Devious: A Dark Mafia Romance (Deviant Series Book 1) Read online

  Will she think I'm a rich businessman?

  Will she find me attractive?

  Will she want me to take her out on a date?

  I need the answer to be yes to all of those questions, because I plan on seducing Victoria Ciccone. She is simply step one in the grand scheme of things.

  I have a plan in place. A simple one.

  Make her fall for me, so that I can get my revenge on Giorgio Ciccone, her father and the very man who destroyed my life and murdered my family.

  He's more heavily guarded than fucking Fort Knox. And the only way to get to him is through her. So, I will use his daughter, take what I want and not give a single fuck.

  Victoria is the key to getting my revenge.

  And when the final step of my plan comes into play…I'll put a fucking bullet right between her father's eyes.

  CHAPTER 2

  VICTORIA

  I LIKE TO think that I was happy at one point in my life, but it all feels like a distant memory to me now.

  My entire world was turned upside down within the matter of a few months at the tender age of ten, and I lost almost everyone important to me in what seemed like the blink of an eye.

  After my mother died and then the fire at the Rossis’ home, my father sent me away for years to an all-girls boarding school in Colorado. The big move from New York City to halfway across the country was hard for me, especially since I didn't even have enough time to mourn the loss of my mother.

  I remember the first few months in Colorado vividly. All I did was cry myself to sleep at night at the loss of my mother and the Rossi family. The other girls instantly nicknamed me "crybaby", and the name stuck throughout the years I attended.

  After boarding school, I attended their sister college where I maintained a four-point-o GPA and received a business degree. After graduation, my father sent me a letter asking me to come home to New York. I guess calling or actually showing up to my graduation ceremony would have been too much for his busy schedule, but it would have been nice to see him in person or at least hear his voice. His phone calls became infrequent over the years until I no longer expected them.

  Once I returned to New York, my father had an apartment waiting for me in midtown Manhattan. It was as if he couldn't stand the sight of me long enough to let me stay even one night at his house, which just happens to be my childhood home and the house that holds the most memories of my mother.

  But the luxurious apartment in Hell's Kitchen hasn't been so bad over the past six months. Most people would kill to own a three-bedroom condo in this city and especially in that building. I have a private rooftop terrace with a great view of Central Park where I enjoy running on an almost daily basis.

  Things could be different, but they could also be worse.

  Much, much worse.

  Wednesday morning, after my usual routine run in the park, I stop at Helen’s Books and Brews. Sophie Bouchard is behind the counter, as always, and a big smile creeps along her lips as soon as she sees me.

  "Hey, girl. Good run?" she asks.

  I nod, wiping some sweat from my brow. "Very good. Now I'm ready for some caffeine and carbs."

  "A treat after the torture," she says with a grin.

  "Yep. Makes it all worth it,” I tell her with a chuckle. I once tried to convince Sophie to go on a run with me, but she compared running to cruel and unusual punishment.

  "I'll get us the usual," she tells me with a wink before grabbing a large, round mug. "Find a seat, and I’ll join you.”

  I give her a nod and go to a table by the large bay window that looks out onto the busy streets of downtown Manhattan.

  I first met Sophie a few days after moving into my apartment six months ago. I was going stir-crazy with nothing to do, and so I decided to find a nearby bookstore. Books have always been my passion, and I consider reading so much more than just something to simply pass the time.

  They are my escape from reality.

  The moment I walked into this particular bookstore, I instantly fell in love with the eclectic décor and poetry written on the back wall by patrons. The store is old and owned by Sophie's grandmother, Helen, who hasn't been doing so well as of late due to a series of illnesses. Sophie runs the store since her grandmother can't, and we instantly bonded over our favorite books, authors, fancy cappuccinos and Helen’s famous, freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies.

  Even though I haven’t known Sophie that long, I consider her my best friend. I tell her everything, no matter how trivial; and she's always there to listen.

  Several minutes later, Sophie joins me at the table with our usual — hers a cup of coffee, black; mine, a fancy cappuccino with a leaf design in the thick foam — and two chocolate chip cookies.

  The aromas coming from all three make me hungry…and happy. I enjoy the time I spend with Sophie immensely. In fact, it's the highlight of my day.

  I wrap my hands around the mug and relish in the radiating warmth. Summer is over; fall is well on its way, and it's already turning cold in the city.

  Suzanne Vega's song "Tom's Diner" plays softly over the speakers throughout the bookstore as Sophie takes a sip of her coffee. "It's been a slow morning," she comments before brushing her blonde bangs from her electric blue eyes.

  I frown at that. It seems like most mornings when I come in Sophie tells me about how slow business is. I fear that someday this bookstore might go under, but Sophie is always quick to assure me that her grandmother would never let that happen.

  “You know…I could loan you money,” I propose. This isn’t the first time I’ve offered to help her out, and it probably won’t be the last.

  Sophie knows my father is well to do, but she has no idea how much so. I don’t think anybody truly does. To the public, my father is portrayed as a wealthy businessman who owns half of New York City. But to the people who know him, really know him, he’s the boss of the Italian Mob.

  He’s very good at hiding his true self…until you cross him.

  Sophie definitely doesn’t know I’m known throughout his organization as a mafia princess. And I hope she never finds out.

  Although my father sent me away at an early age and I haven't had much exposure in the mob life, I've still heard about the things he's capable of. Things that keep me up at night.

  I don't want to bring Sophie into that dark world. In fact, I want to keep her as far away from it as I can. She's untainted right now, and I plan on keeping it that way, no matter what.

  “We’re managing right now, but thanks for the offer,” Sophie says, turning me down once again. Sighing, she says, "Must be nice to have a rich dad who doesn't make you work.”

  She's speaking nonchalantly, but I feel my spine stiffening at her words.

  “I wish I was that lucky,” she tells me before taking a sip of her coffee.

  "Lucky," I whisper with an internalized groan. "Sure." I take a long sip of my drink so that I don't have to elaborate on the thoughts in my head.

  I don’t feel so lucky. In fact, I never have. I’ve felt cursed, if anything.

  Being a mafia princess does have its perks, of course; but it’s a very lonely life. I guess the only thing that’s lucky in my life is that I'm not under lock and key like I was growing up. At least I have some freedom here; and my apartment, although I don't pay for it personally, is mine and mine alone.

  My only fear is that I won’t ever be happy again, not like I once was. That I’ll be stuck in this city and never be able to get out from under my father’s thumb.

  The bell above the door rings, effectively breaking me out of my reverie. “Duty calls,” Sophie mumbles under her breath as she stands and goes to the cash register up front.

  As the front door closes, a gust of cool air drifts towards me, and the aroma of masculine cologne hits my senses. I've always been super sensitive when it comes to different scents, and this particular cologne is something I could definitely inhale on a daily basis — clean and woodsy like musk and sandalwood.


  I turn to see the stranger striding through the door, and my heart immediately skips a beat when his eyes catch mine.

  Emeralds.

  Dark green eyes ensnare me in some weird connection until they finally tear away and focus their attention on Sophie at the front counter.

  "Coffee. Black. To go," he says in clipped sentences, his voice deep and gruff.

  "Sure thing," she says, grinning from ear to ear and practically giddy.

  She's clearly attracted to the stranger, and I can't say I blame her. He's tall, so tall he towers over everything in the store. And his suit clings to a very muscular body like the fabric was created just for him.

  I surreptitiously study him from across the room as Sophie prepares his coffee.

  His strong jaw is covered in day-old stubble, and his full lips look soft even though they're set in a stern expression.

  He looks so serious that I can't help but wonder what he looks like when a smile graces his face.

  After paying, Sophie hands him a Styrofoam cup. And then, the stranger turns, sneaks another glance at me with those strikingly dark green eyes and walks out the door.

  Once he’s out of sight, I sit back in my chair and suck in a breath of air. It was like his very presence took all the oxygen out of the room.

  Sophie skips back over to our table and theatrically fans herself. "Holy shit, he was hot."

  "Yeah, he was," I agree wholeheartedly before popping a piece of cookie in my mouth.

  "I should have asked for his number or something. Not for me because I have a boyfriend, of course, but for you."

  "For me?" I cry, almost choking on that damn cookie. "I am so not his type."

  "What, the beautiful, Disney princess lookalike type?" she asks with an eye roll. "Face it, Vi, you're freaking gorgeous." She puts her elbows on the table and drops her head onto her fists with a heavy sigh. "You guys would have beautiful babies together," she comments dreamily.

  "Babies?" I scoff. "The guy was probably married."

  "He wasn't wearing a ring," she points out.

  Clearly, I was too focused on his handsome face to check out the obvious sign of him being taken, and I'm not surprised at all that Sophie noticed. She notices everything and reads body language like it's her super power. It's hard to keep any secrets from her, but some things I have to keep buried…for her sake.

  "Well…maybe he's not married, but he most definitely has a girlfriend," I reply.

  She sits up straight with a frown marring her features. "How would you know?"

  I stare pensively towards the door where the stranger stood only moments earlier. "A guy like that doesn't stay single long."

  She sighs melodramatically and sinks into her seat. "Ah, you're right. Damn, I hope he comes back in here again."

  "You've never seen him before?"

  "Nope. Guys like that usually don't come into stores like this. Maybe he took a wrong turn at Ralph Lauren or something."

  I swig the last of my cappuccino and stand. "Well, I better get going." I reach into the center storage pocket in my sports bra and pull out the twenty dollars I keep in there since I don’t have pockets in my jogging clothes. It’s more than enough to cover the bill plus a big fat tip for Sophie.

  “You know I don’t like taking your boob money, but I know better than to refuse it.”

  Laughing, I give her a wave before I go to the front door. We used to argue over the amount at first, but she quickly learned that I wasn’t going to budge.

  “See you tomorrow, Vi,” she says with a wave.

  I walk out of the shop and decide to jog the rest of the way back to my place to burn off some of the extra calories I just inhaled.

  I wasn't always such a worrywart when it came to food and calories, but going to an all-girls school where you're picked on mercilessly about every little thing can make you really self-conscious even if you had no prior issues beforehand. That place was full of mean girls. And so, when I started eating my feelings after my mom died and put on a few extra pounds, I was called everything in the book from fat cow to lard ass.

  Eventually, I joined the track team at school where I learned that running was something I actually loved to do and it kept any extra weight off. Plus, it allowed me to clear my mind. Running is cathartic for me, because my brain shuts down all the extra bad thoughts and just focuses on the task at hand.

  Some might say I'm running from my past.

  Those people would probably be right.

  Just as I reach my apartment building, my Apple Watch vibrates on my wrist. When I look down, I see it’s a text from my father.

  Charity gala dinner Friday night, 7 p.m. Don’t be late.

  Ever since I’ve been back in New York, I’ve had to take on the role of a socialite to please my father. I’ve been to so many galas in the past six months that they all blur together into one giant, boring party.

  Grimacing, I text my father that I’ll be there.

  And as I make my way up to my apartment, I think back to what Sophie said about my life. She thinks I’m lucky.

  She has no idea I’d trade everything to just be normal for once.

  CHAPTER 3

  DAMON

  I VENTURE INTO the sordid underground of New York City using old, broken down service tunnels and a map, which has been etched in my brain, as my guide.

  It’s tedious to get to my destination, but the information I receive once I get there will be worth it.

  It always is.

  As I walk, I find myself still reeling from seeing Victoria up close and personal earlier today. I’ve only ever seen her from afar or in photographs while trolling her social media accounts. But being in the same room as her was like a punch straight to the gut. She’s gorgeous, just like I remember, but all grown up.

  When our eyes locked, I thought for a moment that she recognized me. But the look on her face showed no recognition whatsoever. I’m sure she’s forgotten all about Arlo by now anyway, and that thought only furthers my anger towards her.

  Turning one last time, I come to a steel door that looks welded shut to the common onlooker, but I know better.

  Knocking five times, three times in quick succession and then pausing a beat between the last two, I wait patiently while the hidden security camera scans my face.

  The special knock really isn’t necessary considering my movements have been tracked since the moment I entered the first tunnel. There are cameras everywhere, even in these unbeaten paths under the ground.

  The door hisses as the hydraulic system kicks in and then swings open. As soon as I enter the dark room, the door behind me slams shut, sealing me inside.

  Tiny, red dots lead the way through total darkness until I reach the black curtain at the end of the hallway.

  Pushing through the heavy material, I have to close my eyes to adjust to the bright, overhead fluorescent lights in the spacious underground dwelling that reminds me of a cave a super villain would reside in.

  Armed guards are at the ready, throwing me against the wall and searching me for weapons I knew better than to bring.

  “All clear,” one guy says. His large muscles are so compacted on top of each other that he has no neck.

  “Hello, my good friend,” says a deep voice with a thick Syrian accent from the right of me. I turn to see Baz Fayed sauntering towards me. Tall and thin with dark skin and brown eyes, Baz exudes a confidence and commanding power that most men could only dream about.

  With a flick of his hand, he shoos the armed guards away. “Sorry about all of the precautions. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Of course,” I answer.

  He comes to me then, grasping my hand and pulling me in for a one-armed hug before clapping me hard on the back. “It’s always good to see my oldest friend,” he remarks with a grin, his white teeth shining bright.

  I first met Baz Fayed when both of us were kids living on the streets of New York City. He had fled Syria years before, losing his mother and
father along the way.

  We didn’t get along at first, constantly fighting over turf and whatnot. But soon we learned how much we had in common — we were both young, alone and thieves in the night. We realized that we could steal twice as much loot in one night if we worked together instead of against each other, and we lived like kings on other people’s fortunes.

  We made a pact at age twelve that we would always help each other no matter what life brought us.

  While I was busy making a new life for myself under a new identity, Baz fled to the tunnels and created himself an underground empire. He has some of the best hackers in the world working for him here. He’s been able to manipulate the stock market, insurance claims, and transfer money to offshore accounts to make millions, if not billions, of dollars almost overnight.

  Baz can do whatever he wants whenever he wants and get away with it. A little power can go to someone’s head. A lot of power, however? Well, let’s just say Baz throws the word god around a lot when talking about himself.

  Multiple desks, computers, monitors, servers and miles of thick cables line the walls of the cavernous room. There are several people milling about, all different ages and ethnicities, but they pay no mind to me.

  Baz leads me over to a computer and sits down in front of the large monitor.

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news about your mother, my friend,” Baz starts out, but I already know what he’s going to say.

  “I know she’s dead. I’ve felt it in my gut for years.”

  Baz nods in affirmation. “Yes, she has passed, unfortunately.” He makes a few clicks on the keyboard and brings up an obituary with a small, black and white photo of my mother in the corner. This is a new picture I haven’t seen before. The young, fresh face I remember has been replaced with an older, wrinkled version.

  “And what happened of her life? Was she…did she…?” I can’t even force myself to ask the questions I already know the answers to. Giorgio Ciccone sold my mother and older sister into a sex trafficking ring after the fire that killed my father and almost took my life as well. I never saw or heard from them again, but I’ve been doing everything in my power to find them. Even if they’re both dead, I want to know.