His Angel: A Dark Mafia Romance (Dark Sovereign Book 10)

It’s midnight.

I’m sitting in a chair watching her sleep like I’ve done many times before.

Her chest rises and falls rhythmically, a soft sigh escaping her lips every now and again. The moonlight peers through the crack in the curtain, illuminating small parts of her face. She looks serene, beautiful, and utterly oblivious to the truth.

Anthony’s alive. The fucker survived, and all he has left of my wrath is a goddamn limp.

He was supposed to die. I put a bullet in him, watched the blood bloom, heard the gurgle in his throat. He was supposed to go to hell where he can’t touch her. Where he can’t even come close to her. Instead, he’s living and breathing and tearing through cities trying to find her.

I swallow a large gulp of bourbon, no longer feeling the sting as it settles.

I should have told her. The second I found out, I should have told her. But she was so heartbroken over losing him, so guilt-ridden for his death, I feared she’d want to run back to him the second she found out. My fear of losing her birthed the lie.

I thought he was dead. Thought I erased him, only to be informed that the son of a bitch is alive and breathing. Imagine the large dump of disappointment. Now, I’m scrambling. Every false lead I throw at him, he burns through way too fast. I’m running out of time. Running out of options.

At first, I thought it would be only a matter of time before he gives up on trying to find her, crawl back to his Paladino throne, and lick his wounds. But I underestimated his feelings for her, his desperation to have her.

Now, I see it clearly.

He’s not stopping, not until he’s got her or he’s dead. And I’m left with one option, the only one that sticks. I have to kill him again, finish it right this time, make sure his blood stains the ground and stays there.

But then what? Take her back to Chicago thinking we can live a normal life? Let her flip open her phone and read the headlines screaming across the web—Anthony Paladino Murdered Months After Wedding-Day Death? Let her piece it together—his limp, my gun, the church floor red with his blood—while she stares at me, eyes wide, knowing I lied? Knowing I kept her here, locked in this island cage, while he clawed his way back?

No. Too risky. I’d lose her, maybe not to him, but to the truth I’ve twisted to keep her safe, to keep her mine.

I swirl the bourbon, watching it catch the light, and lean forward, elbows pressing into my knees, staring at her sleeping form. Her hair spills across the pillow, and her lips twitch—just a flicker—like she’s dreaming something I can’t reach.

My chest tightens, a vise clamping my ribs, and I scrub a hand over my face, bourbon fumes clinging to my skin. I love her—fuck, I love her so much it’s carving me hollow—and that’s why I can’t let her go, can’t let her know.

Not yet.

Not until he’s dead, really dead, and the world’s ash around her feet.

The glass clinks softly as I set it down, my hand drifting to the knife on the table—steel gleaming, edge honed to a whisper. I twirl it between my fingers, the familiar weight steadying me as my mind churns. I could end it, fly to New York, hunt him down, slit his throat in some dark corner, watch his blood pool black under the streetlights.

One cut, one thrust, and he’s gone—no limp, no threat.

But every move I make risks her. Risks exposing my lie. And there’s no way this plays out with her not being at my side every second of every goddamn day.

I pick up my phone and type a text to Davian.

Meet me in my office in ten. Keep Poppy’s scope on the bedroom window.

I love it when baby Del Rossa gets all bossy.

Quit fucking around.

Too many rabbits to hunt. See you in ten.

A floorboard groans under my feet as I rise, the sound sharp in the stillness, and I cast one last look at her—peaceful, mine—before slipping out.

The hall’s cool, thick shadows pooling along the walls, and my steps echo softly as I head to the office, knife still twirling in my grip. The bourbon’s heat lingers in my throat, but my mind’s racing, and each direction leads to an outcome where I lose her. And I can’t. I won’t.

Ten minutes later, Davian’s punctual ass saunters into my office.

“Just FYI, I was getting my dick sucked by a gorgeous, sassy rabbit who had my gun pressed against her temple.”

“That’s disturbing.”

He sits across from me, a devil grin on his face. “Nothing motivates a good ol’ cock sucking like staring death in the face.”

“At times when I feel like a twisted human being, I think of you and realize I’m a fucking angel.”

Davian laughs, amusement sparkling in his eyes like shattered glass. “Really touched you think of me when you’re feeling down.”

I pour some bourbon and slide the glass to him. “I need a favor.”

“Have you not gotten your cock sucked enough?”

I lift a brow.

“Everly’s been on your dick more than a slut on a pole after rent day.”

“Shut the fuck up, Davian. I’m serious.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Have you been watching us?”

“I’m a psychopath with a gun and a scope. Of course, I’ve been watching you.” He picks at imaginary lint on his shirt. “Plus, you two going at each other like whores on crack is the only entertainment Rabbit and I have around here.” He shrugs. “Well, that and you almost slitting Wyatt’s throat the other day. I’m surprised you still have that fucker around.”

“Talon’s got him leaving with the next supply drop. We don’t need more aircraft coming and going.”

“Or…I can just take him out. We got a huge motherfucking ocean to drop him in.”

I rough a hand through my hair. “This isn’t about Wyatt. Or cock sucking.”

Davian leans back in his seat, those green eyes staring at me speculatively. “If I were to take a stab at it, I’d say you’re about ready to go against big brother’s orders by taking Paladino out.” His lips curve upward. “Del Rossa style, six feet under with a side of concrete boots.”

I’m tapping my finger on the desk, a rhythm that matches the energy pulsing through my bones. “I can’t lose her, Davian.”

“Hey, you get no judgement from me.” He picks up the glass of bourbon. “If some fuck tried to take Rabbit from me, I’d gut him—slice him slow from navel to throat, peel his skin back like a bloody curtain, and watch his insides spill out while he chokes on his own screams. I’d twist the knife just to hear the crack of his ribs, then carve her name into his chest so he knows, even in hell, who he lost her to.”

I’m well-aware that there’s a special kind of twisted inside me, but what Davian just said, there’s a satisfying ring to it that sparks deep and dark in my soul. “I need him dead, Davian.”

“I got a bullet with his name on it.”

I level him with a glare as he shoots back his bourbon. “I need him dead, and I need the last few weeks of his existence erased.”

“Done. Just get it signed off by King Del Rossa, and Paladino will have lead in his skull by sunset tomorrow.”noveldrama

“Alexius can’t know.”

Davian balks, eyebrows drawing together in a frown. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him frown before. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

I don’t respond.

Davian’s green eyes darken, all mirth leaving them. “This is not one of our usual shenanigans, baby Del Rossa. This shit goes against the family code. Chain of command and all that shit.” There’s a hint of a warning there, but I pick up on the slight twang of intrigue.

This is Davian Stark, the best assassin our world has ever seen, a man who slits throats and disembowels without getting a single drop of blood on his always pristine three-piece suits. He’s the devil’s own artist, painting hits with a flick of steel and a smirk. It takes a lot to excite him, and I know I have his attention now.

“Alexius can’t know. No one can know, not even your rabbit.”

“Ooh,” he cringes, crossing his legs. “You almost had me hooked, but then you got greedy. I ain’t keeping shit from my wife, Isaia. I would hopscotch over every line, you know that. But that’s one line I won’t cross.”

Discomfort settles in my gut, nerves prickling, but I’m desperate. And desperation makes men do stupid fucking things.

“Fine,” I concede. “But no one else.”

“Keeping the girl from finding out? Easy.” He places his glass down, pouring a refill. “Keeping Alexius from finding out? Now that’s a different fucking story. And I’m no pussy,” he empties his glass, swallowing, “but I’m not even sure Ihave the connections, or the balls to do that. Besides,” he settles back, “even if that were possible, it’ll cost you a spleen and a fuckton of money.”

“I can give you something far more valuable than that.”

“Well, fuck me intrigued.”

I flex my fingers against the edge of the desk, feeling the cool grain of the wood under my touch. “I’ll owe you.”

There are a few moments of silence, something that’s uncharacteristic of Davian Stark. And I know I got his wheels turning as he reclines in his seat and toys with his glass, swirling the liquid inside.

His green eyes flicker with cautious curiosity now, and I almost smile at the idea that I’ve managed to shake him out of his usual sarcastic indifference.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls eventually. “Who knew baby Del Rossa would end up having the biggest balls.”

I roll my eyes. “Stop calling me that.”

“So, let me get this straight.” He inches to the edge of his seat, elbows on the desk, eyes flashing with interest. “I take out the proverbial thorn in your side, erase his existence like he never survived your little flop of a massacre at that church, Everly none the wiser, and Alexius, the omnipotent God of our realm, remains as ignorant as a newborn, and in return…” he trails off, arching a brow, “I’m owed a favor, hand-delivered and sealed with the gold motherfucking Del Rossa crest?”

I nod.

“Fuck me,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s a heavy coin you’re playing with.” That sinister, sly grin appears on his face. “One I’ll accept.”

“Well,” I say, clearing my throat to hide the sudden relief washing over me. “I’m glad we have an agreement.”

He lifts his tumbler, chinking it against my empty one. “To deals made in hell,” he says with a smirk. “But just so you know, if Alexius finds out, I’ll do everything I need to do to protect my own ass…even if it means fucking yours.”

I scoff, half laugh, half snort. “I expect nothing less from you, Davian.”

“Perfect. Then we’re on the same page.” He stands, straightening his shirt. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a wife to hunt, a gun to hold, and a dick to get sucked.”

“Timeframe?” I ask as he reaches the door.

He turns to face me, glancing up as he thinks. “I’ll need more time than usual. Paladino’s protected.”

“He’s got a limp. Shouldn’t be too hard to take him out.”

Davian frowns. “How the hell do you fuck up so bad, you shoot a guy and end up giving him nothing but a limp?”

“I dunno.” I shrug, sighing. “I stopped listening after I heard I missed something vital within a quarter of an inch.”

“Amateur,” he scoffs. “I’ll call Gabriel and let him check if they got any surveillance comms coming in through the port. Maybe he can stall it, buy us some time.”

“Good idea.”

“And hey.” His expression turns serious, something I’ve never seen on him before. “Favor coin aside, I’m doing this because the devil knows I’d do the exact same thing if it were my rabbit.”

As he strides out of the office, I sit back, the enormity of what I’ve just set into motion pressing down on me. This isn’t just about eradicating a threat anymore; it’s about protecting a lie that has become too tangled, too vital to my future with Everly. The truth is a blade hanging over us, and I’ve just sold my soul to delay its fall.

Turning back to my desk, I pick up the knife again, the cool metal a reminder of the edge I’m walking. The game is dangerous, the stakes life-altering, and I’m in deep—so deep that pulling back now would unravel everything. Everly, my heart, the reason for the breath in my lungs and the fire in my veins can never know the depths of my betrayal. And this is the only way.

The room feels colder as I ponder the next steps, the silence thick with the echo of Davian’s departing footsteps. The path forward is murky, lined with shadows and traps, but it’s one I have to walk. For her. For us.

I spin the knife and stab it deep into the mahogany, the sound piercing the silence like a gunshot. Shoving my hand through my hair, I scrub at the stress lines etching my forehead. This has to work. But even if it does, there’s one thing my father’s life has taught me.

Hidden secrets are like live grenades, only they don’t explode on impact; they wait, and when least expected, they go off, destroying everything in their path.