Broken by Sin: A Dark Mafia Romance

“Let him.” Nico’s face doesn’t change. “Go back to your seat, princess.”

“I want to talk to Rinaldo.” I tilt my chin up toward him. “I have a husband to find, remember?”

Something twists in his expression. It’s pained, but also angry. Why does he give a shit who I choose to marry? He’s done nothing but treat me like garbage for years and years, and now suddenly he cares who I’m talking to?

I yank my wrist away and he releases me. I glare and rub the skin, and it feels like someone left bubbling baking soda behind tickling along the small hairs of my hand. I don’t understand why I react this way to that asshole, and I don’t want to spend the time analyzing it.

“I’m here for Rinaldo,” he says, looking over at the lane. “We’ve got a job to do, so you might as well forget about talking to him tonight.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, Karah, I’m not.” His gaze is flat again. Whatever emotions he felt are long gone now. “Go sit down. I’m sure Gavino will be happy to offer his advice on marriage if you ask.”

“What is the matter with you? You’re always so pissed off at me. What did I ever do?”

His jaw works and he shakes his head. “Nothing at all, princess.” He turns to walk away.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone about my deal? Nobody knows except you and Papa. I figured you’d use it against me.”

He hesitates, back still turned, and only shrugs. “Guess I figured it wasn’t my business.” He heads off without a word.

I watch him go, frustrated and annoyed. He approaches Rinaldo and they talk briefly before the two men leave together. The rest of the guys seem sullen after that, like they’re disappointed Nico didn’t choose any of them.

I return to my seat with Gavino. He raises his eyebrows at me.

“Saw you talking to Nico. Seemed intense. What’d he want?”

“Nothing,” I say, not looking at him. “You know Nico. He delights in being a piece of shit.”

“I think he’s funny.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Gavino laughs and nudges me. “Let’s go bowl. Maybe that’ll cheer you up, since Nico stole away your little crush.”

“I don’t have a crush on Rinaldo,” I say, distracted and not quite listening. I keep thinking about the look on Nico’s face and the feeling of his fingers on my skin.

Ecstasy and pain. Hatred and lust. His touch was like a brand, like he marked me for his own.

But that can’t be right. Nico despises me and always has.

Yet he looks at me like he wants to pin me against the floor and have his way with my body.

I don’t understand it, and I hate how hard his gaze makes my pulse pound in my ears.

“Whatever. Come on.” Gavino hops up and walks off toward an open lane.

I follow Gavino and rub my wrist as I go.

I still need to find a husband, or I’m going to get shipped off to Dallas. I can’t let Nico distract me—I’m running out of time, and if I don’t make a move soon, I’ll be screwed.

Chapter 4

Nico

“I was on track to bowl the best game of my life before you pulled me out of there,” Rinaldo says as he stares out the passenger side window of my black Range Rover. “This better be good.”

“We’ve got a job.” I don’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to know the details. Rinaldo’s clever and strong and popular in the Famiglia, but he’s still a low-ranking soldier.

I remember what it was like to be his age and knee-deep in mafia shit. I was like him back then, ruthless and reckless and violent as hell. I’m still all those things, except now I’m smart enough to keep myself under control.

Rinaldo’s a wild animal.

He hasn’t figured out how to rein himself in yet.

And Karah thinks he’d be a good husband. The idea would be laughable if it weren’t so fucking dangerous.

I park outside of a gas station with a couple beat-up trucks in the lot. One old guy fills his Old Man Tan Cadillac and barely looks up when I step out of the Rover. Rinaldo follows and we approach the little convenience store together.

“Let me do the talking,” I say, glancing at Rinaldo. “You keep your mouth shut and watch my back.”

He grins at me, head cocked. “Why are you always such a dick, Nico? You need more pussy, man. Nothing better for stress than a nice willing cunt.”

“Just do your job.”

He shrugs and I shove in through the door. The store’s cramped and small with old metal racks covered in chips and candy bars and magazines three months out of date. The cooler in the back is stocked with beer and not much else, and signs for cigarettes that look at least twenty years old hang on the walls. My shoes stick to the linoleum.