A Mafia Royals Romance Book 6

“The trust of the innocent is the liar’s most useful tool.” —Stephen King

Sometimes I wonder.

Sometimes I think.

Sometimes I ponder.

Sometimes I drink.

Is this normal? This anger? This disappointment?

Maybe.

Maybe.

Maybe.

I twirl the whiskey glass in my hand and stare into the amber liquid. Why am I this way? Why do I need to feel so deeply? So desperately? Why am I broken?

And why is the person that’s been born to be the glue—lost and unable to keep things together?

“I would love you for an eternity,” I murmur, glancing at her across the room, watching her stare at me like it’s going to make things better when we both know we’re done. “I would die for you. Kill for you. I would bleed for you.”

“I don’t need your blood,” she whispers as a tear runs down her cheek. I want to catch it, but what do you do when you catch someone else’s tears? It’s a metaphor because, at the end of the day, the tear disappears, and so does your fucking hope.

My crown is heavy.

My love for her is heavier. But I can’t let her see me crumble, so I continue to stare, and I continue to give her a choice.

And then I experience pain so searing, so horrible that I wonder if I’ll survive it as I say the words that will damn us forever. “Go to him.”

“But—” Her eyes close. “I know what this means for us.”

“I know,” I say. “But this is how our story both ends and begins, with you walking out that door, toward him, and me carrying the weight of the Families on my shoulders. Go.”

“King—”

“How funny, right? My name… King. As if I can control anything when it’s all out of my hands when a happily ever after is a joke…” I sniff into my drink. “It’s okay though, it’s going to be okay.”

“How?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Because I have no other choice. And neither do you.”

“I care for you—”

“No.” Humiliated, I return my stare into my drink and find my voice cracking. “You love him.”

“We loved with a love that was more than love.” —Edgar Allan Poe

“No.” That’s all I really remember. That one word repeating over and over again in my head. Like sand sifting through my fingers, I am losing my grip on reality and on everything I thought I had control over.

My life.

My future.

My soon-to-be wife.

Married.

Had someone told me that I’d be having this conversation with my dad at my age, I would have laughed. Hell, last year, I was fucking my tutor—spoiler alert, it wasn’t because I was failing math.

“Sit,” Dad barks out the order.

I will have zero choice over this.

I know that, even as my ass hits the leather chair. But something in me still needs to fight it—mainly because he doesn’t know.

My cousins do; my friends, they all know now after I’d hidden it for a while—super awkward, by the way, having that conversation with Maksim, but that’s an entirely different story, apparently.

I am fighting for peace in a world of nothing but war, and I am already exhausted as my dad stares me down and sighs.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t let him see me break.

I am the main heir—next to my half-uncle—in line to take over the Five Families—now six.

God, six.

I still can’t believe that we sucked in another Family from Italy, completely pissing off the older families in Sicily by bringing someone else into the fold by way of marriage.

I remember the day I found out we were combining the Five Families of the Cosa Nostra with yet another powerful Family. I laughed, nearly feeling sorry for the poor bastard that had to sacrifice his dick on the altar of marriage to someone he didn’t love.

I shake my head at my dad before he can even get more words out. I’m not shaking my head at him because I’m rejecting what has to happen.

I’m shaking my head because I still can’t believe it’s her.

Anyone else. Literally anyone else. This is the part of the story where you feel sorry for the poor bastard because he’s marrying someone he hates, but my story’s different.

She’s someone I love.

My eyes squeeze shut. Maybe they’re afraid to stay open because my dad will see too much. Nah, he’ll see it all. Of course, the one time I’m ready to commit it’s to someone who wants nothing to do with me because she loves someone else.

This is a last-ditch effort on my part to stop the world from spinning out of control, to stop myself from making the mistake of living a life where I know the person lying in bed next to me shares her heart with someone else, along with her body, because what sort of sick bastard would I be if I kept her to myself when all she wants to do is give those pieces to someone else?

Unrequited love sucks.

It’s not like in the movies where the girl finally sees the light, and that’s the worst part. I know women find me appealing, but that doesn’t really matter where the heart’s concerned.

Del.

I think about her way too much.

About our friendship.

Our secrets.

And the day I reached for her hand only to have her jerk it away and shake her head slowly like she knew what she would eventually have to say to me.

“No,” she whispered. “I like you, I really do, King. Maybe in a different life this could have worked, but this has to strictly be business—a transaction we both sign off on in order to keep the peace between the Buratti Family and the Five Families.”

Stunned, I could only look at her and nod my head when everything within me was screaming, “unfair!”

Unfair that everyone around me finds their happy ending.

Unfair that I have to look at someone I’m falling for and tell her to kiss someone else.

It’s all unfair.

It’s fucked.

And still, I put a ring on her finger.

Still, I make promises in my heart and soul, wondering if I’ll even last long enough to know what it’s like to feel again.

Dad sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal.”

I snort. “You’re kidding, right?”

“King.” He swallows, then looks down at his folded hands. “The situation is precarious. The Buratti Family has risen in power, and they want in; they’ve made promises, and what’s better is they’re some of the best bodyguards I’ve ever seen.”

I frown. “What’s that have to do with anything?”

“We have money,” Dad says. “They have soldiers.”

I fall back against the leather chair. “Are we short on soldiers?”

“After the cleansing of the De Lange line,” Dad says with a shrug, “we lost a lot of people. And not just that. Our family keeps growing, and we need more men to put on the kids. We can’t just pick some random people off the street.”

“So, I’m marrying a girl who doesn’t love me in order to make sure some foot soldier can follow one of my cousins around school and do their Bio homework?”

It makes zero sense.

He’s hiding something.

I lean forward. “Dad?”

He sighs and checks his phone. “She’s here. Be nice. Pour her a glass of wine and try to enjoy it.”

“Sure.” I lick my lips.

That’s like asking someone to enjoy a root canal.

Dad gets up and walks around his desk, then puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Tell me you can do this. Tell me you can not only be my heir but unite the Families. Tell me you won’t rebel… for once in your life.”

I put my hand on his, my words heavy. “I won’t fail.”

“Good.” He nods. “Very good.” His footsteps are heavy across the hardwood floor before I hear the door open and him call over his shoulder. “You have five minutes.”

Five minutes until my life changes forever.

Five minutes to digest the shame that washes over me in panicked waves like I’m drowning in the ocean.

Five minutes to come to the conclusion that I will live forever in a loveless marriage and that the one rule you’re given once you say those vows is to never cheat on the woman you’ve sworn to protect.

And yet I’ll let her do exactly that—because I love her.

In that single moment, I realize… in five minutes, I’ll be celibate for the rest of my life, however long or short that may be.

I’ll never laugh over dinner and hold my biological daughter or son close and wonder if they look more like me or more like her.

Because I can’t. I can’t sleep with her knowing she’s with him.

So if she gets pregnant, everyone wins.

And I get to help raise someone else’s son as if he’s my own.

It’s too heavy to think about.

I want to vomit.

Instead, I stare straight ahead at my dad’s chair, knowing one day I’ll fill it and that my sacrifice is for the greater good of the Five—no—Six Families.

It was always going to come down to this, wasn’t it?

I pulled the short straw.

I close my eyes. Inhale. Exhale.

It had to be me.

Because who else could it be?

I had a sudden vision of grabbing the invisible crown off my head and setting it on fire. Instead, I feel its weight. I relish the pain. And I breathe.

I have one minute left.

I stand.

I turn and face the door.

I count my steps.

And I reach for the knob, taking a reassuring breath and whispering, “Time for my engagement party.”

Nobody sees the tear that slides down my cheek before I open the door, just like nobody hears the sound of my heart breaking as it slams against the floor.

I walk out of that room different.

I will never be the same.

If I want to survive.

I can’t be.

I’m King Campisi.

And the cross is almost too much to bear.