The Red Queen: A Dark Mafia Romance (The Queens Book 4) Read online

  The Red Queen

  The Queens Book 4

  Nikita Slater

  Copyright © 2021 Nikita Slater

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Epilogue

  The next queen…

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  About the Author

  “I am dead. Only vengeance can restore me! Only victory can return my life to me!”

  - Terry Goodkind, Stone of Tears

  “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”

  - Lao Tzu

  Prologue

  Desiree Garza looked down at the body of her lover. The man she had been with since she was ten years old. He was unrecognizable, but she knew it was him. Couldn’t be anyone else. His custom-made rhinestone encrusted cowboy boots were still on what was left of his feet. Even the spurs were intact. As though his killer knew the boots were his signature and put them back on the body after they finished butchering him.

  She dropped to her knees next to his broken corpse, reaching for him. Then she stopped. There was nothing much left to touch. It was all dried blood, broken bones, and carnage. Instead, she lifted her hand to her mouth, covering it, and moaned, her eyes moving from Nico’s body to the house. Not a house anymore. A shell that used to be her home.

  The same as her love.

  Mateo Gutierrez had burned it to the ground, then dumped Nico’s body in the ashes on the doorstep and walked away. The surrounding area was littered with the bodies of their cartel. Mateo had decimated the organization, razing it to the ground. She had been out of the country inspecting their shipment operations overseas, or she would also be dead. Mateo was probably hunting her at that very moment.

  He’d been hunting them for two years. Since their failed strike against the Sotza organization. If they’d succeeded, then Nico would still be here, and they would now have operations in Venezuela and Mexico.

  Nico had been bitter after their failure. He’d felt humiliated and had taken his rage out on Desi. She didn’t care. She was used to it, even expected it, and sometimes liked it. She wore her bruises proudly, as a sign of her resilience.

  From the day Nico had walked into her mother’s home and taken her away at the age of ten, he’d beaten her. At first, she’d hated him for it, had even tried to fight back. He’d laughed and beat her even harder. Later, when he deemed her old enough, he’d included sex in the beatings.

  After a few years of using her as his personal sex slave, he’d seen her potential as more than a release for his frustrations. He’d started teaching her self-defense, which had morphed into teaching her offensive moves, then weapons. When she was nineteen, he taught her the ins and outs of his cartel business. Then, a few years later, gifted her with the position of his second-in-command.

  Her loyalty was unquestionable. He’d ensured it by beating it into her, then healing her and giving her everything her heart could desire. She wasn’t stupid. She knew she loved him because he put himself in the position of being the only person she could depend on.

  He’d twisted her into his own personal devil, and she didn’t care. It was the only life she knew.

  She stood, took one last look at her home of twenty-five years, her dead lover, and then turned and walked away. Charred wood crunched beneath her boots and ash flew up into the air as she walked, swirling around her and clinging to her hair.

  She climbed into her jeep, a gift from Nico for her thirtieth birthday, turned the key, and left. Soon she would return, and when she did, she would have the resources to rebuild the Garza cartel from the ground up. She would wipe out her enemies and create new alliances. Powerful alliances.

  Her life was her own for the first time, and she was going to enjoy it.

  Chapter One

  Six Months Later

  He cut her finger off.

  Mateo cut her fucking finger off.

  God, it hurt. It’d been everything she could do not to scream when he’d done it. She’d wanted to show him she could handle his gruesome brand of torture. But fuck, the pain was unbearable. She wished she could pass out, but Nico had forced her to become resilient. Years of beatings meant she could withstand almost any pain.

  On top of the severed finger, she was also suffering from two gunshot wounds, one in the shoulder and one in the fleshy part of her thigh. Possibly a concussion too. She’d hit her head hard while fighting with Mateo’s fiancé.

  She was bound to a chair, her neck strapped in place. She couldn’t check on her wounds or stem the flow of blood she felt dripping from her hand to the concrete floor.

  Her vision was blurry, so she almost missed the man as he walked into her cell. She blinked rapidly, trying to bring him into focus. He was a stranger.

  She’d been waiting for Mateo to come back and finish her.

  “What do you… want?” she demanded, silently cursing a voice gone tremulous from pain.

  Instead of answering, he stopped behind her.

  She tried to turn her head, to follow him with her eyes. She didn’t trust him. He was friends with Mateo and Raina, her targets. She’d seen him around the mansion, but had ignored him, as he wasn’t the one she was interested in. He looked relatively unscathed for living through the bomb blasts she’d set off in the house and on the grounds.

  She felt his fingers on the back of her neck, then the strap holding her head in place released. She swiveled her head, glaring at him, intent on biting him if he made the mistake of getting too close.

  He didn’t.

  She could see him now though, and up close he was far more intimidating than he’d been at a distance when she was surveilling the house. He wasn’t overtly powerful like Nico had been. This man was tall and slim with an air of deadly ruthlessness about him. His brown eyes were chips of granite, while the lines of his face were implacable. His lips were thin and cruel, his nose an arrogant blade, hawk-like. He had dark grey hair, curly, long enough to touch the collar of his shirt.

  He wore a white untucked dress shirt, now stained and ripped, probably from the bomb blasts. It was also wet, making his chest and arms visible through the thin fabric. Lean, wiry muscles roped his arms, and his belly was as solid as a man thirty years younger.

  She suspected he was in his fifties, though she wasn’t sure.

  Then it hit her. She did recognize him. Of course she did. How could she have not known the Godfather of Italy was staying with Mateo? Bent on her plans of vengeance, her tunnel vision had caused her to ignore the identity of their guest.

  A stupid mistake.

  A shiver of fear snaked its way down her spine.

  “I know you,” she croaked.

  Was he here to torture her some more before Mateo came in to finish her? Or maybe the Italian would be the one to put a bullet in her head. She knew Mateo hated killing women.

  She eyed a water bottle on the table behind him, licking her lips, thirst beating at her. Was that another torture method courtesy of the sadistic Mateo?

  “Who am I?” He pulled a key from his pocket and knelt next to her left side.

  “Giovanni Savino, head of the Italian Savino crime family.”

  He didn’t answer, but she knew she was correct. Everyone in the underworld knew of him.

  She jolted when he unlocked her wrist, then jerked it into her lap, wiggling feeling back into her hand.

  He watched her with a closed expression. The slight tightening of hi
s muscles told her he was preparing for an attack if she launched one. She didn’t. She was in too much pain, and he was ready for anything she might throw at him.

  He walked to her other side and knelt next to her. “This is going to hurt.”

  She had to bite down hard on her lip as he fussed with the handcuffs. Every tiny jolt sent a wave of pain radiating from her finger… what was left of her finger… into her hand and spiking through the rest of her body. She wanted to scream at him to hurry, but the sane part of her mind realized he was helping her. At least temporarily. She didn’t know what his end game was, but it could only be to her advantage to have her hands freed. Even missing her finger, she could still kill a man.

  She tried to lift her hand and place it in her lap, but the pain was too much. She wanted to scream obscenities at the world. After she’d endured a lifetime of pain, why couldn’t she manage a severed piece of flesh?

  “Here.” His voice had a hard edge, but she sensed regret beneath it.

  What did he have to regret? He hadn’t mangled her hand, Mateo Gutierrez had. Besides, she was certain she would be dead shortly. At that point, losing a finger would no longer matter.

  Giovanni wrapped his fingers around her wrist, then put his other hand on her elbow, helping her bend the arm, then gently placing it on her lap. A whimper escaped her lips, and she bit down hard to stop any more from leaking out.

  She was tougher than this. She could withstand any amount of torture with her dignity intact.

  “Why are you helping me?” She switched to Spanish. It was too difficult to manage English translation while she was in such pain.

  He stood to his full height, well over six feet, towering next to her. He touched her face and then used his thumb to tilt her chin until she was looking at him.

  She wanted to fight him, to escape through the open door behind him, but in her condition, he would likely capture her in a matter of seconds. She remained still in his grip, allowing the gentle touch of his finger as it caressed her cheek.

  “I’ve made a deal for you,” he told her, switching to Spanish as well. He spoke well, with a slight accent. “You are to become my pet project.”

  “What do you mean ’pet’?” she asked in disgust. “I am no one’s pet.”

  “Nonetheless, you will be caged and leashed.”

  “For what reason?” she demanded.

  “For my pleasure.”

  “Slave,” she said flatly.

  “If that is what you wish to call it.”

  “You’ll never break me,” she snarled, jerking her face from his hold.

  “You’re naïve if you think that,” he said mildly, stepping away from her. “I’ve broken stronger men than you.”

  “I’m not a man,” she fired back.

  “No, you aren’t,” he agreed, moving to Mateo’s worktable, opening it, and rummaging through the contents.

  Desi glanced at the door. It was open and she could see the corridor beyond. No one was guarding it. There was probably someone near the entrance of the underground bunker, but she could get past them. She was desperate, and her desperation would lend her strength.

  She glanced at Giovanni as he continued to search. She should take him out before making her escape, ensure that he couldn’t follow, but there was something about the Italian that warned her off. She’d heard stories of his brutality. And though he looked more like an old-world European gentleman who spoke in mild, measured tones, she knew appearances could be deceiving. She’d often used her own appearance to lure prey before killing them. She would not underestimate the skills of a man such as Giovanni Savino.

  When he continued to keep his back to her, she decided to take advantage. She would have to hope that she could outrun him.

  She launched herself off the chair and toward the door.

  She didn’t make it.

  Giovanni took hold of the back of her shirt and slammed her face first into the wall next to the door.

  She shoved her hands against the wall, shouting at the agony that shot through her as the stub of her finger hit. She thrust herself backwards into him, hoping to push him off balance.

  He caught her with an arm around the waist, lifted her off the ground and slammed her into the wall again, bruising her forehead against the concrete. If she didn’t have a concussion before, she most definitely had one now.

  She tried to fling her head back into his, but he ducked it, took a fistful of her hair, and dragged her head back until her neck creaked in protest.

  She refused to allow a single sound to pass her lips as he held her immobile.

  He put something in his teeth and then spat it out.

  Desi rolled her eyes toward him, trying to see what he was doing, but it was impossible. He was holding her too tightly.

  She felt a pinch at her neck.

  “A shame to put such a creature down,” he muttered.

  Fear slammed through her, but she could already feel the drugging effects of whatever he’d given her.

  Put her down? What did that mean?

  Had he given her something deadly? Was this it?

  A whimper escaped from her as she felt herself floating. She realized she was being lifted.

  The last thing she saw before the drug took her entirely in its grip was Giovanni’s severe face.

  Chapter Two

  Giovanni handed his package over to Vitto, a newer addition to Giovanni’s personal guard. Vitto was young and eager, always respectful, and he carried out Giovanni’s commands down to the letter.

  “Take her to the jet.” Giovanni said. “I will be along shortly. Must pay my respects to Raina and Gutierrez before we leave.”

  “Of course, Signore,” Vitto said.

  As he turned to leave, the woman cradled against his broad chest, Giovanni felt a jolt of something akin to jealousy. The feeling was so unique that he almost didn’t recognize it. What did he have to be jealous about? The woman wasn’t his yet. He barely knew her, and he certainly didn’t care enough about her to form any strong feelings. No, he must be mistaken. He simply wished to hold her curvy body against his and feel the resilience against him.

  He’d loved his wife, but she’d been a fragile woman, unable to cope with his world. This one could handle him and so much more. He just had to tame her first.

  “Vitto.”

  His man paused, looking back at Giovanni.

  “Be careful with that one. She is fragile but deadly. I don’t want her either lost or harmed.”

  “Of course, Signore.”

  Good enough.

  Giovanni turned and walked to the main house.

  He’d come to America under the guise of visiting his young friend, Raina Duncan, but his actual intent had been to inspect the American operations and the new boss in town, Mateo Gutierrez. Giovanni conducted business in the United States, and Miami was his gateway. If Miami wasn’t being properly taken care of, then he would’ve taken out the new boss and replaced with him someone Giovanni trusted, despite the friendship he’d developed with his host’s young fiancé.

  Giovanni had nothing to worry about. Mateo had ruthlessly brought the city under his control and trade was once again flourishing overseas.

  Giovanni had been staying in a guest suite at the request of Raina, though he was positive Mateo’d had a few choice words about her decision. Giovanni and Raina had formed an attachment when she’d needed his help in Italy. Having her spend a few days in his home reminded him of how much he enjoyed the life that youth could bring. Sometimes he thought he aged himself beyond his fifty-three years by closeting himself in his mausoleum of a house and mourning a woman who passed more than a decade earlier.