My rivals are Dons; I am a King.

Three brides have been chosen for my pleasure and displeasure. One of them will become a King’s consort; the others will be discarded.

Until my decision is made, I get to feast on them all.

They are mine.

After the demise of my uncle, the O’Sullivan family has yet to choose the new Don. With two brothers and a vengeful, unhinged cousin also vying for the position, tension is rising in an already dangerous business.

Especially since no one knows that I’m responsible for my uncle’s disappearance.

Enter the Hands of Kings, a global cult with the ability to replace CEOs, Presidents, and Popes. And their leader, Victor, has his eye on me.

Few men were made to be Kings and Victor has plans for me, plans that do not require my approval.

But an unseen enemy is hiding and they know my secrets. They are manipulating the people around me with the intention of taking my crown.

A King is not so easily dethroned, especially when threats are made toward me and mine.

No one shall have my brides.

When Kings Rise is a dark mafia romance, intensified by the presence of a cult, with mature themes, mature language, and very mature steam.

Chapter One

Diarmuid

Hands of the Kings Edict One

The Hand of Kings is not a political movement, rebellion, or
cult. It is a natural order of life. Just as the moon and sun command the
heavens, the Kings command the Earth.

THERE IS ALWAYS a sense of peace in chaos.

Quiet chaos, that’s what I walk into in the grand ballroom
on the top floor of the mansion. A part of me wished this could be done in my
home, but that would be unheard of. The showing of the brides was always at the
Hand of the Kings’ mansion.

The long red velvet curtains have been drawn. The gold
weights that keep the curtains in place, still shifting along the oak flooring
inside their lining, tell me they have only recently been pulled to plunge the
room into a romantic darkness.

Nonsense really.

The candles along the walls have been lit—hundreds of them—more nonsense, but this is
what the arriving brides are accustomed to— or so I’ve heard. A
room shimmering in romance, but their shaking figures scream anything but that.

That is their way, their duty. I run my thumb along my lip
as I think about our traditions. Every King is given three candidates who must
show obedience at all times. How many kings are there? That I’m not sure of.

But right now, my three brides are obedient.

All their gazes are downcast, which is what is expected.
They will only look at me when I request it. I take my time glancing at the
portraits of all the past leaders that 
hang along the walls. Their eyes follow my every move. They don’t
intimidate me; they are the past, and I am the future.

The final three pictures, however, do give me pause. The
first is Andrew O’Sullivan, who was the head of the family until his recent
disappearance. A twinge of a smile dances along my lips, but I suppress it as I
stop in front of the final two paintings. One is of Richard O’Sullivan, my
father, whom everyone assumed would one day take over.

I chuckle. "You
know what they say about assuming things." Beside him is my
mother, Elise O’Sullivan.

I stare at her face, the steel gray eyes that I inherited
from her. All else I received from her was hate. Hate for how she allowed men
to take me, shape me, and damage me. She never protected me. No one did. But I
would have expected some form of protection from her as my mother.

I place my hands behind my back and walk past the row of
servants. Seven, to be exact. Once I reach the final one, the first turns, and
the rest fall into line, leaving the room. Leaving me alone with my prizes.
They are not just servants; each is chosen carefully and skilled in a variety
of ways to take a life. Working in the mansion of the “Hands of the Kings”
requires knowledge of how to kill—wolves in sheep's clothing.

I continue my walk to the waiting brides.

One of them I will have to marry, but until that moment, I
get to play, and like my brothers would admit, I don’t play nicely. I keep
walking the distance until I’m in front of the three naked ladies. The one in
the center has her hands folded across her private area. Like she has any right
to shield herself from me. These women have been bred for this, so she should
know better.

“Place your hands at your sides.” Her response is instant,
and her dusky Mediterranean skin flows along her graceful arms that hang
loosely, fingertips grazing her thighs. “It’s not a good sign when you have to
be corrected already.” I let out a bored sigh, and she flicks a glance up at me
before focusing on the floor at her bare feet. She may be the troublesome one.

The troublemaker.

I hide a grin.

“Troublemaker, what is your name?” She glances up.

“Selene.” Her voice is soft. Her eyes aren’t the only part
of her that is hostile. The shape of her shoulders and how they slouch forward
like she can shield herself from my gaze isn’t lost on me.

“I think I prefer Troublemaker,” I say.

She holds my gaze for a beat more before diverting her
attention to her toes. I follow her line of vision, and her toes tense along
the hard oak flooring. This room is accustomed to polished shoes and dancing
heels, not bare feet. She shivers, and I wonder if it is the cold or fear. Long
dark brown hair is neatly arranged on top of her head. Pinned back almost
severely. Nothing can shield her face from me.

Fires have been lit in the room, all three send out a soft
wave of heat. One reaches the side of my face and I almost want to bat it away.
I prefer no fires in my own private rooms. But this isn’t my home, so I don’t
have a say.

I move on to the next girl. She reminds me of a statue with
how she holds herself so still. Her fingers seem to move involuntarily along
her side. Her nerves are getting the best of her. I pass her and stop at the
final bride.

She looks at me directly. “What is your full name?” I ask.

“Amira Reardon.” She
has soft brown eyes and an oval, innocent-looking face. She won’t be very
innocent when I’m finished with her. Her complexion is pale, yet under the glow
of the light, it appears slightly tanned. Once she says her name, she averts
her gaze, but not before I catch something dark and intelligent hiding behind
her eyes.

My darkness
recognizes something inside her. Damage.

I go back two steps
and stand in front of the woman who is first. She hasn’t moved a muscle. She
reminds me of a beautiful statue. All angles and posture. She has an athletic
structure. Her long blonde hair hangs loosely around her shoulders. “Look at me,”
I say.

She keeps her gaze
downcast, but she squeezes her thighs together. I reach in and touch her chin,
tilting her face toward me until I’m looking into brown eyes.

“You must be Niamh Connolly. Ms. Connolly, my name is
Diarmuid O’Sullivan, and it would be wise to listen to me when I give you a
command.”

I release her chin
and walk in front of the three of them, taking in their beautiful bodies and
faces. These are the brides chosen for me by Victor Madigan and Wolf
O’Sullivan. I will get to know all of them, and in the end, I will only choose
one. They were selected very carefully. I don’t particularly like the idea of
Victor or Wolf selecting anything for me. I can’t stand either of them. But
it’s our hierarchy, and Victor is the head of the Hand of Kings, so he isn’t
someone I can ever question. Even if I was dissatisfied with his choice.

I’m not. All three
are stunning, perfect…hopefully, they are obedient, too.

I return to the troublemaker, Selene. “Look at me,” I
command. She does, but there is no longer a fire in her gaze. She has tucked
that away. She learns quickly. Now, she wears a blank look on her face, like
she is facing her execution. I take in her beauty, allowing myself as much time
as I wish to study her body before bringing my attention back to her hair.

“Let your hair down.”

There is a flash of fear, but Selene raises her hands and
removes each pin. One pings along the oak flooring. The noise has Amira
glancing in our direction. When I catch her eye, she quickly looks away.

Selene holds all the pins in her hands, and I watch her
beauty transform and grow as silky, wavy brown hair cascades down her back.

“I bet that feels better?” I ask.

She gives a quick nod of her head, but her pulse flickers
wildly along her neck.

I’m ready to move on but the fire in her gaze grows again. I
don’t like fire. I want to extinguish it. Fire is uncontrollable, and to
survive in our world you need control. My bride will need control. This lesson
will anger Selene, I’m sure, but in time will teach her a lesson.

“Touch yourself,” I command.

She uses the hand that is fisted with pins and slides her
knuckles along her private area. “Use your other hand,” I order.

She swallows and closes her eyes.

“Keep looking at me while you touch yourself, Selene.”

Her eyelids flutter open, and her free hand runs along her
mound. My cock grows instantly. I close the distance between us and grip her
hand. With my other one, I grab her thigh, and she spreads her legs, giving
both our hands access. I hold only one of her fingers and push it inside her
opening. She inhales sharply. I let the tip of my finger follow hers, and the
moisture that greets me makes me want to take more. To explore the warmth that
tightens around my finger. I pull out and sink back in while looking into her
eyes. Her cheeks are tinged with pink, but her gaze is steady. Control. That’s
exactly what I want to see. I withdraw. She doesn’t. She’s smart.

“Keep going, Selene,” I order, and she takes her finger out
before pushing it back in.

“Amira,” I say. Her childlike features remind me of a
porcelain doll. She doesn’t belong here, maybe on a shelf in a child’s room. A
part of me can’t wait to corrupt her, yet that darkness that I saw earlier is
there and makes me curious about her. “Watch Selene.” Amira does, and I stop in
front of Niamh.

“Do you want to join Selene?” I ask.

I like watching her brown eyes swirl with fear. “Do… I have
to?” She has a stammer; it’s a flaw, but I like flaws.

I run my thumb along my lip. “You answered a question with a
question,” I bite back.

She moves instantly, and I take in her toned oval ass. She
must be athletic. I wonder what sports she favors. She moves quickly to Selene
but pauses in front of her. Selene is making great work of stimulating herself.
If I were to guess, I’d say she was enjoying it.

Niamh peeks at me before she reaches out with a shaky hand
and touches Selene's breast. She squeezes it, showing she has never touched a
breast before.

I walk back to them, and they both pause. My gaze darkens,
and they continue the show for me.

I grip Selene’s free breasts at the base and drag my hand
upwards, tightening until I reach the nipple and squeeze. Selene hisses with
pleasure.

“Just like that, Niamh.”

Niamh copies me, and I can already tell she is going to be a
very good student. I reach down and cover Selene’s hand. Pulling her finger out
of her opening, they are soaking, and I push her wet finger against her swollen
bud. I keep my hand over hers as I circle her sensitive area while Niamh
repeats the action on Selene’s breasts.

I look at Amira, who’s watching. Her mouth forms a small oh. She catches me looking at her, and
it’s clear in her gaze that she wants to be part of this, but for that reason,
I don’t invite her. I don’t stop until Selene shudders on her hand and her
orgasm ceases.

I step back and give a short clap.

“Very well done, Selene; maybe you aren‘t a troublemaker
after all.” My cock bulges against my trousers.

Maybe Amira could have her first lesson in pleasing me. As I
take a step toward her, my phone rings. I scoop it out of my pocket and turn my
back on my three brides.

It’s Wolf. I assume he’s ringing to see what I think of his
selection.

“I can’t fucking believe it.” That’s Wolf’s opening line.

I step toward the red velvet curtains.

“I don’t know who would do this.” He sounds upset. Almost
distraught.

I don’t care. I like hearing him this distraught.

“They found my father, Diarmuid. He’s dead.”

I knew this moment would arrive. “Are you sure?” I ask.

“What?”

“Are you sure he’s dead? Did you see his body?” I ask.

“Yes, he was pulled out of a shallow grave. Yes, he’s very
fucking dead,” Wolf snaps.

I turn to my three brides, who are back in formation. Selene
looks flushed. Perfect in the light.

I hadn’t time to dig any deeper, but a shallow grave is all
that Andrew O’Sullivan deserved.