Queen of the Underworld Read online

  Queen of the Underworld

  A Dark Mafia Romance

  Stasia Black

  Lee Savino

  Copyright © 2019 by Stasia Black and Lee Savino

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Jay Aheer

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  A Note From the Authors

  The Pantheon: Who’s Who

  Also by Stasia Black

  Also By Lee Savino

  About Stasia Black

  About Lee Savino

  “Both her mind and her appearance quickly were transformed . . .”

  Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Book V

  One

  Cora knew the moment her husband came through the grand doors. His power rolled forward, enveloping her.

  Standing in the midst of the party, with her back to the entrance, she felt rather than saw him cross the threshold into the ballroom. Her hands immediately started shaking.

  Not now. Gods, please, not now.

  Along the edges of the gorgeous room, men in black suits took their places quietly, blending in with her serving staff. Marcus’s personal cadre of bodyguards. She recognized them because they’d once guarded her.

  The guests mingling near the entrance all turned, the men bowing and women fluttering as they greeted the man who secretly ruled the Underworld of New Olympus. Marcus Ubeli.

  It had been two months since she’d seen or spoken to him, beyond the text she’d sent telling him she was leaving him as she fled his Estate. Of course she’d known that wouldn’t be the end of it. This was Marcus Ubeli they were talking about.

  She’d spent the last two months laying low, knowing he could come for her at any moment. He hadn’t, though. He’d respected her wishes…

  Or it had been some sort of game to him. One she didn’t want to play. She was tired of games. Done with them. Done with him and his world of shadows and violence.

  Marcus’s dark head was still barely in the ballroom. He was surrounded by people, couples in tuxes and ballgowns who would pay homage to the King of the Underworld, men with solemn faces who wanted to shake his hand and whisper in his ear. Same as always.

  Of course she’d known that eventually they’d run into each other. It was inevitable. She’d tried to brace herself for this moment. She’d gone over it a hundred times in her head. A thousand times.

  She thought she’d be ready.

  She’d been wrong. So, so wrong.

  Marcus raised his head. His storm colored eyes swept over the crowded room. He was still surrounded by people, but he hadn’t forgotten her.

  He’d never forget. He was on the hunt.

  Goosebumps rose all over her skin and her heart raced. He was more gorgeous than ever and even a ballroom away, she could feel the wash of power that always preceded his intimidating presence.

  Get out. She had to get out of here now.

  She glanced around, feeling frantic as she looked for an escape. But she was surrounded on all sides by beautiful, glittering people who were all but caging her in between the giant bouquets of peacock feathers and tables laden with crab and puff pastries.

  Armand had opened another spa, and, to celebrate, talked one of his many admirers into opening their house for the extravaganza. The party was totally lush. He’d told Cora to spare no expense and she hadn’t. But now the excess was completely screwing with her need for a quick escape.

  There was the staircase on the far side of the ballroom; she could probably wind her way through the partiers to get there…but it would leave her exposed. Marcus might be able to approach her before she could get away. Still, she had to try. She couldn’t stand here like a lamb waiting for the slaughter.

  She looked up at the tall guest in a white tux who’d been talking to her. “I’m sorry,” she interrupted him, having no idea what he’d been saying.

  She’d passed off the behind-the-scenes responsibilities to Sasha, her assistant, about an hour ago and had been out among the guests ever since, at Armand’s insistence.

  The tall black man smiled, showing perfect white teeth. He was bald and cut an unusual figure in the party. He reminded her of Sharo, the dangerous underboss in her husband’s business.

  “No apologies necessary,” the man said in a light tenor voice that belied his height. “I’ve been babbling far too long. I was excited to meet the woman who made all this happen.” He frowned down at her in concern. “Are you cold?”

  “No.” Cora wanted to rub her arms to quell the goosebumps but instead lifted her hand self-consciously to her hair. Did she look as harried as she felt? Her hair was a shade lighter than it had been two months ago, worked into an intricate braid around her head. Would Marcus like it? She wanted to kick herself the second she had the thought, but still couldn’t shake it.

  Tendrils were already escaping around her face. Her fingers smoothed them back, and drifted to her ears. She was wearing the diamond earrings Marcus had given her. The studs hadn’t seen the light of day for two months, but Armand had given her the dress and she’d wanted something to match.

  Of course, she’d picked the one night Marcus showed up and would see her wearing his gift. Sighing, she pressed her hand to her temple. At least she wasn’t still wearing her wedding ring.

  “You sure you’re alright?” the guest in white asked.

  On the far side of the ballroom, the DJ on the dais started a song the crowd recognized. A flock of the younger crowd rushed past, knocking Cora into the giant man. His large dark hands reached out to steady her.

  Cora smiled weakly as she looked up into the guest’s concerned eyes and tried to remember his name.

  “Philip Waters!” Armand swooped in, looking dashing in a black velvet tux that contrasted nicely with his dancing black eyes and swarthy skin. “So glad you could come to our party.” The boyish designer and spa owner threw his arm around Cora, cutting off her escape. “Are you enjoying it?”

  “I am, thank you,” Philip rumbled. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been to a party off ship.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right one. Cora helped pull it off.” Armand squeezed her. “Have you heard
of her new event planning company? She just started it. It’s called Perceptions. A lovely name, if I say so myself.”

  Cora resisted rolling her eyes. Armand had thought up the name. He’d also called her up weeks ago and strong-armed her into starting the business, helping her file the right paperwork, and loaning her a generous amount of start-up capital.

  “Tonight’s her inaugural event,” Armand was telling Philip Waters.

  “Is it?” Philip rumbled, his eyes crinkling as he looked down at her. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” Cora forced a smile. She was happy, she really was.

  Or maybe not happy. Content. Happiness was a lie. It seemed to her that everyone was simply trying to get by the best they could. So she did, too. And she stayed busy. That was key. When she was busy, she didn’t have time to think. Which was why this event had been perfect.

  She barely slept the past week and had almost had a heart attack when the caterers tried to change the menu on her at the last moment. But she’d called around to every fish market in the area and gotten them enough fresh salmon to make their piccata bites right in time. And then she had to fight with the florists to get the arrangements she wanted even though they’d agreed a week ago—

  Cora shook her head to clear her thoughts. “I should probably check on the buffet…”

  She started to pull away but Armand shook his head. “Cora, darling, the buffet is fine. Quit acting like Cinderella and enjoy the ball. Champagne!”

  A waitress wearing little more than a purple bikini and headdress of peacock feathers sashayed by and offered her tray out to them. Cora had a glass pressed into her hand before she could protest.

  “A toast—” Armand hesitated.

  “To the hostess,” Philip Waters supplied.

  “To the hostess with the mostess. To Cora,” Armand whooped. Cora tried to shush him; if Marcus didn’t know she was here before he certainly did now. She was about to extricate herself from Armand’s embrace when Olivia broke into their circle.

  “Hey guys, what are we toasting to?”

  “Olivia!” Armand greeted her. “We’re toasting Cora.”

  “Roger that.” Olivia was a hacker Cora had befriended in the past few months and her friendship had turned out to be a lifesaver. Especially now since they were roommates after Cora had moved out of Marcus’s penthouse. Olivia relieved Cora of her glass and downed the rest of the champagne.

  Cora craned her head slightly and tried to scan the room to see if her husband was circling closer. Armand still had his arm around her shoulders and was doing introductions. If she moved now, she’d appear rude. At least Marcus hadn’t approached them yet. Maybe there was still time for her to escape?

  “Philip, this is Olivia, resident tech genius who owns Aurum, the tech company. Olivia, Philip runs a shipping business and owns—”

  “A bunch of toys that can only be run on water,” Philip interrupted, capturing Olivia’s hand and kissing it.

  “Awesome,” Olivia said, looking down her sharp nose. Olivia’s face wasn’t unattractive but Cora didn’t care for the way she wore her hair parted down the middle, black sheets falling to a blunt cut jaw. The whole hairstyle resembled a helmet. After two months of advising her friend to get her hair cut in softer layers, Cora had given up, suspecting that Olivia preferred to look striking rather than pretty.

  Of course, that theory didn’t jive with the way Olivia flirted. Right now Olivia was fluttering her dark lashes at the shipping mogul. “Do you share your toys?”

  “I’ll share mine if you share yours.” Philip smiled.

  “Right on. I’m heading out of here soon, but I’ll look you up.” Olivia looked Philip over, from his bald head all the way down to his wing tip shoes. “You’re what, six one?”

  “Six two.” Again, Philip’s smile showed two rows of very white teeth.

  “Nice. You know what they say about tall men.” Olivia looked pointedly at the guest’s crotch.

  “Olivia,” Cora choked out, but wasn’t sure why she was even surprised anymore. Olivia was smart enough to realize her rudeness—she simply didn’t care. “Philip was commenting on how nice this party is.”

  Even as she said it, her eyes were darting around. Where had Marcus gone? Had he seen her?

  “Oh, for sure. Great party,” Olivia agreed.

  Armand, now hanging on Cora, had somehow grabbed a second champagne. He pointed with his new glass, dangerously close to slopping liquid onto Cora. “See that guy in the corner? That’s Max Mars, the movie star.”

  They all studied the handsome blond holding court in front of the staircase, surrounded by an adoring audience five people deep.

  “Hot. I’d fuck him,” Olivia pronounced. Armand snorted in Cora’s ear, leaning more heavily on her until she was surrounded by the scent of his cologne. It smelled good but was a little overpowering for her taste. Philip’s lips jerked briefly into what looked suspiciously like the start of a smile.

  Cora closed her eyes as Olivia went on. “Didn’t Anna say she was auditioning for a movie that he’s starring in? That would be, like, a huge break for her.”

  “Yes,” Cora said, focusing back in on the conversation at hand. “And she’s perfect for the part.”

  “Where is that bitch anyway?” Olivia frowned, looking back towards the entrance. “Anna is another one of our roommates,” she told Philip, and then winked at him. ”There’s only one bed, though. Good thing we’re such close friends.”

  Cora all but choked on a sip of champagne. “How about another toast?” she said desperately. Philip’s grin was now ear to ear.

  “To friends!” Armand started to toast again, but the hand that held the full glass was still around Cora’s neck.

  Olivia grabbed the tipsy designer, and helped untangle him. “Gods, Armand, watch her dress.”

  Cora was almost free when Armand caught her arm.

  “Do you like the dress?” he asked. “It’s one of my creations.”

  “I actually need to go fix it real quick,” Cora stammered, tugging at Armand’s grip. She’d officially reached maximum stimulus overload. She needed a breath.

  “Stop, it looks perfect,” Armand scolded.

  “Very lovely. You’re like a mermaid.” Philip smiled down at her.

  Cora glanced down. The blue sheath was strapless, hugging her sleek form until her waist, where it shimmered into turquoise and then down into a sea-foam green train.

  “Turn around,” Olivia requested and Armand’s hand pulled her into a spin that Cora had no choice but to continue.

  Of course, as soon as she twirled, her gaze swept over the crowded party, and Cora looked straight into the eyes of her husband, Marcus Ubeli.

  Like in the movies, it felt like everything around them muted and became hazy. Eight weeks hadn’t changed much—for him anyway. Marcus wore his signature suit. Everything about him spoke of power, from the set of his broad shoulders to his piercing gaze. He stood in a crowd and rose above it, a man among boys.

  He stood a little inside the doorway, flanked by two men dressed all in black. Shades, they were called on the street.

  One glance, and Cora stopped mid-twirl, letting her dress continue without her. She stared at her husband, the sight of him hitting her with earth-tilting force. His eyes locked with hers and there was a fire burning in their depths. Searing her to the core.

  With time and space, she had convinced herself that she’d imagined the potency of his effect on her. Surely she’d exaggerated how, with a look, he could pin her in place and have her begging.

  A half whirl later and she had her back to him, but no relief. She knew his eyes were on her and she could all but feel the ghost of his hands on her body.

  More than that, a million other memories were flooding in. Him holding her at night, his body spooned behind hers. Him finally saying the words that she had waited so long to hear, whispering over and over that he loved her.

  And that last night before she’d
left him. The terrifying sight of him letting the leash off of his control and watching him brutally bash a man’s head in. Over and over and over again, even after the man was dead. Marcus hadn’t known she was there, hiding in the shadows, but she’d seen. She’d seen and she’d never forget.

  Cora stumbled backwards. “I have to go.”

  Olivia frowned and Armand’s head whipped around. They both realized the cause of her panic at the same time. For the past two months, Cora had been Olivia’s roommate, and Armand was a frequent visitor to their tiny loft. They’d listened to her rant, hugged her when she cried, and plied her with ice cream when she moped around for days. She’d never told them the extent of it, though. She’d never told a soul about that last night and she never would.

  “Oh darling—” Armand began, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed convulsively.

  Olivia was more blunt. “Go.”

  Philip Waters straightened to his considerable height. His eyes narrowed and Cora froze at the mask of hate that settled over his regal features.

  Cora didn’t want to know the reasons why the man in white despised her husband. Marcus’s whole world was filled with darkness and vendetta. She wanted nothing to do with any of it. And she certainly had no interest in confronting Marcus tonight.

  Lifting her dress so she wouldn’t trip on the mini-train, Cora fled. Damn it, why had she let Armand talk her into wearing these five-inch heels? She couldn’t go too quickly or she break her neck.