His Queen: A Dark Forbidden Mafia Romance (Dark Sovereign Book 5)

“Mirabella, where do you think you’re going?”

“Not now, Maximo.” My heels click across the gravel as I stomp down the driveway. “I have a wedding to save.”

“You know you’re not allowed to leave the estate.”

I pivot to face him. “Do not give me that shit. We’ve been cooped up in this house for the last two weeks.”

“You know—”

I lift my hand and shush him. “Before you give me that bullshit about it being for our protection, I really don’t care. All I care about right now is saving what’s left to be saved, a wedding that’s about to crash and burn because Nicoli couldn’t keep his goddamn promise. So, stop me, Maximo. I fucking dare you.”

Maximo stands rooted to the spot, his eyes darting around nervously as he contemplates what to do next.

I cross my arms, glaring at him. “What’s it going to be? Are you going to piss off Nicoli by letting me go, or are you going to try to stop me? Which, by the way, will only be a fruitless endeavor on your part because I’m leaving. I don’t care if I have to call the National Guard to fucking airlift me out of here.”

“Mirabella, relax.”

“No, Maximo. You relax,” I yell, trying my best not to cry. “I couldn’t have the perfect wedding, so I will damn well do my best to give some other bride her perfect wedding.”

He gestures toward the road that leads to the large security gate that can’t be seen from where we are. “And you’re planning on walking there?”

“I called an Uber.”

“Uber?” he recoils. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.” I turn and start walking, ignoring my brother, who repeatedly tells me to stop.

“Mira, you’re not going in a fucking Uber.”

“Watch me.”

“Take her.”

I stop when I hear Nicoli’s voice behind me. “Take your sister to the wedding.”

I turn to face him, my heart constricting when I see him standing on top of the stairs of the porch. Even when I’m furious with him, he’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. His Italian heritage is etched all over his features. His chiseled jawline and sharp nose are like two perfect pieces of a sculpture carved from marble. Black hair fans above his dark eyebrows, every line on his handsome face accentuated by the soft sunlight breaking through the clouds of the looming storm. With his hands in his pants pockets and shoulders squared under his slate gray suit, he’s a regal force even from afar.

Nicoli descends the porch, his gait steady and determined. The azure glimmer in his eyes captivates me, but it doesn’t erase the hurt.

“Take her to the wedding,” he says to Maximo. “Let her do what needs to be done. Bring her home safely.”

There’s a finality in his words that echoes with demand so loudly it’s unmistakable, yet Maximo merely stares at Nicoli.

“I said take her,” Nicoli repeats firmly to Maximo, who then reluctantly nods before gesturing for me to follow him toward his car parked in front of the house.

I swallow hard while Nicoli and I keep our gazes locked, a thousand words being spoken through the silence stretched taut between us. There’s a gentleness in the way he looks at me as if staring at me too hard will cause me to break. It’s hard to think that the man standing in front of me with so much affection in his eyes is the same man who will make me bleed in the heat of passion.

My pulse quickens as I step up to him, my arm gently touching against his. “Thank you,” I murmur and suck in a breath when he lightly brushes his pinky against mine. It’s the subtlest touch, but it sends a thousand volts of electricity through my soul.

Maximo opens the car door of his black SUV, and I slide into the leather seat. In the side window, I watch as Maximo and Nicoli exchange words, probably more security detail that will surround me while I’m at this wedding, trying to salvage what I can.

Maximo slips in behind the wheel, and the seatbelt clicks into place over my chest, keeping me safely strapped in while we drive away from the estate.

We’re barely out of the gates when Maximo says, “He’s only trying to protect you.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you giving him a hard time about it?”

I’m staring down at my hands, flicking my nails, my chest tight with the remnants of my fight with Nicoli. “It’s not about the fact that he’s protecting me. It’s the way he goes about doing it.”

Maximo sighs as he takes a turn to the right. “I know Nicoli isn’t the easiest person in the world to deal with, but his heart is in the right place. All he’s ever done is protect you, Mira.”

I don’t respond but simply cast my gaze out the side window. People on the streets don’t have faces. The buildings are just tall blocks of concrete. It’s all a lifeless blur that flashes by us as we speed through the city.

“Why is there nothing about our parents on the internet?”

His silence is deafening.

I shift in my seat, turning to face Maximo. His eyes are fixed on the road ahead of us, and though I can’t see his expression clearly from this angle, something about the tic in his jaw tells me that he’s not happy with my question.

“It’s like they never existed,” I continue softly. “There’s nothing about them at all.”

“There could be any number of reasons for that,” Maximo replies evenly.

“They were brutally murdered. Our father was a notorious drug boss, Maximo. And you want to tell me the internet has no information about them?”

“That’s what I’m saying, yes.”

“Bullshit,” I scoff. “Everyone is searchable. Even your first-grade math teacher.”

Maximo cuts me off sharply. “Mira, enough. Don’t go digging for shit we buried a long time ago.” He glances briefly in my direction before returning his attention to the road. “Let’s keep the past in the past. It’s better that way.”

“You know something, don’t you?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Just let it go, Mira.”

My brother is good at a lot of things. But what he excels at is keeping things to himself. You could unleash hell’s fury on him, and he still wouldn’t talk.

I sink back into the leather seat, unease soaking through my pores. Maximo is hiding something from me—something about our parents. Our family. And something tells me Nicoli knows it, too. Of course, he would. If it’s something worth hiding from me, the Del Rossa family will know exactly what it is.

We pull up at the hotel, and I get out of the car, walking into the reception with Maximo shortly on my heel.

The hotel lobby is grand, with high ceilings and chandeliers that glitter in the dim light. Luxurious carpets with intricate patterns add warmth to the area, and thick velvet curtains frame large windows.

The scent of freshly polished wood and cut flowers with a hint of fragrant candles are welcoming as we make our way to the check-in desk. The receptionist greets us with a smile before asking for our names. I give her my name, and she hands me my security pass for the day.

“Just show this to security when they ask,” she says with a smile.

“Thank you. And this is my brother.” I point toward Maximo. “He’ll be able to join me?”

After her gaze drips down my brother like he’s made of steel and melted chocolate, she finally looks my way again. “I’m sorry, but only one temporary security pass was issued for you, Mrs. Del Rossa. But your brother is more than welcome to sit and wait for you in our restaurant or bar area.”

I glance at my brother, whose expression screams, “Not a fucking chance,” and he pulls out his phone, probably calling someone who knows someone who knows the Dark Sovereign and has enough power around here to give my brother a pass.

I lift my eyebrows at him so high they almost tear off my goddamn face. “Don’t you dare,” I warn as I walk up to him. “Do not make a scene. And don’t pull rank here, okay? I won’t be long. The flowers are already here, so I’m just going to make sure the florists don’t make a mess of it. Then we can leave.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Jesus, Maximo. We’re in a hotel with security tighter than your ass.”

He frowns at me.

“You don’t have to worry about me.” I pat his shoulder reassuringly. “Just stay here.”

“Text me every ten minutes.”

“Are you serious?”

He lifts a brow.

“Okay, fine. Whatever. Go get yourself a drink so you can calm down.”

I take a deep breath and make my way to the elevator. As the doors close, I can feel my brother’s eyes burning through the back of my head. His protection is more suffocating than usual today, and the second the elevator doors close, I exhale, feeling like I can breathe for the first time today.

The steel doors open, and I step out into the corridor, the sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor with a quiet echo. Double doors lead me to a room where all the floral arrangements are set up, the sweet and heavenly fragrance of fresh flowers enveloping me as I slip inside.

Half a dozen people are buzzing around tables packed with the vibrant display of exquisite floral centerpieces and bouquets. The lavender roses have already been plucked from the arrangements and now sit ignored in buckets on the floor. I let out a sigh of relief when I see everyone sparking to place the fluffy blush roses among the delicate baby’s breath and lush green foliage. To some, it might not seem like a big deal, and I bet the guests hardly would have noticed. But the bride would notice. I would notice. And to us, it would be a goddamn train wreck.

I pull out my phone and text Maximo, telling him that I’m about to get to work and will not be able to text him every ten minutes—which is ridiculous, anyway.

I slip off my jacket, place it with my bag on the side table, and start working with the others to get the flowers done. We work in silence for a while, finding a peaceful rhythm as we tend to our task of saving ‘operation flower swap.’ The sound of scissors snipping through stems, the rustle of foliage as it’s rearranged, and the soft thumping of freshly-cut blooms being placed into vases create a symphony of serenity. I’m amazed at how calm everyone is. I half expected this to be a shit show of nerves, but the florists are all experts at their craft.

Half an hour later, I realize there aren’t enough blush roses for all the centerpieces, and my stomach lurches into my throat. “Please tell me we have more roses?” I say, and everyone around me comes to a screeching halt.

They all stare back at me, their faces twist in confusion, and I can feel the panic settling around the room.

“Can someone tell me if we have more roses?”

One of the florists steps forward, a tall man with long, wavy hair pulled back into a ponytail. “We have some more in the delivery truck, but they’re not as fresh.”

“Show me. Hopefully, there are some we can use.”

I follow the florist to the back, his long strides forcing me to keep up. We pass through a set of doors and down a narrow hallway that leads to an exit door at the back of the hotel.

Raindrops start to fall as we step outside, the cool air settling on my skin and water droplets hitting my face. The delivery truck is parked a few feet away, and I can see the florist already fumbling with the keys to unlock the back. As I walk up next to him, the back of the truck opens with a low creak, and I’m hit with the scent of stale cigarette smoke.

My senses go on high alert, warning biting into my flesh, and I instinctively step back but crush against someone’s hard frame. Everything happens all at once, and I’m not even sure I’m breathing. In an instant, all the serenity and calm fade into fear and chaos.

Cruel hands grab my arms, and adrenaline shoots through my veins. I try to scream, but a hand covers my mouth, leaving tape stuck to my lips, and the world goes silent. Panic sets in as I struggle to get free, but something is pulled over my head, and darkness surrounds me like a thick, poisonous fog stealing all the air from my lungs.

My heart beats faster and faster until all I can hear is its pounding in my ears. My struggles become more frantic as arms grab my waist, lifting my feet off the ground.

I can’t scream. I can’t beg them to stop. I can’t demand them to let me go.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Del Rossa,” a voice laced with malice says next to me. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

My screams are nothing but muffled desperation as a sharp prick pierces my neck, cold spreading just beneath my skin.

The last thing I hear is the van door shutting, and my panicked thoughts…stop.