We are thrilled to share an excerpt of Dark Mafia Prince by New York Times bestselling author, Annika Martin! Releases on June 28th!
Book Description:
Aleksio
Don’t look at me like that. So trusting.
Like you think I’m not a monster.
Like I won’t wrap your hair in my fist and bend you to my will.
Like I won’t sacrifice you, piece by piece, to save my brother.
I’m the most dangerous enemy you’ll ever have because every time you look at me, you see somebody good. That friend who died.
And when you look at me like that, I die again.
Mira
I spent years making myself invisible.
A good girl, apart from the noise.
Then you came back, beautiful and deadly in your Armani suit.
Don’t look at me like you still know me, you say.
But I remember your smile and those sunny days.
Before they lowered your small casket into the ground.
Before they told us the prince was dead.
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Excerpt:
“Poor Aldo Nikolla.” The intruder’s smile is all brutal beauty, and he’s taunting my father, who stands there swaying, bloody lip, loyal soldiers nowhere to be seen. My father, one of the most powerful and dangerous mafia bosses in history, and this guy is taunting him. Does he have a deathwish?
The intruder turns to study my face, my eyes, as though he’s looking for something. Again I get this hit of familiarity. But how could I possibly know him? I sneer and turn away.
“Unh-uh,” he says. “you don’t get to do that with me.” He takes my chin and forces my gaze back to his, holding my jaw in a fierce grip, fingers thick and strong. I can feel his words like a knife in Dad’s heart. “You’re mine now to use as I see fit.”
I suck in a breath. Dad can’t take much more of this.
“And when I want you to look at me, you look at me,” he says.
I won’t go down whimpering.
So I look at him.
And I spit at him—right in his face—shocking myself. Never in my life have I done such a thing.
A bright dime of saliva glistens on the stubble-darkened skin under his cheekbone. It’s small; dainty, even, but it may as well be a nuclear bomb for how it silences everyone, stops everything.
What have I done?
The men holding me have gone stiff.
Even the wind in the trees above seems to still. Dad looks pale.
The intruder doesn’t wipe the spit off—no, he’s too cool for that. He lets it glisten in the sunshine as he stares into my eyes.
His gaze is so intimate, I think I might not be able to move even if my arms weren’t being held by his guys.
My belly quivers as he takes a step toward me. One, then another, until he’s directly in front of me. Beautiful smile cold as ice.
“No,” my father says from somewhere in the distance. “No.”
But I can’t look away. Nobody’s ever looked at me with such intensity. My heart pounds.
The intruder raises a finger and I can see the thick pad of it. A white line bisects the inside of the knuckles; defensive wound, I think sort of automatically. I see a lot of them in my work.
Slowly he swipes it through the spittle on his cheek, then he holds it up in front of my face so that I can see. He seems happy. A furious angel at full blast, spit on his finger, gun down at his side.
Panic washes over me like a haze. He’s going to wipe that finger on my face or lips. Punch me at best. Most likely kill me.
What have I done? Made it easy.
He turns his hand and simply looks at his finger.
My pulse is an ocean in my ears.
And then he does something I never in a million years would’ve predicted: looking deep into my eyes, he sucks on his own finger. He fucking sucks my spit off it.
My belly tightens from the dangerous sexuality of the gesture.
But he doesn’t stop there. No, he keeps going, pushing his finger in through his thick lips, shoving it in—slowly, inexorably. Eyes pinning me.
The haze intensifies. The moment goes on forever. I stand helpless in the face of all the things he’s shoving into my mind with that move.
It’s domination and it’s danger. Invisible fingers sliding into me.
Then he starts to pull it out, just a glint of a smile in the depths of his dark eyes. He pulls it out slowly. This guy, he wants to make me feel every second. Every inch of it.
And I do feel it.
I can’t look away from this dangerous stranger, just a glint of a smile in the chocolate pools of his eyes. He pulls it out slowly.
I understand something in this moment: nobody gets out of here unscathed.
“Take me,” my father says. “Kill me. It’s what you came here for.”
I’ve never heard him so frightened. Dad’s strength has always been dependable as gravity. It was dark strength, used in a way I’ll never condone, but it was always there. Everything’s spinning off the axis.
About the Author:
Annika Martin is a NYT bestselling author who enjoys writing dirty stories about dangerous criminals! She loves helping animals and kicking snow clumps off the bottom of cars around the streets of Minneapolis, and in her spare time she writes as the RITA award-winning author Carolyn Crane.
Connect with Annika:
Annika Martin site: http://annikamartinbooks.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Annika_Martin
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