Devil’s Kingdom Read online

  Bella King

  Devil’s Kingdom

  A Dark Mafia Romance

  First published by After Midnight 2020

  Copyright © 2020 by Bella King

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  First edition

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  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Epilogue

  Preview of The Cartel King

  More Mafia Please!

  Introduction

  If you can’t beat the devil, join him… in bed.

  Diavolo Morte is the leader of the Devil’s Kingdom – a wealthy mafia that’s responsible for my sister’s disappearance.

  He’s blazing hot, devilishly handsome, and about as evil as they come.

  I’d like to kill him in his sleep, but that would require crawling into bed with him.

  The temptation to do more than just sleep is growing more powerful than he is.

  Is one night enough to bring his empire toppling down?

  Or will sleeping with the devil be what finally breaks me?

  I came for revenge.

  Instead, I found the devil himself.

  Gritty, dark, and incredibly sensual. This book is NOT for sensitive readers. It contains dark themes and steamy bedroom scenes.

  Chapter One

  Zella

  He runs a set of short fingers through his thick brown beard, his fake eye drifting to the left of me as he studies my face. He knows I’m lying, but he hasn’t made a move to call my bluff yet. He’s making a game out of this, and he thinks he’s going to win.

  He’s wrong.

  “You’re telling me that you’ve never seen this before?” he asks, running his hand over a black brick of condensed powder, loosely wrapped in clear plastic.

  I shrug. “I’ve seen others like it, but nothing this high quality so far from the original source.”

  He leans forward, tilting his head down while looking into my eyes. “The original source is a lot closer than you think, Zella.”

  I lean back, taking a sip of the amber liquid in my glass. “Then tell me about it.”

  “I know that you didn’t come here to buy,” he says, shaking his bald head. “You’re making a mockery of me and wasting my time.”

  “I’m just curious,” I reply without showing the least bit of a sign of fear at his rising aggression. Men like him think that because I’m a woman, they can intimidate me, but he isn’t aware of what I’ve been through to get here or how many people are waiting just outside the door. He’s making a huge mistake.

  He’s not startled by my nonchalant attitude, but he does lean back a little, placing his hand on the package of black powder on the table between us. His face is more serious now that he’s called me out on my bluff.

  He’s right. I didn’t come here to buy anything. I came for information.

  I walk my fingers toward the hundred-thousand-dollar brick, just missing his fingers as I touch the plastic gently. I look up at him, making my eyes large and innocent. “I’d like to know where you got this.”

  He chuckles. “You’re asking the wrong guy.”

  “Who’s the right guy?”

  He frowns, his face instantly turning a brighter shade of pink. “You’re pushing my limits, Zella. You know this isn’t something that I can talk about.”

  “Why?”

  His real eye shifts manically from left to right, as though someone could be in the room listening to us speak. He leans in again, this time so far that I can smell the oils clinging to his unwashed beard. “The mafia is one thing, but this is something you don’t want to get involved with,” he says in a voice barely more than a whisper.

  I suppress an eye roll. Since I’ve gotten involved in the darker side of business, I’ve had people constantly telling me that I can’t handle what the world has to offer. I’ve seen slit throats, mangled bodies, and more drugs than even the biggest junkie could take, and I’ve not so much as batted an eyelash.

  I have a reason for that, but I’ve kept it a secret since I was fifteen.

  I take another sip of my drink and tilt my head to the side. “Well, I guess I’ll be going then,” I say, but I make no motion to stand up.

  He narrows his eyes at me. “Buy something.”

  “I don’t have the cash on me.”

  “I’d strongly advise that you buy something, Zella, for your sake.”

  “Is that a threat?” I ask calmly.

  He shakes his head, his face void of anger. If anything, he seems concerned. “You don’t want to walk out of here without having bought something.”

  “Why not?” I ask, beginning to think this has more to do with the bigger picture than just him wanting to make a sale.

  “Trust me,” he says, flashing a crooked grin.

  I shrug. “How about a gram.”

  He laughs, pushing the entire brick toward me. “Take the kilo, and don’t ask any more questions. I’m not the one you should be afraid of angering.”

  That confirms my suspicions. This has nothing to do with our deal and everything to do with protecting himself from whoever his supplier is. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I only know one man capable of instilling that amount of fear in his subordinates.

  “I’m not buying,” I say, standing up suddenly and slamming my hands down on the table. “Have a nice day.”

  He jumps up after me, but the damage has already been done. The second I walk out of here without making a purchase, his ass is going to be on the line. I doubt he’ll let me take another step before blowing my head off my shoulders.

  Chapter Two

  Diavolo

  “How can an entire cargo ship go missing?!”

  I pace back and forth in my office, my leather shoes burning holes in the carpet under my heels as
I frantically try to process what I’ve been told. “Are you sure it was even shipped in the first place? They could’ve been lying.”

  “We had men at the port,” Slate replies, wringing his hands together.

  They say not to kill the messenger, but with how angry I am right now, strangling Slate to death seems like a very real possibility.

  “We could double-check the route, but that would take weeks, and –”

  “We’re not checking anything,” I bark, rubbing my stubbled chin as I continue pacing.

  I never miss a step, furiously moving from one side of the room behind my desk to the other.

  I need a cigar, but the box on my table is empty. Jenny was supposed to fill it up two days ago. Where the fuck is that woman?

  I hold up a finger, wagging it in the air next to my cheek as I get an idea. I look over to Slate. “Do you know what day it is today?”

  “Saturday, sir.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, of course, it’s Saturday. I mean, do you know what happened on this day, five years ago?”

  “No, sir.”

  I shake my head. “They really need to educate you guys more. This should be in basic initiation training.”

  Slate gives me a look like he wants to shrug, but he’s too afraid to actually do it.

  I sigh. “Five years ago, on this day precisely, one of our ships disappeared in the middle of the ocean. The crew was never found.”

  “We’ve had a few lost containers,” he replies, clearly not seeing the gravity of my statement.

  “Not like this,” I say, shaking my head. “This boat was a thousand feet long and had a capacity of five-thousand containers. Shit like that doesn’t just vanish.”

  “Do you think this disappearance is related to that one? It happened so long ago,” he says, still questioning the gravity of what I’ve told him.

  “It’s on the same route,” I reply. “We haven’t had a boat go that way on the same day because the captain is superstitious, but this time the shipment was a priority, and I waved it through.”

  “Do you think someone stole it?” Slate asks, leaning in with eager curiosity. “Or do you think it’s a Bermuda triangle type of thing?”

  “Nothing is without explanation,” I say, stopping my pacing to sit in my chair. I sink down into the black leather, only to spring up again in anxious restlessness. “Fetch Jenny for me. She needs to fill up my cigar box.”

  Slate looks at the floor. “Well…”

  “Well, what?” I ask, leaning over the desk toward him to study his coy expression.

  “That was my other piece of news,” he says, looking up at me. “Jenny is dead.”

  Chapter Three

  Zella

  I can anticipate a man’s moves hours before they happen. There are many signs that someone is willing to kill, and fear is at the top of the list. I knew that the nameless drug dealer shifting kilos of the strongest shit on the planet was afraid the second I walked into the room. The only thing that means to me is that this would end in his death.

  As he goes for his gun, I jump over the table, knocking the plastic-wrapped brick of black drugs onto the floor and pulling out a knife in the same movement. The dealer doesn’t even get the chance to get his gun out of the holster before my blade is slicing his belly open.

  I pull the blade up to his ribs, turning it upward to sever the main artery to his heart. He’s dead before he has the chance to scream out in pain.

  I prefer it that way. I like to take care of business quickly.

  His meaty body falls backward, bald head slamming against the floorboards with a booming thud. I don’t have to look down at him to tell that he’s dead.

  He was afraid of his boss when he should’ve been afraid of me.

  I turn from him and bend over, sweeping the plastic-wrapped brick off the floor with my clean hand and tucking it into my inner jacket pocket. I don’t mind picking up an easy hundred-thousand in drugs, but I didn’t get the information that I was looking for, only that wherever they make this stuff, it’s not as far as I thought it was.

  I pull my jacket tightly around my waist, wrapping the fabric belt around it and yanking it taut as I stride toward the exit. I have an armed caravan waiting for my signal to storm the place, but that won’t be needed today. The dealer didn’t have reinforcements.

  Foolish.

  I push open the door with a flat palm, bursting out into the salty autumn air by the seaside port. The men I have on guard jump to attention, ready to serve me in whatever way possible.

  I snap my fingers. “Clean the place, and if you find anything connected to his sources, let me know.”

  Three of my men nod, rushing into the small building that used to be a fish wholesaler before this portion of the port was closed. There were too many murders here, and bodies kept washing up on the shore.

  I’m almost certain who was behind the killings, but again, I’m not looking to jump to conclusions just yet. I could still be years away from my eventual goal.

  I place a hand on my chest, just below my collar bones on the pendant that rests beneath my shirt, swearing for the millionth time to my sister that I will find the one responsible for what happened to her. I see the man in my dreams so often that I feel like he lives next door.

  But I doubt he’s anywhere close to here.

  I take the rest of my men down the port past the yellow caution tape that has since broken and tangled into the wooden boards under my feet. The rest of the shipyard is private, but I specifically rented a port here so that I could spy on the drug deals going on under the guise of legitimate business.

  I have my men escort me to my temporary residence just North of my private port, and then I order then to leave. Some may consider it safer to have guards around you at all times, but I don’t feel that way. They draw attention, and I’m trying to blend in.

  Besides, I don’t need guards when my bedroom door has a steel plate hammered to the back of it and a reinforced frame that could give a charging bull brain damage. Mafia members have a strange habit of dying in their sleep, and I don’t intend to feed that trend.

  As soon as I lock myself in my bedroom, I untie my belt, drop the brick of black powder on the dresser table, and let out a long sigh. Even though I’ve been holding up the guise of being a drug runner for five years, it never gets easier. With every passing day, it eats at my soul, replacing it with the heavy obsidian of depression.

  I grab a turquoise bottle of makeup remover from the bathroom and pop the cap, squirting a stream of the opaque white liquid into a cotton wipe. I ignore the stinging in my eyes as I aggressively run it over my mascara, removing the thick black makeup that defines my disingenuous look.

  My appearance is always striking and aggressive when I’m on the job, a drastic change from what I looked like before delving into the drug industry. When I was younger, I radiated the glow of a perfect southern belle. Now, with black hair cropped short at the shoulders and black nails drawn to points, I could pass as a dominatrix instead.

  I look up into the mirror at the mascara smudges across my face like a raccoon. One of these days, I’ll be able to show my true self to the world, but for now and until I avenge my sister’s death, I’m going to be painting on thick layers of dry confidence and crimson lipstick.

  I lean back down toward the sink, slathering on more makeup remover with my eyes closed tightly. I rinse my face with warm water afterward, following it up with a splash of cold to bring me back to awareness.

  A knock at the front door of my housing unit interrupts my evening routine. Nobody should be knocking on my door at this hour, especially not without sending me a message beforehand.

  I dash back into the bedroom, snatching my phone from the bedside table to check for messages. The only message on the screen is from before I left to confront the dealer about his sources.

  “What is it this time?” I mumble to myself, tossing my jacket back on and snatching the shotgun leaning against the side o
f my bed. If it’s one of those damned thieves that like to follow people home from the port, then I’m going to blow his spine out through his back with a round of buckshot.

  Chapter Four

  Diavolo

  For the first time in over twenty years, I have to bum a cigar off another person. It’s a rush of nostalgia about times that I’d rather not return to, when I was young and homeless, trying to get my foot in the door to the organized crime game and put some food in my stomach.

  On the one hand, I like it because it reminds me of how far I’ve come, but on the other hand, it means that Jenny is most certainly dead. That woman has never missed a day of work in her life, and she wouldn’t unless she got tossed off the dock like fish bait.

  Whoever did this must not have known that she was part of the Devil’s Kingdom, or they wouldn’t have touched her. That, or they’re stupid. I wouldn’t underestimate it with the number of robberies and stabbings in the area.

  I make everyone wear the mark of my organization – intricate geometrical scarification on the back of their hand. Bodies are easily identified, and people generally leave us alone.

  That includes law enforcement.

  I take a few short puffs of a foreign cigar and look over the edge the dock into the water. “This is where they found her?”

  Slate clears his throat, standing back from the edge as though something might jump from the water and pull us both down. “Yes, sir. Someone reported a bag floating in the water. You know, a garbage bag that should be in the dumpster or something. They assume someone tied it down, but they didn’t do a good enough job because it came back up.”

  I nod, rubbing my chin and taking more smoke into my mouth. “Are we sure Jenny was in it?”

  “They cut the symbol off her hand, but she had an ID on her still,” Slate replies.

  “They did what?” I ask loudly, stepping back from the edge of the dock and turning to Slate with a deep frown.

  “Whoever killed her also took the Devil’s Kingdom symbol off her hand.”