Page 42 of Princess of the Mafia

So I let her be and wrapped her in my arms, and we sat like that till the sun rose far east.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DARIA

Sunlight streamed into the room and warmed my face. I squeezed my eyes shut, stretched, and moaned like a Cheshire cat. I hated mornings, and sleeping in was a major benefit of having a rich family. It was wonderful to have, but I would have traded it for a normal family on any given day. When I decided I was ready to join the world, I let my eyes slide lazily open.

There was a dark hollow in the corner. It had draped itself in a chair, oozed arrogance, swam in nicotine, and sung sex appeal. I froze mid-moan, mid-stretch. His gaze touched my pinky toes, prickled up my bare legs, breathed on my naked midriff, trailed over my breasts, and slowly and achingly climbed up my heated throat to my lips, to finally rest on my eyes. Heat rushed up my skin. My heart galloped like a runaway pony, and I regretted shedding the duvet sometime during the night.

The digital clock ticked in my peripheral view. One tick, two, three. Fascination overtook me as I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he slowly swallowed. The realization of being alone with a man settled in like a heavy blanket. Four, five… His eyes were usually hazel, but somehow they weren’t now. They were almost pitch black and pulled me in with a twist and a tug. Six, seven, eight… his tongue slipped out, and he licked his lips and pulled his bottom lip in. For some reason, I felt it even through the distance separating us. It touched my skin like warm honey. Nine… a ping of an incoming message fell on the room as loud as the boom of a bomb. The haze evaporated. He sat up straight and shook his head slightly.

“Get dressed.” His voice was gruff, as if he hadn’t used it for some time. “I want you to meet the new maid.”

The heat snuck out of my body as fast as it had filtered in. My entire being went ramrod straight as dread settled in between my rib cage. I remembered little from yesterday. Except another woman in the kitchen. My eyes thinned in suspicion.

“Is it a man?”

“No, Principessa.”

Since when did he call me Principessa? Didn’t like it one bit. I itched to tell him off but stored it away for another time. I had bigger problems.

“I don’t want to meet her.”

Not today. It was too soon. Agitation bubbled in my body like hot oil in a fryer.

I pulled the duvet, wrapped myself up to my chin, and curled up into a ball. Any energy I had drained out of me like the hit of a sudden flu. I didn’t feel like getting up anymore. He stood up and strode over to me. Unease curdled in my stomach. I shrank away when he towered over me. A second later, he hunched next to the bed, and his fingers gripped my chin.

“You’ll like her,” he whispered. “Trust me on this one, sì?”

Was it his words, his eyes on my mouth, or his thumb sliding on my lips? I didn’t know, but something pulled, and I got tugged in. Somehow I was nodding, and he was pulling me out of the bed.

“Get dressed.” He pushed me gently towards the bathroom, and the spell he had me under made me do just that without a single hesitation in my bones.

Dread pulled at my heartstrings even as he pulled me along with him. The coldness of the white walls touched the edges of my heart and the loud clattering rushing from the kitchen did nothing to banish the fear crawling up my throat.

“Open your eyes, Principessa.”

We were standing still, and I had squeezed my eyes shut. The clattering had stopped, and a silence that was too loud greeted me. The hand around mine encouraged with a squeeze, and I popped one eye reluctantly open and then both.

We were in the kitchen, and standing in front of me was a woman with waves of silver riding in her hair. She was thinner and taller than Mamma, yet somehow she reminded me of her. Maybe it was the sweet glint in her eyes or the wide smile that touched her face.

“Oh, che bello moglie hai, Enzo,” she gushed as she rushed over and wrapped me in her arms. “She’s way too pretty for you.” My eyes burned. Who would have thought it? But I actually welcomed being squashed into her bosom like I was a ten-year-old.

She pulled back and cupped my face in her hands. “Molto bello! What are you doing with this ugly stronzo?”

I wasn’t sure if it was her exaggeration of my beauty, Lorenzo being called an ugly asshole, or his frown that put a smile on my lips, but I left it there and followed her obediently to the kitchen, to the smell of fresh buns baking in the oven. Any and all doubts I might have had about her flew out the window the moment she set the brioches down with granita and whipped cream.

I dropped onto the stool, dipped a piece of brioche in the granita, and stuffed it into my mouth. I let my Mamma’s upbringing vanish from me as a moan slipped out of my throat. Just like that, I was a fourteen-year-old swinging my legs on Mamma’s rickety wooden stool on the black-and-white tiles of our home in Sicily.

“Va bene?” She chuckled.

“The best!” I mumbled between stuffing my mouth. “Might be even better than Mamma’s.”

I shredded another piece and soaked it with granita. The heat on my cheek made me turn to find Lorenzo watching me with a curve on his lips. This was the first time I’d seen him smile. Even his smile was dark and devilish, as if only evil thoughts were behind it. It took my breath away. That was the only reason the next stupid words spilled out of my mouth. “You want some?”

“Oh, he doesn’t like…” She gawked mid-sentence as he dipped his head, wrapped his mouth around my fingers, and took the brioches and half my fingers into his mouth. Rude. He didn’t need to suck my fingers too. Was it my imagination, or did he keep them imprisoned for too long? I didn’t understand the heat that sliced through them.

“What doesn’t he like?” I forced my voice through a throat gone dry.

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