Synopsis
He’s a rock star with deadly secrets.
She’s a mafia princess yearning for freedom.
Nick Tennant, the affable guitar hero of Muse of Darkness, has severed ties with his mobster family a lifetime ago. When he meets dazzling Angela, he knows she’s the only woman he wants by his side for the rest of his life. Too bad her father’s goons want to make sure that’s a very short time.
Angela Silvieri has led a sheltered life. Between boarding schools and her dad’s bodyguards, she’s rarely allowed to venture into the real world. A fundraiser for an honorable cause becomes the perfect ticket out of her gilded prison.
When the bosses of the Irish and the Italian mafia vie to turn their love-at-first-sight story into a tale of murder, Nick and Angela must find a place to hide. How will they manage that if he’s a rockstar?
Can Nick forsake his lifelong dream for a woman he’s just met? Can Angela trust her life into the hands of a man who’s been lying to everyone for years?
One-click this book today to find out.
This reimagining of Romeo & Juliet will make fans of Kylie Scott, Jaine Diamond, and Alexa Padgett swoon. No cheating or cliffhangers.
All other books in the Muse of Darkness Series are available now.
SNEAK PEEK
Chapter 1 – Nick – Unedited version
2022@ Liz Gavin
The twangy notes I wring out of my guitar reverberate in the packed stadium as I play my band’s biggest hit, Angel. Erik belts out the verses he wrote about himself, but that each one of us in Muse of Darkness could claim as their own:
Limelight glow, latex shine
All a show I put out so fine
Everyone fooled, all but me
They cheer as I sing
High notes mask pain too deep
Yet my heart knows, my soul weeps
This sinner can’t be saved
Outcast, shunned, and depraved
In the darkness I’ve embraced
I’ve found purpose and solace
I regret the band’s choice of wardrobe for the millionth time tonight. Leather pants fit the rock stars stereotype, and we all decided to go with them, but they are brutal in hot weather. And these record-high temperatures for late September have made this Boston night as sweltering as a California wildfire. And we’ve been having too much of both this summer. I wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead on my wristband, forgetting the leather won’t absorb the moisture. I grab the hem of my oversized red T-shirt and rub the soft cotton on my face, dampening the printed white flag, the logo of my favorite charity. Still, some droplets trickle down my nose and cloud my vision. Despite the blur, I glance around the stage at my band mates and pride swells my chest. We’ve nailed it, delivering another well-rounded performance.
As if reading my mind, Wes offers me a wide grin as he stands up and clenches the cymbals at the end of what is the last song of our encore. His black sleeveless top clings to his torso. His light brown hair has darkened a few shades. I bounce my stare to Logan in time to catch him handing his bass to a roadie before facing the crowd again as they cheer. His new, short haircut is perfect for tonight’s weather, but the shirt he’s wearing has turned from gray to charcoal in many spots. Erik stands at the edge of the stage, shirtless, arms outstretched as if to embrace all our fans. He throws his head back over his shoulders, a wide smile spreads his lips. I thank our stars he’s learned to stick to this kind of high as opposed to the chemically induced ones he used to indulge in. We all paid the price for his vices, but that’s a story for another day. I give the yellow guitar to my assistant and accept a bottle of water she offers me. I guzzle on most of the content and squeeze the rest over my head. I smile when the crowd roars as I shake my head and splash water on the other members of Muse of Darkness.
Wes has left his throne behind the drum set and joined me, Logan, and Erik in the middle of the stage. He throws the sticks up in the air for a couple of lucky people in the general admission area to grab. The four of us bow and wave at the thunderous crowd for a couple of minutes, one of my favorite things about live performances. This electrifying connection feeds my soul.
Erik shouts into the mic, “Good night, Boston.”
And after a few more bows and cheers we stalk out of the stage in a single file. Reaching the wings, I witness Maria greet Wes with a chaste kiss. Logan pulls Ally into a rib-breaking hug and devours her lips. Watching my band mates with their ladies lately has become such sweet sorrow for me. Although I’m genuinely thrilled for their happily-ever-afters, their bliss reminds me of what I’ve been missing out.
Even Erik, who wrote the lyrics to Angel for a woman he believed existed only in his imagination, has gotten his second chance. Granted, he blew it, but I’m confident he’ll win Christine back once he pulls his head out of his ass.
Logan and Wes drape their arms around their significant others’ shoulders and we all high-five.
“Great job, guys,” Erik sums up our feelings in a raspier than usual voice.
“Absolutely,” Wes agrees.
“You bet,” Logan pulls Erik into a one-arm embrace.
Apparently, he doesn’t want to be apart from his girlfriend for even a second.
For reasons I don’t want to examine right now, that notion burns a hole in my chest, and I take in a sharp breath to make the pain go away.
It doesn’t.
Best I take a hike, then.
“See y’all at the hotel,” I announce as I begin to walk toward the exit door instead of our dressing rooms.
“Hey, what’s the rush?” Kim Peltier, our manager, calls after me.
With a hand pressing down the bar to unlock the door, I reply over my shoulder, “This fucking heat is killing me. I need a shower.”
I hear muffled sounds as her answer gets cut off by the door closing behind me. The security team holds the fans away, creating a narrow patch on the sidewalk from the door to the curb. At least a dozen armored SUVs form a line, the first one has its sliding door open, and the driver keeps the car ready for departure with the engine running.
Plopping myself on the leather seat, I make eye contact through the rearview mirror and close the door. “Hey, Frank. Can you take me to the hotel?”
He revs up the engine before answering, “On it, sir.”
As he peels off toward the parking lot exit and merges into traffic, I run out of things to distract me. Through the tinted windows, the endless cars and old buildings lining the streets fade to nothing, unable to hold my interest.
My mind returns to the painful subject I was trying to flee. With a deep sigh, I close my eyes and lean against the headrest. At twenty-nine, I’m starting to wonder when I’ll finally find true love. Will I ever though? After all, how can I long for something pure and truthful when I haven’t been honest with my best friends for over a decade. Not for the first time, I consider that my recent discomfort around my band mates has a lot to do with the secrets I’ve been keeping from them. It has very little to do with their newfound happiness.
I huff. Being in Boston also doesn’t help lighten my mood. I sit up straight, open my eyes, and shake my head. There’s nothing a long, rough fuck won’t get out of my system. I’ll take that shower I mentioned to Kim, dress up in my favorite suit, and hit a little kinky club I know in town. It won’t be hard to find a willing sub to help me scratch that itch.
“That sounds like a great plan,” I mutter under my breath.
My cock’s lack of enthusiasm must be due to the heat wave.
Right?
* * *
After turning off the water, I slide the glass door open, and step out of the shower stall. Steam rises from the drops as they splash the marble floor and stain the rug as I grab a terry-cloth robe from a hook on the wall. The logo of the hotel embroidered in a subdued golden hue makes an elegant contrast with the white cotton of the robe.
Whistling, I check the mirror and finger comb the wet, short strands of red hair that have fallen over my forehead. I wink and click my tongue at my reflection, but my over-the-top attempt at feeling cheerful begins to weigh on me.
“What the fuck’s wrong with me tonight?” I mumble as I leave the bathroom for the bedroom.
“Only tonight?” Dave Boyle’s rough baritone makes me jump out of my skin.
“What the fuck?” I yell as I meet his deep-set green eyes, uncannily identical to mine. For a second, surprise throws me for a loop, and I can’t find words to express my rage. When I do, I spew, “How the hell did you get inside my hotel suite? What the fuck are you doing here?”
Sitting on an armchair on the corner, he crosses his long legs, making the leather of his Italian shoes glow under the light. “Owning the joint gives me free access to all the places I want to go, no questions asked.”
Fuck! I didn’t know that the Boyle family had branched into the hospitality business.
Fuming, I cover the ten feet to the chair, dig my fists into my hips, and scowl at him. I wish I were at least a foot taller so I could tower over him, but that’s never going to happen. As a kid, whenever Dave pinned me down to use me as a punching bag, I used to pray for that extra height. God didn’t listen to me then, nor since.
“That only answers one question,” I growl.
In a collected tone, Dave replies, “When I found out your band was playing in town, I decided to come pay a visit. After all, I haven’t seen you in over a year since Mom’s funeral.”
The memory hits me in the pit of my stomach with the power of an oversize semi barreling down a freeway. I blink a couple of times to get rid of the image of our mother lying in a casket as the priest led the prayers in the family’s favorite church.
I clench my teeth. “I didn’t want anything to do with the lot of you, then. I still don’t now.”
Dave takes a deep breath, drops his gaze to his finger as it draws lazy patterns on the armrest of the overstuffed chair. His calm exterior might trick others into thinking he’s a reasonable businessman. But I know my older brother is a dangerous son of a bitch. Even when he tries to hide it under a five-thousand-dollar gray suit, white shirt, and black tie.
His stare meets mine again and the flash of pain I see in it steals my breath away. I resist the temptation of underestimating Dave or his intentions. He always has a hidden agenda behind his actions that will benefit him and lead others into trouble. Most of the time, that means legal trouble.
“Dad’s not well,” he murmurs. “He hasn’t been himself since mom got diagnosed with brain cancer. In that sense, it was a blessing the illness took her so quickly.” He pauses and searches my eyes.
I sink my nails into my palms, shove my hands inside the front pockets of the robe, and keep my emotions locked inside my chest.
He goes on. “After she passed, he rarely leaves the house. He practically doesn’t care for the family business anymore.”
I scoff. “That’s one way of calling it.”
A cloud darkens Dave’s features, and he shows his true colors when he barks, “A business that put food in your stomach and clothes on your back. Never forget that.”
Bile scorches my guts. “I wish I could.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezes his eyes shut, and hangs his head for a beat. Recovering his composure, he faces me again. “Look, I didn’t come here to argue with you. We’ll never agree on this issue.”
“Damn right we won’t,” I snarl.
He continues as if I haven’t opened my mouth. “The truth is Dad’s given up. He doesn’t want to go on without Mom. You remember how they were, right?”
I nod without a word. Inside, my heart crumbles into a million pieces. Mom and Dad never missed an opportunity to show their love for one another. When I got old enough to understand who my father really was, I confronted her. I asked Mom how a woman so smart and sensitive like her could love a monster like my father. After all, she was the fucking chair of the Department of Psychology in goddamned Harvard. She told me the heart has a logic of its own. Unable to support her decision, I left home, taking just her maiden name with me. I returned only to bury her.
When I don’t answer his question, Dave suggests, “I don’t believe he’s got much time. I think you should visit, talk to him while you can.”
I shake my head. “No way. I cut ties with him fourteen years ago because I didn’t want to have anything to do with his business.” I spit the last word. “Which now I guess is yours.”
Dave doesn’t confirm my assumption. He doesn’t deny it either. He merely holds my stare for a long moment.
“Blood is thicker than anything else,” he finally murmurs. “Family is forever. You don’t know when you’ll need yours.”
I laugh out loud without an ounce of humor. “Dad’s side of the family? Never. I’d rather keep my distance from him and his mafia organization. You know, the one you call family business?” I point to the door. “Now get the hell out of my life.”
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Read Chapter 2 here – Chapter 2.
All books in the Muse of Darkness Series are available now.