Ruthless King: A Dark Mafia Romance: War of Roses Universe (Mice and Men Book 1)

that darkness, her face appears in my mind. So innocent. So trusting. My little Safiya.
Only Vincenzo can ever bear to say her name. Why? He doesn’t know the truth, believing she died in a horrible accident all those years ago. I fed him that lie myself.
“Don?” I blink to find Vin nearly leaning out of his seat, his eyes on my face. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know you don’t like to talk about her.”
I look away, fighting the emotions down to the depths of my soul where they belong. The guilt, and the pain, and the regret. Gradually, I forget her—that face, those eyes. I banish her memory—for now. She always comes back.
Every night. Every nightmare. She always returns.
“You’re here now,” I rasp, turning my attention back to Vin. “You.”
He nods solemnly. “You’re lucky to have me,” he says. “I, at least, know how to wear a suit.”

2
Don
I barely get one glass of whiskey into Vin before he’s already heading up to bed.
“That fancy university has made you soft, whelp,” I scold him, horrified by his nearly full drink. “Be thankful that as a doctor, you won’t be expected to out drink a Russian informant while trying to secure a deal for a shipment.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were doing everything on the up and up these days?”
I scoff, but he’s right. While he’s been slaving away to earn those good grades, I’ve been on my own journey toward self-improvement. The new Donatello Vanici makes his wealth through legal means only. My first step in that direction was securing partial ownership of Hell’s Gambit’s sole port. The next goal in mind? Plaster the city with enough advertisements to overcome any hostile parties who might be trying to undermine me, be them Antonio Salvatore or Mischa Stepanov himself.
I’ve already covered the airport to capture any incoming businessmen looking to make connections here. I’d say that in a year, I’ll have my own shipping empire. Hell, even without the mafiya or the famiglia on my side, I’m nearly there anyway. Most of the legitimate commerce flowing into this godforsaken place comes through me.
And I’m proud to say that I haven’t stolen or extorted a single dime.
But going on the straight and narrow overnight can’t help a man’s reputation. There are still plenty of my enemies waiting to strike a blow—from law enforcement to jaded old families. The Salvatores being one of them.
And, as it seems, the Stepanov clan.
“Take Javier when you go up,” I command, swiping my hand through Vin’s hair. Like a good boy, I’d left the old bodyguard here while at the manor, but I know better than to let Vin wander around alone.
“I don’t think I need a nanny, Don,” Vin says, but the argument is half-hearted.
“A nanny wouldn’t look half as badass holding a gun as Javier,” I counter. One of the first professionals I hired after leaving the famiglia, I trust the man with my life—more importantly, I trust him with Vin’s. “Humor me. If you won’t carry a gun on you, at least stick close to someone who will.”
He eyes me sideways with far more maturity than a kid twenty-one should possess. “You’re drunk, Don.” His tone is resigned, belaying a truth that causes me to snatch up my glass rather than face.
He relays it regardless, “Though, to be fair, you’re always drunk.”
“I prefer the term ‘inebriated,’” I counter, saluting him with my drink. At least I’m not falling down pissing myself like my father. A few shots of whiskey on the regular keep me dulled enough to think with some ounce of sanity, let alone sleep until morning. Considering my track record when I was sober, I think it is a fair trade-off. Some nights it actually helps.
Vin disapproves of the habit. “Night, Don,” he says in that soft, sad way that makes me flinch with guilt.
“Night, Vinny!” I choke down my drink entirely and call to his retreating back, “As soon as you’re married and practicing as some renowned doctor, I won’t have to hide behind a bottle ever again.”
The sad part? I’m not joking. Maybe then, I’ll finally know peace. If my liver holds up, that is. I’m on my third glass when the seat beside me is taken by a figure who wrinkles his nose in disgust.
“How did I know I’d find you here?” Fabio grumbles while waving down the bartender. Rather than hard liquor, he orders a glass of water with a lemon wedge. Typical Fab.
“Shouldn’t you be dancing with the younger Stepanova by now?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Stop sulking,” Fab scolds. “And for your information, no one got to dance with her. She never showed. At least not before I left.”
Frowning, I eye the gilded clock mounted over a fireplace at the other end of the bar. “We left what? Four hours ago?”
He nods, grabbing for the water glass the bartender sets down before him. “Four hours. You should have seen it. We were all milling about like scurrying cockroaches as the hors d’oeuvres dwindled. Soon it became a bloodbath for the last glass of champagne. It seems our little Stepanova found other entertainment tonight. A shame.” He shakes his head with a wistful sigh. “She was spared a hall of lecherous old men hoping to charm her in pursuit of her father’s favor. I’ll have you know that poor Antonio Salvatore looked like he might piss himself in disappointment.”
I chuckle at the mental image before another takes its place—Salvatore skulking around, hoping to claim the girl for himself. I wouldn’t put it past the sick bastard to want someone so young. He can’t keep a real woman long enough to tell the difference.
Eyeing Fabio, I ask, “Mischa ever say why I wasn’t welcome at his little party?”
I’m more curious than I let on. Anxious too. My foot bounces against the rung of my stool, and those dark thoughts start to gnaw through my alcoholic daze. Virgin mother Mary above, the