Page 10 of Satin Empire

Which is beyond fucked, because I swore off guys like him back when I was twelve years old and Mom married Orsino.

I know their type. Swaggering own-the-world, fuck-everyone-but-me dickheads with egos the size of small islands and too many slim-fitted suits. Carlo’s like every other privileged, violent, masochistic mafia fuckwad I’ve met in my years in the Milano Famiglia, and who cares if he’s got a huge cock and a protective attitude? Who cares if I find him sexy and I want his hands on my chest again? None of that matters.

Because he’s too old and he’s a fucking prick.

I sit around in the downstairs lounge in the basement of our massive townhouse watching TV and trying not to think filthy thoughts about my future husband when Noah comes bustling into the room. He hops over the back of the couch and slumps down beside me, pushing back his mop of shaggy brown hair so he can glare at me from under those pretty long lashes. Noah’s my cousin and he’s got that Milano look—very Italian, dark skin, pouty lips—except he’s always been the runt of the family. That’s what he calls himself, anyway. He’s a couple of years older, but he almost fits in less than I do, which is saying a lot.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he says and crosses his arms. “Word is you showed up last night out of nowhere. You didn’t call for a car to pick you up from work.”

I smile sheepishly. “Someone gave me a ride.”

“Was it him?” Noah leans closer, looking excited. He can’t help himself. “Did you find him? When you went dark on me, I sort of assumed you gave up and were too embarrassed to tell me.”

“I met him,” I say, raising my chin, because I’m not the type to walk away from a challenge. “And he’s a huge asshole.”

Noah laughs and it’s not funny at all. “Yeah, that totally tracks. I mean, he’s a Rossi, right? They’re like freaking kings in this city.”

“If he’s a king then it’s good we got rid of the fucking royalty, because I’m serious, that man is a gigantic prick. I’m thinking about reviving the guillotine.”

With a gigantic dick, but I’m not telling anyone the details of last night. That’s between me, Carlo, Helmuth, Gina, the other strippers, and all the pervs in the crowd.

“Wow, look at you, all riled up. What did he say that’s so terrible?”

“He called me immature.”

Noah gawks then bursts out laughing again. I hit him with a pillow a few times, harder than necessary, but he’s really annoying me right now.

“Oh my god. Alana, you are immature! Are you kidding me? You’re the most impulsive person I’ve ever met.”

“I am not. I’m a control freak.”

“Yeah, you’re right, which makes it so much worse when you go off on one of your little tangents. Nobody can make you stop until it’s too late.”

He’s right, but I really don’t like being characterized that way. Because the thing is, I don’t have many opportunities to go off the rails in this family. Mom’s constantly on me about acting proper, and Orsino has his men watching me twenty-four-seven. I can’t even shower without a guard in the other room. The only time I’m alone is when I get to go work at the coffee shop, but that’s only part-time, and Orsino still sends his guys to check up on me sometimes. I had to lie about heading into work last night, otherwise, there’s no way in hell I would’ve managed to get to that strip club without someone following me.

So even if I’m kind of a psycho, it doesn’t matter. Everything I do, everywhere I go, basically everything I say is perfectly scripted by my mother and my stepfather and all the various expectations they pile up on my shoulders.

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I met Carlo and he was a dick. I told him I don’t want to marry him and asked if he could get me out of this.”

“How’d that go for you?”

I give him a hard look. “Not great. Thanks for asking.”

Noah laughs again but there’s not much behind it this time. He shuffles lower on the couch, hugging himself tight, practically disappearing into the hoodie. Where most of the Milano men are big and strapping, he’s a skinny little beanpole with no real muscles to speak of.

“I’m sorry, you know,” he says after a little while. “About the whole thing. And I’m sorry he was an asshole.”

“It’s not your fault.” I shift closer to him, because Noah’s really my only friend in the whole world, except for Niccolo but he’s just seven, and I can’t really afford to lose either of them right now. “When I’m married, will you come visit?”

“Assuming your husband lets me.”

“My husband can fuck off if he thinks he’s going to control me like that.”

Noah rolls his eyes. “I don’t know who I feel worse for, you or Carlo.”

“Probably him,” I mutter, but I’m smiling a little to myself at the thought of making my husband’s life a living hell. And at the image of him getting all snarly and protective and maybe taming me a bit with that massive dick of his.

God, I am so past fucked up. Definitely psycho material.

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