Ruthless Heir: A Dark Mafia Romance (Ruthless Dynasty Book 1)

This is the moment of truth.

All that I’ve worked for. All that I’ve sacrificed. All that I’ve suffered. It was so that I could end up here, in the lion’s den, standing before these despicable monsters.

In front of her.

Bianca Byrne.

The one who got away.

Fucking hell.

It takes a conscious effort to keep my hackles from rising. My fists from clenching. My anger from taking over.

She’s looking right at me. Those haunting crystal blue eyes. Shit. I’ve never forgotten those stupid eyes. They shimmer with such hate… and so much fear.

Silly girl. You’re the one in control here… for now. Take advantage of it before I rip that power away from you forever.

“Is that understood?”

Ray Byrne finishes his speech with one last boom.

“Yes, sir!” I shout in unison with everyone else.

Keeping my gaze focused straight ahead, I try to subtly study the girl who’s fate will soon rest in my hands. But I don’t dare make a single movement.

I can’t afford to give away my hate.

Still, I feel the slightest twitch take over my brow when I spot the bright red scar cutting through her left eyebrow.

That’s new.

… And concerning.

“Good. Maksim, you take them from here. Rian, you can stay if you want to. Bianca, come with me.”

Thankfully, Ray Byrne doesn’t look at his daughter as he turns away. If he did, he might see the twisted look of fear and confusion contorting her deceptively pretty face. He might also see what the cause of that fear and confusion is.

She sees me. She fears me.

But she won’t tell anyone.

And I know why.

She’s too stubborn.

I’m her problem. And she’s the kind of girl who desperately wants to be independent.

The plan is to take full advantage of that naïve stubbornness. It’s the only reason I thought this stupid scheme might work in the first place.

But that wound…

I’ve been in enough fights to know a battle scar when I see one.

The Bianca I know—the one I’ve obsessed over, studied, stalked—she wouldn’t have a scar like that. She wouldn’t be allowed to have a scar like that.

Shit. Maybe I’ve underestimated her.

“Coming,” Bianca’s soft little voice drifts through the harsh stale air as she forcefully shakes the dread from her pretty little face and turns to follow her father out into the black hallway.

And then just like that, she’s gone.

But even if I’ve survived the moment, I’m suddenly not so confident in my plan anymore.

The scar.

It changes everything.

It changes her.

Biting down hard on my tongue, I keep a sneer from warping my lips. For the time being, I need to force Bianca from my mind.

Because that scar over her eye isn’t the only problem that’s appeared in this suffocating cellar.

A notorious mafia prince has also entered the equation.

Rian Kilpatrick.

Fuck. That bastard is going to be my boss. He’ll be watching my every move.

How the hell am I supposed to get close to Bianca with that Irish lion watching over me?Property © 2024 N0(v)elDrama.Org.

“We’ll get you boys cleaned up in a moment,” the infamous Maksim Smolov says. “First, though, I will assign your shifts.”

With a simple nod, the old Russian is handed a tablet by one of his assistants. But for all of the savage wisdom and brutal experience he notoriously possesses, he appears to struggle with the new technology.

“Fucking hell,” he grumbles, sliding his fingers across the screen as the pale glow lights up his sunken cheeks.

“Here, let me help, Uncle,” Rian quickly steps in, sensing his elder’s frustration.

“Very well.”

It doesn’t take long for Rian to figure out what the problem is. With a few quick swipes, the young lion seems to break into the device and find what he needs. But instead of handing the tablet back to his uncle, he only looks over at the old Russian to ask for permission to continue on his own.

“May I have the pleasure?”

Maksim hardly hesitates. “They are your crew now,” he nods.

Studying the screen for a second longer, the lion of a man steps forward. “Shifts will be allotted in three-day segments,” he starts. “You will work for three days straight, then you will get three days off. But you will always be on call. Those of you who are not assigned to the direct protection of Bianca on a given day will still be on the Byrne compound—specifically, you will stay in the guest house we have set up for you. The accommodations are comfortable, but I warn you: do not get comfortable. A single fuckup by any one of you will result in the termination of you all.”

The harsh reminder is well served, and I feel a few of the men stiffen up at the underlying threat in Rian’s words.

We all know what happened to the last crew.

“We have vetted each and every one of you a thousand times over. We know your pasts. We control your future. We have witnessed your savage loyalty. We have studied your every move. The process has been long and hard, I know—even if I haven’t been here for all of it. But let me assure you, the rewards for your success are great. My uncle was right. I will be king someday. And I never forget a face, or a loyal soldier. Do you hear me?”

The self-important ass.

Still, I join the shout of “Yes, sir!” that fills up the cellar in response.

“Good,” Rian nods. “Kelleher, Chiesa, Veratti, Idah, Giles and Egen. You will have the first shift. Come with me. The rest of you, follow Maksim to the guest house. Get cleaned up. And get ready.”

With that, the lion turns his back on us and steps out into the hallway. The six men he named quickly follow after him.

I watch them go, unsure of how to feel about the fact that I wasn’t put on the first shift.

Didn’t they see how I ripped those men to shreds in the other room? The adrenaline still pulses through my veins, disguising the pain that ravages every inch of my steaming body.

Fucking hell. I already want to fight again.

But that’s not going to happen. Not today. Hell, probably not until I finally put my vicious plan into action.

And even then, it will hardly be a fight.

No. That will be a massacre.

“With me,” Maksim orders, after Rian and his new unit’s footsteps have faded down the black hallway.

Shirtless and bloody, I jump to the front of the line and follow the old Russian general into the darkness.

The men I will eventually betray all follow in my scarlet footsteps.

I feel no guilt about what I will do.

All that matters is what I deserve.

Everything.

Hot rain washes over my bruised face as I sprint away from the compound.

No matter how sure I am that I’m not being followed, I still look over my shoulder, ever-vigilant.

Anyone could be hiding in these shadows.

The moon was out when I first left the Byrne’s guest house. But it’s long since been hidden by black rainclouds. Above, there is only darkness.

This is where I belong.

Lifting my hand to my brow, I wipe away the water and the blood cascading down my forehead. The shower I took earlier was only barely long enough to wash away the guts and the brain matter, and nothing else.

Sure, I could have cleaned myself more thoroughly. But there was no time to waste.

I had to prepare for my escape.

My bunkmates were all asleep when I finally managed to sneak out of the bathroom window. Even the toughest among them was exhausted from a long and brutal day. But I never sleep. And I’ve had far more brutal days.

Not that today was a walk in the park.

There were moments when I actually doubted myself. When I doubted this stupid plan. When I thought I might actually die like some of the others. But I persevered. I always do.

It’s why I will taste victory. No matter how outnumbered I am.

Slipping through the shadows of the palm trees that surround the compound’s tall concrete walls, I try not to get lost in what’s already happened.

My focus needs to remain on the task at hand. On the future.

Still, something tugs at me from the past.

Fucking hell.

Every step I take away from the Byrne mansion is accompanied by a flash. A vision that rattles my swollen skull and punches me square in the chest.

Bianca.

After all these years, I finally saw her up close again, and it’s fucking with my mind.

Somehow, she’s gotten even more dangerously stunning since high school. And that scar above her left eye…

Shit.

My heart twitches violently as I trudge through the muddy dirt path that winds secretly through the black forest.

The palm trees are quickly disappearing at my back. The harshness of the real world is slowly remerging all around me.

Overgrown branches scrape at my swollen cheeks, dirty rain pours over my eyes.

But still, I can see her face. That twisted look of shock. That newfound hint of maturity on her once completely virgin appearance.

The scar.

That fucking scar.

Why am I so fixated on that stupid scar?

Is it because it changes everything? Because it might just force me to re-evaluate what I think I know about Bianca Byrne?

Fucking hell. She’s supposed to be fake tough. A bratty princess who would crumple at the first sign of real adversity.

But the sheltered daughters of mafia royalty don’t get scars like that. And now that I think about it, they aren’t brought down to look over their new bodyguards after we’ve just massacred their old ones in hand-to-hand combat, either.

What the hell has she become?

My chest twists again as I break free from the thick vegetation and burst onto the wet sand of a lonely beach.

In the distance, deep over the black ocean, three quick bolts of lightning slash through the darkness. For a split second, the jagged white strips illuminate two dark silhouettes.

They’re waiting for me by the ragged shore.

Before I take another step forward, I fill my lungs with the wet air and fight away the disturbing tightness in my chest.

But Bianca’s scar won’t leave my mind, and neither will the crystal blue eyes that glare out from beneath it.

It’s infuriating.

Grab hold of yourself, Gabriel! The scar doesn’t matter. She hasn’t changed enough to change anything. And neither have you!

Bullshit! A demon shouts from somewhere in the darkness beneath my skull. You’re just jealous someone else got to mark her before you!

As if! Another demon screeches in response. It’s not that. You’re furious because someone touched your prize. Your girl.

Before I can silence the voices myself, a deafening crack of thunder rips down from above.

Just like that, all is quiet. At least, internally it is. Outside, the wind howls and rugged waves crash against the ragged beach ahead.

Sneering through the lashing rain, I latch onto the forced silence and claw my way through the storm, towards the black silhouettes waiting for me by the raging shoreline.

“You’re late.”

Drago’s voice is just as cutting as ever. Somehow, it seems completely unaffected by the harsh weather.

I hear him loud and clear.

“I had to wait until everyone was asleep,” I grumble.

“You sure you didn’t just get some shut eye for yourself?” Krol spits.

“How about I shut your eyes for fucking good?” I snap at him. I’m not in the mood for this asshole’s attitude. Not after what I just went through.

“Try me, boy,” Krol challenges. Before he can step forward, though, Drago raises his arm, putting a quick end to our petty bickering.

“I’m sure you’ve had a long day,” Drago says. “But we are not the people to take out your frustrations on.”

“You should have brought Tytus with you instead of this animal,” I sneer.

It’s been months since I last saw my best friend. Same with Roz. If Drago had really wanted to reward me for all that I’ve done so far, he would have dragged them out here instead of Krol.

But that’s not his style.

“Tytus is busy,” Drago says. “As is Rozalia.”

“And you aren’t?” I snip at Krol.

“I’m never too busy to see you, boy.”

“Enough!” Drago booms, just as another crack of thunder blankets the black sky.

“Rian Kilpatrick has been made head of my brigade,” I growl, when the roar has settled. “He’ll be watching over me whenever I’m near Bianca.”

Behind him, a shock of lightning cracks through the black horizon. It somehow drapes Drago in even more darkness.

But I don’t need to see his weathered face to picture it. This is new information to him. And he takes a moment to process it.

“You will have to win his trust,” he finally says.

“I have to win everyone’s trust.”

“Yes. But Rian Kilpatrick is different.” Through the darkness, Drago’s black eyes slowly come into focus. They are darting back and forth. He’s thinking. Planning. “… We might have to take him too.”

“Take Rian Kilpatrick?” Krol’s disbelief is loud and wild.

Mine is much quieter and controlled. But I’m just as shocked.

It’s rare that we agree on anything.

“How do you capture a lion?” I ask, trying to hide the skepticism from my voice.

“By becoming part of his pride.”

“I can’t imagine I’ll ever get that close to someone who’s supposed to be my boss,” I tell my real boss, subtly reminding him of what he’s told me countless times before.

My adoptive father has never been one to get too close to anyone. Not even me.

“You must try,” Drago insists. “If we’re smart we could turn his presence into a positive. The young man has a special skillset that I could make good use of.”

“And what skillset is that?”

“Your job isn’t to question me, Gabryjel.”

“My job is to find answers.”

For a second, Drago pauses, and it almost looks like he might let something slip.

But then those black eyes glaze over, and I know I’m not going to hear anything I haven’t already heard before.

“I will tell you later.”

“No,” I shake my head, fed up. “Tell me now. I’m not going to be able to sneak out again. Not anytime soon. Hell, the only reason I could tonight was because I’m already covered in enough cuts and wounds and bruises to disguise my perilous little journey. From now on, they’ll be keeping track of every blemish. They’ll be no hiding anything from them.”

Another crack of thunder shakes the air as Drago considers my request.

Before long, though, he comes to his conclusion.

“You’ll just have to trust me, son,” he says, shaking his head as he reaches a hand out towards me.

That hand lands on my shoulder. It’s cold and final.

“Drago, I—”

“He said no, boy!” Krol barks.

My swollen knuckles clench, but somehow, I manage to keep myself from lashing out. I’ve killed enough men today.

Instead, I look into my adoptive father’s eyes, and try to pry the truth out of him.

But his face is made of chipped stone, and his eyes are too black to decipher.

Fuck.

“Here, take this,” he says, imploring me to ignore his rabid dog Krol.

Dropping his frigid hand from my shoulder, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny Ziploc bag. Through the rain and the darkness, it looks empty. But I immediately understand what’s inside.

“The tracker,” I mumble, taking the bag.

“Trackers. Plural. Slip them under your fingernails. When you get close enough to the princess, flick one her way. It will melt into her skin. Then, we’ll be able to follow you both.”

“They have scanning devices around every door,” I’m quick to remind him.

“Rozalia has been hard at work,” Drago smiles in response. “These are her newest inventions. Undetectable. She’s a smart one, that sister of yours.”

“I thought you told me to stop calling her my sister,” I mumble, placing the bag into my soaking pocket.

“That was before I decided to marry you off to someone else.”

“Bianca.”

Just like that, the Byrne princess is back at the forefront of my mind. Behind Drago, another shock of lightning gnaws through the dark horizon.

“That’s right,” Drago nods. “Have you seen her yet?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“I’ll break that fragile little princess into a thousand tiny pieces.”

In response to my ruthless declaration, Krol’s sour mood finally seems to sweeten. A cruel chuckle escapes his slimy lips.

I don’t pay him any mind. Another fight has taken hold of me. A battle to rid myself of those crystal blue eyes.

“Be gentle,” Drago says. “Remember, she needs to survive long enough to become your bride.”

“And then she needs to be in good enough condition to carry and birth your heir,” Krol adds.

“I know the fucking plan, Krol.”

“Just making sure, boy.”

Hot rain lashes between us and I find myself dangerously close to breaking. I’ve always wanted to give Krol a taste of his own medicine…

“Go now,” Drago orders, sensing my weakness.

It takes me a second to hear him, but when I do, I know it’s best that I listen.

“Fine,” I grumble, prying open my fists.

I’m about to turn my back on Drago and leave, when I suddenly remember what I spotted above those crystal blue eyes.

“What is it?” Drago asks, reading me like a book.

“Nothing,” I stubbornly sneer, shaking my head even as Bianca’s image crackles behind my forehead.

“Speak, my son,” Drago quietly insists. His voice is so low that I’m not even sure I actually hear him over the rain.

Maybe he didn’t even speak at all. Maybe I just want to get to the bottom of this.

“Bianca… she had a scar above her left eye,” I finally allow myself to utter. “How did it get there?”

With all of my remaining strength, I try to hide any emotion from my face, even if I’m not sure what emotion might leak out.

Anger? Jealousy? Pain? Joy?

It’s all a confusing mess. But my entire life has been a confusing mess. Really, I should be used to it by now.

“A bar fight,” Drago shrugs.

“With who?”

“Some frat boys at a campus bar.”

The fist I had just pried open clenches shut again.

“When?” I growl.

“While you were training with the Byrnes.”

“Who gave her the scar?” I ask, nails digging into the already torn skin along my palms.

“Like I said, some frat boy.”

“Tell me his name.”

“No,” Drago sneers, clearly fed up with my insubordination. “The kid belongs to an important family. We don’t need that kind of attention. Whatever delirious ideas your exhausted mind is concocting, snuff them out now. Leave here. Go back to the Byrne compound. Get some rest.”

“Tell. Me. His. Name.”

I’ve lost control. Thunder cracks over our heads. The sky shakes. But I don’t budge.

Drago doesn’t take too kindly to my resistance.

“Remember your place, Gabryjel,” he warns me, stepping forward so that I can see the scars that cross his cheek and the paleness of his dead right eye. Even Krol shuts up in the face of the dragon’s impending eruption. “Remember what this is all for. You aren’t actually a bodyguard. Not a protector. You’re a kidnapper in disguise, a predator doing whatever it takes to get close to his prey, a selfish killer pretending to be selfless.”

His fury builds with every word, until suddenly, it vanishes.

Lightening slashes through the sky behind him one last time before he turns his glare away from me. Without another word, he brushes past my shoulder and walks back towards the thick wall of forest that borders the ragged beach.

My fury doesn’t follow him. It remains raging inside of me. Burning even hotter as Krol leaves his place to chase after his master like the obedient dog that he is.

Before he can brush by me, though, he stops and leans in close to my ear.

“Kevin Porter,” he whispers, his wretched breath curling against my swollen jaw as he burrows the name into my skull.

Instantly, I know who that name must belong to. And I know what Krol must be doing.

But it doesn’t matter. I’ve already lost myself to the rage.

Kevin Porter.

That must be the fucker who scarred Bianca.

Fuck.

I know I should let it go; keep my head down and do my duty. Pretend to be who I’m supposed to pretend to be.

But how can I?

Someone marked her before I could. Someone cracked my fragile prize. Someone didn’t know what is suddenly blindingly clear to me.

She’s mine.

And no one’s allowed to fuck with her but me.

It’s not even just about pride, or even silencing the raging inferno swirling around those haunting blue eyes.

It’s about doing what’s right.

Sure, I’ll leave this stormy beach. Head back to my barracks. Lay down in that cot they’ve allotted me and prepare for my first shift in two days.

But I won’t sleep until I’ve made that frat boy pay for what he’s done. Until I’ve planted the first seeds in the back of everyone’s mind about what the fucking deal is.

Bianca Byrne belongs to me.

So, get the fuck out of my way.