Page 58 of Mafia Princess

“Something like that.” I stand there staring at him, waiting for him to blow his shit, but he walks to me and starts to peel the dressings off my nipples. I glance down once he’s removed them and the aftermath isn’t even noticeable. Relief washes over me knowing it won’t be as in your face as I first thought.

“Where was my invite?” He winks at me, throwing the dressings onto the bathroom counter.

“I didn’t…,” I start to explain, but Luca places his finger over my mouth to hush me.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to explain. I’m more than happy to share. There’s plenty of you to go around.” He grips my ass cheeks in his palms and pulls me into him, squeezing them hard and letting go of me just as quickly. “Now hurry up and get your ass in the tub.” He slaps my ass cheek before climbing into the hot water.

I slowly peel off the dressing on my ribs and discard it onto the counter. The pain is almost unbearable and I twist to see the damage. “Fucking asshole!” I grunt as I run my finger over the wound.

“What now?” Luca wipes the water from his eyes.

“This.” I turn and watch Luca’s eyes change to a deep shade of rage.

“He fucking branded you? How the fuck did you not know?” He leaps out of the tub and is in my face in a split second.

“I’m going to fucking murder him. Who the fuck does shit like this?” I screech, my voice turning an unusual octave too high. I twist to get a better look, and staring back at me is the fucking D’Amico coat of arms, branded into my skin.

“How the fuck did you not realize he was singing your skin?” Luca’s nostrils flare, his anger rolling and coiling through him in waves.

Glancing up at him, I almost cower at his rage, and I place my hand on his arm to settle him before he tries to hunt Milan down and murder him. “I’d passed out. He tortured me for murdering his dad’s consigliere.” I squeeze his arm to get him to listen to me.

“He fucking tortured you.” His arms go flying up, nearly knocking over all the cologne and shit on the bathroom counter. His muscles ripple under his tattoos as he paces the bathroom floor.

I stand there and watch him, my hand on my hip, waiting for him to calm his shit. This is my problem, my fucking skin that has been branded, and my issue to deal with. He stops after a few minutes and turns to look at me.

“Are you done?” I cock an eyebrow and smile at his overprotectiveness.

“I haven’t even fucking started.” His nostrils flare, the irritation in his voice filling the void between us.

“I’ll deal with this, don’t you fucking worry about that. But, I need to forget it for tonight. I need a normal night before the shitstorm hits this weekend,” I whisper, hoping he understands.

“What shitstorm?” His eyebrows furrow.

“It’s my fucking wedding day.” I push past him and climb into the tub, the warm bubbles instantly soothing my aching joints. “I’m not talking about it tonight. Can we just pretend it’s not happening?” I throw him a glare.

He pauses, wanting to spit his words at me, but I hold my hand up, and in the shitty fucking circumstances, he understands and doesn’t say another word about it all night.

TWENTY

Milan

Disappointment clouds my judgment as I sit in my local café drinking my morning espresso before meetings with my father. After I cleaned her up and attended to her wounds, I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her peaceful face for over an hour. Watching the even rise and fall of her chest as her soft breaths fanned out of her parted lips. I thought I could break her. I thought I could make her cave and tell me her secrets.

Boy was I wrong.

Maya Capelli is stronger than I give her credit for. She most definitely is not all bark and no bite. I’ll be sure to remember that next time I decide to stick my hand near her mouth. I run my finger over the bite mark she left on me last night and my dark thoughts return to her, passed out in my clutches. The mental image makes my dick twitch in my pants.

I take my espresso and swirl it around, throwing it back, trying to tame my thoughts. My phone screen lights up and I glance at it. I was wondering how long it would take her to message me.

Maya: Hello dear fiancé. You’re fucking dead.

Me: Oh sweetheart. The lashings of the tongue don’t scare me.

Maya: See you at the altar.

Me: Checkmate

I grin at the messages, her rage coming in strong and hard. A rage I can match and conquer, to reveal the reasoning behind her murderous revenge. Her appetite for revenge is so deeply rooted, she has forgotten all her morals in the process. Lucky I don’t care for morals, but I do care for the truth, and I will find out the truth behind her need to slaughter my men.

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