Page 9 of Mafia Princess

“Love flourishes in the most unlikely circumstances. In this once-divided world of ours, love has conquered all, and it is my honor to announce Maya Capelli and my son, Milan’s soon-to-be engagement.”

Another pause to let that bullshit lie sink in. The crowd whistles and cheers. Jesus, if he thinks he can sell this lie to these idiots, then he must be more stupid than I first thought.

My eyes, as much as I struggle to keep them pointed to the back wall, find Luca. He sits poised in his seat, not clapping, a look of cunning plastered on his face. I want to mouth that I’m sorry, but all I can do is stare at him and hope he knows how I feel. A wildfire of rage torrents through my guts making me nauseatingly sick. A suffocating feeling cloaks making me wish it were the invisible cloak from Harry Potter so I could fucking disappear.

“These two will join our families together in a matrimonial bond and form a powerhouse like never before.” Tommaso’s voice booms through the cheering.

I glance up at Milan. His face is straining from his fake grin. Good. I’m surprised he’s showing signs of hating this too. His eyes catch mine for a moment, and there is a split second of understanding; a mutual exchange that we both try to quickly ignore. I watch him move his head swiftly back to the crowd, I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.

“Please celebrate with me and my comrade, Joseph Capelli, the beginning of something beautiful.” Tommaso looks at me with a glint of ‘don’t fuck this up’ in his eyes before they land on his son.

Milan’s arm snakes around my waist and I scramble to pull my t-shirt down, but his hands are too quick, and he has grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and pulled it back down. “Don’t worry, snookums I’ve got you.”

I feel my heart slam against my chest. Fuck.

“I’ll keep your dirty little secret if you keep your end of the bargain,” he whispers in my ear before kissing me gently on the cheek. “Play your part, Principessa.”

I place my hand against his muscled chest. To the crowd, it looks as though it's endearing when in reality, I push him away from me slightly. “And what bargain is that?”

He looks down at me. “You don’t know, do you?”

“I didn’t even know this was getting announced like this. What a farce it has turned out to be,” I scoff.

“Looks like you’ll need to have a long chat with your papa.” Milan plants another quick kiss on my cheek before grabbing my hand and dragging me out the side door to the lobby.

I hear the laughter and cheering as we exit. “Where are you taking me?” I pull my hand out of his and stop dead in my tracks.

“Out of that circus in there. You’re welcome.” He pulls out his phone from his back pocket, shoots off a text, and looks up at me. “You’re free to go, Principessa. I’m sure you have better things to do than hang around here looking like you’re constipated.”

I glare at him. “You’re so crass.”

He jerks his necktie loose and unbuttons the collar of his shirt, letting the top of a tattoo peek through. I study him like my next still-life painting. There’s something mesmerizing and infuriatingly beautiful about him and the way he moves.

“Didn’t your papa ever teach you it’s rude to stare?” He winks at me.

“Fuck you,” I huff and storm past him. Why have I let him get under my skin? I race to the lobby doors and escape into the cold New York rain. A perfect omen to a fucked-up day. I let the cold rain drench me, soaking away the evening events when my driver pulls up.

I skip to the car, careful not to slip over in my Louboutins and jump into the back. “How did you know I was out here?” I wipe my hair from my forehead.

“Your boyfriend called me.”

On the seat next to me sits an envelope and I eye it with caution before I snatch it up like it’s about to explode. Who the hell would leave a note in my car for me? “Did you let someone place this in here?” I scoot forward and fan the envelope in front of the driver’s face.

“No, Miss Capelli. I have not left the car since I dropped you off.” He glances at the envelope and then back out to the traffic.

Weird.

My name is scrawled in beautiful handwritten cursive writing. I look at it carefully. It’s written in fucking blood. My heart drops to my stomach and I rip the envelope open to find a postcard-sized cardboard note.

In blood is written, In Death Lies Peace.

FOUR

Milan

How the hell am I supposed to deal with the New York brat? It takes all my self-control not to take her over my knee and teach her some much-needed discipline. I’d stupidly thought I could handle her like I handle my obedient dog. Give her a little attention and have her jumping into my crotch like a lovesick puppy. Boy was I mistaken. Maya Capelli is like a splinter; she gets under your skin and gives enough pain to render her annoyingly pleasurable.

The last thing I need is her as a distraction. She’s not part of my grand plan. So why do I grind my cigar to a pulp in my fist at the very thought of her driving away from the Four Seasons, wondering if she’s meeting her little fuck buddy?

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