Stardust Destiny

Stardust Destiny

Nazarea Andrews

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of any wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction including brands or products. 

Copyright © 2016 Nazarea Andrews.

Stardust Destiny

All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by A&A Literary.

Summary:  Mafia princess Ileana is the prize that brought all the major crime families to peace.

But Paris is the man she wants, and they will risk everything to be together.

Romance 2. Mafia Romance 3. Erotica

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

For information, address Nazarea Andrews

NazareaFYI@gmail.com

Edited by Angi Black

Cover design by The Illustrated Author 

Cover art copyright©: Nazarea Andrews

Ebook Formatting by A & A Literary 

For every broken girl,

Who fights every day to be strong.

Author Note:

Hello lovely,

It is a widely known fact that mythology and retellings fascinate me. Paris and Helen have always been part of that fascination.

A war that drew the attention of Olympus, and caused the gods and goddesses to choose champions in a mortal fight, a war that brought the ancient world to its knees, all for one girl.

A pretty girl and the boy who stole her.

There are several accounts about the Trojan war and details vary according to who you’re reading at any given time. Some claim as many as a hundred kings came to petition for Helen of Sparta’s hand in marriage. Some say that Helen was a conniving bitch who used Paris and others. Others claim that Paris was a weak diplomat. Some say she loved her husband and Paris was an interloper, and other claim the King was a tyrant and she wanted to be with Paris.

Very few details are agreed upon.

For every voice who told Helen’s story, there was a different story to be told.

This is mine.

With the muddy motives and power plays, the traumatized pawn and the devil may care prince, and all the other players on the ancient gameboard of the Gods.

I hope you love Ileana and Paris—and all of the others—as much as I do.

N~

Every little girl dreams of meeting a white knight. Of a chapel filled with silk and roses, and happy family. Of long, toe-curling kisses and first dances after breath-stealing vows.

Every little girl dreams of being swept up in a love that defies logic, the kind of brilliant insanity that makes you shine brighter. Mad, reckless love.

Every little girl. Except me.

Ileana~

I like women. I like fucking them.

I don’t love them.

Paris-

Chapter I

Ileana – Orsi Cosca – Now

It’s hot. And not just hot, but stifling. I slide a glance at Travail and hide a grin. He's in a three-piece suit and tie, and sweat is lining his forehead.

It's his fault I'm even here, so I'm going to take all the pleasure I can out of him being uncomfortable.

They're late, my brother growls. I told you this was a bad idea.

Shut up, Travail says, with that easy grin I adore and Cassio hates. Cas glares, indignant, and I put a hand on his wrist.

He scowls at me and I nudge his wine. Relax. He has just as much to lose if he blows this off as we do.

That isn’t strictly true. Callan Sheehan didn’t need us. We didn’t need him. But the alliance was going to make everyone much happier.

Well. Almost everyone. I played with the gold cuff on my left wrist and Travail sends me a quick look.

Cas doesn’t notice. He’s glaring at his phone. But Travail? With his oversized aviators low on his nose and his dark hair hanging in his eyes, slouched in the chair as he watches the girls by the pool—he notices. He might look like he doesn’t pick up on things, but Travail is one of the smartest men I’ve ever met. It’s why Daddy trusts him and why Cas hates him and why he’s here today.

You ok, Ileana? he murmurs, pitching his voice low enough that Cas doesn’t hear him.

I flash a quick smile at him and nod, one quick bob of my head.

There, Cas breathes, his relief a palpable thing. I shift in my seat, sweat trickling down my thigh and gathering in the back of my knees, and making my cuffs stick to my wrists unpleasantly. I steal a glance at him as he moves towards us from the far side of the pool.

I’ve seen Cal before. Not the day this was all decided, but in the years since, when I accompanied Daddy on business meetings, or when Travail and Cas took me to Ireland to spend summers in Cal’s family home.

Cassio hates that Daddy chose Cal. Of all the men who came to Miami for me—Cal didn’t come to that sit down, consumed with the recent death of his father and restructuring of the Sheehan crime family. He'd sent his brother to broker peace with the other Families, and that alone pissed off Cas. It was a slight.

The Orsi deserved better than that.

I agree, privately. No one asks me what I think, and aside from Peony, no one listens when I talk.

I stopped, years ago.

But he's been around, through the years since that sit down. Still. Seeing him, black hair and dark suit, big powerful body cutting through the pool deck, oblivious to the bikini-clad bitches sending him curious hopeful stares—I flush. Duck my head, hiding behind a veil of hair and try to keep my hands from shaking.

Travail nudges me with the toe of his boot as he shifts and I stand with him and my brother, a practiced smile turning my lips effortlessly.

Ileana, Cal almost growls, his sharp blue eyes raking over me. I flush again and he smirks, the twist of his lips turning him from imposing and scary to almost approachable.

Almost.

His eyes are hard blue diamonds, impossibly beautiful and just as likely to cut me.

His gaze slides away from me, and settles on Cassio. I see the flash of loathing before it slides away and Cal smiles.

God, when he smiles, I can almost forget that he’s vicious and deadly.

You’re late, Cas points out.

My apologies, Cal drawls, looking not the least bit apologetic. I expected Tibero.

My brother starts talking, a brief, impersonal explanation for why Daddy isn’t here—again—and I lean back, ignoring everything except the water moving in the pool.

Even when talk turns to my wedding, and what I want—what we can expect, and who will be attending. I can’t bring myself to pay any attention. I can feel Travail growing more and more desperate to engage me in the conversation, and Cassio’s annoyance as I drift in the heat and my own thoughts.

But what the hell does it matter?

At the end of the day, it’s an expensive ceremony that has nothing to do with me.

I’m just the centerpiece they prop up in the white dress and parade in front of the families and their favorites, to cement an alliance that will bring all the Families together.

Travail nudges me again and I blink, coming out of my fog to see Cal and Cassio staring at me. Annoyance plays over Cassio’s face.

I’m sorry, I murmur, ducking my head.

There’s a moment of silence, and then, May I have a word with Ileana, gentlemen?

My gaze snaps up, locking on to Cal’s. It’s a question—or it’s phrased as one. But there’s nothing questioning about him, as he sits there so casual and loose, his eyes boring into mine. My brother and Travail have been dismissed.

Cassio glances at me, and I see a question in his eyes.

Stupid bastard has no problem marrying me off to this man, but gets all worked up about leaving me with him for a few minutes in a public place.

I’m fine, I say, smiling once, and his frown deepens, but he nods at Travail and the two retreat.

And I’m left with Cal. For a long moment, we stare at each other, and I can feel panic swelling in my chest, threatening to choke me. My cuffs feel too tight, for the first time in I can’t remember how long.

You don’t need to look at me like that, he says, mildly. I don’t bite.

The words are so innocuous that I blink and a laugh, a tiny startled thing slips free. Tumbles between us, a sparkling noise that feels foreign coming from me.

I’m sorry, I whisper, and he lets out a huff of breath.

Sit down, Ileana.

My knees are shaking, but I sink into the seat across from him and watch with tiny furtive glances as Cal shrugs out of his suit coat and tosses it on the seat next to him. He’s wearing a shoulder holster, both guns missing, the black harness standing out against his white shirt. I wonder if it bothers him that the bikini bitches have skittered back.

Then I realize he’s still staring at me and I decide—no. He definitely doesn’t give a damn about them.

Why are you staring at me? I ask, looking down.

Because I can, he says, calmly. It’s not a boast. He can. Not many would be allowed to stare at me, not like he is now. With that hungry perusal that feels like a touch, and invasive. And completely unapologetic.

Are you always this scared? he asks.

My back snaps straight and my jaw tightens. Who says I’m scared?

A tiny smile ticks up the corner of his lips. That’s the first time you’ve ever spoken to me in more than a whisper.

I hesitate, confused.

You will be my wife in a month. Do you have an opinion on that?

I tense. Glance away from him. I feel like this is a trap. Cal doesn’t care what I think—in the years since this marriage was arranged, he has never once asked me my opinion. Neither has Daddy or Cas or even Travail.

I’m Ileana Orsi, the only daughter of the Orsi crime family. Marrying the heir of another Family was set in stone, since I was a little girl. It took until I was fourteen to attach a name to that, but even then, I wasn’t asked. Callan was Daddy’s choice, and my uncle’s, and I was expected to do what I was told.

If there is anything I’m good at, it’s doing what I’m told.

He’s watching me again, and I shrug. This isn’t a personal thing, Callan. It’s an alliance. I pick my words carefully. My opinion is that it’s good for both families.

His eyes are narrow and it’s impossible to know what he’s thinking.

Here’s what I know of the man I will marry in one month: he is the son Sean Sheehan, and took control of the family when Sean died in a car accident. He has four brothers, but only one is still living. When he took control of the Irish mob in Chicago, he was twenty-two, and the youngest mob boss to control the city. It wasn’t an easy transfer of power, and Cal fought vicious and dirty to keep his grip on the family.

His wife died, then. It was just before the sit down of the families. Four months—maybe less. Everything from then was a hazy mess. But his wife was killed by an uncle trying to take control and that was the end of it—Cal and his brother Aiden crushed the rest of the unrest, quickly and ruthlessly. Aiden appeared at Daddy’s sit down, something none of the families expected. Not when Cal was still grieving.

Do you still love her?

He goes still, his gaze predatory and violent for a long moment as he stares at me. Then he reaches out and snatches Cassio’s scotch from the table.

We aren’t discussing her, Ileana. His voice is soft and furious and I flinch. Shrink away from him.

I’m sorry, I whisper, panic clawing at my chest. There’s a moment of silence, and then he mutters a rough curse.

Shoves to his feet. He circles the table and draws me to my feet. For a long moment, I’m frozen and still, a tense statue waiting for his blow to shatter me. Then his lips brush my cheek and I almost gasp. My hand shake as he murmurs, I’ll see you next month, Ileana.

He buttons the suit coat, and flashes me a smile, quick and devastating, before he turns away.

I’m still standing, in the same place, my heart pounding too hard, my hands tingling from the rush of fear spiked adrenaline, when Travail flanks me.

You ok, sweetheart?

I don’t respond. My mouth is dry and my eyes are dry, and my face is empty.

I’m shattering and no one, not even Travail can see it.

I’m fine, I murmur. I let him turn me, and the only thought that keeps repeating is that he didn’t answer me.

Callan didn’t tell me no.

Chapter II

Paris – Sosa Cartel – Now

––––––––

The girl in my bed is a model. I’m pretty sure. She’s got the legs and rack to be a model. She’s also naked and my mother is coming down the hall, the clack of her heels echoing through the mansion.

Shit.

I shake the girl awake and roll out of bed. Get up.

She moans, a long drawn out noise, and I roll my eyes, then toss her dress—fuck, did she actually wear this in public? No wonder I brought her home her—at the bed. "Move your ass, mami."

Why the hurry? she purrs, stretching. I glance back as I zip up my pants. She’s all naked-sunkissed-skin stretched across my bed, her tits swaying enticingly.

I hear Mama moving, and hiss a soft curse. Too late.

The door bangs open and my mother strides in. All sixty inches of her, and three of that is heels.

"Your father is waiting, mi hijo."

My playmate screams, a tiny, practiced noise that’s just fucking embarrassing, and Mama pauses, for a fraction of a second. The look she levels in my direction is faintly reproving and then she claps sharply. "Pedro, take care of this, por fovor."

She turns back to me, the naked girl completely dismissed as she surveys me. I’m not looking my best, and I know it, but I offer up my best grin.

A smile fills her eyes, but she makes a tiny face and snatches up a shirt that smells, faintly, of liquor