Page 10 of The Merciless King

And hot in bed.

I’m not lacking suitors, as they call them in eighteenth century England. I’m not. I’m in Scarsdale, New York, and the mafia princess of the Baldassare family.

Men want me to reach my father.

They think by fucking me it will get them a promotion and power in the family. I let them think that if they are hot enough—or I’m horny.

Hey, if they can use me, then I will use them.

Then I send them packing.

I have guards, so it just takes one word and they disappear. I assume just from the house...but one never knows in this world.

Don’t judge.

I’m barely in control of my own life, so I can’t decide what happens to them, or that these idiots end up here in the first place.

Meeting with Mia feels like it could open some doors to me getting out of this daily loop—also known as my own personal prison.

I don’t wish my family to be slaughtered—never—I love my parents and brother. But if there was a way, I want to find out.

It’s a dream.

I mean, if her husband is going to offer to kidnap me, change my identity, and then heli-drop me on a private island where I can read books, drink cocktails, and breed cats...

God, I fucking hope so.

I’d miss the shops and nightlife of Manhattan, though.

I let out a sigh. There is no escape, I know that. But I can live vicariously through her for just a few hours.

I drop my cup into the saucer and adjust my dark sunglasses as I lean back in my chair. The server at the café where I’ve just eaten lunch is nervous as he clears away my empty plate, asking if I would like anything else.

He knows who I am, and there are two not discreetly placed Baldassare gangsters—my guards—watching his every move.

I guess I’d be nervous too.

But it’s annoying, if I’m honest.

“No, thank you,” I reply, and then nod at James, my primary guard. He presses his finger to his ear and does whatever he does to get my car brought around.

In less than two minutes, my black bulletproof SUV will arrive with my driver, and James, along with whoever else is on my protective duty today, will move when I stand and then follow me.

Yawn.

I’m less complacent about all of it after seeing the footage of the slaughter at Mia and Connor’s wedding. We were in Italy at the time for my grandmother’s funeral. Her death saved our lives, ironically.

“See. This is why you must stop complaining about your security, Gianna.” My father growled, pointing at the screen as we watched it for the fourth and fifth time.

It was horrifying.

I was worried about Mia and relieved when I heard she was alive.

“And maybe stop fucking them, too,” Dante mumbled quietly, so only I could hear.

Or perhaps my father chose to ignore him. He gave up threatening to kill any boy that looked at me when I was twenty-one. Then again, perhaps he does, and I just don’t know.

God, I hate that people have lost their lives because of me.

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