Illicit King (Paperback)

★★★★★ ”Complete perfection. Romeo and Juliet without the sad ending. Maggie Cole writes the kind of stories and sexy book boyfriends that leave you completely blown away. Every. Single. Time.” - USA Today Bestselling Author, Faith Summers

Two enemy mafia families in a dangerous struggle for power. He thought it would be easy to deceive her. Once she learns the truth, the only answer is war. But what can two hearts do when they’re already entwined?

He wants to destroy my father’s throne. I should avoid him, but I can’t keep my hands off him.

Brody O'Connor is tall, rugged, and hell-bent on obliterating my family. He seduced me on purpose, and now I’m paying the price.

He’s my sworn enemy--part of a rival clan.

But no matter how much I try to shake him, or our heated encounters, I can’t.

Every step I take, he’s there, lurking in the shadows, studying me, waiting for any chance to undermine my efforts to become my father’s successor.

Brody says I’m naive--in the dark about Da’s true dealings. He’s screwing with my head.

Da is cruel, but he’s not capable of something so heinous.

Or is he?

If Brody’s right, then where does that leave me?

Where does it leave us?

Illicit King is book one of Mafia Wars Ireland. It’s a forbidden love, enemies to lovers, age gap, dark mafia romance.

Brody O'Connor

Overhead bins rattle above my head, and I dig my fingertips deeper into the armrest. My heart thumps against my chest cavity, and I clench my jaw.

"Is that all ya got?" my brother, Aidan, shouts, his eyes wild with excitement.

"Dumbarse," my other brother, Devon, mutters, white as a ghost.

A loud screech fills my ears, and the jet teeters unsteadily for a moment before the wheels skid on the pavement. We slide down the runway before coming to a stop.

"Bloody hell! Now that's some flying!" Tynan, my youngest brother, declares.

I lift my sweaty hand from the seat and wipe it on my pants, grumbling, "All of ya shut up." I release my seat belt and glance out the window, pissed I'm not back in Belfast. I've got a dozen things to do, and not one revolves around an emergency landing in England.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist," Aidan reprimands.

I point at him. "We've got shit to do. None of which involves this place."

He shrugs. "Relax. A bit of extra time away from Belfast won't kill us."

"So typical." I scowl. As the firstborn O'Connor son, it's not a secret that the responsibilities of the family are all on me. Plus, we spent more time in Italy negotiating new arms deals with our allies than I anticipated.

My brothers have it easy. They get to fuck off and not worry about the future of our empire. That scenario is all on me. And lately, our business is getting harder to grow, never mind maintain.

For the last year, the O'Learys have increased their power across the U.K., even encroaching on our territory. We've lost men, money, and part of our future. So my father made it our job to come across the pond from New York and reestablish the power of the O'Connor clan.

Nothing about it is proving to be easy, including this current situation.

Maureen, our flight attendant, slowly rises, her cheeks a bit green. She puts on a brave face and chirps, "Welcome to London."

The door to the cabin opens, and our pilot, Shea, steps out. "Sorry for the rough landing. I think we're going to be here for the night."

I curl my palm into a fist, gritting out, "Isn't it premature when the mechanic hasn't assessed the damage?"

Shea shakes his head. "There aren't a lot of parts lying around for this old of a plane."

I curse my father in my head. I've told him to upgrade our equipment, but he's too stubborn. He insists we use everything until it falls apart since our operations aren't doing well here. It's completely opposite of his luxury jet.

I reach for the door, push it open, and a cold gust of wind hits my face. I stomp off the plane, pull my phone out of my pocket, and call New York.

"Brody," my father answers.

I bark, "Guess where I'm standing?"

"Don't have time for games. Spit it out, son."

I snarl, "London."

The line turns silent. I move farther from the plane and stare at the smoke pouring out the back of it.

My father asks, "Why are ya there?"

"Because ya refuse to give us a plane that isn't a hundred years old!" I accuse.

"Don't be so dramatic. It's only forty," he states with an amused voice.

It angers me further. A light drizzle starts, and I turn the collar of my jacket up. I seethe, "I don't have time for this shit. Plus, we could have died."

He grunts. "How long until you're back in the air?"

"Pilot thinks we're here for at least the night."

A moment of silence passes, then he replies, "Well, all things happen for a reason. This is your lucky day."

I rub my hand over my forehead, not into my father's antics, demanding, "How's that?"

He informs me, "We've got a problem in London."

My pulse pounds hard between my ears. I gaze at the gray sky and inhale a deep breath of smog.

My father continues, "Go check on Ronan Potter. Things are off."

The hairs on my arms rise. Ronan's been the head of our gambling operations for decades. This is the first I'm hearing of anything wrong in London, and I don't need any more tasks. I question, "What do ya mean 'off'?"

"Off. Don't make me spell it out," my father instructs.

I tug at my hair and stare at my brothers, who all move toward me. "Since when?"

"A while."

"And ya said nothing?"

He grunts. "Ronan said he could handle it."

I lock eyes with Aidan. He gives me his what's going on expression. I shake my head, sputtering into the phone, "Ya should have mentioned something."

The sound of my father lighting his cigar fills the line, followed by him taking several puffs. He states, "I am now."

I grumble, "If ya want me to clean things up over here, I need to know everything that's going on."

He scoffs. "Stop whining. Go find out why Ronan can't handle the situation. That's an order." He hangs up.

I glance at the horizon, attempting to calm my frustration. This is another reality of my father. He has everyone on a need-to-know basis, including my brothers and me. All it does is create more problems for us.

"That Dad?" Devon asks.

"The one and only," I seethe. A private car pulls up, and I yank the door open, ordering, "Get in."

"Can't wait to hear what Tully had to say," Tynan mutters.

"Just get in," I repeat.

My brothers obey, and I follow, slamming the door. "Fucking England," I mutter, my knees hitting Tynan's. While I love our motherland of Ireland, I miss New York and SUVs. The vehicles in the U.K. are smaller, and I'm always squished inside them.

"Where to?" the driver asks.

I glance at my phone and look at the text my father sent with Ronan's address. I relay it and close the divider window.

"We're going to Ronan's?" Aidan questions, suspicion all over his face.

"Yep."

"Why?"

I deeply inhale, my nostrils flaring, staring out the window. "We've got problems."

"What kind?"

I scowl at my brother, repeating my father's words. "Don't make me spell it out."

His eyes turn to slits, his face hardening. As much as all the responsibility is on me, none of my brothers like what's happening in the U.K.

We stay silent as the driver weaves through the heavy London traffic, pulling up to a run-down apartment building. We get out and make our way inside, stepping into the elevator.

It creaks, slowly rising, and my stomach flips. I've had enough old things that take you high into the air for one day. Put me in a fight against the most savage of men, and I'll thrive from the adrenaline alone. But something about heights makes me think about my mortality.

Not that I would advertise my phobia.

The lift opens, and I step out, glancing at the numbers on the wall and quickly finding Ronan's unit. I bang on the door, and Cillian, one of my father's longtime guards appears.

He nods. "Boss." He motions for us to come through.

I pass him, my brothers in tow.

A skinny guy I've never met steps in front of me. He inhales his cigarette and asks with a thick British accent, "Boss?"

I don't have time for this moron or to explain who I am. I sneer, "Learn who ya work for, ya plonker." I shove past the idiot, ignoring the other men counting money, shouting, "Ronan!"

The skinny guy tries again. "Mate, ya can't just—"

"Shut the fuck up," Aidan warns, following me.

"Ronan!" I bellow, turning the corner.

He steps out of a room. "Brody! What are ya..." He scrunches his forehead. "All the O'Connors in this shithole? Never thought I'd see the day."

I point to the room. "We need to talk."

His face falls. He nods and spins, retreating into his office.

My brothers and I step inside and shut the door. Since I'm not into wasting anyone's time, I demand, "My father said the operations are in trouble. What's going on?"

Ronan shifts on his feet and answers, "It's the O'Learys. They took over the horse track a few months ago."

Tynan booms, "How could ya let that happen?"

Ronan's face turns red. "I told your father we were losing ground. It's that damn Alaina's fault."

"Alaina? Jack's daughter?" I question.

Aidan snaps, "You let a woman take the horse track from us?"

Ronan holds his hands in the air. "She's not just any woman. Her three brothers are thick as shit, but not her. She's the brains of the operation. And as ruthless as they come."

"Sounds like ya have a wee little crush," Devon snickers.

I snap my head toward him and glare.

He closes his mouth and stands taller.

Ronan adds, "She turned four of our guys. Men who'd been loyal to the clan their entire lives."

Anger rages through my blood. Nothing is worse than a traitor. I seethe, "Then kill them."

"She already did," Ronan announces.

I arch my eyebrows. It's a surprising move. Enemies normally keep traitors close to them once they flip, utilizing them as much as possible to continue to infiltrate opposing families' operations and reward them for their newfound loyalty.

Ronan crosses his arms over his chest. "The minute she got control of the racetrack, she took them out."

"Serves the traitors right," Aidan snarls.

Ronan steps closer and lowers his voice. "When I say she took them out, I don't mean she shot them in the back of the head."

Now I'm even more curious. I question, "No? What did she do?"

"She had her men beat them while she watched. Then she took them as close to Buckingham Palace as possible before dousing them with kerosene."

Devon whistles, then blurts out, "Bitch put her men in danger just to make a statement?"

Ronan sarcastically laughs.

I demand, "What's so funny?"

Ronan's face falls. In a nonemotional tone, he states, "Alaina O'Leary didn't wipe her hands from it. She saw it through to the end. She's the one who lit the match."

The room turns silent, with all of us processing this new information. I heard stories of Alaina's involvement in her father's business and how most people fear her. But this…

This is another level of barbarity. I don't know any woman who would risk their life to get caught by the metropolitan police. Doing so would result in charges of treason against the royal family and lead to your own demise.

Hell, I don't know many men who would take that risk. It almost makes me respect her.

Almost.

She's an O'Leary.

There will never be respect for any O'Leary.

Ronan opens a file cabinet and thumbs through it. He pulls several large photos out and hands them to me. "That's her."

I glance at a photo of a petite redhead with oversized sunglasses getting into a hired car. I peer closer, but the zoomed-out photo doesn't reveal much, so I flip to the next one.

My chest tightens. Adrenaline races through my veins, igniting a buzz that builds with every passing second.

Alaina O'Leary is a knockout.

I don't know how Ronan got this photo, but she's staring straight at the camera. Her emerald eyes gleam with a confidence and mystery I've never seen on a woman. Her plump lips match her maroon hair, and her skin's so pale it resembles fresh cream. But it's not just her stop-dead-in-your-tracks features. She's got a ruthless expression that would make men cower.

Jesus. What a lass.

She's an O'Leary.

"Let's kill her," Aidan suggests.

"Agreed. Bitch needs to die," Tynan declares.

I tear my eyes off the photo, ordering, "No one touches her."

My brothers' eyes all turn to slits.

"I mean it," I warn.

"She needs to be taken down," Aidan asserts.

In my most authoritative voice, I announce, "She's going to get taken down."

"How?" he questions.

I answer, "By me. So no one but me touches her. Got it?"

Another moment of uncomfortable silence passes. My brothers study me, but I don't flinch.

I repeat, "Do ya understand?"

They finally cave and nod.

Satisfied, I toss the photos on Ronan's desk. "I want the full scoop on her. Where she lives, anything that could be considered a routine, and her bodyguard situation."

Ronan grabs a file and hands it to me. "It's all in here, but she doesn't deviate. The woman is fearless. She doesn't have a bodyguard, just a driver. No one who works for her would dare to cross her."

More shock fills me. It's a security risk to establish routines and stick with them. Yet the most surprising is her bodyguard situation. I state, "Then it shouldn't be hard to find her. What's her daily schedule like?"

"Every morning she runs one of three different routes, depending on the day. It's all in there." He points to the folder, then adds, "She's also at the racetrack three times a day."

"What times?"

"Ten in the morning. Three in the afternoon. And eight at night. She's always there, running the show," Ronan answers.

I step in front of the window and stare at the buildings, trying to push the vision of her eyes out of my head and cool my blood. "And who's in her life? Friends? Boyfriend? Fuck buddy?"

"No one. She keeps to herself."

His answer pleases me, but I can't believe it. She's too much of a stunner for men not to fall all over her. I turn, claiming, "She has to have someone in her life."

In a firm tone, he insists, "She doesn't."

Devon asks, "Brody, what are ya going to do?"

Too many ideas flash through my mind. The most prominent one is how I'll mess with her head and make her regret ever screwing with my family. I spin and vow, "Make Alaina O'Leary wish she was never born."

Her face never fades, torturing my mind. All I can think about is how before I kill her, I'm going to have my fun with her.

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