Mafia Boss: Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Young Irish Rebels Book 4) Read online

  Mafia Boss

  THE YOUNG IRISH REBELS BOOK FOUR AN IRISH MAFIA ROMANCE

  Vi Carter

  Mafia Boss Copyright © 2021 by VI CARTER.

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First Edition: November 2021

  Contents

  Other Books by VI CARTER

  Warning

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  Prologue

  1. Cillian

  2. Dana

  3. Cillian

  4. Dana

  5. Cillian

  6. Dana

  7. Cillian

  8. Cillian

  9. Dana

  10. Cillian

  11. Dana

  12. Cillian

  13. Dana

  14. Cillian

  15. Dana

  16. Cillian

  17. Dana

  18. Dana

  19. Cillian

  20. Dana

  21. Cillian

  22. Cillian

  23. Cillian

  24. Cillian

  25. Dana

  26. Cillian

  27. Dana

  28. Cillian

  29. Cillian

  30. Cillian

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books by VI CARTER

  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

  THE CELLS OF KALASHOV

  THE SIXTH (NOVELLA)

  THE COLLECTOR #1

  THE HANDLER #2

  THE YOUNG IRISH REBELS

  MAFIA PRINCE #1

  MAFIA KING #2

  MAFIA GAMES #3

  MAFIA BOSS #4

  Warning

  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

  Dana

  Ice cold water hits my face. The sting wakes me up, sending sharp pain across my naked body. Everything inside me trembles as I become more alert. My wet hair weighs my head down. I focus on my fingers, which shake in small pools of water that surround me. My naked flesh is screaming for warmth. Large feet appear in front of me, and my shoulders hunch closer to my ears as a second bucket of water is splashed across my frame. A short, broken scream is dragged from my lips before the sound of my chattering teeth takes over. The chains on my wrists rattle as I manage to raise my head through the pain and dizziness.

  “Are you ready to talk?” The large Russian man drops the steel bucket, and the sound bounces around the wide space. The empty outhouse has been my cage for days now. I keep waiting for someone to come and find me, someone like Cillian. His name has me wincing, and I push the image of his face away. His memory is too painful.

  A roar rolls from me. My fingers rebel and try to wriggle under the weight of the boot that is slowly crushing them. I continue to scream in pain, even as the Russian steps away—air stalls in my lungs as I stare at my hand, not daring to move a finger. The pain intensifies, and I’m burning up inside. Bile claws up my throat as I rock my body like I can extract the pain from my broken fingers.

  “Just tell us about your father and all this goes away.”

  My breaths are shallow and fast as I continue to stare at my crushed fingers. My vision blinks in and out.

  The Russian’s footsteps come closer, and I quickly look up at him. I swallow the dryness in my mouth. I swallow the scream. I swallow the pain. “I never knew,” I say when I see the disbelief in the man’s blue eyes. “I swear.” I cry out as he kneels down with a smile that sends waves of dread coursing through me.

  “You are naked, beaten, and chained to the floor. He will not expect this level of loyalty.”

  His large hand touches my face, and I shrivel away from him, sending fresh pain into my fingers. “You have been strong.” The man’s smile remains.

  I sob. The truth is, if I knew anything, I would have given up the information the moment they chained me to the floor. The moment they stripped me of my dignity. The moment they put their hands on me. The moment they took me. But I didn’t know anything about my father’s dealings.

  “I swear, I don’t know.”

  His smile leaves his face, and he rises on a long exhale.

  I try to brace myself, but it doesn’t matter; nothing could prepare me for the pain. His foot connects with my naked torso, which is already covered in bruises. Something snaps inside me, and I’m lifted off the concrete floor before I’m slammed back down onto the ground. The chains restrict me, and the heavy metal burns my wrists. The pain’s forgotten as a large hand tightens around my hair and yanks my head back. I’m staring up into his face, begging him to stop this. I already know the answer before he hits me hard across the face. My head swings back, my mouth fills with blood, and I hit the concrete floor again, the small pools of water splashing up across my damaged flesh.

  I can’t see through the pain and fear. I curl up and cry, waiting for the next kick or hit, but his footsteps move away from me, and I start to cry some more. My body trembles as I lie there on the cold floor.

  I try to tell myself that I’ll be fine, but the truth is, I’m hurting. The pain is so deep, and I’m close to giving in to the demands of my body. My body wants me to let go. It would be so easy to just let go and slip away from all the pain.

  Another sob sends ripples across the small pool of water that I lie in. Seeing my dark tendrils brings me back. Back to a moment when I was sailing through the air, my hair whipping in my face. I was so young—maybe ten—and I was with my best friend, Maeve, as she pushed me on my swing in my backyard. The day was hot, my mother was smiling, and I felt happy.

  I’d laugh if I had anything in me. I’d laugh that Maeve’s secret led me to this dark place.

  My body shakes and my tears stop, and all I feel is pain. So much pain.

  I return to the memory of that day on the swing. I had been free, just like Maeve always appeared. She had a freedom in her life that my parents never allowed me to have. I always felt suffocated, so I spent most of my teens traveling, trying to escape their smothering tendencies. They allowed me to travel, but something deep in the back of my mind told me I was never truly free or alone. I shook it off as paranoia at the time, but now I see that my father had men watch over me my whole life.

  I can’t stop the sob that rocks my body, sending fresh
waves of pain down my side. Coldness seeps deeper into my bones, and I don’t believe the cold will ever leave me. I don’t think any form of heat could banish this level of coldness or pain. Time moves in shadows across the floor. My fingers reach out to the last stream of light like I can hold it hostage here with me, but like everything else, the light disappears, and I’m plunged deep into the shadows and the terror of what will happen next.

  I don’t sleep, but I’m not fully alert either. The tremors and agony keep me in a half-awake state. That is, until the door opens. I look up, unable to move as the Russian man enters the room again. The bucket in his hand swings, and I close my eyes and brace myself, but no water hits me. I look back up and notice something lumpy under his arm. He takes the material out from under his arm, and a blanket is spread across my body. I cry with relief.

  It’s a trick, my mind whispers, and I hush the pessimism inside me.

  The large Russian man kneels and brushes long strands of hair off my face. His finger grazes a cut, and my body curls in on itself.

  “You are resilient.” He sounds impressed. “But that has no value here.” His smile drips off his face, and unease skitters across my skin.

  “If I knew anything, I would tell you.” My chains rattle, and the blanket slips as I try to rise. His fingers press against my lips.

  “Shh. It will be okay.”

  My vision blurs, and I know it won’t be okay. I’m going to die.

  My heart takes on a new beat. The pounding jumps to the point that I think my heart is ready to come out of my chest; the sensation feels like my heart is in my throat, choking me, cutting off the air from my lungs, and without the Russian lifting a finger, I can’t breathe.

  I crane my neck back and gasp in quick short breaths that do nothing to fill my lungs, and they aren’t enough. The blanket slips completely from my battered body as I continue to gasp. I’m staring into blue eyes that laugh at me, but I can’t look away. My body is shutting down, and I’m dying.

  Loving life has me clinging to the man before me. I sway on my knees, and I know I won’t recover if I hit the ground.

  His eyes are blue. His hair is brown. I keep repeating this in my mind as tears cascade down my face. Another wave of dizziness hits me, and my body trembles violently.

  I have no regrets. I wouldn’t have lived my life any other way.

  With this knowledge, I want to scream, because I don’t want this to be my end.

  Not like this.

  Not like this.

  1

  Cillian

  I’d like to say I’m broken as I stand in front of my father’s grave. I’m pretty sure that’s how I should feel—broken. A sense of loss should choke me, a pain that should take me to my knees. The priest looks up from his bible; he gives me a nod like I’m a soldier that has every right to rest or shed a tear.

  But I don’t. I’m not even close to any of those emotions. I feel nothing.

  “Ashes to Ashes.” The priest walks around my father’s coffin, dipping a golden stick into a pot of holy water and sprinkling the contents over the coffin as he continues his prayer. We had to have a closed casket. My father’s bones were charred black from the fire that burnt his home to the ground.

  My mother stands tall beside me. She isn’t broken either. She isn’t a grieving widow. She is simply here to give her once-upon-a-time husband his final goodbye. I’m here as a mark of respect and as support to my mother.

  I still lean in and wrap an arm around her, even though she doesn’t need my support. The world is watching at our backs, so I will play my part. My mother turns her head, and I’m actually surprised at the level of sadness I see in her green eyes. It’s unexpected, and I’m wondering who the sadness is for. It surely can’t be for the man who’s being lowered into the ground as we stare at each other. He wasn’t a good husband or father. I never connected with him, though he tried. His belt was his favorite tool for making me hear his words, but all the beatings did was make me want to be a different kind of man.

  One not like him.

  “May he rest in peace.” The priest draws my attention, and I release my mother as she steps forward and drops a red rose on top of my father’s coffin. Her hands are clad in small black leather gloves that she joins in front of her. I do the same, and a line of mourners follows suit until the coffin is coated with red petals.

  As they release their roses, they turn to my mother and me and shake our hands. “I’m sorry for your loss” is repeated. The words bounce off me, and a sea of faces morph into one another.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Robert’s large hand grips mine tightly. “Thank you.”

  Robert is unnaturally tall. He towers over everyone else. He’s a giant of a man with too much facial hair and not much composure. I’m not sure how he gained his position so high in the ranks of the Jaguars. They controlled parts of the east of Ireland that weren’t under the O’Reagans’ control.

  “We are all here.” He pulls me slightly toward him before looking over my head. I follow his line of sight, and there they are—all the members of the Jaguars nod at me. My gut twists. I knew they would arrive. My father was a member, but as I look across from them and meet Liam O’ Reagan’s intelligent stare, I know everything is about to get very fucking complicated.

  Robert addresses me while glaring at Liam O’Reagan. “We aren’t afraid of no ghosts.”

  My mother clears her throat. “There is a time and place for that kind of talk.” She speaks out of the corner of her mouth while keeping her voice low.

  Robert releases my hand.

  “They aren’t ghosts,” I warn him before he steps up to my mother and takes her hand. Robert isn’t foolish enough to believe that the O’Reagans are to be underestimated. I haven’t had a chance to tell the Jaguars that I’m now a king with the Irish Mafia. So much has happened in a short space of time.

  I continue to shake hands, and when the line starts to dwindle, I’m looking from one side of the mourners to the other. Walking to the O’Reagans first would give a message to the Jaguars that I didn’t want delivered. So, I leave my mother talking to the priest and walk over to Robert and the men.

  Five of the front runners shake my hand. I grew up with them around our home, but I never joined them. I wasn’t a member.

  “Davy’s death will not be in vain, son.” Razor grips my shoulder. “We will have justice for his death.”

  I nod. “I can take care of it.” The moment I say the words, I know they’re the wrong ones.

  Razor grins, dragging the jagged scar on his cheek higher. “Davy was a brother to me. We don’t leave one man to take care of another man’s death. We work together. We are strong as a unit.”

  Razor grips my shoulder tighter. “You are now a member, Cillian. It’s your legacy.”

  “I need to take care of my mother.” Movement to the side has me glancing in that direction.

  Shit.

  Liam, Jack, and Richard are approaching me, and everyone watches them. They have an air about them that demands everyone’s attention. They piss me off to no end, but I keep that buried. Razor releases me and glances at them; a snarl twists his face.

  “Only ghosts,” Robert whispers to Razor.

  I turn as Liam steps up to me with either son flanking his sides. He’s the godfather, the center of the Irish Mafia, and he’s to be feared.

  Liam holds out his hand. “Sorry for your loss.” I take it, and we shake, but he doesn’t release my hand instantly. Instead, he looks at the Jaguars. “Robert, how nice to see you.” Liam releases my hand as Jack and Richard give their condolences. Richard glares at me, and I try to ignore him.

  “Have you any idea what happened to Davy?” Robert fires out, and I curse him. He’s not very tactful.

  “A discussion for another day,” I interrupt. But Liam isn’t taking my subtle interruption kindly.

  “I actually do know what happened to Davy.” Liam steps up closer to Robert, and I swear Razor snarls
.

  “We’re all listening.” Robert’s smugness doesn’t go unnoticed.

  “That information is for Cillian since he is a king with us.” Liam is ready to walk away after dropping his bomb. He should have given me time. Razor zeroes in on me, and there’s no point denying that I’m now a king. I nod my head.

  “Cillian is also a Jaguar, so that knowledge will be shared with us, Liam.”

  Liam’s lip moves slightly. He doesn’t look at me for confirmation. “Like I said, the information will be given to Cillian. After that, it is up to him.”

  Liam gives me his full attention. “Always use knowledge wisely.”

  A large black limo pulls up close to the road, and the slick vehicle garners a lot of attention. Robert smirks when he glances at the limo. The smirk remains on his face as his gaze dances between Liam and me.

  “Skinner wants a word.” Robert is too fucking joyful.

  Any other time, meeting Skinner would be a privilege, but not right now.