King of Hearts: An Arranged Marriage-Mafia Romance (Rake Forge University Series Book 2) Read online

  King of Hearts

  Rake Forge University Book 2

  Ashley Munoz

  King of Hearts

  Copyright © 2021 by Ashley Munoz & ZetaLife LLC

  ISBN: 978-1-7337919-5-3

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book whether in electronic form or physical book form, may be reproduced, copied, or sold or distributed in any way. That includes electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or any other form of information sharing, storage or retrieval system without the clear, lawful permission of the author. Except for limited, sharable quotes on social media, or for the sake of a review. There is absolutely no lawful permission permitted to upload a purchased electronic copy of this book to any free book sites. Screen shots of book text or kindle passages are not allowed to be shared on any public social media site without written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of total and complete fiction. The story was thought up from the authors curious and thoughtful brain. Any names, places, characters, businesses, events, brands, media, situations or incidents are all made up. Anything resemblances to a real, similar, or duplicated persons or situations is purely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication or use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover Design: Amanda Simpson from Pixel Mischief Designs

  Editing: C.Marie

  Proofing: Tiffany Hernandez

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  A Little Note

  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

  Epilogue

  Also by Ashley

  Thank You

  About Ashley

  To Kaitlin:

  You’re hard as nails, baby girl…marching to the beat of your own war drum.

  But you’re mine.

  I love you more than you could ever know, even when we don’t seem to understand each other. Even when I don’t do it right.

  A Little Note

  I highly recommend that you listen to the playlist especially during some of the intense scenes, it was written to those songs, so it only makes sense. Also, you may see a few places where it seems like I linked a book in the middle of the text, that is referencing a bonus scene that may enhance your reading experience. Taylor and Juan have a scene where they attend Mallory and Decker’s wedding, and while you don’t have to read the scene, it’s there if you want to.

  Also, if you don’t already know…there may be scenes in this text that trigger you. As mentioned in the blurb, there are scenes of pregnancy, including sonograms, and listening to fetal heartbeats, however there is no infant loss.

  Play List

  King of Hearts on Spotify

  Prologue

  I was seven years old the first time I saw someone die.

  The man had fallen to the floor after my father pointed a gun at his chest, a dark red circle appearing immediately over his heart and making my own beat against my ribs.

  I remembered the fear that had gripped me, like a rope tied with the tightest knots, keeping me in that room even after I had left it. My small feet felt as though they had suddenly been stuck inside cement blocks for how fast they carried me.

  It wasn’t nearly fast enough to avoid my father’s grip. My ponytail was strangled in his meaty fist as the man I knew as Father tugged me downstairs, returning me to the place where he’d just committed a heinous crime. My body shook as he crouched next to my ear and spoke of duty, penance, and lessons.

  I was so young I didn’t see that I was just a blob of clay in my father’s palm, his to mold, to shape, and to utilize as he saw fit. He forced his lessons on me, not so that I would be desensitized to murder or bloodshed…but so that I would learn to fear him.

  It was when I was thirteen that I realized no matter how many lessons I was forced into, my father’s appetite for executing them would never be staunched.

  “So this is what you choose, értékes?” my father asked, narrowing his icy glare on me.

  My breath hitched at the use of the name my father had called me since I was little. I used to think it meant something endearing, yet I couldn’t remember one time ever feeling precious to him.

  He stood tall, his hair like a flash of lightning against his pale skin. It made his eyes stand out, pale blue…the eyes of the devil. Some said I was blessed that mine were like my mother’s, starker, like specks of glittering water pulled up from the ocean.

  “Yes.” My voice was a shutter, like a feeble piece of wood protecting a pane of glass in a hurricane.

  My mother’s light touch on the small of my back forced my spine straight, reminding me to stand tall regardless of how badly my gut wanted to cave.

  “You know you have already been promised to the Mariano family…little Markos.” My father casually grabbed the clear glass that usually contained vodka and brought it to his lips. How could I forget about the boy who had made my life a living hell? Markos was an angry boy, perfectly paired to his evil, menacing father.

  My mother’s touch disappeared; I knew she did it so I would stand on my own. She’d never been overly maternal, but I craved her touch. Especially while staring down Ivan, the wolf of the east.

  “I am prepared to fulfill that promise.” I watched as Jakob, my father’s second-in-command, shifted on his feet. It was barely noticeable, but from the man who’d been more like a father to me than my own, I recognized the movement. He was prepared to defend me if necessary. I could count on both hands the number of words Jakob had spoken to me in the past thirteen years, but his acts of kindness were unmeasurable.

  My father’s glare cut to the woman at my back. My mother made no sound, inhaled no breath, did nothing as my father challenged her with his angry glare.

  “I will allow this, but only because I have business back in Hungary.” The air in the room seemed to thin as we waited for him to finish his sentence. He set his glass down carefully, as if he was setting down a loaded pistol and hadn’t yet chosen his target.

  “I will let you go free, with no more visits…but I hope your mother doesn’t allow you to soften over time, Ari, for the man you marry will also deal in blood as I do. It is in your future, whether you deny it now or embrace it later. You cannot escape it.”

  I gave him a firm nod, as stable as my feeble head could give. Thirteen years old, staring down the most dangerous man on this side of the co
untry.

  My mother told me it was brave, but I only felt foolish. Within seconds he could change his mind, decide to kill my mother, and sell me off. I only knew a small portion of the plans Ivan had for me, but none of them were decent or noble.

  They were blood-soaked oaths that cost more than a soul could bear.

  I turned away, resigned to my fate. At the age of twenty-one I would become a bride. No amount of shouting or screaming would change it, but at least for the next few years I’d get a reprieve, a break from the lessons my father forced on me…relief from the red that stained my father’s garden every summer, from seeing the bodies lie in wait for burial. It would be well worth it.

  I’d make sure to make every second count, for once I returned to this life, it would be without a soul or a single hope.

  Chapter One

  Senior year of college

  MARCH

  “Are you going to say anything?”

  The stark question bled into my thoughts, spreading like spilled ink over all my possible justifications. I’d just kissed someone, and they had no idea why I had done it.

  The problem was, the truth…the real reason I had kissed him might as well have been written on a rock in Braille and dropped into the deepest part of the ocean. There was no way I’d be telling him why I’d randomly pulled on his shirt, slamming my lips to his, letting his tongue sweep into my mouth and consume every inch of me. I’d take it to my grave.

  Instead, I stared into his whiskey eyes, committed them to memory, and pulled on the façade I perpetually wore.

  “What do you want me to say?” I moved away, straining my fingers against the air as if the invisible force could take away how good it had felt to have his body pressed against mine.

  He made a sound, a scoff or something else that came from his sculpted chest. I wanted to spin on my heel and see if those lips had curved in that same sensual way they did when he tried to coax me into movie nights with his friends.

  “So, you text me, tell me to come over, then make out with me the second I walk in…and you have nothing to say?”

  He sounded like he was trying to clarify the situation, but I didn’t understand why. We had both been there. We both knew what had happened…he was just pissed that I wouldn’t explain the reason behind my actions. The fact that he wanted a reason made my heart swell.

  I busied myself with digging through my purse, finding lip gloss then my phone. I had to push away the sensation that had flared, taking on a life of its own. I’d been obsessively daydreaming and regular nighttime dreaming about my sister’s best friend for four years, and since we would be going our separate ways after graduation, I felt like I had to make a move.

  I had to because I’d written it down in my goal book.

  Dream goal for the year: kiss Juan Hernandez before graduation.

  That was literally the extent of my aspirations. Mallory, my stepsister, would have been horrified if she learned I had only dreamed of kissing a boy and not starting or running a business, or literally anything else beyond being wrapped in his arms for the rest of my life.

  I was a terrible feminist.

  My chance had finally arrived to make my move, by way of getting Juan’s number from my sister’s cell phone. I wasn’t proud of it, but I had stolen it while she was in the shower. Knowing Mallory was busy and Juan wasn’t, I had texted him, asking if he could come over and help me with something for Mal.

  I’d lied.

  Wasn’t the first time, but it was my first lie to the man I’d been crushing on for four years.

  The plan was he’d come in, we’d talk and laugh, and I’d make him want me—like all the other guys seemed to without issue. Juan never seemed to be interested, though.

  No matter how I dressed or how I acted, nothing would get him to look at me in any other way except as Mallory’s little sister. This would be my only chance. He knocked, I opened, and before either of us could say a word, I slammed my lips to his.

  Thankfully, he didn’t push me away. I would have died if he had.

  He froze for a second, those warm, silky lips firm against mine. A moment later, he groaned and moved into it, finding a rhythm with me. His tongue and lips moved against my mouth, his hands going to my hair, gripping and tugging with perfect pressure. It was everything I had dreamed it would be. The second he walked us back and pushed me against a wall, I knew I had gone too far.

  I had to stop because all I had ever allowed myself to hope for from him was a kiss. There could never be more. That was why my random hookups worked so well for me. I enjoyed sex, and there were never any strings attached.

  Juan was the only man I had ever allowed myself to dream about, and he wasn’t even aware of it.

  The way he rubbed his lips now while looking at the ground, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done…it made something in my chest fold in on itself like a piece of junk mail, discarded and forgotten.

  He was already moving toward the door, and my chest ached with the need to pull on his arm so he’d stay with me. No one ever stayed with me. I was always forgotten, and after a while I had gotten used to it, finding my own form of entertainment…but none of that was the same as having Juan’s body pressed against mine or the way his scent wrapped around me.

  I felt as though a blood pressure cuff had been wrapped around my heart as I watched him open the door. A sound escaped my mouth, forcing Juan to pause with his hand on the knob.

  I had one chance to say something to make him stop. He’d kissed me back, so there had to be a part of him that wanted me…right? Still, as I watched his tall frame slouch against the entrance, the only sound that came out of me was the rehearsed string of words that would act as a wall of protection for anyone I ever dared to care about.

  “It was a mistake…I was waiting for Holden, thought you were him. Got a little carried away.”

  I ducked my head. Tears burned the backs of my eyes as I bit back all the words I wanted to confess. I never would. Juan was the type of guy who would do the right thing and would actually want to date me—assuming he even cared about me in that way…but if he did, my father would find a way to kill him. My twenty-first birthday was at the end of the year, and no man in my life was safe.

  Juan’s eyes flashed with hurt before his head canted in obvious frustration. His hand came up to rub at his smooth jaw, and I tried to commit it to memory, how good he looked standing in my house, there for me and not my stepsister.

  “You know, I thought…” His eyes flicked to the carpet for a second before he collected himself. “I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought. You just proved me wrong.”

  The door slammed shut as I blinked away a tear. I’d tuck it away like a carefully folded note, into the darkest places of my heart. One day, after I’d married Markos, I’d pull it out and look at how I could have loved Juan, how it could have been everything.

  Chapter Two

  MAY

  A rush of adrenaline hit me in the chest as I pushed the silver key in and turned the lock. This wasn’t my house, not my door, and yet going inside always felt like home. Smirking at the teal color Mal had never wanted and the ridiculous wreath that hung on the front of the door, I pushed my way inside.

  The sun warmed the floors and walls, revealing two open windows, their lacy curtains billowing in the light breeze, and it shouldn’t have bothered me…but it did. Having windows open meant they weren’t closed and locked. Mentally I chided myself for caring whether or not she was safe; it really shouldn’t have fucking mattered. She was just a job, a favor texted in by my best friend on my way to practice. Like watering a plant.

  “You’re here again.” A soft voice spoke up from behind me, and that jolt of energy pummeled through me once more.

  Turning on my heel, I mentally readied myself for seeing her, for feeling her indifference.

  “You’re sleeping in again.” I clicked my tongue in reproach.

  That pouty mouth of hers t
urned into a frown while those blue eyes rolled. Sunshine, silk, and sadness—that was what this girl was made of, and for some fucked reason, it called to me. Sang like a song, thrumming in my blood, pounding in my ears and inside my chest to get closer to her, hold on to her…keep her. Except I never would. She was a door that occasionally needed to be opened but required being slammed shut within seconds. Open too long and she’d sink her hooks in, likely aiming for my heart this time. Last time it had just been a case of blue balls she caused…I’d never let her any closer than that.

  “Why are you an asshole every time you come to my house?” She picked up the coffee I had brought myself and sipped it. Of course she’d think it was for her. She was selfish enough to assume me coming here was for her sake.

  It was only for my best friend who worried about her little sister so fucking much that I agreed to come over once in a while. My best friend cared too damn much, enough to give herself an ulcer, or worse, a heart attack. Meanwhile, Taylor didn’t give a single fuck if Mal was okay or taking over a job she didn’t want. I resented her for it; Mal didn’t know that I did, but I was angry that my best friend had given up so much and her sister couldn’t seem to lift a goddamn finger.