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Chapter 1
I live in sweet motherfucking bliss.
I remember one time when I was a kid, maybe nine or ten years old, and I was in school. The teacher, a young, sexy little number, Miss Mills, asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up. Everyone wanted to be a doctor, a pilot, or a fucking firefighter, but by then I already knew my destiny. I was going to be King. When I told Miss Mills, she laughed and patted my head, telling me to always dream like that. The joke was on her, because my throne was already waiting. I ran into her again last year, the day after my 21st birthday, but she was Mrs. Parker now, married to a banker, but still smokin’ hot. When she asked me if I got my crown yet, I smiled, told her that I did, and banged her in a bathroom stall while her husband was waiting by the door.
I was the prince of the filthiest of worlds – New York Mafia. After so many years, the Cosa Nostra was still potent and present, infecting this city all the way to the core, watching from afar, and controlling from the shadows. The Nucci family – my kin – was ruling around here and I damn well enjoyed it. My father, Gino Nucci, was Don and I was the only heir to his legacy, so I got to enjoy a little bit of the power, a little bit of the responsibility, and a whole lot of the fun.
I stretched in the middle of my California king bed, stark naked, only covered in scraps of satin and velvet, and watched the three exotic dancers who made my night interesting finding their clothes.
“Girls, there are a few of my guys at the security point by the gate. Ask one of them to take you back to the city. Tell them I said so.”
One nodded, one smiled, and one winked at me.
“Will you be by the club later? We’re all dancing tonight.”
“I can’t tonight, but I’ll come and see you soon. You know you are my favorite dancers.”
“Enzo Nucci, you say this to every woman in your clubs.” I did, so I just smiled at her. Women tend to soften up when they see my dimples.
Michaela, the brunette with stunning blue eyes and legs that stretched for miles, looked at me like the cat that was aiming the cream.
“Will your dad be there?”
I shot her a side look and growled.
“No.” It would take more than a thousand naked dancers to turn my dad’s head from my mother, but the fact that she was sniffing around my dick thinking about the old man didn’t sit well with me.
“Hey, Enzo,” the spicy redhead spoke over her shoulder while slipping into her thong, “Will there be a next time for us?”
“After what you did to me last night? Definitely, doll.”
They left in silence after that, and I stayed behind in my new bedroom, that was indeed fit for a king. I moved from my dad’s house as soon as I turned eighteen – not because of him. Being the son of a mafia Don was not hard, but being my mother’s son?
Dad was the devil’s spawn – quite literally, if the stories about my grandfather were true – but the man married a saint. God bless my mother. She was this sweet, amazing woman, full of mercy and virtue. The perfect wife, the perfect mother, always looking out for me, and because I respected her too much, I couldn’t stay under her roof anymore. Once she caught me coming home drunk, and I couldn’t look into her eyes for a week.
Yeah, if dad and I had one thing in common, that was keeping mom on a pedestal, so I moved into my uncle Roman’s old penthouse in Manhattan for a while, but as a gift for my last birthday, Dad helped me build a house – and I did a hell of a job. I chose to leave the city in favor of Hewlett Bay Park, one of the closed suburbs around New York, and built the sexiest mansion. A state-of-the-art classic building with eleven rooms. I got Carrara marble and Agatha Black granite imported from Italy and glass brought here from France. Did I go a little crazy? Maybe, but this was my castle; a bachelor bad of incredible proportions, covered in black, white, and gold. Christening the bed with three sexy women eager to please was the perfect welcome home party, since I only moved here last week.
After another hour, I decided to get my ass up and walk into the shower, letting the water run down my body while I looked down at my tattoos. I had ink sleeves on my arms, going from my wrists up, made of the names of everyone I loved, parents, cousins, family, everyone had a mark on my skin. I got my red rose when my father released me from my soldier duties and moved me up to brigadier a few months ago. That’s when I got sworn in to the famiglia for good, forging my oath in fire. Dad had the same tattoo on his shoulder, a mark for death, the sign of a Don. I had known I was walking in his footsteps since I was five years old, and I was ready for the job, but for now, the Nucci family was safe in my father’s hands.
Speaking of my family, they were expecting me this afternoon at my aunt’s house. I drove there after getting ready and discovered I was the last one to show up. I opened the door without knocking and the moment I stepped inside my eyes landed on my cousin Romina who was in the hallway just ending a phone call. This was a pleasant surprise. She wasn’t supposed to be home from Harvard for another week.
“Remy,” I picked her up in my arms and spun her around, “what are you doing home already?”
“I had to get out of Boston, that place bores me to death, so I finished early and came home. Miss me?”
“Like crazy, baby doll. Where’s your man?”
“Somewhere in Europe doing something I shouldn’t be asking about.”
“Ah, I see. He’s still married to his job, but not married to you.” I still had some mixed feelings about the guy, but he made my cousin happy, so he got to live.
“I don’t want to get married, Enzo. You sound just like your dad.” Yeah, I did. “I want to finish school and get to practice first.”
“I know, I know. You’d better be the best criminal attorney in the state, because I have the feeling I might need one soon.”
“Stay out of trouble, Nucci. You’re pretty,” she smiled and slapped my cheek playfully a couple of times, “and you know what they do to pretty boys in prison.”
“Smart mouth. Where’s everybody?”
