Reckless Heir (Underworld Kings)

I shouldn’t have been thinking about soiling such a beautiful, vulnerable girl. I knew she was innocent in all ways, the Cosa Nostra notorious for keeping their women under lock and key, their chastity intact to be used and sold off.

Although some factions of the Bratva held this barbaric tradition–my father being one of them–now that Dmitry and I had taken over the Desolation syndicate, we didn’t give a shit about that.

I never understood those outdated traditions, how a girl was only valuable if her hymen was still intact. I was under the mind frame of enjoying your youth and live however the fuck you wanted.

If someone wanted to gangbang their night away, more power to them. If someone wanted to pull out teeth and cut out a tongue for finding a rat in the ranks, hell, I'd be right there at the front of the line listening to them scream and beg for mercy.

Live and let live. Unless you fucked with us then we’d end you in the most torturous, twisted ways.

“I’d ask if you’re watching Marco, but I know that’s not the case since I have a few guys doing that,” Dmitry drawled and my focus was snagged once more at the front of the store, as if getting a glimpse of my breakable looking future wife got me off. “I hope like hell you’re not being a fucking creep and stalking Bianchi’s daughter.”

I smirked even though he couldn’t see me

“And if I am being a stalker? What do you care what I do? Not like you haven’t done some questionable things, big brother.” I kept my voice void of emotion.

I felt my muscles tighten as the door to the store opened and one of the guards stepped out. Marco’s wife Fernanda followed, her cell phone pressed to her ear, her mouth moving as she looked over her shoulder.

“I don’t care. Just reminding you I don’t want your crazy ass ruining this.”

I growled low and narrowed my eyes. “Fuck off. I know how important this union is. Hell, who’s idea was it, Dmitry?”

My brother snorted. “Just making sure you know what's at stake and the end goal, and that’s not getting your dick wet.”

Oh, that was for sure fucking part of it, and as if my cock agreed, the big length jerked once more behind my zipper.

I watched as Amara was the next to leave the boutique, the wind picking up and blowing the long fall of her dark hair around her face, the fabric of her modest dress molding to her body so I could make out the curves of her waist, the mounds of her breasts… and that feminine indentation between her legs.

At this rate I’d come right in my jeans without even having to touch the fucker.

“I’ll be where I need to be. Don’t worry.” I ended the call before Dmitry could hammer me with any more questions, and shoved the phone back in my pocket. Not that he cared what I did normally, but this situation was different. It meant a huge power surge in our direction, would get any stragglers in line after our father’s death.

When Amara and her guard were out of the store, the door closing behind them, they all started walking down the street. I noticed how Edoardo, her weak as fuck little guard didn’t even stop himself from checking out my fiancé’s ass. I’d have to remember to give him two black eyes for that shit.

When Amara suddenly stopped I trained my focus back on her. Her shoulders pulled back as she looked up and down the street.

A slow, predatory grin spread across my face.

I got off on her very evident apprehension.

Her gaze skated over the rental I was in, staring at it for just a second before she looked away. She felt me.

I wasn’t done following her, watching her… thinking about all the filthy, degrading things I’d do to her. She’d cry for me and I’d lick her tears, drag my tongue along her face and taste all that fucking fear and sadness.

Maybe all of that shouldn’t have brought me as much pleasure as it did, knowing she was uneasy right now because she could sense my gaze on her, probably felt that sliver of fear, that tingle of warning.

Oh… I was going to have fun with her.

Chapter

Six

Amara

The day of the dinner had the staff bustling around and my father barking out orders. I could feel the tension radiating off of him whenever I was within a five foot radius of him. He was nervous, that was painfully obvious. And it was strange seeing my father so worked up, so on edge over something like this.

Dinner.

I’d seen him upset, rigged and on the verge of seeming like he would murder the next person who crossed him. But tonight was supposed to be just a formal dinner between my family and my future husband. So the fact my father was so tense over this? Told me he feared the Petrov brothers. No doubt didn’t trust them either