Page 1 of Mafia Princess

ONE

Maya

The smack of a leather glove vibrates through my skull, a flare of pain spreading across my cheekbone and nose, making me blink rapidly to clear the sting. I take a step back and balance on the balls of my feet to realign my positioning, ready for this dumb barbie to try to get a hit in again. The stench of sweat mixed with old leather saturates the dank gym, the distinct scent lingers on your skin for hours. The atmosphere is electric, the crowd is pumped and their hollers and shouts all blend to form a low hum in the back of my mind.

My sweat beads on my forehead and I feel it run into my eyes, the burning barely registering from the pain in my ribs, which are no doubt fractured. Fucking bitch. My left eye is slowly swelling, and I can feel the thump of my pulse vibrating through my cheek and eyelid, thanks to the jab I let slide.

“End her!” a loud voice screeches from my left, and I watch my opponent step forward, her bloodied face obviously not enough to make her quit. I have no idea how she is still standing, tough little bitch.

“Fucking end her!” the voice booms, and I take that as my cue and lunge forward, catching my opponent off guard. My gloved fist flies at her face and I angle it upwards, connecting with her pretty little fake nose. The loud crack echoes through me, the noise sending victorious shivers down my spine. I watch as her eyes roll back, and she falls to the floor in a bloodied and battered heap.

A smile flickers across my face as I watch her crumpled body lay dead still.

Thanks to years of training in our family’s gym, ever since that fucked up night I’d rather forget, my papa doesn’t believe in hiding me away from the world and his enemies by locking me in our palatial gated estate. He believes I should be well trained in the art of Muay-Thai, kickboxing and weaponry and firearms. It is only here, in these underground fighting rings, that I get to use my skills.

“Fuck, Maya.” A hand grips my arm and drags me away from my easy victory.

I twist to see my cousin, Tristan. His face is alarmed. I scan the area beyond the fighting cage. Pure mayhem has broken out; the crowd is running rampant trying to escape, people are getting trampled, and fights are breaking out.

“The fuck is going on?” I stare at him for answers.

“Fucking cops caught wind.” He pulls me out of the cage and grabs my gear.

I begin to panic. “Shit. If Papa finds out.”

“Exactly.” Tristan drags me out the back, through another warehouse, to the parking lot of the gas station a street over. “Here, clean yourself up.” He throws me a towel.

“Thanks.” I drape it over my shoulder and remove my gloves. “I’ll go use the restrooms.” I pick up my bag and head inside the gas station.

I stare at my reflection in the dirty restroom mirror and examine my swollen eye, a bruise already forming. Fuck. How am I going to hide this tonight?

After I clean off the smears of blood that paint my exposed skin, I throw on my cropped hoodie and head into the shop. I grab an ice cream out of the freezer and rest it against my eye. The relief is almost instant. I pay for my ice cream and the guy behind the counter eyes me cautiously as I leave his shop.

“Maya, hurry your ass up,” Tristan shouts from across the parking lot.

I flip him the finger and take my sweet ass time walking towards him, trying to not breathe in too deeply as the pain in my ribs intensifies.

“I think you have a visitor.” Tristan narrows his eyes toward the road, his shoulders tensing.

“Who?” I snap my gaze to where Tristan is looking. “No fucking way.” Walking toward us is my twin brother, Mason, and Milan, my eligible suitor. A flare of annoyance washes over me, and I shove my gloves in my bag and throw the bag back over my shoulder, wincing in pain.

“Maya.” Tristan places his hand on my arm, stopping me from storming off. “Play nice.” He winks at me before squeezing my arm reassuringly.

My papa has it in his old-fashioned head that he can marry me off to anyone he sees fit, as long as it’s another Italian Mob family. Over my fucking dead body, dear Papa.

I storm toward Mason. His eyes flash with amusement, enjoying every minute of my torment. “Give me your keys,” I demand, holding my hand out. I completely ignore Milan, while I shoot a fierce glare at my brother.

He’s only one minute older than me, but he’s taken it upon himself to boss me around ever since we were in diapers. We aren’t identical twins, but we both take after our papa, with our raven locks and almost black eyes. Mason is a whole five inches taller than me and he likes to pretend to be the big older brother, always having my back if I need it and giving me shit every chance he gets.

“I don’t think so.” Mason swats my hand away and returns his attention to Milan.

“Whatever.” I throw him a sneer and turn on my heels.

I’m not going to give Milan even just two seconds of my attention, I don’t care if he’s in line to take over his father’s fortune and become the head of the family. Milan is ten years older than me. What the fuck does he want with a young woman who isn’t even old enough to drink legally?

I storm back to my cousin. “Hey, can I borrow your bike, please?” I take in a sharp breath as more pain jabs into my side.

“What? No.” He ignores me and picks up the sleek, black helmet off the seat.

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