King of Bourbon Street: A Dark Mafia Romance (Mafia's Throne Book 1) Read online

  “The only thing that will hold my actions is if he stops getting in the fucking way of my business and agrees to my terms.”

  “Of course.”

  I nod to Henri, who checks the case for any possible trackers or worse, a bomb. “It’s good, Boss,” he says, closing it and grabbing it by the handle.

  “There’s also the matter of my man,” I say to her.

  Kiera lifts a brow. “Your man?”

  “Danny Dudeck. I want him back, and his ass better be alive.”

  “Ah, yes. Mr. Dudeck. Unfortunately, on that we cannot comply. But I assure you, he is safe and will be returned when this all comes to an end.”

  “When what comes to an end?”

  “The takeover.”

  “The what?” I ask incredulously. “There will be no fucking takeover.” My voice booms and reverberates off the walls.

  Both guards immediately place their hands on their holsters, but before they have a chance to act, Henri and I pounce. I slice my hand through the air, keeping the guard closest to me from grabbing his weapon, and slam my elbow into his chin. Before he can recover, I have my gun out and pressed against the girl’s temple and my arm across her chest, holding her immobile.

  Henri has the other guard against the wall, and Kiera stares at me, her eyes full of surprise and her hands in the air.

  “Leave Rose out of this,” she says.

  “Why? Because she belongs to your boss? That’s exactly why she’s the perfect weapon. Hurt her, hurt him.”

  Rose’s hands come to rest on my forearm. “It’s okay, Kiera. I’m not afraid.”

  I’m not sure if she says it to calm the other woman or if it’s true. Either way, I can’t help the pang of regret that hits me as I hear her attempt at bravery. But I can’t show any doubt in my actions. That’s what these people want, for me to reveal a tell. A flinch, a hesitation, a change in my breathing.

  It’s imperative I remain completely unmoved by the girl against my chest, that I don’t show how much her nearness affects me or that her scent of wildflowers is invading my nostrils and clouding my brain. That I want to drag her out of this room and take her straight to my bed.

  I can’t show I feel.

  “I want you to relay a message to Callaghan. No one threatens me. Tell him there will be no takeover. He will leave Danny Dudeck alive as he makes his way out of Louisiana. He has one week, or there will be fucking hell to pay. I won’t give a fuck about the LCN. Can you tell him that?”

  “No need. Dillon heard you.”

  I glance around the room for cameras, but they must be very well hidden, because there are none visible. “One fucking week.”

  “I will relay the message. What will you do with her? Are you taking her with you?”

  Finally, I feel Rose tremble in my arms, so much so that I fear her teeth may begin to chatter. More than before, I regret the threat I’ve just made to her life. A life I thought Callaghan held dear; however, now I’m not so sure.

  I release her, but she doesn’t move away. She just turns in place, and for the first time I’m able to see the true color of her eyes. Green and gold mesh in perfect marble-like harmony, almost transparent, like a creek.

  I can also see the plea in them, the hope that I could find her a better place than this. The sadness and the fear she’s hidden in everything else.

  “No,” I say with finality, because I’m not sure I can offer anything better than she has here.

  Kiera smiles but doesn’t reply to that. “Good day, sirs.”

  Coming to wrap her arm around Rose, she moves her toward the door. But before they disappear through it, Rose glances back one last time, imprinting her face on my brain permanently.

  Chapter 4

  DILLON

  “Did he take the bait?” Will comes to stand by my side as I watch Enzo Marcone through the security cameras placed at the front door.

  A silver Bentley and a Mercedes wait at the curb, and a large man wearing aviator sunglasses and an overly tight suit steps out of the driver’s side of the Bentley. I smirk, thinking of how fucking clichéd that is, then roll my eyes when I see my own man, Fabian, wearing those same shades.

  “Look at all the grease in that guy’s hair,” I comment.

  “Dillon, did he take the bait?”

  “No, but he will. He was interested. All he needs is a little persuasion.” From my position, I could see every flicker of emotion that crossed his face before he quickly tamped it down. Lust. Desire. Pity. I could have worked with just one of those, but he gave them all. “For someone in his position, he’s got a lot of tells.”

  “Maybe it’s just certain people who bring them out.”

  “I only care about one person being able to do that,” I say.

  “You thinking about shipping him a wilted rose?”

  I nod. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. It will be a gift I’m willing to bet my life he won’t turn away. Not when it’s right at his door.”

  “He may not fall for Rose, not when he can have any woman he wants,” Will says.

  “Even if he doesn’t, we’ll get something. But my gut tells me I’m right about this.”

  “Da will be proud.”

  I side-glance Will. “I’m not just doing it for him. It’s time I had my own kingdom to run. I don’t want to live in his shadow forever. I want more.”

  “All right, Boss.”

  “I’ll be leaving before dawn,” I say, looking toward my younger sibling. “Everyone’s aware you’re in charge until I return.”

  “You sure you trust me to run the show while you’re gone? How will I know when it’s time to act?”

  “I’ll be in touch constantly.” Placing my hand on Will’s shoulder, I give a gentle but purposeful squeeze. “I’m counting on you.”

  Then I look back out the window in time to see the two vehicles drive away. Today was the first move in this game of chess. White pawn to E4. Now it’s his turn. Marcone is well aware he’s playing and will be an awesome opponent.

  But in the end, I will still win, because I’m keeping the most important piece hidden from him until it’s time to call checkmate.

  Chapter 5

  ENZO

  Shit, I’m tired. Even though I went to bed at two in the morning, which is normal for me, I hardly slept. The image of pouty pink lips and forest green eyes swirled in my brain, making it impossible to relax.

  Take me with you, they seemed to say to me, and the words got louder and louder until they finally drove me out of bed.

  If she had asked to come home with me, I would have said yes. I would have ripped her out of there and alleviated the throb she started the moment she appeared on the stage. I would have fucked her until I didn’t want her anymore, and I would have slept like a fucking baby.

  But she didn’t ask, and though I pride myself in my ability to read people, women are another fucking matter. Never met a girl whose words matched my assumptions.

  However, with her… If I’d known what awaited me in the night, I would have taken the risk.

  I walk to the backside of my house, aka The Royal Hit, aka the office. Having home and work in the same place is the nice thing about living in the mansion built in eighteen twenty-nine by a wealthy shipbuilder. He wanted a palace in the middle of the city and made the thing so big, it occupies an entire block, with the main entrance on Royal Street and the rear on Bourbon.

  But who the fuck needs that much living space?

  For a long time, most of the house remained empty. It takes a lot to heat it, energy wasted in unlived-in areas. But with the rise of strip clubs and bars on Bourbon Street, my father had the brilliant idea to divide it and open our very own, very exclusive club.

  It works. The commute is perfect, and a large courtyard set in the center of the house makes it easy to get away from the noise and commotion of the French Quarter nightlife.

  Tonight, I do the usual rounds, buy drinks for anyone whose name still eludes me, an ea
sy way to get a refresher on who they are and what they have to offer.

  Later, I’ll make my way into the main hall again, climb the steps to the upper level where my velvet seat awaits. From there I’ll be able to watch everything that happens in my club. Who comes and who goes. Who belongs and who should be escorted out. And, of course, we have very high standards for those who make their way into the silk covered halls of The Royal Hit.

  There’s never a shortage of gorgeous women, all willing to spread their legs for a Marcone just to say they have. Usually it’s a job Adrian handles, but tonight, I may need to take part and see if I can rid myself of the image of a certain flower.

  For now, I join my little brother in what he’s dubbed the Court. This is the place where the most important decisions are made. Where we rule. Where I sit upon my heavy wooden chair with the black leather seat and listen to my capos fill me in on all that’s going on in our territory.

  “Tomas Estrada just sold Marqueta Lomos,” Adrian says, his finger scrolling down the list of French Quarter updates he has for me for our nightly meeting. “I’ve already sent out a request to meet with the new owner, Salomon Ortega. But I’m not sure if there will be any business conducted from there other than actually selling Mexican goods.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Lucian is setting up a meet with the Lenkov head. He wants to arrange connections in Vegas.”

  “Okay.” I stare at my desk, noticing the many scratches made over the years. “That’s interesting.”

  “Turkeys took over New York.”

  “Be sure to take notes.”

  “I called Don Cosimo.” When my head snaps up, he says, “Ah, that got your attention. I know you hate the guy—”

  “Then why did you call him?” I interrupt.

  “Because he’s blood. And don’t give me that blood doesn’t matter bullshit.”

  “It doesn’t matter to him.” I seethe.

  “It does. You just won’t let him forget his mistake.”

  “He left us, Adrian. He knew what Pops was going through and he couldn’t bother to send help.”

  “Well, he’s willing to now. I told him about Callaghan. Lucian tells me he’s a bigger problem than we thought and we’ll need all the help we can get. I believe him.”

  “Fuck him, and fuck you for calling him behind my back.” I stand so fast, I knock my chair over, but I’m so fucking angry I don’t bother to right it. Instead, I pace around the room like a caged panther, ready to devour my own brother if he gets too close.

  “I didn’t call him behind your back,” he says slowly. “I used my authority and made a decision. Isn’t that what you’re always nagging me to do more of? We’re powerful, but even we are no match for Lombardo. Not alone.”

  I wipe my palm down my face. Of course he has the authority, but when it comes to Marcone family members outside Louisiana, I’m touchy. “We won’t need them. It won’t come to that.”

  “Whatever. Fucking sourpuss,” he says, throwing the sheet onto my desk. “I can’t fucking win with you. Damned if I fucking do, damned if I don’t.”

  My phone rings, and I pull it from my coat pocket, answering without bothering to look at the screen. “What is it?” I yell.

  “You got a visitor,” Henri informs me.

  “Who is it?” I glance at my watch. Nine thirty p.m. is early for anyone to come calling in this sort of place.

  “The girl from last night. Rose.”

  I swallow hard when I hear her name. Rose. Here.

  Instantly, visions of her erotic dance, of everything I fantasized doing to her, come to mind and heat my body.

  My hand tightens around my phone as I command, “Let her in.”

  “Who’s here?” Adrian asks.

  “No one. Meeting’s over.”

  “Fine.” He leans back and plops his feet on the chair beside him. “Business bores me anyway.”

  I lift a brow at him. “I said the meeting’s over.”

  “And I said fine.” He shakes his head, pursing his lips as if I’m the one not getting it.

  “Leave.” My voice booms so loudly, anyone else would have already run out with their tail between their legs. Not Adrian.

  “Why? You don’t want me to see who’s coming?” He wags his brows at me.

  I groan, praying to anyone who’s listening for patience. “Adrian, it’s time to go.”

  He sighs loudly and takes his time as he stands and slowly shuffles out the door. The moment he’s gone, I turn on my MacBook and log in to the security network.

  Through the feed from the closed-circuit camera at the front door, I watch as Rose shyly approaches Henri.

  She tucks a chunk of dark hair behind her ear as she says something. He nods and replies, then points to a duffle bag she’s carrying and hands it to Gio for inspection.

  I stare at the bag myself as it’s opened and the contents are strewn about, half expecting him to pull out a machine gun. Why the hell else would anyone come to the enemy’s den with a bag? But to my surprise, all I can see is clothes.

  Henri motions Rose forward, and he begins to pat her arms, then her sides, and down her hips and legs. It’s protocol. A safety measure. But for some reason, seeing his hands on her body, touching everything I want for my own, makes me almost willing to take the risk of foregoing it.

  When he’s done, he gives her the duffle bag and they enter the club.

  Quickly, I turn off the monitor. A few moments later, the door to my office opens and Henri steps in with Rose close behind him.

  Her gaze wanders around the room in awe. It roams over the grand bookshelves filled with antique tomes and first edition books. Past the priceless artwork and the three chairs reserved for each member of my circle.

  Then her eyes settle on me as I sit behind the massive desk set before them, and again, the wind is knocked from me. Damn, she’s beautiful. Unassuming, sweet. Sexy as fuck even without trying. Or maybe it’s because she’s not trying. Her face is fresh, with little makeup to cover up her natural beauty. Only a bit of black mascara to enhance her already sinfully long lashes and a touch of gloss over her full pink lips.

  She’s wearing a loose-fitting black dress with a short jean jacket. It doesn’t hug her curves, yet somehow, you can clearly visualize her lovely shape. But what gets my attention is her short brown boots. I want to fuck her with those boots on. I want her to dig their heels into my ass as I pound into her.

  With that salacious thought at the forefront of my mind, I greet her, “Hello, Rose.”

  “Mr. Marcone.” She dips her chin.

  “Boss, if you don’t need me…”

  “You can go, Henri,” I say to him, then, turning back to her, I indicate one of the empty chairs. “Would you like to have a seat?”

  She comes around to sit directly in front of me. Clutching the duffle bag to her chest, she glances around the space again. “I like your club. It was a house?”

  “Yes. It’s been in my family since before I was born.”

  “Neo-Gothic.”

  I nod once. “You know architecture?”

  “I’ve read books that have houses like these. They’re very romantic. Does this one have a story?”

  My brow furrows. “A story?”

  “You know, man builds house for the love of his life, but before she gets to move in, she’s killed tragically and he mourns her until the day he too dies. Then his spirit wanders the halls, searching for his lost love.” She sighs as if she can see the entire thing playing out before her eyes.

  I chuckle because, strangely enough, I was able to see it too. “While I’m sure this house could tell a lot of stories, I doubt any of them are romantic. More like rich man builds big house, goes bankrupt, sells. It goes through a few different hands until eventually, the Marcones take possession, practically gut it, and turn it into a business.”

  “Oh.” The green of her irises dims and I feel as if I’ve crushed her dreams. “The outside seems to hold a lot of the
original features. I’d hoped it would be the same throughout. I like history.”

  I don’t tell her the residential side is practically untouched and going into it is like stepping back in time. The woodwork, the silk wallpaper, the floors, and even the scent of old fires burned in the chimneys are all still there. “Sometimes the past is best left there. Look to the future.”

  She surveys the room again. “Is that why everything you have in here is old? You like to look to the future, Mr. Marcone? Or are you more like me?”

  A smile quirks one side of my mouth. “Rose, why are you here?”

  “I…I’ve come seeking asylum.”

  Frowning, I sit up. “From what?”

  “From…” She chews her lower lip as her delicate hands wring the strap of her bag. “Please let me stay with you.”

  “You want to stay in my club?”

  She shakes her head. “I’d hoped you’d take me home with you. The club is part of your house, isn’t it?”

  My lips part, though I don’t respond, because I can’t. A battle spurs to life inside me, with my body instantly ready and primed, screaming, Fuck yes! while the sane part of my brain says it would be a mistake. It’s a trap.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t. You need to go.”

  “I can’t go back,” she says in a small voice. “Not without completing my job.”

  “What job?” My eyes narrow as I study her. “Rose, were you sent here?”

  “Yes,” she admits, peering at her lap and chewing on her bottom lip.

  “Look at me,” I command. When she lifts her gaze to me, I scrutinize her. “What were you sent here to do?”

  “You’ll kill me if I tell you.”

  “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

  She swallows hard, probably remembering the gun I had pointed to her head last night, then blows out a breath before she says, “I’m here to seduce you. To find a way into your home and into your bed.”

  “My bed.” I laugh, thrown off by her honesty.

  “Men talk after they fuck. When their guard is down.”