Page 67 of Mafia Princess

“We don’t have to obey their rules anymore, you know, and I sure as hell am not anyone’s tool or possession to trade for convenience or power anymore.” I look at him frustrated and confused.

He looks taller and gruffer than what I remember. His five o’clock shadow adding to the rough around the edges aura he’s giving off right now.

“I make my own fucking rules and you’re wearing one of them on your skin.” His sardonic smirk possesses his features making my heart stutter.

“I still have a bone to pick with you about that.” I close the distance between us slowly and my two puppies follow me, flanking me.

Our eyes lock in a heated power struggle. Neither of us wanting to back down.

Milan finally lets out a muted sight, “Pick all you want, Principessa. But, we have a meeting with the Russo family and seeing as you’re the head of Capelli, your presence is required.” He tilts his head waiting for me to argue, not realizing I’ve been waiting for this moment.

Time to show these boys who the Queen is around here now.

“I’ll go get changed.” I throw him a snarky look before I head toward the house. “You can come inside. I thought I’d better invite you in, just in case you’re a vampire or some shit.”

The gravel crunches under his footsteps as he follows me inside. Papa would have a freak out if he knew Milan was entering his house. But things need to change. We can’t all be enemies when there’s a bigger and scarier wolf out there.

_ _ _

One hour later, thanks to Milan driving like he’s Michael Schumacher in the Bugatti, we arrive at a neutral meeting place, somewhere on the outskirts of Newhaven. The Bugatti sticking out like a sore thumb in the small back street valet parking lot.

The click-clack of my black Louboutin’s pumps on the concrete ensures everyone knows we’re coming. The noise echoes around the old buildings and I grin, unable to hold it in any longer. This is so absurd but at least I sort of dressed for the part. I pulled on my favorite dark denim skinny jeans and a black bodysuit with the whole back cut out. I pulled my hair tightly into a high ponytail and threw on some lippy. It would have to do for these boys and their important meeting.

“Where have you been hiding these last few months?” I turn my head and glare at Milan’s profile as we walk side by side. My curiosity couldn’t hold herself in any longer and I regret asking him as soon as the question slips from my mouth.

He keeps his cutthroat gaze straight ahead. “I was giving you space. I thought it was for the best.”

“So, why come back now?” I quiz him, probing him for answers.

His arm shoots out and he grabs my elbow, his swift movements making me fall into his chest. “Because torturing you was such a pleasure.” His lips graze my ear as he says the words on a low growl before letting go of my arm and continuing walking.

I scurry after him, wondering what in the fucking world is tormenting him, and follow him into an Italian restaurant. Enzo is already seated at a table, drinking coffee, looking like the typical mobster in his suit.

“If I had known this was a formal affair, I would have dressed the part.” I take a seat next to Enzo and place my legs up on the table, crossing them at the ankles in the most unladylike manner possible. I pull out a Marlboro and light up, just to give them something else to roll their eyes about.

Milan takes a seat next to me, his suit jacket draped over the back of his chair, and he waves to the waitress to get her attention.

“We’re here to discuss this crossover of our families. Seeing as we’re the Boss’s now, I figure we need to keep things civil.” Enzo leans back in his chair. “Luca, come here.”

My eyes light up as he makes his way to the table, dressed in a designer suit and Italian leather shoes. Fuck me, he looks edible. He stops behind me and kisses me on the head before taking the seat next to Enzo.

Enzo’s eyes flick between us and land on me as he speaks. “I will start with giving my blessing to the relationship between you and Luca, should you wish to pursue it. As the Head of my family, I declare Luca is no longer expected to refrain from pursuing a relationship with you as were my father’s orders, not that he seemed to follow them.” Enzo then turns to Milan eyeing him for a moment, clasps his hands in front of him, and slides his eyes back to me. “Are you all willing to share without bloodshed?

“I’m always happy to share.” Luca waggles his eyes.

I sigh, exasperated. “Are we really discussing this like some sort of business transaction?” I drag in a lungful of cigarette and blow the smoke out above my head. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the gesture but this is what’s going down.” I take my feet off and place my elbows on the table, gaining their attention. “We’ll continue as we were. On my terms. There will be no more trading family members for security or ranking. No more sick sacrifices for some fucked up cult. We will each stick to our areas and business will return as normal, with us as the Family Heads. End of discussion.”

I feel Milan shift beside me. He’s silent for someone who usually has so much to say.

“Do you need to add in your two cents, Milan?” I watch him carefully.

“I agree.” He nearly chokes on his words.

“Right. That’s done then. Any other actual important business we need to discuss?” I stand and watch them look amongst themselves. “Good, because this motherfucking Mafia Queen is over and out. Boys, I believe we need a private meeting of our own, if you will” I look challengingly at Luca and Milan before I turn to strut out of the restaurant, with the keys to the Bugatti held firm in my hands.

I hear two lots of heavy footfalls behind me, keeping pace but back a few steps. We exit the building, and I pause, waiting for the valet to bring the Bugatti.

I rake my eyes over the two of them, standing there like two school children about to get in trouble by the headmistress. Milan is trying to cover the anxious void in his eyes with a tight smirk. Luca has his easy-going smile in place but with tightness to the edges of his eyes that belies his true feelings.

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