Alexius: A Dark Mafia Romance (Dark Sovereign Book 1)

Plastering a happy smile on my face, pretending that I’m the happiest fucking man in the world, is hard as fuck. Especially since I can still taste her on my tongue. The sweetness of innocence and the tang of sin—it was all there while I swept my tongue through her mouth. The fusion of rose and jasmine with a subtle hint of vanilla flooded me the moment I locked my lips on hers. It’s the most erotic scent I have ever smelled, and it ignited a desire that reflected in the way I kissed her in front of friends, family…God.

I’m no fucking saint, and I’ve never shied away from expressing my sexual need when I’m turned the fuck on. But while I kissed her, feeling my cock stir and swell, I hated it. I fucking hated that her mouth tasted so damn good; it made me wonder what her cunt tasted like.

And now, while I hold her hand as we make our way past all the cheering guests, there’s anger crashing in my veins while my dick is still fucking hard. I don’t want to want her. I don’t want to even fucking like her because she represents the one thing I’m forced to do to appease my dying father and secure what is and always has been my birthright.

For what seems like fucking hours, Leandra and I are bombarded with an abundance of congratulatory words and well wishes from the fuckton of guests my parents insisted on inviting, and I’m getting more and more agitated by the minute.

As the crowd wanes off, I lean closer to my new wife. “Well done,” I taunt. “Now, keep that pretty smile on your face.”

Her response is a simple sideways glare, dark eyes raging with an emotion I choose not to dissect, and I turn my attention to Maximo, who stands by the entrance to the house and nods, conveying the message that he needs to speak with me. The fucking guy looks more uncomfortable in a suit than Isaia does.

I reach for Mirabella as she walks past and pull her closer. “Stay with her.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll be back in a sec.”

“Alexius, this is your wedding.”

I pin Mira with my gaze. “Stay with her, and make sure she doesn’t fuck up.”

“Don’t worry,” Leandra sneers from next to me, her eyes ablaze with what I assume can only be hatred. “I won’t fuck up. I’m a Del Rossa wife now.”

“For two fucking seconds.”

“I’m a fast learner.”

I step up to her, and no matter how hard she tries to square her shoulders, I’m still a fucking mountain compared to her tiny form. I glance down at her parted lips, their imprint still burning on my own. Reaching out, I place a palm on her cheek, slipping my hand back and gently weaving my fingers through her elegant updo before biting my fingertips into the back of her neck.

She gasps, and I bite my lip, keeping my gaze pinned on hers. To our guests, it looks like a loving touch as I lean closer to her ear, while her rapid breathing proves what my cruel touch really is…a motherfucking warning. “I would caution you against the arrogance that can easily come with your new role. You might have the Del Rossa name now, but you’re still nothing but a pathetic fucking stray.”

“Six months,” she bites out in a whisper. “I have your name for six months.”

“And how that six months end is completely up to you.” I seal my threat with an affectionate kiss just below her ear and step back with a smile on my face. The smile of a newlywed husband and a grin of the devil who just received this woman’s life straight from the palms of God.

Before straightening, I lock eyes with my bride, clasping her chin with my thumb and forefinger, her skin smooth beneath my touch. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

It’s not meant to be a compliment, even though it’s the truth. Leandra does look absolutely stunning as she shed the skin of the poor girl I took from that fucked-up apartment, now wearing the mask of a wealthy Del Rossa wife.

Brushing my palms down my suit, I turn and head inside, thankful that all this shit is now over and done with.

I find Maximo behind the stairs, his tie already loosened and collar unbuttoned. Just the look on his face is enough for me to shake the fake festivities and slip back into the role I’ve been born for. “What the fuck is it?”

“There’s been an incident at one of our clubs downtown.”

“What incident?”

I inch forward, placing my hands in my pants pockets as I watch Maximo glance around, making sure we’re not being overheard. “One of our girls has been found dead in a private room.”

“What?” I snap. “What the fuck happened?”

“I’m on my way there now, but it’s a murder scene, according to security.”

“How the fuck do they know that?”

He wipes his chin with his palm. The sound of his hand brushing along his beard mimics the feel of razor blades scraping down my spine. “Apparently, whoever did it made sure he left a huge motherfucking mess behind.”

“Jesus Christ.” I rub the back of my neck, pacing, trying to sort my thoughts. “You have a handle on the cops?”

“Yeah. So far, they don’t know anything. It’s just the security guard who found her and the man she was seen with last.”

“They have him?”

Maximo nods. “I’m heading there now to see what the hell is going on and hear what this fucker has to say.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Alexius,” Maximo calls after me as I rush across the lacquered floors. “Your wedding.”

“Fuck my wedding.”

The tension in the car on the drive to the club is fucking intense. Both Maximo and I know what a colossal fuck-up this is. We’re not scumbag pimps or street thugs who deal with cheap whores and back seat blowjobs. The girls who work for us aren’t whores or slaves. They’re women who get treated like fucking royalty and want for nothing. We protect them, take care of them, and make sure their bank accounts reflect just how much they’re worth to us. But just like everything else in the world, it comes at a price.

Loyalty. Silence. Eternity.

Their loyalty to the Dark Sovereign must be undeterred and unwavering.

They will never talk about the Dark Sovereign to anyone. Not even each other.

And they can never leave. Once they pledge their loyalty to us, it’s for life. Even after reaching their prime, there are always men who prefer older, more mature women. And if our clientele no longer desires her, she’ll work as a maid, bartender, waitress, or at the goddamn gambling tables. Once you’re in, there is no. Way. Out. The Dark Sovereign owns you until the day you take your last breath. Try to run, and we’ll find you. Talk to anyone, and you’ll lose your tongue. Betray us, and your life ends.

As simple as that.

Now, when one of our girls gets hurt, it’s personal, and you will be taken care of like a fucking enemy. Kill one of them, and it’s a crime against the Dark Sovereign—a transgression you will atone for with your motherfucking life.

Maximo pulls up at the back of the club, where Gavin waits for us by the door.

“What the fuck happened?” I ask, slamming the car door closed and rushing toward him.

“I don’t know, man. Her last client walked out of the room, and Alicia immediately called in and confirmed that everything was fine.”

“She used the correct security word?” Maximo crosses his arms.

“Yeah. She said ‘pearl,’ and we had no reason to believe there was a problem.”

“You got the guy?” I ask.

“We tracked him down. Bellamy Jones. He’s been coming here at least once every two weeks. We have him tied up in the basement, but he denies having anything to do with it, saying she was fine when he left.”

“Clearly, she wasn’t.”

Maximo clears his throat. “If she called after he left, that means whoever did this got into the room between the time she made the call and her next client showed up.”

“You saying it can’t be Jones?” I lift a brow.

“I’m saying it’s doubtful unless the security camera shows him going back in.”

Gavin shakes his head. “No one entered her room after he left. We checked the footage. Oh, man. It’s fucking gruesome.” Gavin is as pale as a fucking ghost, practically stumbling over his own words. He pulls his fingers through his auburn hair, his hand visibly shaking. “The shit he did to her, Jesus, it’s vile.” Gavin heaves and gags, jumping to the side and vomiting on the goddamn asphalt. My men are no strangers to bloodshed and death, and seeing Gavin not having the stomach for whatever waited for us inside is disturbing.

“Come on.” I gesture for Maximo to follow me inside, not waiting for Gavin to compose himself.

We enter the building, and my security guards are scattered around. One of them nods up the stairs, and Maximo and I follow in the direction, taking two steps at a time. The entire building reeks of morbid despair and fear, girls peeking out of the other rooms while more security stands by every door, protecting them by making sure no one gets close.

We approach the door guarded by three men who part so we can enter. Before seeing anything, I smell it, the metallic scent of blood. It’s overwhelming, almost strong enough to fucking taste.

As we round the corner, past the wall at the entrance of the room, Maximo and I come to a screeching fucking halt, staring at the scene in front of us. Nothing could have prepared me for it, which explains why Gavin puked his lungs out minutes ago.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter, followed by Maximo’s curses. It’s like a scene straight from the bowels of hell, Alicia’s naked and lifeless body tied to the dancing pole. Her hands are tied behind her back, her ankles locked to a spreader bar, and both her wrists slit, with pools of blood on the floor, mixed with a liquid I can only assume is piss by the rancid stench that assaults my nostrils. It’s not the first time I’ve smelled this unmistakable odor. I’ve lost count of how many men have pissed themselves right before I pull their last breath from their lungs.

“Alexius.” Maximo steps in next to me and glances at the glass table against the wall. On it are two scented candles, cinnamon with sugar and nutmeg, and a delicate lavender—an erotic fusion of scents to help increase blood flow when it comes to men. But it’s the glass vial of what looks like blood and a piece of paper that has my heart racing.

“A letter,” Maximo says as he walks up to the table, staring down before picking up the vial with his gloved hand, bringing it up to his nose and taking a whiff. “It’s definitely blood.”

I shift in next to him and glance down at the letter. “He used her blood as ink.”

“That’s some pretty cursive handwriting this motherfucker has.”

Pressing my lips in a thin line, I pull on my gloves and pick up the paper.

Do not desire her beauty in your heart,

Nor let her capture you with her eyelids.

For on account of a harlot one is reduced to a loaf of bread,

And an adulteress hunts for the precious life.

Can a man take fire in his bosom

And his clothes not to be burned?

Proverbs 6:25-27

“What the fuck?” I drop the paper back on the table. “A Bible verse about prostitutes and tainted women. Please do not tell me this is some psycho fucking religious motherfucker.”

“Judging by the verse he used, it’s highly likely.”

“Fuck.” I turn to look at the body, taking in the horrendous sight. Her lips have been sewn shut, thick black thread weaving in the form of a row of X’s from one lip to the other.

I slowly walk around the body, the vein in my neck pulsing to the rhythm of my heart as I study every bruise, every cut, every bloodstained piece of flesh. Dirty hair clings to her bloodied cheeks, but it’s the two empty holes where her eyes should be that send a thousand shivers down my fucking spine. “What did he do with her eyes?”

Maximo shrugs. “Souvenir?”

“Sick fuck.”

Dried blood stains her face as if it’s runny paint that had instantly dried on her skin. Every-fucking thing screams of a hate crime. A murder that would rattle everyone to their core and instill fear.

Blood smears run down the sides of her neck, and Maximo takes a pen, lifting the dirty strands of her hair, only to find her ears have been cleanly torn off. “Motherfucker,” he mutters. “What the fuck is this?”

“Can this be some kind of cult offering or some shit?” I ask.

Maximo wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “I sure as fuck wouldn’t rule it out. I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in my life, but this…this is next level.”

I continue to circle her mutilated body, pieces of her flesh hacked out and bruised. I pause and narrow my eyes while looking between her spread thighs. “What the fuck is that?”

“What?” Maximo stands next to me, staring in the same direction. “Jesus, is that…”

Without thinking twice, I reach between her legs, wrapping my gloved fingers around the object, slowly pulling downward. The sound, the sight, the stench of blood and fear that clings to her corpse envelops me, and I hope to God that he killed her first before he decided to mutilate her body and make it his sadistic fucking playground.

I swallow hard as I watch, realizing what it is I’m pulling out of her. “A cross,” I mutter, more to myself than to Maximo, and I drop it the moment it’s out of her completely.

“Jesus.” Maximo’s gaze flits from the bloodied cross to Alicia’s crimson-stained thighs. “We’re dealing with one sick motherfucker here.”

I rub my arm across my mouth, remembering the day I met Alicia for the first time. Every woman here has a story—some more heartbreaking than others. Alicia’s story is one I’ll never forget.

Gavin had her waiting for me in this same room, naked and on her knees—the way I required them to before they begged me to become a Dark Sovereign girl. I remember the steel I saw in her eyes, the coldness, and frozen emotion. It struck me as odd because every girl who came before her showed some kind of emotion in their eyes, whether it be fear, desperation…lust. But not Alicia. There was a painful emptiness to her, and I ended up asking her what her story was rather than make her suck my cock.

She had a son. A husband. Living the American dream with her white picket fence until she came home one night to find her husband holding a gun to her son’s head.

He killed the boy right in front of her before turning the gun on himself. There was no explanation, no letter, nothing to tell her why he did it.

The bastard in me still asked her why she never tried to commit suicide, because the logical thing for me to think was that when a person witnesses something like that, experiences that kind of fear right before your world gets shattered into pieces—it leaves a hole inside you the size of fucking Texas. It would be too unbearable to live with.

But it was her answer that gave me the fucking chills.

“Not once have I considered taking my own life. I want to remember. I want to live with the pain because it’s the only reminder I have that my son was real. If I can’t love him in life, I’d mourn him in death and drown in pain every goddamn day.”

Alicia had been a Dark Sovereign girl ever since.

I crouch, rubbing my chin while staring at the cross that this fucker forced inside her. “I think it’s time to introduce ourselves to the bastard in the basement. See what he has to tell us.”

Maximo nods, and I grab the cross before storming out and rushing down the stairs. My veins burn as my blood boils, my insides ready to be torn to shreds when I unleash the fury of fucking hell on this man. Killing one of my girls is just as good as driving a knife through my back, an act that will never go unpunished, and every fucking muscle in my body is taut and ready to tear anyone apart.

With every determined step I take, my rage intensifies. By the time I step into the basement and see this fucker tied to a chair, I’m frothing at the mouth to slice my blade straight up his abdomen.

I storm directly at him, and press my fingers hard into his throat, pushing his head back. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything, I swear. Your whore was alive when I left that—”

Before he can finish his sentence, my fist slams into his ugly motherfucking face, my knuckles colliding with his jaw. “Call any of my girls a whore again, and I will cut out your tongue.”

Blood and spit stream from his mouth, sticking to his goatee, and all I want to do is make him bleed some more, make him scream his confession.

I grab his cheeks and squeeze, forcing him to look me in the eye as I lean closer. “You were the last person to see her alive, and I’m not the kind of man who believes in coincidence.”

“I swear to God, man, she was still alive when I left that room.”

I tilt my head to the side, scrutinizing every last detail of his ugly face. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not, man. I fucking swear.”

I place my hands on the chair’s armrests and lean forward. “If you’re not lying, you sure as hell are hiding something. What is it, Bellamy?” I reach behind my back, pull out my gun, and place it against his thigh.

“Jesus. Fuck.” His eyes go wide as he looks at the gun, my finger firmly on the trigger.

“Tell me what you’re hiding, or I’ll shoot you in the fucking leg. And believe me, that’s nothing compared to what I’ll do to you in ten minutes if you continue to lie to me.”

A part of me hopes he’ll keep his mouth shut and keep whatever he’s hiding to himself. My finger is itching to pull the trigger, my blackened heart yearning to hear his screams ricochet off the goddamn walls.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Bellamy spits out. “I’m not lying or hiding anything from you.”

If this were any other time, under different circumstances, I would have given him another chance. But right now, there isn’t a grain of mercy in me, so I pull the fucking trigger. The second the loud crack of the gunshot makes my ears ring, Bellamy’s pained screams drown out the ringing. Tears and bloodstained spit pour down his face, his mouth wide open as he continues to cry.

I press two gloved fingers into his wound, which earns me a fresh round of howls and shrieks of pain. “You know, Bellamy. Nothing makes my dick hard like the cries of a woman when I make her pussy squirt and the screams of a man in extreme agony.”

“Please stop!” he pleads through his sobs, snot lapping down his lips. “I’m telling you the fucking truth. Please. Please. Please,” he continues to cry.

I straighten and glare down at him, his face contorted in pain, and I start circling him. “Did you know it only takes seven pounds of pressure to tear off the human ear?” I reach out and brush my fingers down the curve of his earlobe, and he jerks away.

“Please, stop.”

“I’ll stop when you tell me the truth.”

“Fine,” he concedes as more pathetic tears stream down his red face, his body shaking. “I got an anonymous call from some guy threatening to tell my wife that I’m a frequent client at this club if I didn’t do as he said.”

I still in front of him and cross my arms. “What did he want you to do?”

“Write the letter.”

Maximo and I look at each other with narrowed eyes. “You mean the Bible verse written in Alicia’s blood?”

He nods, pressing his eyes closed and grimacing from the pain as blood continues to seep from the wound in his thigh. “Alicia’s always been into bloodplay, so it didn’t take much to convince her.”

I step forward. “Are you saying she willingly gave you a vial of her blood so you could write a fucking Bible verse?”

His nods are rapid this time. “Yes. Okay, yes. I made a small cut in her palm while I fucked her, and I wrote that verse with it, using an empty fountain pen.”

My gaze cuts to Gavin standing by the entrance. “Did she tell you about the bloodplay?”

“She did.” He tightens his crossed arms. “She was okay with it, preferred it, if you ask me.”

“He wanted Bellamy to write the letter so we couldn’t trace the handwriting back to him,” Maximo says and meets my gaze. “That’s why he blackmailed Bellamy into doing it.”

“See,” Bellamy chimes in. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill your fucking whore.”

It happens so fast. Within a split second, Bellamy goes from breathing to having a goddamn bullet in his head.

My finger is still on the trigger as I watch his head jerk to the back, his body instantly limp. “I told you not to call her a whore,” I hiss before lowering the gun. “Maximo, close the club.” I turn to face him. “Take care of the body and erase every trace of her and this scumbag ever being here. No one can know about this.”

I turn and make eye contact with every soul currently in the room. “Do you hear me? No one can know about this. If you so much as make a peep about this to anyone, I will wipe out your entire fucking bloodline. Keep. Your mouths. Shut.”

Everyone nods and Maximo steps up to me as I rub the back of my neck. “Are we closing the other clubs until we figure out what the hell we’re dealing with here?”

“No,” I answer, clipped. “If we close the other clubs, it will raise too many questions. The last thing we want is people thinking we no longer have a handle on our business.” I brush my fingers down my chin. “Double the security, though, at all our clubs and casinos. I want men stationed outside every motherfucking room. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

I grab Maximo’s collar and pull him close, clenching my jaw. “We need to do everything we can to keep this from my dad until we know exactly what the fuck is going on.”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t hear about this. But you know it’s only a matter of time before someone here talks.”

I let go of his collar. “I know. Let’s just keep it quiet for as long as we can.”

“Your brothers?”

“I’ll tell them. They need to know. They’re regulars at Myth, so they need to keep their eyes open.”

“Okay.” He gives me a reassuring gaze. “Don’t worry. Whoever this fucker is, we’ll find him and we’ll tear him the fuck apart.”

I nod and Maximo rushes off. I can hear him barking out orders while I stay behind and stare at Bellamy’s lifeless body, blood oozing from the wound in his skull. A heavy sense of foreboding drapes over me, every instinct buzzing with warning.

This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.