A Debt So Cruel : A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance

Massimo

“WIPE THAT F*CK*NG FROWN off your face, figlio. Your despondency is making me look bad.”

Sloshing the ice around in my tumbler, I glance over at my father. Even in his prime, the man didn’t scare me, despite having one of the largest body counts on the East Coast. To me, he’s only ever been Dad.

A sh*t dad, but Dad nonetheless.

“No one’s paying you any attention, Pop.” I gesture around the fenced yard at the faces turned away from us.

We’ve set up shop on one side of the Pasinis’ backyard, beneath the wide, bamboo parasol meant to shade us from the sun and haven’t moved in an hour. “Besides, it’s your fault for making me come here. Seriously, what grown man throws himself a birthday party?”

My father sighs, leaning back in his lounge chair.

“It’s his stepfather, I think. We stopped throwing you parties when you were, what, sixteen?”

Try seven. But no one wants to talk about that, least of all me. Instead, I nod, scanning the crowd for the fiftieth time since settling in with my whiskey.

Enzo went all-out on the alcohol, I’ll give him that. Almost as if he anticipated animosity among the family and King’s Trace commoners.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was a party for Senator Reed, Enzo’s uncle by marriage. The gray-haired, beady-eyed thief keeps his eldest daughter strapped to his side, touting her around like a p*ssy parade.

Eliza’s beautiful, and it’s not exactly difficul to comprehend why he brings her everywhere. She’s the prim and proper foil to her younger sister, who’s starred in more s*x tapes than the average pornstar.

The Reeds are legendary around town, although they give off a vibe of secrecy. Something in the way Vincent’s always leering, looking for someone to introduce his daughter to.

I rake my gaze over the girl—woman—again, absorbing her appearance for the hundredth time; her golden hair shimmers down her back, grazing against the creamy skin exposed in the short, rose-pink sundress she has on.

Her blue eyes remain cast down at the ground, as though she’s afraid of what she’ll discover if she looks up.

Well, she should be scared. I’ve been unable to move my gaze from her curves since I first noticed her. Can’t stop thinking about what it’d be like to get her alone; how soft her plump lips might be—if she tastes as sweet and innocent as she looks.

Shifting in my seat, I adjust myself discreetly. A hard-on with kids around would make my father really look bad.

My eyes find the pair again; I don’t like the way the senator’s arm curls around her, keeping her breasts flush against his side. His nails dig into the exposed skin of her bicep, making her squirm.

“What’s the deal with him?” I ask, jerking my chin in the senator’s direction.

Vincent’s rounded belly jiggles as he laughs, and Eliza grimaces, a flicker of annoyance flashing in her baby blues.

“He’s auctioning his daughter off, or something. Paying off his debts or collecting on campaign promises. I don’t know. This is why we don’t get involved in f*ck*ng politics; they’ll sell you anything if it keeps them in power.” My father shakes his head, tipping his beer bottle to his lips and taking a long gulp.

He pulls it away, pointing at them with the mouth. “Imagine selling your f*ck*ng daughter to a criminal. Cristo, your mother would castrate me from the afterlife if I tried something like that.”

Pain throbs deep in my chest, cracking the cavity open like someone’s reached inside and gripped my heart in their cold hands.

I clear my throat and bring the glass tumbler up, taking a quick drink. If he doesn’t stop talking about our life in New York, I’ll cut his d*ck off myself.

I set the glass down and fold my hands over my stomach. “Who do you think will get her?”

“Asher Creighton.”

My eyebrow quirks up. “Pardon?”

He shrugs. Flesh sales aren’t that uncommon in our world, but that it’s happening here, out in the open, and in favor of a rival outfit, is nearly unfathomable. “Look, son, put your petty rivalry with that boy to rest, at least while we’re here. Reed owes all of us money, and we aren’t going to take a body as payment. That’s absurd. It’s not even on the same level.”

“Petty rivalry?” I glare at him, my hands gripping the armrests on the chaise. “I inherited the f*ck*ng thing. Even if Asher wasn’t a total freak, don’t act like I had a choice in who my enemy is.”

“You have a choice to continue it.”

Heat scorches beneath my skin, pressure building in my temple as I try to reign in the rage. Any other man would be properly splattered on the floor right now for insubordination, but I can’t act that way with my father. Not Pier Vitellio.

Our parent outfit, the Riccis in Boston, would have my head on a f*ck*ng platter within the hour.

Heaving a heavy sigh, I pinch my eyes closed, trying to erase the memory of this girl from my brain. Who she’s getting sold to should be of no consequence to me, except that I can’t shake my dead mother’s nagging.

Everyone in this life has a choice, my sweet boy. Please don’t ever forget that

Mommy issues aside, anything that beautiful should be kept from Asher, who loves to destroy precious things. He’d eat her heart as soon as they exchanged rings and let his men use her lifeless body after.

Unwarranted possessiveness blooms like a cactus inside me, pushing me to my feet as the girl finally wrenches herself from her father’s arms and heads for the door to the house.

Glancing around the crowd, her eyes lock on mine for a moment, widening when I refuse to look away. There’s a dull fire burning there, telling me all I need to know about her.

She may look pure, but there’s dirt on her soul—a skeleton handcuffed to her wrist, forced to drag it around for as long as she can remember.

Her hips flare and sway as she walks away, my pants tenting uncomfortably when she pauses and gives me one last glance, a small smile lighting up her perfect face.

And holy f*ck*ng hell, I want her. Want to break her body in half as I dive inside, filling her veins with my blood.

At the very least, I want her before Asher has her. Not because I’m better for her, but because he deserves to lose.

“Massimo…” My father’s voice comes from behind me. A warning. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

Smirking to myself, eyes glued to where she disappeared through the French doors, I brush some dirt off my Armani suit jacket and yank on the lapels. “Sometimes, regret’s the only emotion worth a d*mn.”

Eliza

If I could drag my father’s body to this corner of the house and stab him with the pocketknife I keep tucked into my underwear, I would. Without a single thought as to whether I’d regret it after—because I wouldn’t.

I’d never regret hurting that man. Not after today, and not after the last ten years.

First, it was asking me to dress conservatively so as not to draw attention away from him. Then, it was telling me not to drink or stray too far, because he had investors lined up, different men vying for my hand.

Stupid and defiant, I’d pulled on a light pink dress that barely skims the tops of my thighs, relishing in the way my father’s eyes bugged out of his head. It takes a lot to shock Vincent Reed: senator and bad dad extraordinaire.

But I’m beyond done playing his filthy games. Games I never should’ve been involved in to begin with. The man could take my childhood, push it neatly under his dirty little thumb, but he