 by Penny Dee.jpg)
Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
The man who stole my first kiss.
And now my boss.
I learned early how life can turn on a dime.
That’s how it is when you grow up as a mafia princess.
One minute you’re rich, spoilt, and betrothed to the most revered man in the city—the next your broke and selling your designer bags so you can eat.
But I’m not the kind of girl who gives up without a fight.
And when someone steals everything from me I’m not afraid to turn to the enemy for help.
He’s a De Kysa. I’m a Bamcorda.
Two rival families from the East Coast.
But it wasn’t always that way.
A year ago, he stole my first kiss and gave me a night to remember.
Since then, he’s changed.
Now he’s a powerful don with the presence of an approaching storm.
He agrees to help me hunt down who stole my inheritance.
But everything comes with a price, especially when you strike a deal with the devil.
Will trusting the enemy get my life back, or will it cost me everything?
The Devil’s Lair is book 2 in the De Kysa Mafia series. Expect off-the-charts chemistry, Cinderella moments, a plot twist of all plot twists, and all the delectable heat of a mafia romance. For readers 18+. See author’s note for trigger warnings.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
BIANCA
Nine.
That’s how many funerals I’ve attended in the last few weeks.
Nine men who died for the Bamcorda name. But none of them hit me as hard as this one.
I squeeze my eyes shut to keep my anger in check.
When I open them again, they focus on the man in the coffin in front of me.
Luca Bamcorda.
My father.
He lies stone-cold amongst a sea of white satin, his hands folded on his chest, his face pasty white. His thick hair is stiff with spray, and caked makeup barely conceals the bullet wound in his forehead.
A bullet courtesy of Don Nico De Kysa.
Hatred swirls in my blood and heats my veins when I think about the ruthless don.
His reign over this land has destroyed my family.
I glance over my shoulder at the poor showing of guests. When my father kidnapped Don De Kysa’s wife, he did so without the permission of the families we were allied with, and when the De Kysa came looking for retribution afterward, our allies were quick to abandon us. They stepped back with their hands in the air and insisted they were never involved.
Now, they’ve disappeared into the shadows like the fair-weather assholes they are.
I turn away from the empty room to look at my father again. The mortician did his best to cover the bullet wound in his head, but no amount of makeup is going to hide the truth.
Not that anyone is here to goddamn see it.
Feeling a presence behind me, I turn around.
Tony Vinocelli, my father’s consigliere, and his two sons, Giulio and Fausto, have entered the room.
Somewhere in the cold corner of my hardened heart, a small flame of hope and relief bursts to life. They care. Tears burn at the back of my eyes, because I didn’t realize just how much I needed to know that today.
Tony takes my hands and gives me a respectful nod. “I’m sorry for your loss, Bianca.”
“Thank you,” I say, needing desperately to cry but holding back because a little voice inside me tells me to.
I want to ask him where he has been for the last week. Where were his sons? Where was anybody?
“There is much we need to talk about,” I say to Tony.
I notice Giulio and Fausto give each other an awkward glance and feel a tightening in my gut.
“Forgive me, Bianca, but today is perhaps best left to mourn the dead,” Tony says.
“Of course. Perhaps later we can discuss how to move forward,” I reply.
“Move forward?”
“With a retaliation.”
Again, Giulio and Fausto share a look.
Tony folds his hands in front of him. “There is no moving forward. No retaliation. It’s over.”
“Over? My father is dead—”
“And this is his farewell.” Tony takes my hand again. “And our farewell to you.”
A cold trickle makes its way down my spine.
They’re not here to support me while I bury my father.
They’re here to sever ties.
The realization is crushing.
But I don’t react.
I won’t give them the satisfaction.
He is just like the others.
Scurrying away like a frightened little mouse.
“Then you’d better go,” I say sharply.
He can’t get out of there fast enough, and with growing resentment, I watch the three of them walk away without so much as a glance back.
Rat bastards. They’re fleeing the sinking ship along with everyone else.
When they disappear through the doors, I feel a wave of anger roll over me. Seeing the empty pews makes my heart hurt even more than it did before, and I look away; my father would be humiliated.
I lift my chin and reach for my papa’s hands but recoil at the icy feel of his skin.
There is no coldness like the coldness of death—something I learned at an early age.
Ten years ago, I stood on this very spot and looked down at my mother’s lifeless body, and when I touched her cold hand, I’d felt the icy pain of death slide through me.
Now it’s cutting me to the bone once again.
Someone steps beside me. Harrison Tork, my father’s accountant and trusted confidant. “It’s time to go, Bianca. There is a car waiting.”
No one else is here but the accountant.
He arranged all of this.
When everyone else fled, he hung around.
Which is to be expected.
Because when everything else is gone, money talks.
2
BIANCA
Three weeks later
“It sounds like you had a horrible time,” Lilah says, taking a sip of chardonnay. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, but Andrey was insistent we still took the trip to Europe.”
“And you know I wanted to be there, but I just couldn’t get away,” my other friend Angelica says, also taking a sip from her wine glass.
Its lunchtime and we’re dining at Sage Sprig, a restaurant on the waterfront.
“If I had been able to get off work I would’ve been there in a heartbeat,” Jules, my other best friend, says. “But you know how demanding my job can be at times.”