Page 2 of Princess of the Mafia

“None of your business,” she snapped.

Daria looked up, pain etched on her face as if she’d taken a paintbrush and painted it on herself. “There’s no need to be so catty.” She tried to take her hand. “We’re all hurting, Etta.”

She shrugged her hand off. “Don’t fucking tell me how to behave. Is this your new role, Daria? Trying to be Papà?”

Lia sat up straight and jerked towards her. “Christ! You are mean.”

“Yeah?” she snickered. “You would be too if you had to marry a stranger.”

Lia’s plump lips fell into a flat line. She ignored her and let her eyes rest on the back of Luigi’s neck again, but her peripheral view caught Daria’s hands clutching Lia’s. It was like the whole fucking family was one except for her. These two and her brother were all one breed, that was for sure.

The silence rested heavily in the car. The suffocation was pleasant, almost enjoyable, like a painful wound you couldn’t help but touch. When they arrived home, she was almost sad for it to end. Lia didn’t seem to think so and was out the door before the car came to a full halt. Daria, though, always had to have the last word. She looked back at her with her hand clenched around the door handle. “Why did you say yes, Etta? Ale would never make you go through with it if you don’t want to.”

She set her lips in an adamant line as she stared at Daria. She was waiting for an answer that she would never get. Awkwardness, unusual for siblings, vibrated between them. Finally, Daria got the picture, gave up, and slammed the door on her way out, except it was a modern car, so it shut softly.

She let a soft smile play on her face. “Go,” she told Luigi as she left her two sisters standing on the steps to the front door.

Luigi drove like any made man. Mad like the fucking police were chasing him. Especially when she was alone in the car with him. There was nothing like the roar of the engine under her ass.

Soon they were at her favorite cliff, and the car screeched to a halt. The only sound was the crackling of an engine quieting down. It was hot inside.

“There’s no other option than to say yes,” Luigi said, his voice cutting through the hot air in the car.

Annoyance railed her skin. With a sigh, she pushed her door open, got out, and slammed it shut. Freaking modern cars with their soft-close doors. They didn’t even give her the joy of slamming a door shut.

She yanked his door open to find him already pushing his seat back. Her breath hitched, and her breasts felt heavy. She grabbed his hand on the seat and pinned it to the headrest. With her other hand, she unzipped his fly and pulled out his hard cock. She had just buried her father, but she was wet enough to swim in her own fluids. Straddling him, she sank onto him to the sound of both their groans.

“Orietta, this is the last time. We can’t do this anymore,” Luigi groaned, even as he slowly pumped inside her.

She yanked her bodice down. Her D-cup tits sprang free and jumped in front of his eyes. The only things she liked about her body were her tits. They never failed to tempt a man. She clutched the back of his neck and stuffed him into her tit. That first bite on her nipple sent a loud groan spilling out of her. Her favorite cliff, where no one could hear her scream. She rubbed herself on him harder. She wanted to come hard and fast and soon.

“What?” she snapped in irritation when Luigi jerked his head away.

The lustful gaze in his eyes was vanishing and was replaced by a hard edge as they rested on hers. “Promise me. You are not going to jeopardize this.”

“The only dick I want to ride is yours,” she muttered, trying to get him back on her tits.

“No.” He jerked away. “Ti amo, but I am not sacrificing the Cosa Nostra for this. Promise me, or this stops now,” he snapped.

“Like hell.” She tried to move, but he pushed her hand away from the headrest and grasped her hips. His eyes on hers were cold now, a look she’d never been on the receiving end of. “What’s it going to be, Orietta?”

Fucking men. They were always the same, just different dicks. Except he underestimated her. “I promise.” She looked him straight in the eye and lied. As if she would ever allow a man to dictate what she should do. She wasn’t her mother. She would never be her.

CHAPTER ONE

TWO MONTHS LATER

LORENZO

The hot and dry air bristled like a bitch in heat the moment the doors to my private jet flew open. My Valentino leather shoes on the tarmac smoked hot, spurring my strides to be faster. Longer. Like a fire was on my heels, my hurried feet took me to the parked, black car when all I wanted was to backtrack the hell out of there.

I hated Sicily. The fucking traditions and the hypocrisy shrouded every town, crawled through every street, and crept into each house like fucking ivy on a wall. Mamma’s beloved island. Mine, not so much. So what was I doing here?

The stiff man in the black suit standing next to the car brought familiarity. Having a good visual memory could save a man’s life in my business. It was good to know if you’d already met the man holding the gun to your face. Lucky day for me, I guessed. I’ve seen Remo plenty of times around Capizzi to know at least I was going to have a relaxed drive. As much as it could be in a fucking tin can.

“Buongioro Signore Martello. Il viaggio è andato bene?”

“Si, grazie.” If anything, fucking the new stewardess had helped make my journey a bliss. I liked my women cold and calm. Sex was a necessity I took care of when the need arose. The need had arisen on the eleven-hour flight, and the options were to either fuck her or… well, fuck her.

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