His to Own (Mafia Kingpins Book 1)

My hammering heart and the pop of bullets echoes so loudly that I squeeze my eyes shut and plug my ears. On my hands and knees, hidden behind the vendor cart, I’m in shock and my entire body shakes. I didn’t expect the man to start shooting in the middle of the sidewalk at Miceli, and that tells me he has very dangerous enemies.

Even though my father runs in the same mafia circles, no one has ever tried to execute him on a public street full of witnesses. I’ve never experienced anything like this before and it’s terrifying.

Miceli returns fire—I didn’t even know he had a gun—and the man drops. At this point, I’m thinking we should jump into his car and leave. Instead, Miceli walks straight over, viciously kicks him and fires two more times. And I’m ready to curl up into a ball and start crying.

I’d like to think I’m made of tougher stuff than this, but when bullets start flying and suddenly your life flashes before your eyes, my bravery all but vanished. Fear like I’ve never known before washes over me. Then Miceli walks back over and pulls me up off the ground. He wraps a strong arm around me as he guides me quickly over to his car. I’m still feeling a little dazed, so I’m grateful for his arm around my waist because I might fall over without its firm support.

“Get in,” he orders, opening the passenger door.

Moving on autopilot, I slip into the SUV. After quickly securing my seatbelt, I realize I’m breathing hard and shaking like a leaf. Miceli gets in on the driver’s side, the locks click and he spins the wheel, maneuvering us away from the scene of the crime.

Squeezing my hands tightly, I send Miceli a sidelong glance. His profile is stern, mouth set in a grim line, and he’s focused on the street ahead. It occurs to me that the man I wanted to get to know better—that I was considering getting engaged to—just murdered a man with zero hesitation or remorse.

Slowly, my senses start coming back to me. Then, they come flying back all at once, hitting me like a splash of ice-cold water. I’m sitting next to a cold-blooded killer. I reach for the door handle and yank up.

“Let me out,” I order, hoping my voice sounds firm and not weak.

“No.” His voice is flat, emotionless and unwavering.

I spin and glare at him. “What do you mean no?”

“No,” he repeats in a clipped tone.

Not sure how to respond, I cross my arms and glare at him. How dare he? Not only has he messed up my plans to run away, now he’s taking me further away from the train station. “I need to go back and⁠—”

“You’re staying with me.”

His tone brooks no argument, but I’m not giving up so easily. This is ridiculous. Pulling in a deep breath, I say, “I appreciate you getting me out of there, but this is all your fault.” One of his thick, dark brows shoots straight up.

“Oh?” He practically growls the word, but I’m not scared of him. Although, I probably should be. But, deep down, I know Miceli wouldn’t harm a woman. I believe that with every fiber of my being. He’s not Rocco Bianche.

“I had a plan, a train to catch.”

“And where do you think you were going?”

“That’s none of your business. But, far away from here.”

“You weren’t sneaking out to visit a lover?” he demands.

“What? No.” I frown in confusion. “What’re you even talking about?” A lover? Is he crazy? I’ve never even been kissed. But, of course, I don’t tell him that.

“I saw your bag,” he says, nodding to the duffel bag I somehow managed to grab and not leave behind in the chaos.

“Because…” My voice trails off. I don’t want to relinquish my secrets.

“Because you were running away?” he presses, slanting me a steely look.

“No. Maybe. It’s really not your concern.” Wow, he flusters me like no one else.

“Alessia,” he begins as though speaking to a small child. “Why did you sneak out after dark and take an Uber to Penn Station?”

Instead of answering, I grumble a stubborn, “Let me out,” between clenched teeth.

“You’re a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” His mouth edges up and, if I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s amused.

“Me? I just want out. You’re the one refusing to listen.”

“Oh, I’m listening, little girl. I’m just not changing my mind.” Before I can comment, he continues, “In case you missed it, there was a bad guy with a gun. And, I promise you, where there’s one bad guy, there’s more.”

A shiver races down my spine. I really hadn’t thought about it that way, but I refuse to tell him that.

“So, you’re welcome, princess.”

My jaw drops. Okay, so maybe he did “sort of” rescue me, but I don’t appreciate the derogatory nicknames. Besides, he’s the whole reason people were shooting guns in the first place. So, technically, this is all his fault. “I’m not a princess. Or, a little girl.”

He turns and his hot gaze slides down my body. “No, you’re definitely not a little girl.” His voice turns husky and the heated look in his dark eyes makes me swallow hard. “But you are a mafia princess. Whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t want anything to do with that world,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest..

“It doesn’t matter what you want. You were born into it. Trust me, when your family is mafia, there’s no escaping it.”

“Well, I would’ve escaped it if you hadn’t just ruined my plans.” I’m still miffed about missing my train. But, at the same time, I sit back and eye my rescuer closely. God, he’s so good-looking. But in a dark and very dangerous kind of way. He’s a man who clearly straddles the line of morality, and if this were a book or movie, I’d have no idea if Micelli Rossi is the hero or the villain.

“If I hadn’t stepped in, you’d be dead.” His voice is matter of fact.

“They weren’t after me,” I say and roll my eyes.

“How do you know that?”

His words take me by surprise. I had assumed the hitman wanted to eliminate Miceli. But what if he’s right? Me? Oh, God. Why would anyone want to kill me? What did I ever do? No. Miceli had to have been the intended target. That’s what I believe, but I don’t say anything more. Instead, I turn in my seat and focus on his rugged profile.

“You do realize the police are going to arrest you now.”

“No, they won’t,” he states without a trace of worry.

“You just killed a man.”

“Only because he tried to kill me first. And you. That’s called self-defense.”

I let out a huff. “I know what it’s called, but they’re going to at least want to question you.”

“I have friends in high places,” he tells me arrogantly. “I’m not worried which means you shouldn’t be, either.

“I’m hardly worried.” Actually, the only thing that currently concerns me is returning to the family brownstone. I start chewing my lower lip and worry fills me. Without realizing it, my knee begins bouncing with nerves and Miceli glances down at the telltale movement. When I see him looking, I instantly stop and swallow hard.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you taking me back home?” I ask, dread filling me. “So you can tell my father?”

Miceli turns and arches that black brow of his again. “Is that what you want me to do?”

I shake my head. “No. I want you to take me back to Penn Station so I can⁠—”

“Not happening.”

I let out another frustrated huff. “So, if you’re not taking me back to the train station and you’re not taking me home then where are we going?” When he doesn’t immediately respond, I scrunch up my nose and point out the window. “How about that bus stop over there?”

“I have somewhere much safer.”

Leaning forward, I tilt my head. “Where?”

“My house.”

I blink in surprise, not quite sure that I heard him correctly. “Wait, what?”

He makes an annoyed sound, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “I didn’t plan for things to go this way, okay? But the situation has changed, so we’re going to adapt.”

“I don’t understand,” I murmur, sending him a bewildered look. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not marrying Rocco Bianche!” he practically yells, slamming on the brakes and stopping for a red light.

I jerk forward, the seatbelt pulling tight against my body, and brace a hand against the dashboard. That is the last thing I expect to hear him say and, maybe I’m mistaken, but Miceli almost sounds…jealous.

“Well, no,” I say slowly. “Why do you think I was leaving? The last thing I want is a loveless marriage to a man I don’t know.”

A muscle flexes in his jaw and I notice him visibly tense. But he remains quiet, not commenting further. After a long moment, he sighs and looks over at me. “Sometimes we have to do things that we don’t want to do. It’s called a sacrifice.”

“I know what it’s called,” I snap. “But why should I be expected to give myself to a complete stranger?”

“To strengthen your family’s alliance with my family.”

Again, I think I misunderstand him for a brief moment. Until what he’s saying begins to slowly sink in. But, no, he must’ve spoken wrong. “Your family?” I echo. “But I was supposed to marry Rocco.”

“You’re not marrying Rocco,” he grits out.

As I mull over his words, a dull throbbing starts at the base of my skull. Miceli is going to get engaged to Gia, so I’m not sure what this has to do with me. Suddenly, I’m so confused. My head hurts and I massage my temples.

At the next light, I hear Miceli blow out a breath, then his hand reaches over and wraps around my thigh. I jump, not expecting his touch, and his long fingers lower, hovering near my knee.

“What happened?” he demands, voice low and angry.

Leaning forward, I glance down and see my leggings are torn. My knee is scraped up and bleeding. “Oh, I didn’t realize,” I say quickly. “I’m so sorry. I don’t think I got any blood on your car.”

Miceli frowns. “Fuck my car. We need to make sure your knee is okay.”

His concern catches me off guard. But, in a refreshingly nice way. I can’t remember the last time someone showed worry for me like this. “Oh, um, it’ll be okay. I honestly didn’t even notice it until you said something.”

“As soon as we get to my place, I want to clean it up. You tore your knee up on a dirty Manhattan street, princess. There’s no telling what kind of germs could get in there and infect it.”

Wow. It occurs to me that Mr. Rossi is concerned about my well-being. And here I thought he would yell at me for getting a blood stain on his expensive leather seat. I sneak a glance over at him and give him a little smile. I think it’s really sweet that he seems so concerned.

His black gaze locks on mine and I realize his fingers are still wrapped around my leg. He gives my leg a squeeze then returns his hands to the steering wheel and his attention to the road. Meanwhile, my heart is beating out of my chest. Something about Miceli Rossi warms my blood in the most delightful way.

“Where do you live?” I ask quietly.

“Just up ahead,” he states. His voice is so low, it rumbles, and I can feel it way down deep, vibrating through my body. And I love that.

Leaning forward, I glance through the windshield and see we’re coming up to Billionaire’s Row. It’s a collection of the swankiest, most expensive realty in Manhattan and only a select few can afford to live here. “Which one?” I ask, looking up at the impressive highrises.

Miceli points to the tallest, most modern looking building of the group along West 57th Street.

“Holy crap,” I murmur, and he chuckles.

“A tower fit for a princess,” he murmurs, and I glance over at him.

“Why didn’t you take me back home?” I ask, my pulse rate speeding up. That seems like the most logical thing to do, yet here we are at his fancy-shmancy apartment building.

“Several reasons,” he says mysteriously.

“Care to elaborate?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “First and foremost, you’re not marrying Rocco. Second, my place is very safe. And, third, I decided it’s best if you’re with me.”

With him? What does that even mean by that?

“Oh, you decided? For how long?” I ask.

“Until I say, princess.” Miceli tosses me a wicked smirk. “Consider yourself kidnapped.”