, he’s smiling, he looks like he’s participating in the conversation, but his left hand keeps rubbing his right hand like he’s thinking about punching him, and every few seconds, I notice his jaw tick.

  Not that I’m being weird, but he’s a gorgeous man. You know, if I was into older guys or had a fetish. He’s quite honestly dangerously beautiful and probably old enough to be my dad, then again so is Brad Pitt, and well, it’s Brad Pitt; he can hair flip and wink at me any day.

  “What are you looking at?” Roman asks.

  “Nothing.” Everything. “Just, taking things in. I’m… not myself.” It’s a lot of pressure constantly being on, constantly making sure that I’m saying the right thing, looking the right way while on top of everything else carrying my entire family name into the Five Families of the Cosa Nostra, soon to be six or even seven, if my family has anything to say about it. Vitela. Rossa. Di Masis. They are all dying in Sicily. So my family decided that we would not be one of those families. We would play nice. We would play fair. Until we didn’t. Until we couldn’t. Until my dad and uncle broke the rules. Now it feels better, more fair, now it seems that we’ve all come to an agreement, but at what cost? I don’t trust my uncle. I don’t know him well. Does he seem fair? Yes. Do I know that in my soul? No. I feel like a threat more than a pawn, and that scares me more than anything. It keeps me up at night. It terrorizes my days.

  At the end of the day, the mafia overseas is dying.

  It’s literally dying.

  And they’ll stop at nothing to come to the States and make sure they have a piece of what the Families here already have.

  Prosperity.

  Honor.

  Power.

  But there’s a reason they aren’t doing well, and it has to do with the stupid leadership and the ways they’ve tried to weasel into everything, yet nobody will listen to anyone who says otherwise.

  It sucks.

  And now I’m, yet again, stuck in the middle.

  Roman grabs my hand then drops it. “You look like you need a drink of water; come with me.”

  Okay, I’m literally in the kitchen, but I follow him anyway, down a dark hall, around a dark corner, and into a dark bathroom.

  The door shuts behind us.

  He flips on the light. “What’s going on, Del?”

  “Nothing.” I lie again. “I’m fine. It’s just a lot to take in.” I smile. “Is my bodyguard really that worried?”

  His face tightens almost to a painful degree. I don’t look away because if I look away, I look weak, frightened… I reveal so many things I’m not allowed to show to Roman, to anyone.

  And yet, the back of my mind whispers King.

  I can tell King.

  But can I?

  I know I can trust him, to a degree, but there’s something there, something I see, something I feel that makes me want to both run into his arms and beg him to keep me safe but shove him off a cliff for fear that he’ll be my downfall.

  “Hey.” Roman crowds my space, and for the first time since falling for him, I want to back away, so I do. My shirt rides up, causing my skin to touch the marble countertop of the bathroom. It’s cold, soothing. It’s so freaking different than the way he puts his hands on my shoulders then slides them up my neck to cup my face.

  He licks his lips.

  He’s beautiful.

  In my head, it’s always been him.

  Why am I doubting so much tonight?

  I swallow and lick my lips, then bite down on the bottom like an invitation. He leans his head in and presses a soft kiss to my mouth.

  My bodyguard.

  My savior.

  My love.

  I part my lips and welcome his heated kiss. I tell myself this is normal, that it’s all a game, damn near political when it comes to the mafia.

  He smiles against my mouth, deepening the kiss. He tastes comforting like this is what I need. A stolen moment in the bathroom of my fiancé’s house.

&nbs
p; I wrap my arms around him and pull him close. He smells good, but something feels off as he wraps his arms around me and lifts me onto the counter.

  I attempt a laugh as I nearly fall into the sink.

  A knock sounds, but I ignore it until the door shoves open and King is standing there watching us, seeing everything.

  My lips are swollen, and so are Roman’s, and even though King truly knows everything and is literally a savior to me—his eyes harden.

  Roman jumps away, causing me to nearly impale my ass on the faucet as I struggle to scramble to my feet.

  King locks eyes with me. “It’s time for the toast.”

  The tension in the bathroom is tangible, felt acutely between the three of us. Roman not wanting to toast to my new marriage, and King wishing that Roman’s spit wasn’t currently drying across my lips like a tattoo. And me…

  “Yeah, sure.” I adjust my shirt then tuck my hair behind my ears.

  King curses under his breath and walks fully into the bathroom, past Roman and toward me. He grabs my wrist like he knew a scrunchie would be there, then slowly lifts my hair into a low ponytail, pulling pieces of my hair to the front to frame my face.

  He wraps the scrunchy twice.

  For some reason, this gesture makes me want to walk into his arms, but I stay still, too afraid to give myself away, too afraid to feel what I should not be feeling, and too afraid to hurt Roman’s feelings.

  King’s fingertips singe my neck—they shouldn’t. That’s all I keep thinking.

  They. Shouldn’t.

  Yet they do as he quickly pulls my messy hair back and turns me toward the mirror. “Put on some lip gloss; try not to blush too much.”

  This is my life now.

  Orders.

  Demands.

  I am the queen, after all.

  And this man.

  My King.

  Chapter Seven

  “Years of love have been forgot in the hatred of a minute.” —Edgar Allen Poe

  King

  I hate this day.

  I’ll look back on it and want to puke.

  I’ve done the right thing in order to do the wrong thing in honor of my family and what needs to be done, and I might actually fucking hate myself forever.

  She’s just standing there, beautiful.

  And I’m standing next to her with a forced smile on my face, like someone who has everything but nothing, all at the same time.

  I feel Ash’s anger.

  I see Junior’s annoyed stare.

  Valerian’s not even looking at me.

  Maksim’s found that his hand looks quite interesting during this toast.

  The point is made by the way my best friends and family are celebrating tonight, and I just wish… I wish that they understood why.

  The crown is heavy. We all know this; we’ve all talked about this, so now that it’s my turn, I wonder why they can’t be more gracious.

  I feel weak right now as tears burn the backs of my eyes. I see everything. I’ve always seen everything. Their future has always been so clear and mine so blurry.

  They’ll all have kids.

  They’ll celebrate anniversaries.

  Take trips.

  They’ll laugh, fuck, fight, tease—and I’ll pretend.

  I tell myself to stop being a pussy. To man up and just accept everything, but my fingers itch to grab hers, and my palm is actually sweating in anticipation of the moment I can clasp hers.

  My joy is at least real because, at the end of the day, she’s going home with me. Then again, so is he.

  Fuck my life.

  Seriously.

  My dad lifts his glass of whiskey, and I lift my glass of champagne back to him. He’s either a better actor than I am, or he’s truly pumped that I’m marrying someone who loves someone else.

  “A toast!” Phoenix, the Nicolasi boss, announces. “To joining two families, ending a war, and peace in the future.”

  I almost roll my eyes.

  I feel her tense next to me.

  “Cheers.” I lift my glass and then lower it. “Actually, I wanted to say a few things.”

  The tension intensifies by a billion in that kitchen.

  Good.

  Because if I can’t have love, let me have fear. Let me have darkness. Let me live in a hell I’ve already reserved.

  I tell myself it’s not my fault.

  But at the end of the day, it is—because I got involved. I tried to save her, and then I fell for her in a way that can’t be undone.

  Del reaches for my hand.

  I squeeze it tight. “Thank you for coming tonight, for celebrating a union that will, hopefully, in the future make it so much easier for peace between the Families to be honored.” I take a deep breath. “I’m not the Capo yet…” I laugh. “Sorry, Dad, not killing you.”

  “Imagine my relief,” my dad jokes.

  Everyone laughs.

  I roll my eyes. Dad really is the best, even when he’s being an ass. “You know I could do it.”

  “Just try.” He smirks.

  “Promises…” I laugh, and it’s a real laugh, one I feel in my soul, which would be alarming to any normal person. “But, I just wanted to say that no matter what, I plan on keeping the Families together. With Ash leading us, Junior, Valerian, Tank, Maksim—” I take a deep breath. “You have nothing to worry about. You’ve taught us well, and it’s been a privilege being your children.”

  My dad has nothing to say to that, but I do see tears fill his eyes.

  The rest of the bosses look around at the ground like they aren’t sure they can say anything without crying. Damn, regardless of my shit situation, I love my family—all the Families so much, I’d walk through fire and say thank you.

  “Cheers.” I lift my glass. “To the Cosa Nostra.”

  “Cheers!” everyone says quickly.

  Del grips my hand. She turns her head and whispers, “That was beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful,” I say without thinking.

  She drops my hand like it’s on fire.

  I messed up.

  Again.

  By telling the truth, which sucks because sometimes it feels like only a lie will let me win with her.

  “Time to go.” Roman is suddenly at my side, his face hard to read as he looks between us, and then offers a small smile. “It’s late, and you guys do have to get married in the morning.”

  “Right.” Her smile is so forced my chest cracks. It literally feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it and kept hitting it until nothing but bloody pulp remained. “See you in the morning.” She winks.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. “See you in the morning.”

  I want to say so many other things.

  See you soon, my queen.

  Princess.

  Goddess.

  Beautiful.

  But all I’ve got is “see you in the morning,” while everyone around us celebrates.

  Roman’s eyes lock onto mine. “I’ll take care of her.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that’s exactly what keeps me up at night regardless of how I know he’ll protect her. Fuck, it’s like I’ve just handed her over to him on a silver platter and paid him for it since technically he’s on my payroll.

  Shit.

  “Yeah.” My voice cracks. “I know you will. With your life.”

  It’s the only reason I can let her go, knowing that he would give every organ in his body to keep her safe.

  She looks at me one last time, then stands up on tiptoes and kisses my cheek. “I’ll be at the altar.”

  “I’ll be the one at the end in a suit,” I tease, my voice shaky.

  She smiles. “Good, because I would have been confused otherwise.”

  I let out a shaky breath.

  And then she’s just gone, moving out the door with Roman by her side, getting in a Range Rover as he gets in the back with her, and I’m left wondering what the fuck my life is about to look like if this is how the night before my wedding ends.

  Maksim comes up next to me. I don’t even need him to speak. I can feel his anger, his need to say something or do something. His hand finds my shoulder, and he says in a low voice, “What do you need?”

  “Fuck me up,” I say it before I can think.

  “That”—he nods his head—“we can all do.”

  “All?”

  “Like we’d let you suffer in silence.” Ash walks up with a bottle of whiskey, and thank God, Junior holds out some weed. And I’m there. I’m so there I can’t even form words.