I Blame King Vaas for Everything Or: The Book That Made Me Fall in Love With Mafia Romance

I blame KING for everything.

And yes, I mean King Vaas.

Because before this man came along, I was a reasonable person.

I had hobbies.

I was emotionally stable.

I was reading Bridgerton like a normal woman with access to streaming services and snacks.

Then I got on that old clock app — you know the one — and stumbled into this series.

I read Nero first and had a good time. The banter between Nero and King was hilarious. Nero was the devil himself in expensive clothes, and King was over there giving madman-with-a-finance-degree energy.

So naturally?

I read KING next.

And baby.

That’s when the damage was done.

That’s when I knew mafia romance was for me.

Because this book didn’t just give me a book boyfriend.

It gave me a genre problem.

The Man Was Richer Than Royalty and Still Secretly Lonely

Let’s start there.

Because underneath all the crazy was devotion.

King Vaas came from a good family.

Money.

Privilege.

Stability.

Education.

Options.

This man went to college. He was basically a finance genius. He had the kind of wealth people spend their entire lives trying to touch.

And despite all that?

He was secretly sad.

That line did something to me.

Because King wasn’t lonely because he had nothing.

He had everything.

Family.
Friends.
Money.
Power.
A mansion.
A real estate portfolio that probably needed its own zip code.

But he didn’t have the one thing that mattered.

Connection.

Here is this larger-than-life, untouchable, richer-than-royalty, dangerous man sitting in his big old mansion quietly admitting he is secretly sad.

And I was like:

Oh.

So we’re doing emotional damage with crown molding now?

Got it.

Now Let Me Set the Scene Because This Book Is Deliciously Ridiculous

Savannah is an artist.

She meets a man at her art show.

He buys a painting.

They go on two dates.

Simple enough, right?

Wrong.

Because nothing in this book believes in minding its business.

Savannah makes lasagna for Mandy, the gallery owner, because Mandy had back surgery. Savannah and Lee — also known as Leland, also known as a cheating idiot with a sex pad — go to Mandy’s house.

And who is there?

King Vaas.

In all his beautiful, unhinged glory.

With his sister Aspen.

Now what Savannah does not know is Lee is actually Leland, Aspen’s husband.

Yes.

The math is already terrible.

There’s an argument.

Leland blames Aspen for his cheating because apparently accountability was not available in his zip code.

Aspen shoulder-checks Savannah on the way out like this is an elementary school hallway at 3 o’clock.

The lasagna drops.

The dish breaks.

Dinner is ruined.

And honestly?

That lasagna deserved better.

Savannah decides she’s going to break things off with Lee anyway, so she goes to his apartment to get her keys because Lee drove.

And what does she walk in on?

King Vaas putting a hole in Leland’s forehead.

Baby.

Before that man’s body could even get cold, Savannah was a kidnapping victim.

That is what I mean when I say this book changed me.

By the time King left Leland’s raggedy apartment and got Savannah to his mansion, he had committed approximately 42 felonies.

And I was locked in.

King Vaas Was Not Courting. He Was Committing Crimes With Intent.

Savannah takes off running.

King chases her.

Now Savannah is not a tiny little thing.

Savannah is a curvy girl.

And King picks her up, carries her to his Suburban, and takes her home like this is just a regular Tuesday in the criminal underworld.

Then he threatens everybody.

EMS workers.

Police.

Anybody who may attempt to intervene.

Sir.

This is not romance.

This is a federal investigation with cheekbones.

But this is mafia romance, so obviously we keep reading.

They get to King’s mansion and King decides the best way to handle this situation is marriage.

Not therapy.

Not legal counsel.

Not even a conversation.

Marriage.

And because this man is also a skilled hacker — because apparently being rich, dangerous, beautiful, and insane wasn’t enough — he goes through Savannah’s entire life and creates what I can only describe as a murder PowerPoint.

A whole slideshow of all the ways he could kill everybody in her family if she refuses to marry him.

Romantic?

No.

Unhinged?

Absolutely.

Did I keep reading?

Like rent was due.

And who performs the ceremony?

Nero.

His best friend.

The devil himself.

Ordained online because King had him ordained online.

You cannot make this mess up.

King Is a Madman. Nero Is the Devil. And I Had a Wonderful Time.

Let me explain something.

If King is a madman, Nero is the devil with a marriage license.

Their banter is one of the funniest parts of the series.

These are grown criminal men running around acting like Animal from the Muppets with a pew pew.

King is knocking off unfaithful brother-in-laws like it’s Taco Tuesday.

Nero is standing nearby with chaos in his eyes and paperwork from an online ordination site.

And somehow?

It works.

Because the book knows it is ridiculous.

It leans into the madness.

It commits to the bit.

King even calls himself a madman.

And honestly?

I respect self-awareness.

Any character who knows he is unhinged and still says, “Yes, and?” is probably going to get my attention.

King was not pretending to be normal.

He knew he was beyond crazy.

And I fell felony-first.

Fit me for a straight jacket too.

But Here’s Why King Actually Worked

The kidnapping was insane.

The murder was insane.

The forced marriage was insane.

The murder PowerPoint?

Clinically unserious.

But underneath all of that was something deeper.

King could kidnap Savannah.

He could force the marriage.

He could threaten everybody around her.

But he could not force her to love him.

That man had to learn how to be a husband.

He had to learn how to be vulnerable.

He had to learn how to let somebody see him.

And that is where the book got me.

Because King wasn’t just obsessed with Savannah.

He saw her.

He saw the artist.

He saw the joy she put into the world.

He saw the thing her own family ignored.

And then he built her an art studio.

Not some little corner with a folding table and a prayer.

A real art studio.

He considered what she would need and made space for her creativity like it mattered.

Because it did matter.

To him.

That is where the mafia nonsense becomes something else.

That is where the ridiculous package starts carrying an emotional truth.

The Art Show Scene? Jail.

There is a scene where King has everybody show up at Savannah’s art show.

And she is shocked because nobody in her life ever really showed up for her.

Not her parents.

Not her cousins.

Nobody.

But King does.

Nero and his wife show up.

People show up because King told them to.

Savannah asks why he told so many people.

And King basically says:

Because I’m proud of you.

Because the world needs your art.

Because if nobody ever told you that before, it was not because you were not good enough.

It was because they were not.

Baby.

Put me down.

That line grabbed me by the throat.

Because that is what these books do when they work.

They take someone who has been ignored, dismissed, abandoned, underestimated, or made to feel small, and they give them someone who says:

No.

I see you.

Correctly.

That is the fantasy.

Not the murder.

Not the money.

Not the mansion.

Not the Suburban kidnapping package.

The fantasy is being seen.

Being chosen.

Being loved on purpose.

And Then This Man Apologized Like He Had Sense

Toward the end, King says he is sorry.

Not fake sorry.

Not “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

Not “I had a difficult childhood, so here we are.”

No.

He says he is sorry he pushed her away.

Sorry he failed her.

And then he promises he will never fail her again as long as there is breath in his body.

Now let me ask the congregation something.

If a big, strong, scary, wealthy, morally black madman can be vulnerable, accountable, and emotionally honest…

What exactly is wrong with all the other men in the world?

Because we are out here in real life trying to find a man with half a job, more than one pair of underwear, and two nickels to rub together.

Meanwhile, fictional felon King Vaas is building art studios, apologizing with his whole chest, and emotionally validating wounds.

Do you see the problem?

Because I see the problem.

And his name is not King Vaas.

Why Mafia Romance Works for Me

Now listen.

These books are not Shakespeare.

They are not a goat yoga session.

They are pure, unadulterated ridiculousness at the highest level.

And that is part of the fun.

Mafia romance has rules.

Absurd rules.

Illegal rules.

Morally questionable rules.

But rules.

There needs to be:

– arranged or forced marriage
– a hierarchy
– family loyalty
– danger
– obsession
– possession
– a real estate portfolio that puts Monopoly to shame
– enemies with poor survival instincts
– and a man who falls in love faster than Jesus rose from the dead

Three to five business days.

That is the timeline.

But when it works, mafia romance is not really about crime.

It is about connection.

Devotion.

Loyalty.

Being protected.

Being accepted.

Being wanted exactly as you are.

Broken.

Sad.

Lonely.

Angry.

Curvy.

Creative.

Difficult.

Unhealed.

Still worthy.

That is why these stories matter to me.

Because in a world where people are increasingly disconnected from each other, books like this make you feel connected again.

They make you want to talk to somebody.

Laugh with somebody.

Send quotes.

Scream in the group chat.

Ask, “Girl, did you read this foolishness?”

And sometimes that is exactly what you need.

King Was My Gateway Drug

King Vaas altered my brain chemistry.

I do not say that lightly.

This one book had me reading every mafia romance that wasn’t nailed down.

I was reading these books faster than Grant went through Richmond, without an ounce of shame.

And Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, I will keep reading them.

Because they gave me something back.

Reading gave me my creativity back.

It gave me my imagination back.

I could see stories in my head again like movies.

I do not even watch much TV anymore.

I get lost in books now.

And it started here.

With this madman.

This lonely, dangerous, dramatic, wealthy criminal who kidnapped a curvy artist from a murder scene and somehow became the measuring stick.

King became the standard.

For mafia structure.

For obsession.

For groveling.

For emotional vulnerability.

For devotion.

For how a man in these books is supposed to treat a woman once he gets his head out of his own criminal behind.

He is always in my top five.

Actually?

He is number one.

Because before 13Pages had a voice, King helped me understand what I was looking for in these stories.

Not perfection.

Not realism.

Absolutely not legal behavior.

I was looking for connection.

The Real Fantasy

Mafia romance is about being loved on purpose.

About devotion and loyalty and connection wrapped up in a murderous, felonious, wealthy, dangerous, unhinged package.

That is what it is.

The stakes are always high.

People are committing five felonies per page.

Men are running around with pew pews and emotional damage.

Somebody is always getting kidnapped, married, threatened, or moved into a mansion against their better judgment.

And yes, it is absurd.

That is the point.

But the best ones?

The best ones understand that underneath all the chaos is a very simple fantasy:

Someone sees you.

Someone chooses you.

Someone accepts you.

Someone protects your joy.

Someone says:

You do not have to earn love here.

You do not have to be smaller here.

You do not have to be perfect here.

You can be exactly who you are.

And I will love you anyway.

That is why King worked.

Savannah accepted King as the madman he was.

And King accepted Savannah as the artist, the fighter, the curvy girl, the scared woman, the brave woman, the woman who kept trying to escape like Houdini in a sundress.

They saw each other.

And that is the connection he always needed.

Final Verdict

So yes.

I blame King Vaas.

I blame him for the mafia romance spiral.

I blame him for the obsession with morally black men who somehow understand emotional accountability better than men with LinkedIn profiles.

I blame him for making me believe a forced marriage can come with an art studio, a grovel, and excellent banter.

I blame him for turning me into the kind of reader who can say:

“This man committed 42 felonies between the apartment and the mansion.”

and follow it immediately with:

“But did he support her dreams?”

Because that is where we are now.

This is who I have become.

And honestly?

I accept it.

King Vaas was not the problem.

He was the gateway drug.

Signature Outro

This book had:

– murder
– kidnapping
– forced marriage
– online ordination
– a cane corso named Duke
– a murder PowerPoint
– Irish mafia-adjacent nonsense
– emotional vulnerability
– an art studio
– and a man richer than royalty who was secretly sad

So yes.

I fell felony-first.

And I regret nothing.