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

She’s a fucking vision down there. Bare feet kicking sand, that pink sundress catching the wind, Luna walking beside her like some droopy-eared sidekick.

The sun’s high, painting her skin gold, and I can’t peel my eyes off her—haven’t since I first tracked her steps through that park, her mismatched gaze snaring me from a shadow I didn’t leave for hours.

I’ve memorized every curve of her laugh lines, every sway of her hips, counted her breaths while she slept when she didn’t know I was there. Now she’s mine, and I’m still hooked, eyes glued to her like a junkie chasing a fix.

Everly’s laughing, a sound that slices through the waves, and it twists something in my chest, sharp and deep. Watching her mourn him, shed tears for him, it fucked me up in ways I can’t put into words. It was the worst goddamn feeling, seeing her fall apart over losing him—not because I’m the one responsible.

Because she’s mine. She cries for me alone. No one else.

The hardest part was letting her be. I wanted to storm into that bedroom and shake the grief out of her, demand she pull her shit together because that motherfucker doesn’t deserve her tears. By some miracle, I managed to keep my shit together long enough for her to feel whatever it was she needed to feel.

But that’s over now.

Whatever he was to her is in the past, and I’ll do everything in my power to make sure I’m her present, her future, and her goddamn afterlife.

This might’ve started as an obsession—tailing her through Chicago streets, watching her house in the middle of night, observing her while she waited tables—but now it’s more. I love her, and I told her that, carved it into her soul with every touch.

I’m not my brothers, all of them bullshitting themselves, thinking they could outrun the burn for their women. I’m not that stupid. Everything I feel for her hits too hard, too real. Ignoring it’s like spitting on a fire that’s already eating me alive. So I embrace it, claim it, fucking own it like I own her—every breath, every glance, every step she takes on this beach I’ve memorized from stalking her shadow.

Just thinking about it excites me, paints my skin with anticipation. Not gonna lie, stalking her, watching her while she had no clue made me feel more alive than I ever had before.

People don’t wear masks when they think they’re alone. There’s no need to hide when there’s no one else around. And that’s what thrills me, makes her feel more mine because I see her in a way no one ever has before. Not even Anthony.

The Everly I watch from the shadows is all mine.

Luna splashes into the surf, ears flapping, slobber flying, and Everly’s right there, crouching to rub her belly, grinning like the world isn’t out for our blood.

That dog’s her goddamn lifeline; I knew it from nights peering through her window, watching her cling to that mutt when the dark pressed too close. Two minutes with Luna’s drooling mess, and the weight lifts off her shoulders.

Her smile softens, unguarded, a flicker I’d kill to keep. Bringing that slobbering beast was a gamble—extra cargo, extra risk—but worth it to see her like this, happy, even if it’s fleeting. I’d haul a goddamn zoo across the ocean if it kept that light in her eyes.

She’s my bullet, yeah—lodged deep, tearing through—but she’s my heartbeat too, pulsing wildly under my skin. I’ll do anything to keep it pumping. Watch her from cliffs, shadows, anywhere she doesn’t see, counting her steps, her laughs, guarding her like a ghost she can’t shake. My love’s a blade, and I’ll carve the world bloody to hold her close.

“That’s exactly why you’ll lose her.”

“You’re impulsive, reckless, a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.”

That fucker’s words haunt me.

“You’ll never be what she needs.”

Motherfucker. I shut my eyes and pinch my nose, willing his voice and smug face out of my head. Jesus, what if he was right? What if I can’t be the man she needs? What if my love is too…too fucking wrong for her? She’s gentle, I’m cruel. She’s light, I’m darkness. She’s air, while I’m the vacuum sucking the life out of it.

I can’t lose her.

I can’t lose her.

I can’t. Fucking. Lose her.

Ever.

Guards patrolling in the distance catch my eye, their rifles glinting, keeping this slice of nowhere locked tight. They have their orders to keep Everly safe at all costs. Every day, I remind them that if there ever comes a time when a choice needs to be made between my life and hers, they choose hers. Always.

No boats dot the horizon, no planes hum overhead. It’s just sea and jungle, a wall between us and the Paladinos’ dogs. The fallout’s a noose tightening, and Everly’s the knot they want to pull.

She knows it now. Gets how this world works, how they’d rather break me than bury me. But I’ll carve my way through hell before I let that happen.

I saunter over to the outside bar, the wood creaking under my feet, and pour myself a bourbon. Neat, dark, and minus that minty bullshit Everly’s been sipping.

“Fucking mojito,” I mutter, smirking to myself as the amber burns my throat. One more of those, and she’ll be dancing with Luna, thinking she can take on the Paladinos with a lime wedge and a cute little straw. Girl’s got fire, but that drink’s turning her into a tropical lightweight. Luckily, I got her all the way out here, far away from trouble.

My grip tightens around the glass as I continue watching her with Luna. That locked door nags at me. My “office.” It’s more than maps and bourbon in there; it’s the war room, the plans, the satellite link to Alexius and the guys keeping the Paladinos guessing. I’ve got moves brewing. Bait, traps, a strike to cut their legs off. But she can’t know yet. Not until it’s done. I need her safe, not tangled in the blood I’m about to spill.

Luna barks, and Everly’s head tips back, hair catching the breeze. She’s a queen on that beach—my queen—and I’d slaughter a thousand Paladinos to keep her there, laughing with her damn dog. They think they can rip her away, gut me with her absence, but they don’t know me. I’ve got this island, my men, and a plan ticking like a bomb.

I set the glass down, hard, and head for the stairs. Halfway down, Talon Voss cuts across the deck, shadow stretching long in the sun.

He’s a beast. Six-four, built like a tank, scars crisscrossing his knuckles from breaking jaws for us. Not Maximo’s level, but the kind of bastard who’d snap a neck with a grin and call it Tuesday.

His dark shades catch the light, hiding eyes that’ve seen too much, black tactical gear screaming business—no beach casual crap.

“Boss,” he grunts, voice like gravel, stopping short as I hit the deck. “Got a minute?”

I glance at Everly, who’s still on the beach, Luna sniffing at a shell. I nod, jerking my chin toward the shaded corner by the pool. “Make it quick, Talon. She’s not out of my sight long.”

He falls in step, boots thudding on the weathered wood, and we stop under the umbrella, out of earshot.

“Perimeter’s tight,” he says, pulling a crumpled pack of smokes from his pocket, lighting one with a flick of his Zippo. “One of our boats fried a drone sniffing around last night. No tags, but it’s Paladino tech. Sleek, pricey, their style.”

I flex my jaw, heat creeping up my neck. “That’s way too fucking close, Talon.”

“Which is why I doubled the guards along the north end of the island.”

That eases me. A little. “Good. What else?”noveldrama

Talon exhales smoke, gray curling into the breeze. “Supply boat’s on schedule. Drops tomorrow, south dock. Food, ammo, fuel. Clean crew, no leaks. Checked them myself. But word’s trickling in from the mainland. Paladino’s got bounties up. Big ones. They’re not just hunting, they’re buying eyes.”

“Eyes on her,” I growl, glancing at Everly again, her dress fluttering as she tosses a stick for Luna. “They think they can snatch my girl, gut me without firing a shot. How close are they?”

He shrugs, flicking ash into the wind. “Not close enough to have me worried. Closest ping is fifty miles out, but it’s fishing trawlers with too much tech. We’ve got the jammers hot, and the radar scrubbed. This rock’s a ghost to them—for now.”

“The Paladinos are patient bastards, and cash talks.” I rub my knuckles, the old itch for blood flaring. “We hold this ground, Talon. No cracks, understand?”

“Of course.”

“She stays safe, or I’m skinning every last one of you.”

His lips twitch, a rare crack in the stone facade. “Don’t worry, boss. We’ve got tripwires on the cliffs, and I’ve got two snipers itching to pop heads if anything moves wrong.”

“Davian and Poppy?”

“Yup. And the cameras we have in the jungle show us daily what a good fucking time those two are having. Jesus. They’re like two little fuck toys going at each other all the damn time. I’m surprised they’re still alive.”

I snort. “Sounds like them.”

“I need to head back out,” he says. “Need to check the perimeter. But don’t worry, boss. We’ve got every corner of this island covered.”

“Good. And those trawlers, if they get within twenty miles, take them out. No warnings, no survivors.”

Talon nods, stubbing the cigarette on the railing, ember sizzling out. “Done. Anything else?”

I hesitate, thoughts flicking to that locked door. “Make sure the office is secure every time you leave. She’ll start sniffing eventually, and I can’t have her in there.”

“Crystal,” he says, voice flat.

I clap his shoulder, hard, and turn back to the beach. “Get it done, Talon. I’m not losing her—not to them, not to anything.”

He grunts, peeling off toward the house, then stops. “Oh, almost forgot. Your brother sent a message.”

“Which one?”

“Alexius.”

“Fuck me.” I roll my neck back, tension snapping tight. “What does he want?”

Talon’s lips twitch. “Romulus is descending.”

I freeze, bourbon halfway to my mouth, the name slamming me like a fist. Romulus—Alexius, the Dark Sovereign’s fucking king, my big brother casting a shadow that blacks out the sun. “When?”

“Tomorrow’s supply run,” Talon says, flicking his Zippo shut. “Two birds, one stone. No one’ll suspect shit.” He turns, boots thudding back into the house.

“Jesus,” I mutter, downing the bourbon in one burn. Our old man loved his myths. Romulus and Remus, Rome’s bloody founders. Named our Chicago estate Capitilone after the she-wolf who raised them. Fitting for Alexius and Nicoli—the twins, tearing through our world like gods with claws.

“Fuck.” The last thing I need is Alexius storming in, sticking his nose up my ass. I’ve been dodging his calls, routing through Nicoli. His twin’s got a soft spot for my mess since Mirabella got taken from him and hurt in ways no woman ever should be. Alexius hates this play, but Nicoli gets it, and if anyone can leash the boss besides Leandra, it’s him.

Oh, well. Fuck it.

Let him come.

Let him breathe fire up my asshole. I don’t give a shit. As long as I have my woman safe and protected, I’ll take on the devil himself.