Page 3 of Malevolent King

Relief turned my smile genuine. “Thanks, Gino, I appreciate it. Tell Enza I got the tickets for the special exhibit.”

Gino winced. “Great, another art gallery I have to wander around and pretend to be interested in. I don’t know how you can study it and stare at it all day. It’s just paint on a canvas.”

“It’s more than that. It’s a peek into someone else’s head. It’s an escape.”The only one I have.I didn’t voice the last out loud. I couldn’t change who I was and who my father was. I couldn’t dismantle the walls that surrounded me. Walls upon walls. Stone-made ones and invisible ones. Walls around my heart. Walls around my body. And a hidden wall of fear and duty that sat inside my mind.

“You may not be interested in the art, but you’re interested in her. She’ll love it and love you for taking her.” It was always safer to change the subject to other people. Deflect, move on. Smile and keep going. Don’t let anyone see beneath the confident, capable mask I donned every single morning.

Sofia De Sanctis, smart, capable Mafia princess. It wouldn’t do to let anyone see the real me. I’d learned long ago that showing weakness only made me a target for predators. Bad men who were drawn to silent dolls.

Gino blew out a breath and smiled. Despite his protests, I knew there was nothing that the man wouldn’t do for his wife.

“Well, I guess we’ll go. Now, if you want me to stay quiet about your little cab trip, don’t linger and get inside. I told you, today’s tense.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

Gino studied the security feeds for a moment longer and then leaned forward, abandoning his watch for a second. He was a sucker for gossip. “We have a new guest at Casa Nera. A Chernov.”

The trouble with the rival family had started a few months ago. My father, wanting to edge further and further into New York and get a taste of the money that flowed in its seedy underbelly, had tried to arrange an engagement with one of the most vicious powers in the city—the Chernov Bratva.

Viktor Chernov, thepakhan, had two sons, and they couldn’t have been more different. Kirill was cold and calculating, while his half-brother, Nikolai, was a raging maniac, or so he liked people to think. My past with the more unpredictable Chernov was complicated.

When my father had proposed the engagement, he’d had Kirill in mind. I hadn’t met Kirill until the talks about the engagement had started. It was an engagement that would never happen. I’d barely given it a thought, yet my father had taken the slight hard. That’s when it became clear that his motives were purely financial. I wasn’t surprised. I was just an asset to him, something to be invested for a high return.

“I heard a rumor that their boss, Kirill and Nikolai’s father, died last night,” Gino said.

I reared back, trying to process that information. If it were true that Viktor Chernov was dead, it would shake the entire underworld of New York and its surrounding areas, us included. It also spelled bloodshed, without a doubt. Wars of succession in mob families were utterly vicious.

New York was home to five families, all warring for turf and power. The Chernov bratva held a violent reputation no one willingly crossed. Then there was the Navarro clan (a Mexican cartel), the O’Connor family (who were part of the Irish Mafia), a Turkish gang, and a Sicilian family who was losing power daily as the De Sanctis family pushed further into the city.

Viktor Chernov’s death meant blood and destruction in our world.

“If that’s true, Kirill or Nikolai will be the nextpakhanof New York,” Gino muttered. In a rare display, he crossed himself and pressed a kiss to the golden cross on the chain around his neck. “God help us if it’s Nikolai. That man…” He trailed off, unable to find the right words to describe the threat Nikolai Chernov posed to the general population, not to mention the other bosses’ peace of mind. “He’s a fucking maniac,” he finished, still holding his crucifix as if preparing to ward off the Devil.

No one knew better than me how terrifying Nikolai Chernov could be. A small needle of pain dug into my heart when I considered the potential consequences of one of the Chernov brothers becoming Boss. The other would probably die. I didn’t know how to feel about that. My experience with Nikolai was the first time I’d learned how dangerous it was when a man who didn’t play by the rules locked you in his sights. My dealings with Nikolai remained inside a bolted box of the past that I never dared to peek in.

Gino’s radio chirped and we both jumped with fright.

“Damn, Gino, you freaked me out,” I complained as I straightened up and took a steadying breath.

“Well, that’s good if it keeps you inside today. Anyway, it shouldn’t have anything to do with you. Don’t worry.”

I nodded to Gino and headed through the pedestrian gate into the compound. Once inside, I walked up the long, winding driveway and crossed the massive lawn, surrounded by buildings on all sides.

None of the buildings filling the compound were as huge or traditional-looking as the original mansion Antonio had built as homes for his top men. Casa Nera. It was as old as you could get in these parts, and the imposing structure never failed to stand out against the backdrop of the woods ringing the compound.

A red-brick façade was adorned with ornate carvings and intricate details that I’d stared at for hours as a child. Some of the figures were downright terrifying: stone faces gnarled with pain, or gargoyle-style figures snarling at passers-by. A wide stone staircase swept up to the front entrance, a heavy oak door with brass fittings. The windows were small, considering the size of the place, with old frames that rattled in the wind. Antonio had wanted as much of the house’s history kept intact, which had made it a cold and uncomfortable place to live as a child.

As I neared the house, I noticed how quiet it was. My father did a lot of business in Atlantic City, and often, most of the De Sanctis manpower was with him. My father had the unshakeable confidence in his security and power that could only belong to someone of his age. Since he’d lived so long unchallenged, he thought that would never change. For this reason, the house was often less protected than it could be. They say pride comes before a fall, but I’d yet to see that reality play out with my father. He was proud, arrogant, and elitist, and nothing in our lives had ever proved him wrong.

Now, he had a Chernov in the basement, one of the most dangerous men in the city, no matter which one it was, and he hadn’t bothered to allocate extra men to watch the house. I could only suppose that Antonio believed he had the hostage suitably fucked up and, therefore, no longer a threat. There was no point in me thinking about it. My opinion counted for less than the ornamental gravel beneath my heels.

Good girls are seen and not heard, Sofia.

My father’s voice was a black poison in my mind.

I was a child when I’d first come across the lowest level, where my father carried out his darkest deeds. You didn’t end up beingcapo di capiof one of the East Coast’s richest and most violent mafia families without spilling blood. I feared that the grounds of Casa Nera and every flower that grew in its opulent gardens were fertilized by human remains. A Gothic mansion resting on real bones.

I shivered, forcing my mind away from such morbid imaginings as I crunched up the driveway.

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