Mafia King: A Mafia Royals Novella, an all new must read standalone novella from New York Times bestselling author Rachel Van Dyken and 1,001 Dark Nights, is available now!
From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Rachel Van Dyken comes a new story in her Mafia Royals series…
**Every 1001 Dark Nights novella is a standalone story. For new readers, it’s an introduction to an author’s world. And for fans, it’s a bonus book in the author’s series. We hope you'll enjoy each one as much as we do.**
Add Mafia King to Goodreads: http://bit.ly/3ujkrvn
Excerpt
The door slammed.
“Honey, I’m home...” I said to myself with a grin.
I had a bottle of wine out on the living room table, my shoes on the glass as I leaned back and took a swig from my goblet—because why not get fancy at two in the afternoon?
“It’s ten a.m,” came Tank’s annoyed voice.
Or ten in the morning…whoops.
“I don’t own a watch.” I shrugged.
“What’s that on your left wrist, then?”
“Oh, that?” I shrugged. “It’s an Apple watch used strictly for heart rate and exercise purposes.”
“Exercise to you is opening your mouth and closing it, Tiny.” He made it farther into the room, and I tried…I really did. I tried not to check him out.
Not to stare at his golden skin.
His bulging biceps beneath his plain black t-shirt.
The new ink poking out from the V of that same shirt.
Would he get the Abandonato crest like the rest of the Family?
I shivered.
He would look so hot with it across his chest.
Our crest.
Mine.
I shifted my eyes away too slowly, and he caught them with his green-eyed gaze before he licked his full lips like he saw something else he wanted to lick.
He always looked at me that way—with both annoyance and need.
And I never knew how to take it.
On one hand, I wanted to believe the need trumped any annoyance he felt for me, but I knew how he saw me.
As a spoiled brat with a silver spoon stuck up her ass.
And even worse now that I was older.
Now that I was…different.
“You added more blue.” He jutted his chin toward me and sat down on the chair across from the sofa I was lying on.
“Yup.” I examined my black nail polish. “I felt like it wasn’t making a strong enough statement.”
He snorted out a laugh. “And what sort of statement were you going for? Gothic chic?”
“What?” I glared at him. “You don’t like it.”
“It’s not you.”
Disappointment threatened to choke me, and shame crawled up my neck by way of a harsh red flush. “You don’t know me.”
“I did.” He locked eyes with me. “Or I thought I did.”
Happy readings!
Comments
Post a Comment