Mafia Prince : Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Young Irish Rebels Book 1) Read online

  MAFIA PRINCE

  THE YOUNG IRISH REBELS BOOK ONE

  AN IRISH MAFIA ROMANCE

  BY VI CARTER

  Other Books by VI CARTER

  A BROKEN HEART SERIES

  SAVING GRACE

  CLAIMING AMBER

  TAKING LAURA

  WILD IRISH SERIES

  RECKLESS (prequel)

  VICIOUS #1

  RUTHLESS #2

  FEARLESS #3

  MERCILESS #4

  HEARTLESS #5

  THE BOYNE CLUB

  DARK #1

  DARKER #2

  DARKEST #3

  PITCH BLACK #4

  THE OBSESSED DUET

  A DEADLY OBSESSION #1

  A CRUEL CONFESSION #2

  DEDICATION

  Emmaline this is for you, my twin flame. You will always be missed.

  WARNING

  This book is a dark romance. This book contains scenes that may be triggering to some readers and should be read by those only 18 or older.

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  PROLOGUE

  MAEVE

  Memories.

  Sometimes we build them up so high that they take on a life of their own. Sometimes they manifest into beasts that consume us from the inside out. Sometimes life loses its color, and we wait for the harsh reality that is to come.

  No one told me it would be this hard.

  Sometimes the power of a memory can either destroy us or lift us up.

  My beast is a destroyer and wears two faces, one given by Jack O’Reagan and the other by dear old daddy. Yeah, on the same day, these two men seemed to tear me to shreds, and I’ve never been able to put myself back together. I’ve tried. Trust me, I have, but it’s like each time I try to swim, the water rages around my ankles, and its icy fingers tighten painfully as it drags me out to sea until I’m drowning. So, through life, I’ve learned to float.

  I try not to think too much or feel too much. So far, I’ve gotten by just fine like that; until more moments build-up, and soon you are looking at a mountain of shit. The shit pile is so high that I can’t see around it anymore. It blocks out all the light and plunges my world into darkness. The sad part is, the one person who might be able to help me is the one who started all this. The one who helped bury me knee-deep in all this pain and suffering.

  The irony.

  Fourteen years ago…

  “Push me higher.” Dana squeals like a princess on some adventure, and I want to be right there with her, so I push her higher, and her squeals of delight force a smile out of me.

  “Higher, Maeve.”

  Her long dark hair whooshes towards me, and I turn my head to the side, avoiding the sting to my eyes that her long tendrils would inflict. Instead, it’s a short-lived sting to my face as I push her higher. She soars into the sky, her white dress clinging to her ballerina frame, and she continues to laugh, drawing the attention of her mother.

  Immediately, I ease down on my pushes. Svetlana smiles at Dana, with one hand on her hip. “Girls, that’s too high.” Her mother is beautiful, just like Dana. She has black hair and crystal blue eyes, which smile even when her mouth doesn’t move. They both make me feel happy and at ease.

  “Sorry, mom.” Dana giggles.

  Reaching out, I grip the rope in my hands and pull back until it burns my palms, but it slows Dana down, and her mother steps onto the manicured lawn.

  “You girls thirsty?” Svetlana glances from me to her daughter. The red dress she wears doesn’t billow in a breeze as I imagine it should with its long tail. It’s as still as the air.

  I lick my lips. The sun is high in the sky, and pushing Dana for so long has tired me out. “Yes, please.”

  “Maeve, your manners are wonderful,” Svetlana speaks while staring at her daughter, who jumps off the swing and marches into her mother’s outstretched arms. A pin pricks the back of my neck, and I don’t understand the sensation fully, but it disappears when Dana steps out of her mother’s embrace.

  “I’ll be just a minute.” Svetlana smiles. Her words are spoken differently than Dana, and I speak. Dana says her mother is from the Czech Republic and is teaching her how to speak some Czech. I wish my mother taught me another language. I wish she taught me anything.

  Dana turns to me with a huge smile on her face. “That was so fun.” She’s grinning as she pulls me into her for a hug. I like Dana’s hugs, they are warm as sunshine, and she always smells of home baking.

  “Dana, what has dad told you?”

  My stomach curls in on itself, and unlike the pricking on the back of my neck, I understand this sensation. My cheeks heat as I look up at Jack, Dana’s older brother.

  Ice-blue eyes narrow on me, and my spine straightens. My stomach squirms as he glares at me, and I’m wondering what I’ve done wrong. Each time he looks at me like that, I want to ask why, but my courage fails me, and I’m sinking my heels into the lawn.

  “Go away, Jack.” Dana releases me and folds her arms across her chest. I notice her nails are painted a vibrant blue, and I wonder how I hadn’t noticed that before.

  Jack still glares at me, and I’m snared in his gaze. I want to snarl at him so he’ll stop looking at me, but at the same time, I hope he never stops looking at me.

  “She’s an Outsider, and we don’t mix with them.” He takes a step closer, and my feet sink further into the grass. I want to be brave, but he’s taller, so tall that I have to crane my neck back to look into his eyes.

  “Shut your face.” Dana steps closer, and she’s like a warrior from one of her fairy tales. She’s so strong, and sometimes I wish I was like she is.

  He releases me from his hold and turns those crystal eyes on his sister. He sneers. “Make me, you little brat.”

  I move quicker than I thought possible. My hands reach out, and like I’ve pushed Dana a million times on the swing, they slam into Jack’s chest, and I watch in horror as he stumbles back and he’s falling. A look of utter shock covers his features but turns to anger; when he thuds heavily onto the lawn, he bounces back up and towers over me.

  “You little shit.”

  I raise my head high. “Touch me, and my dad will kick the shit out of you.”

  “I wouldn’t touch you.” The way Jack looks me up and down makes me uncomfortable, and I frown. “I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

  “Mom!” Dana’s scream pierces the air, making both Jack and I jump apart.

  He swings around and steps closer to me, lowering his voice. “You’re scum, and my father doesn’t want you around Dana, and neither do I. We know your kind, and you’re not welcome here. No one wants you here.”

  “What did dad tell you?” Jack grabs Dana’s arm and drags her over to me.

  I’m staring at my best friend in the world. She chews her lips, and her blue eyes waver. “She’s my friend.”

  Jack shakes her, and I’m ready to knock him on his ass again when his sharp gaze pins me to the spot.

  I see Svetlana come out the back door with a tray of drinks. Did she think I was scum?

  “Tell her.” Jack forces out.

  “Dad said that I can’t play with you anymore. That you are an Outsider.”

  “Drinks!” Dana’s mother, none the wiser, steps onto the lawn, and Jack releases his sister before stepping into my personal space.

  “Now fuck off and run home to your alcoholic mother.”

  It’s like a slap to the face. My eyes sting, and when he starts t
o grin like a shark circling blood, I know I can’t let as much as one tear fall. I’m running past Jack and Svetlana, I’m running home, and the worst part is, Dana doesn’t call me back or follow me. She never tries to stop me.

  My small fists pound the blue chipped front door, but no one answers. Jiggling the old handle, the door swings open, and I step into the hall. I’m ready to call for my mother when I hear raised voices coming from the bedroom. I close the door quietly. My brother’s bike rests against the marked wall.

  I advance down the hall, and my parents’ bedroom door is open.

  “So that’s it, you’re going to run.” My mother snivels, the once pink nightgown is wrapped tightly around her tiny frame. She’s thin, too thin. She blows smoke into my father’s face. Seeing him, something in me softens and turns to goo. I’m ready to call out to him, tell him the horrible things Jack O’Reagan said to me, but something freezes me to the spot.

  He stuffs shirts into a bag and glares at my mother. “I’m not running. I’m leaving. I can’t do this anymore with you, Jane.”

  My mother grabs the bag with her free hand; the ashes from her burning cigarette landing on the worn-out brown carpet.

  “Daddy.” My heart pounds too fast, and I’m tempted to touch my chest. My parents freeze, and my father’s shoulders fall forward like he can’t hold his weight up any longer.

  “Sweet Pea.” His smile has all the moving parts slot back into their rightful place. His smile tells me that everything will be okay.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  My dad is so tall, but he bends and kneels before me. His soft brown eyes speak words that I don’t comprehend at ten years of age.

  “Daddy has to go away for a while.” My dad reaches out and touches my arms, but I barely register his large hands on my skin.

  “Who will take care of me?” The words are whispered because no matter what, I don’t want to hurt my mother’s feelings.

  “Your mother will.” My father squeezes my arms and stands. What utter bullshit.

  My eyes sting.

  My mother takes my father’s place, and the smoke assaults me. I cough, and she holds the cigarette behind her back. This close, I can see every crack around her lips. The gouges grow deeper when she smokes. “I’ll mind you since your father doesn’t want us anymore.”

  “Jesus, Jane.” My father drags her to her feet and away from me.

  “Is there another woman? Who is she?” My mother’s words are barked.

  “What about Declan?” I ask, and both my parents stop and stare at me.

  My father shakes his head, and I hate the look of defeat I see in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Sweet Pea.” He turns and continues to pack his bag. The only person who wanted me doesn’t want me anymore.

  “I promise. I’ll be better.” My lip trembles, and I want to grab my dad and stop him, but he continues packing.

  He won’t look at me. “It’s not you, kiddo.”

  “No. It’s me. It’s always me.” My mother stomps over to her vanity set and puts out a cigarette before picking up a mug.

  “What’s in the mug, Jane?” My father’s angry words have my mother putting it back down, and she pushes dry blond hair behind her ear.

  “Coffee.” I hear the lie; we all know what’s in the mug.

  “Daddy,” I call him again, and he steps away from my mother. “Please. Don’t leave.” I start to beg as he drags the bag over his wide shoulder. A panic to keep him here has me running towards him, and I hug his torso with every ounce of strength I possess.

  “Jack O’Reagan said nasty things to me; I need you to tell his dad. I need you to make him apologize.” Tears stream down my face, and I have no idea if it’s because of what just happened with Jack or the fact my dad wants to leave us.

  “Jack O’Reagan, the rich kid, who thinks he’s better than everyone else; keep away from them.” My mother’s order dries up my tears, and my father slowly untangles my hands from his waist.

  “I have to go.”

  “Please don’t leave me.”

  “Jesus, Jane, comfort her.” My father’s voice quivers as he launches himself into the hall with his favorite red cap pulled on his head. I know he would never leave that behind. He was actually leaving us. He was really leaving me.

  I can’t let him leave.

  A scream erupts in the pit of my stomach and races up my throat. When it pours out of my mouth, my father swings around with tears in his eyes. It’s a brief pause before he tugs the red cap further down and disappears out the front door.

  “Stop it, Maeve.” The smell of smoke and alcohol envelopes me as my mother drags me into her arms.

  “He doesn’t want us.” Her words are the final nail in the coffin.

  No one wants me.

  Even the woman that holds me will only want me when she needs something.

  “I hate you,” I speak to her chest, and she drags me closer.

  She cost me my father and my friendship with Dana. Everyone knows she is a drunk. I push her away, and her unbalanced frame lands heavily on the ground. Shock morphs into anger, and I’m running down the hall with her on my heels. She’s not fast on her feet, and I consider knocking Declan’s bike into her path, but I don’t want to hurt her. I dive into my room and lock the door. It rattles, and she screams at me from the other side of the door.

  “You’re such a brat. No wonder your father left.”

  My hands cover my ears, and her words become muffled as I lower myself to the bare floor beneath me—splatters of paint coat the boards from my attempt at painting my room. Closing my eyes doesn’t cut off the pain. I never knew pain like this.

  A part of me died at that very moment, in that room. A part of me that I didn’t believe could ever be revived.

  CHAPTER ONE

  PRESENT DAY - MAEVE

  The keys rattle in the door, and I press my foot to the base of the wood that normally gets jammed. Years of forcing the door open this way have damaged the base further; any day it could cave in. Pushing the door open, I hold my breath. I know the drill by now. Being away in college all week leaves my mother and brother alone, and they can barely keep themselves alive.

  “Mom,” I call as I force the door closed behind me. It takes three attempts before the lock slides into place, sealing me into the house. I step around the pile of cardboard that’s being stacked against the skirting board. The yellow floor tiles are neglected and grubby.

  The moment I step into the kitchen, I drop my bag on the floor. The table is flooded with plates with food caked onto them - the type that will take an hour of steeping to remove. I lift a pile of unopened mail and drop it back down as I scan all the empty vodka and wine bottles. Walking around the table, I force the window open and let some air filter in to try and get rid of the smell.

  “Mom.” I call louder as I open the back door and place a chair behind it to hold it open. My heart leaps as Sandy pounces off the counter and races out the back door. I don’t even look at the counters to see what the cat’s been doing. Takeaway bags and opened food are stacked high. It always looks like this when I get back from college. My weekend will be cleaning, working at the local grocery store, and trying to get some homework done.

  Sandy’s silver bowls are empty on the floor. I don’t want to stay in the kitchen any longer, but I’m not cruel either. Opening the cupboard, I take out a moldy loaf of bread and place it on the counter. Pushing aside red sauce and some jam, I stare into emptiness. I close the cupboard and move onto the next, which holds a bag of sugar and some salt.

  Sandy has re-entered the kitchen and cries up at me as she circles around my ankles.

  “Yeah, I’m working on it.” Kneeling down, I open the bottom cupboard and grin at the bag of cat food. Sandy leaps up on my knee, and I swipe her off.

  “Here we go.” I barely get the food into the bowl before Sandy’s eating them. Filling up her water dish, I call my mother again before leaving the kitchen.

  “Mom
.” She must be passed out somewhere. The sitting room door is closed, and I push it open. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, but once they do, I wish I could step out of the room—the air freezes in my lungs and the ground under me shifts. A man stands over my bleeding brother. My brother’s gray t-shirt—that’s nearly threadbare—is coated in flecks of his blood. His jeans hang off his thin frame. My gaze bounces around the scarcely furnished sitting room before landing on my mother. The air re-enters my system, and I try to control my racing heart. My mother is in a heap in the corner. Her wild eyes won’t settle on anything. Mascara runs down her worn-out face. I’m tempted to step closer to her, but a shove to my back sends a shiver up my spine. The gun is nudged into my back again until I’m standing in the center of the room.

  “What have we got here?”

  I spin around at the voice. It’s deep and holds an edge, like a sharp knife that nicks the skin. It makes me uncomfortable and cautious. Even without the gun, this man is dangerous. His bald head seems to absorb the light. Heavy brows curtain his blue eyes that assess me. He takes a step closer. The leather coat creaks as he reaches out a tattooed hand and lifts my blond plait before dropping it back down onto my bare shoulder. I want to yank my top up, but it’s meant to hang off the shoulder, so I tighten my hands into fists.

  “You’re a pretty little thing.” His grin is razor-sharp, and alarm bells start to ring as I take a step back.

  “What do you want?” My voice sounds stronger than I actually feel.

  “Leave her alone.” Declan moans from the floor, and I’m relieved he’s alive. His pale skin had me wonder if today was the day that I would find my brother dead. Now that I see he isn’t dead, I wonder what mess he has gotten us into. I try to convey my question toward him with a stare that he meets briefly. His eyes slam closed as the man above him drives his black military-style boot into my brother’s stomach. I’m moving, but a hand pulls on my arm and drags me back.