Savage Ruler: A Dark Italian - Irish Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Sinfully Savage) Read online

  Savage Ruler

  Sinfully Savage: Book One

  Kristen Luciani

  Contents

  1. Matteo

  2. Heaven

  3. Matteo

  4. Heaven

  5. Matteo

  6. Heaven

  7. Matteo

  8. Heaven

  9. Matteo

  10. Heaven

  11. Matteo

  12. Heaven

  13. Heaven

  14. Matteo

  15. Heaven

  16. Matteo

  17. Heaven

  18. Matteo

  19. Heaven

  20. Matteo

  21. Matteo

  22. Heaven

  23. Matteo

  24. Heaven

  25. Heaven

  26. Matteo

  27. Heaven

  28. Matteo

  29. Heaven

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek of Savage Liar

  Thanks For Reading!

  Meet Kristen

  Savage Ruler © 2021 by Kristen Luciani

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Except for the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles, and lyrics mentioned in this novel are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, distributed, or used in any manner whatsoever, via the Internet, electronic, or print, without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For more information, or information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact Kristen Luciani at [email protected].

  Cover Design: Book Cover Kingdom

  Editing: Allusion Graphics

  Photo Credit: Rafa Catala

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter One

  Matteo

  “We need your protection, Matteo, and we will pay anything you want.”

  I sit back in my black leather chair in one of my SoHo offices, holding the tips of my fingers together as I regard the two men sitting in front of me.

  Declan Mulligan, head of the Irish mafia here in Manhattan, and his oldest son, Conor.

  The heir apparent.

  Or one of them, at least.

  I got the call from Declan a few days ago, and even though I’ve made a name for myself over the past year since I’ve set up shop here in Manhattan, it was the first contact we’d had. He never bothered to reach out until he needed something, a fact that irritates the hell out of me.

  Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t come to the city to make friends. Hell, I blew in here like an inferno and snuffed out the splintered Molino family who’d owned Greenwich Village and ran it into the ground in the years before I showed up on the scene.

  It wasn’t long before they were running out of here with their dicks in their hands.

  I raged fast and furious to make sure the other families and organizations understood the type of power I wield and that I’m not afraid to use it when it suits my purposes. People knew little about me when I came to this city. Sicily is my home, and while my reputation there precedes me, here in the States, I needed to build up my influence.

  And now, a year later, they all know what I can do, what I’ve done, and what I want.

  I can deliver anything for anyone…at a price.

  I fucking own them all and they don’t even realize it.

  Mulligan sees that now. But before a few days ago, the guy never once emerged from the shadows of his Midtown hiding places to even acknowledge me. Hell’s Kitchen and the surrounding area always belonged to the Irish, and nobody dared infiltrate his lair.

  At least, not until now.

  And that’s why he and his son are here.

  “Tell me what I need to know,” I say, staring between father and son. They share a lot of the same features — same tall, lanky build, clear blue eyes, and strong jaw. But there are some notable differences. Dark shadows stain the skin under Declan’s eyes. His hair is gray and thinning, and his face is worn like a beaten-up shoe.

  Yeah, this life definitely takes a toll.

  And that expression on his face? I know it well.

  He’s scared.

  That’s the only reason why he’s here.

  Declan leans forward, sweeping his hands through his sparse hair. “I’m sure you know of the Dominguez cartel,” he says in a low voice.

  I nod. I know everyone.

  “There was an, ah, altercation,” he grunts with a sidelong glance at Conor, who avoids his critical eye. “In their neighborhood. Conor and his guys ended up killing a couple of their soldiers, but also…” He pauses, clenching the arms of the chair tight. “They killed a lieutenant.”

  “Santos Rojas,” I say.

  “Yes,” Declan concurs.

  My eyes flicker toward Conor’s and surprisingly, they meet mine.

  I bite back a smile. He thinks he looks like such a badass right now, almost challenging me with that fierce glare, the one that says I think you’re total bullshit even though my father insists that we need your help.

  Well, fuck you, Conor. My ass isn’t the one with a bounty on it.

  “So, Conor, what were you and your guys doing in the cartel’s territory?” I ask. There’s a lot more I’d like to inject into that question, but I’ll let him answer before I nail him to the wall.

  He smirks and crosses his arms over his chest, an evil glimmer in his eyes. “Pussy and drugs.”

  “Seems like you could get a plethora of both anywhere else in the city. What drew you to Harlem, of all places? You were pretty damn far from home.”

  His jaw clenches. “Those assholes have been showing up a lot more lately in their fucking pimped-out cars, doling out their coke like it’s free fucking candy. They’ve been looking for trouble. So I took my guys and brought it to them,” he says darkly.

  “And you thought taking out a lieutenant was a smart way to end the night? Mission accomplished?” I lift an eyebrow, and spots of bright red color Declan’s cheeks as he stares daggers at his son.

  “Don’t fucking talk to me like that. You’re not my goddamn boss. You don’t get to question me!” he thunders, standing up suddenly, his chair scraping against the hardwood floor.

  “Conor, sit your ass down!” Declan hisses. “You’ve caused us enough trouble!”

  But Conor, thick-skulled fucker that he is, just stands there. His lips are thin and tight, his jaw twitching as his eyes scout every inch of the office.

  Protection from the cartel?

  Shit, what Declan needs is protection from his own goddamn son.

  My gun is taped to the underside of the desk as always because you just never know. I’ve learned over the years that being prepared for anything is the best way to stay alive.

  Actually, it’s the only way.

  And the fact that they are here right now tells me the Mulligans don’t live by the same credo.

  They’re gonna learn it fast if they have any hope of surviving.

  I narrow my eyes at Conor. “Dominguez will find out who hit his guys. And you know what will happen when, not if, he does.”

  Conor’s jaw twitches but he says nothin
g.

  Declan turns his pleading gaze toward me. “Matteo, I have a family to protect. My daughter, my sons. They’re my priority.”

  “Seems like your priorities aren’t exactly in line with Conor’s.” I lean back in my chair. “And the other families know it.” I nod at Conor. “Is he next in line to take over your organization in the unfortunate situation that you’re next on Dominguez’s hit list?”

  Declan raises his pale blue eyes toward me. “Conor and his older sister, Heaven, are my two underbosses. They both are equal beneficiaries of everything I own — all of my businesses, my real estate. Everything becomes theirs.”

  I already knew this, of course, because I investigate everything about anyone standing in my way. Knowledge is power for the people who possess it.

  And that knowledge always uncovers a liability that I can use for my purpose.

  Let me be frank. I don’t give a flying fuck if there’s an all-out war between these clowns.

  I just want what I want.

  And I need Mulligan’s trust in order to get it.

  Conor turns to his father, his jaw practically on the floor. “Why don’t you just give him a fucking balance sheet and income statement while you’re at it, Dad? Or maybe give him the password on your goddamn bank account?”

  “Because of you there isn’t enough money in that account to buy the kind of protection we need, Conor!” Declan fumes. “And if Matteo refuses to take this job, we’re going to be sitting ducks!”

  Protection. It’s an ironic twist since I’ve spent so much of my life hurting others to get what I want.

  Now I take their money to keep them safe.

  For a year, I’ve established my influence here in the city. I’ve built a taboo underground BDSM empire that hosts an elite clientele for a shit ton of cash. I’ve created pipelines to smuggle drugs and launder money throughout my territories and out of Manhattan, all in the name of expansion.

  I want to take over the fucking world.

  That’s my stretch goal, although nothing is a stretch when you’re ruthless, power hungry, and well-financed.

  And anyone who knows me, knows I am all three and then some.

  “Okay, first of all, sit the fuck down,” I growl at Conor, pointing at him. I’m tired of this entitled pain in the ass’s attitude. He caused a whole shit storm for his family because his goddamn ego needed to be stroked. But he didn’t consider the consequences at all.

  I glare at Conor as he sinks into his chair.

  Fucking guy can never be boss. He’d run his father’s empire so far into the ground, he’d hit the Earth’s core.

  And I’m gonna be the one to yank that pole out of his ass.

  He just doesn’t know it yet.

  “I’ll take the job,” I say.

  Declan lets out a sigh of relief and his shoulders sag as he settles against the back of his chair. I’ll let him enjoy this for another couple of seconds until he asks his next question.

  It’s one I’ve been aching to hear and anxious to have answered.

  The corners of my lips curl upward a slight bit, knowing I’m about to steal the keys to the kingdom right out from under their noses.

  “Thank you so much, Matteo,” Declan says. “I know you can help us work through this, that you have the backing and the network to—”

  I give my head a slight shake. “I have a different plan for you, one that will prove to everyone in the city…everyone with any stake in Manhattan or the surrounding boroughs…that we are aligned. Unified.” I lean forward. “Partners.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a simple security job,” Declan says with a hint of hesitation. “I didn’t realize this would be made public. Do you usually have that kind of arrangement with your clients?”

  “No, this will be custom. Just for you,” I reply.

  “Okay.” Declan’s brow furrows. “So how do we make that happen? Name your price, I’ll pay it!”

  I don’t bother to temper the self-satisfied smile that spreads across my face when I speak my next words.

  Because…purpose.

  It’s about to be fulfilled.

  “This arrangement isn’t one that requires a money exchange,” I say.

  Conor’s head jerks upward from his lap, and Declan eyes me with suspicion. Smart man. “What is it that you want, Matteo?”

  I pause for a single beat, the silence in the room deafening.

  “I want your daughter,” I reply. “I want Heaven.”

  Chapter Two

  Heaven

  Three Weeks Later

  “This is really fucked up, Heaven,” my younger brother, Patrick, mutters under his breath as he fumbles with his black eye mask. “I mean, I’m all for doing reconnaissance, but going to a sex club with your sister is just…sick.” He shudders and adjusts his black suit jacket. “And this mask is really friggin’ itchy. How much longer do I need to keep it on?”

  “Everyone enters wearing a mask,” I hiss, my high heels clicking along the pavement where we cross the desolate street in lower Manhattan, the moon disappearing into the overhead trees. Darkness falls upon us, and I suspect people headed our way like the added privacy element. “It’s for anonymity, dipshit. And that’s something I’d really like to preserve, tonight of all nights.”

  I loop my arm through his as we hurry into the private entrance of this exclusive Manhattan townhouse deep in the heart of SoHo. The doors opened an hour ago for the event, and to be honest, I needed a few shots of whiskey before heading into this carnal celebration of All Hallow’s Eve.

  Attending the soiree is my latest stroke of brilliance.

  “I’ve gotta tell you, if I see shit I like, I’m staying,” he says with a low chuckle, dragging me along. I try to match his long strides in my stilettos, but since he’s about a foot taller than me, I’m panting just to keep up with him.

  “You’re sick,” I grumble as we approach the doorman. He’s also wearing a mask and is dressed in a full tuxedo. I fumble in my clutch bag for the brass token that was hand delivered via messenger to my Upper West Side brownstone a few days earlier. I’d applied a few weeks ago for membership to this club in anticipation of our upcoming meeting with the Villani family, Sicilian transplants who came to New York to breed their version of deviance in the underground sex scene. As soon as Dad told me about a potential new business partner he wanted us to meet, I flew into private investigator mode, and the first step was getting access to his twisted club scene. And the famed Halloween bash was a perfect idea since you know, masks. He’d never be the wiser and I could spy freely.

  “Clearly. I mean, why else would I be going in here with you?”

  “Because we need information on these guys.” I pause to give him a hard look once we’re inside. “And we both know Conor has his head stuck so far up Dad’s ass that he’ll listen to any offer they make us and take it straight away without even knowing who or what we’re dealing with.”

  “What do you think we’re gonna find out about these guys tonight, Heaven? How big their cocks are? How many chicks they can bang at once? How is any of that gonna help you at that meeting?”

  I press my lips into a tight line. It’s a fair question. And the truth is, I really have no idea what I’m even looking for inside of this palace of hedonism. “Look, I just need to see them in their own element.”

  “Speaking of seeing, do you even know who you’re looking for? And how, genius, are you supposed to find them with their masks on?”

  Dammit. I was so busy trying to protect my identity that I didn’t consider how I’d find out his.

  I grit my teeth and shove Patrick farther into the foyer of the townhouse and a few steps into the place, I almost forget why we’re here in the first place.

  Sultry, sexy beats pulsate throughout the interior as the skinniest girls I’ve ever seen wind their way around the patrons with silver trays of champagne flutes and shot glasses of some amber-colored liquid. They’re basically naked with black straps wo
und around their lithe bodies. And, of course, their masks are firmly in place. Some of them even have on elaborate gold headdresses with dangly crystal drops framing their faces. They kind of look like human chandeliers.

  Speaking of which, I’ve never seen anything quite as elaborate as the ones hanging from the vaulted ceilings. The room we’re standing in is draped in red shadows, the dim overhead lights the only way to make anything out.

  But then again, this is only step one.

  To our left is a narrow, winding staircase leading to the second level, and to the right, a narrow staircase leading to the underbelly of this wanton house of ill repute. I suck in a breath as two of the strapped-up girls, one blonde and one brunette, place their trays on a nearby end table and start grinding together in the middle of the staircase on the left as partygoers pass on either side of them. The girls don’t even pause for a single beat, though. The blonde backs the brunette against the wrought-iron handrail, shimmying down the length of the brunette like she’s a freaking pole. The brunette throws back her head as the blonde’s hands disappear between her thighs. And dammit, I can’t tear my eyes away as she sinks down to her knees, pushes open the brunette’s legs, and buries her head into her pussy.

  Holy fuck.

  I’ve watched porn before, but this?

  Chills ripple through me and I trace each movement of the blonde as she works the brunette into a total and complete frenzy, gripping the handrail and letting out a seductive wail that has Patrick groaning next to me.

  Despite my goals for the evening, I can’t deny that the moans and mewls surrounding me as partygoers engage make me tingle in areas I least expected.