Page 52 of Princess of the Mafia

DARIA

Atattooed hand, rough palm, and a wedding ring that glittered captured my hand. Heat tingled in my fingers as he pulled me out of the office. My hand was so tiny in his. I shook my head. Not going to be Mamma.

The dark hallway edged with cold lighting did nothing to diminish the fascination building up for my husband. My husband. Of a few weeks. A man who would most probably hurt me one day. Yet his words trailed through my skin like a lazy fire and left my skin burning in its wake. “I just want you to know where I am, Principessa.”

I had always wondered what the attraction was to a made man. They treated women like shit and killed men without repentance. So why was I falling into a dark pit he was digging for me?

I blamed it all on my upbringing. I’d never been alone with a man before. So wasn’t it normal that I was all tingly the moment his eyes fell on me?

I wasn’t going to be Mamma. But his looks were maddening. Made me forget to breathe and sent tingles up my veins. It was like, all this time, he’d been distracted, and he’d decided to finally give me his undivided attention. It burned me through to my bones and sent an electric spark down below.

I bumped into him when he came to a stop. There was a tension vibing off him that I felt along his spine. I poked my head out from behind him to find Stefano at a sink, washing his hands. Odd place for a sink. I wouldn’t have thought to place one along the dark corridor leading up to the stairs.

“Took care of him?” His voice vibrated against my breast, and I realized I had pasted myself to his back. I took a side step and came to stand next to him. I didn’t know why he always pushed me behind him. Like he was embarrassed of me or something.

“What do you think?” There was a tightness in Stefano’s jaw I’d not seen before.

I liked this brother-in-law of mine. The other one I was still undecided on. My ‘hello’ to him died on my lips at the dark tone in his voice. It shrunk away to the depths of my stomach when I saw the red colored water. Is he washing off blood? Something told me it wasn’t his.

“It wasn’t necessary, brother.” Stefano’s gruff voice echoed in the narrow hallway.

“Oh, I think it damn well was.”

My eyes flickered to my husband, but a different man stood before me. His face was dark, and venom, like I’d never seen before, spit out of his eyes.

My head felt dizzy, and my hand in his went limp.

I must have made a sound because both men’s gaze snapped to mine. Never ask questions, Daria. Mamma’s words floated right before my eyes before my mouth popped open. “Did you kill that man?”

My eyes were on Stefano, and I jerked back in shock when he actually answered it with a “Yes.”

I blinked. “Why?”

Stefano scowled at my husband. “Shall I tell her?”

My eyes flickered to his. He terrified me. There was so much fury radiating off him, it made me want to run. As far away from him as I could. As if he could read my mind, his hand gripped painfully around mine.

“My men should learn,” he said tightly, his eyes on his brother’s, darkness edging his tone and a tightness to his jaw.

“Learn, what?”

His gaze crawled to mine, and the blackness withdrew into an anthracite gray. His jaw flexed as if he’d forgotten all about me. He ran his knuckle over his mouth, and the numbers 1969 jagged across his face. “Nothing to worry about, Principessa.” He jerked my hand. “Let’s go.”

My foot floated above the first step when Stefano called out to me, “Daria.”

I turned to find him still at the sink. “How did you come?”

I frowned. “Huh, by car. You want a ride?”

He chuckled, ignoring my question. “You’re changing, bro.”

I was not sure what he meant by it, but whatever it was loosened the grip on my hand. It made him push me into the car and lock me inside while he smoked a cigarette outside. When he joined me, he was a changed man. There was no more Principessa and no more offices. We went straight back to his cold apartment, and he locked himself inside his office.

I didn’t care. It made it so much easier. Really. I didn’t care.

Passionate Sicilian echoed around the room, blasting from the fancy Bose speakers on each corner of his perforated ceilings. The man, of course, had a media room and not a single Sicilian channel, so I had thought. Except I’d suddenly found all of them a few days ago, and since then, I’d found my new entertainment.

I lay on my back on the couch with a blanket on me as I binge-watched all the series I’d missed. Well, because I got married to the Don of New York and had to move and all.

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