Page 10 of Princess of the Mafia

“To talk to the asshole!”

“Language, Daria.”

I crossed my arms. “Really, Mamma, that’s what you are going to focus on?” I swore plenty of times, but only in my thoughts because God forbid good catholic girls swear out loud. “I’m going to talk to him. I don’t know why he thinks he wants to marry me. He’d be perfect for Orietta.”

“I don’t think so.” Mamma and I both looked at Orietta, who sat on my bed inspecting her nails like she didn’t have a care in the world. “I’m not marrying a man who chose my sister. That’s his loss.”

I frowned. “I get that.”

Mamma threw me a dirty look. “You get nothing.” She admonished Orietta. “Daria cannot marry with you still being unmarried. Madonna, what will people say?”

“I’m not marrying him for—”

“Don’t care,” Orietta said.

“What’s wrong with the both of you?” she shrieked. “For once, I’m happy your Papà’s not alive. This would have given him an attacco di cuore!” I shared a look with my sister. Nah! If fucking all those women never gave him a heart attack… besides, we were in this mess because of Papà.

I strode off.

“Come back here,” Mamma yelled, behind me. The sound of raised men’s voices hit me the moment I made it to the hallway. Minchia! Raised voices when guns were near was never a good idea. Mamma grabbed my arm. “This is men’s business. We have no say in this.”

Fury bristled through my veins till I literally trilled with it. I yanked my arm free of her grasp. “It’s always men’s business, Mamma! It’s my marriage they are talking about!” I pulled free and ran down the steps.

But my urgency stopped when I skidded to a stop outside Vitale’s office. My heart pounded like drums in an orchestra. My hand trembled as I reached for the handle. I glanced up to see Mamma watching me, hands clenched on the banister, worry in her eyes. I knew she only wanted the best for me. Yet, this was my future. I had every intention of going inside and telling the moron Don that he could shove his contract where the sun won’t shine.

“I’m not giving you Daria.” Vitale’s rage-fueled voice shot through the closed door. Not even the solid cherry wood could withhold his wrath.

“Not your choice to make.” The Don’s voice. Thick, gruff, and confident. Like he was selling drugs to an addict, not signing a deal for me.

“We agreed—”

“To marry one of your sisters. I’ll decide which one.”

“Not going to happen, Martello. Daria is way too young for you. She’s twenty-four to your thirty-four. She stays here.”

“You sure you want to do that? Go against me? Not forming an alliance is one thing, but going against me?” Dread riddled my skin and infected it with goosebumps. His dark threat was undeniable. Instantly, it was much more than my marriage on the line. “Do you really want me on the other side? I thought you were a smart man.” My eyes caught on Mamma’s worried one as I blinked back tears. Against all odds, this was it then. I flipped the handle and walked inside.

Vitale stood in the middle of the room while the devil lounged on the windowsill, looking for all the world like he was having a casual chat about sticks and bats, or whatever men talked about when they weren’t pulling guns out and signing marriage contracts.

My brother straightened the moment he saw me. “Not now, Daria,” he snapped.

“Why? Aren’t we discussing my marriage…” I nodded towards the devil, “to him?”

“There’s no marriage, and there’s no him,” Vitale said tightly. “Get out, Daria.”

“Oh, but I disagree.” I let the door shut behind me and turned to the arrogant bastard. He hadn’t moved an inch since I came in. Interest sparked in his eyes. I imagined this was how he watched someone being tortured. He looked all dark, and he was magnetic. I stepped closer to him.

“Daria,” Vitale’s fury was palpable on my back.

I ignored him. I didn’t know what gave me the courage. Didn’t he realize? I would have given up anything for him. The only male in my life worth fighting for.

My feet trembled to a stop a few feet away from the devil. Even though he looked relaxed, he was heavy. And dark. And mad. And “unhinged.” Medda! I think I said that aloud. His expression didn’t alter, but who was I to alter anything of his? His short wavy hair was messed up, like he’d run his hands through it in frustration. Hardly possible. He didn’t look like he allowed frustration anywhere near him. I swallowed nervously as his eyes zeroed in on me. Hazel, like… why was I even noticing these things? I dropped my gaze to his still-open collar. The soft smattering of hair unsettled me.

“So you changed your mind?” I wanted to ooze confidence, but my voice squeaked in fear.

“No.”

My eyes shot up to his. “No?”

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