Page 1 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King

1

Nadia

When Ren Caruso puts me on my back in a discreet hotel room, our meeting place overlooking the East River, I know by the look in his eyes: At nineteen years old, he isn’t a boy anymore. Not by the mafia’s definition. The truth is spelled out in tiny red flecks soaked into the fabric of his white undershirt. The secret of where he’s been tonight is written, like braille, across the swollen and busted knuckles of his right hand. There’s a look on his face, a shadow in his gaze. Something has eclipsed the bright-eyed boy I grew up knowing and loving.

Ren’s killed a man for the first time.

I don’t have time to ask questions, my breath knocked out of me by the sheer force of him bringing me into his arms and dropping me onto the bed. He kisses me breathlessly in his post-adrenaline high, a growl in his throat. I barely have my shoes off before he wedges himself between my thighs.

“Well, something must have gone well…” I gasp, my hands on his chest.

“Depends on who you ask,” he says, with a low, private grin.

I swallow and kiss him again.

The hotel room shrinks in at the corners. My senses narrow, cut down to just the heated space between my body and his. The room is lost to the shadows, a blur at the edges of my vision. Above me, Ren is all fine, perfect detail. He sheds his suit jacket. His undershirt should be in a crime scene baggie in an evidence locker. I strip it away, revealing the lean stretch of muscle underneath, and drop the shirt on the floor.

That first kill is an expected rite of passage for a don’s son. Ren’s first blooding into the underworld. This night has been looming over Ren his whole life. I can’t even imagine what he must be feeling.

At first, I think he’s still shaking. But I realize it’s me, trembling as I take his hand, kissing each finger, each bruised and battered knuckle, as if can taste what those hands have been out doing for the last hour while I stayed here, pacing the floor waiting for him.

Ren isn’t the only one having a first time tonight.

“How was it?” I try to ask. It’s as close as I dare to get toare you okay?

With his tongue, Ren steals the words away and then my breath, and then my thoughts entirely. A practiced thief. I drown in him until my lungs burn and my lips tingle. I’ve never seen him likethis before. He’s always been confident, but this is something else. Raw, urgent. He smiles at me, and his smile is darker than the shadows creeping into the corners of the room, a strand of hair hanging into his eyes. He’sproud.

My gorgeous boy is usually all smiles, charm, and dangerous wit. Old-school Americana beauty, with a carved face, aquiline nose, and a pearly, candid smile. But when he smiles now, it’s only to say, “It waseasy,” and kiss me again.

A dark shiver follows my spine down to my curling toes.

Ren’s mouth tastes like adrenaline and champagne, and sweet, celebratory cigars. He pushes the sheer straps of my silk chiffon Valentino dress from my shoulders.

“Youmade it easy,” he continues, his mouth finding my throat. “I thought about you when I did it. About this.” He takes the soft curve of my jugular between his teeth, nipping his way down. “How does that feel?”

His eyes search my face.

In its own sick way, it feels like the darkest slice of heaven. If I look at it sideways, if I squint real hard—it’s like Ren killed a man for me. Forthis. I crush our mouths together again, and he answers me with a low growl. He peels the rest of my dress down over my bra, giving way to my cleavage. My hands instinctively stop him. I hold the sheer fabric against my body like a last defense.

Ren takes my wrists and pins my hands on either side of my head, with a sharp, “No.” For a second, he almost looks like a stranger. I curl beneath him, searching his gaze. “Let me seeyou,” he says, and the dress slowly peels away. I gasp softly as I lie undressed before him for the first time.

What Ren and I share is, to me, the most intense, real, bona fide love anyone has ever felt. Everyone else’s love is cheap plastic, while I have the real deal, made of ivory, gold, and blood diamonds. A rare and expensive luxury. Most people would just call it puppy love. Ihatethat term. And it’s not just because we’re young or because our parents wouldn’t approve or because most people would say there’s no future in it.

It’s because Ren and I have never had sex.

The truth is, I’ve never had sex with anyone.

One by one, I’ve watched my friends change. The way they act, speak, dress. Hemlines got shorter and makeup got bolder. I am the only holdout, the only one who refused, who has nothing to giggle and gossip about, who has no pictures of men (or any of their body parts) to swipe through on my phone as they compare scores. My standards are too high. My future with Ren has already been mapped out in my mind so clearly. When I close my eyes, it’s like I time travel. I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want “experiences” and “options.”

I just want him.

Ren would have been happy to relieve me of my virginity sooner. He was always talking about doing so. He’s teased me about it. He’s brushed his knuckles up my knee, curled his fingers around my thigh, smacked my ass in passing. Whenever he wanted to remind me who Iwillsomeday belong to, Ren didn’t hesitate.

But being a love-struck virgin isn’t synonymous with being an idiot or a pushover. Ren’s had plenty of girls before me; I wasn’t going to just be the next one on his list. I’ve held out all this time. I’ve made him work for it. Wait for it. And he has said, over and over, that he would wait for me as long as it took.

But this was the deal. The promise I made, both to him and to myself: If Ren went out tonight and became the mafia’s definition of a man, then I would let him come back here and finally make memydefinition of a woman, not just a girl, anymore.

Well, Ren is a mafia man now, and he’s here to collect.

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