Page 6 of Princess of the Mafia

“Stop being smart, young lady. Zia Elena is waiting for you. Go through the back door.”

God! My family was confusing. “Why am I going there again?”

Mamma huffed. “I’ve told you this a million times! I don’t want you here when they come.”

“What? You didn’t tell me this. Why did I get dressed up then?”

“How do I know? I didn’t tell you to.”

“Is Lia staying?”

“Lia can be trusted to stay in her room. You, not. Now go.”

“But why, Mamma? I don’t want to go! I want to see my cognato! See! I got all dressed up!”

“Ridicolo.” Mamma yanked on my arm and dragged me to the kitchen. “I don’t have time for this.” She pulled the door and pushed me out and closed the door behind me.

She can’t be serious. I muttered a million curse words while I waited for her to walk out of the kitchen. Three times Medda and three times Minchia. If she could have heard me, she would have probably torn my ears off my head for saying the ungodly words of shit and fuck out of my mouth. The moment the kitchen was empty, I rattled on the doorknob. Except she’d locked the door. She’s actually locked the door.

Minchia! Who does this? Urgh! Frustration crawled up my body. I kicked the door hard and snubbed my feet in my sandaled stilettos. Tears brimmed in my eyes. Why did she make me feel so helpless? I pulled my stiletto off and banged on the door with it. “Mamma! Let me in!”

Crickets. Of course. No one was in the kitchen. There was no way I could sneak in through the front door with all my uncles and my brother there. Was that why Vitello told me to stay out of sight? Minchia! Everything was planned out for me, and no one had thought to ask me. I smacked the door a few more times with the stiletto. I couldn’t stand Zia Elena. She was dull and traditional and all she ever wanted to do was read the Bible with me. Like I’d sinned even before my birth!

“Not going to break the door like that.”

I whipped around. Who the hell was out here in the garden when all the activity was happening inside? My gaze ran over the hedge and found nothing. I was about to thump the door again when my eyes flicked to the bench against the wall. Papà’s bench. Old and rickety. He always sat there to think. Now there was someone else seated. Not Papà. At all.

He looked at me like this was his house and I’d intruded on him rather than the other way around. I was pretty sure he didn’t have stakes in the house, so that meant he was no one other than the infamous Don from New York.

Well, Orietta should be happy. He was young, tall, dark, and handsome. They’d make a smart couple together. If he got over his arrogance. He lounged on the bench, legs spread wide, with one of his ankles on his knee, and arms draped on the back of it. Yeah. He was a capo all right, or his right or left-hand man, with a grand attitude.

I stalked closer and squinted against the sunlight. The whiff of pure male floated through my nostrils, and something else. My eyes fell on his hand, and my breath skidded to a halt. His tattooed knuckles held a cigarette. A number on each knuckle reading 1999. My birth year. I gave a visible shake of my head. It meant nothing. Only thing I should have seen was that he was going to be a rude cognato. I caught sight of another set of numbers on his other hand. I couldn’t read them well because the man himself was too distracting. He wore a suit like any good Italian, but he’d got the biker boy recklessness down to a T. His white shirt had a few buttons undone, and his tie hung open round his neck. Was this man even planning to dress up to meet his future wife?

Annoyance riddled me, and unease coursed through my veins. How dare he? He was a stranger. Yet he sat on Papà’s bench and came through the back door. If it wasn’t for him seeking an alliance, maybe we wouldn’t need to sign a contract.

“Didn’t ask for your opinion,” I snapped.

His entire attitude was nonchalant as he blew a cloud of smoke right in my face. Rude! His lazy gaze trailed me from top to toe. Past my brown wavy hair, past my pink silk dress, to my one-footed stilettoed feet. “Says the girl trying to break in.”

Even his voice reeked of dominance. The helplessness I’d felt before shot up like a rocket aiming for the moon. I felt like thumping the stiletto in my hand on his head. My fingers curled around it as I caught Mamma coming into the kitchen and backtracking hurriedly. Ha. That’s what she got for trying to hide her middle daughter. I was sick and tired of being the weaker sex. “It’s not breaking in if it’s your own house. More than I can say for you.”

He ignored me, of course. Just like any made man would. I was just a girl, unworthy of an opinion. His eyes followed a path down. I looked to see what the big deal was. He seemed to be fascinated with my naked foot. It made me uncomfortable, and I curled my toes into the gravel. I wanted his eyes back on my face. “In our family, strangers don’t come through the backdoor.” I meant to sound accusing, but it sounded more like a whine.

It must have sounded funny to him because the hand not holding his cigarette came up to his mouth and wiped off what looked suspiciously like a smirk. “Didn’t they tell you? I am no stranger.”

My head buzzed as I saw Vitale stride into the kitchen, with Mamma following. He must have noticed it too, even though they were behind him and his back was to a wall. But as a Don, maybe he had eyes in the back of his head. He stood up and suddenly he was too close, even though the distance remained the same. Geez. He was a lot to take in. My eyes rested on the play of black hair in the open collar of his shirt. It made me uncomfortable. Like I’d caught him coming out of the shower or something. I suddenly realized how sheltered I’d been my whole life. It was rare for me to be with a male alone who wasn’t family. What did that say about me? What had Orietta called me? Naïve?

The kitchen door swung open behind me. I didn’t need to turn to know my brother was annoyed. Sarcasm dripped off his gruff voice. “Couldn’t find the front door, Lorenzo?”

My future cognato either didn’t pick up on it or didn’t care to. Something told me it was the latter. He snuck the cigarette down and squashed it under his leather shoes with his eyes on my face. The crunch of the gravel underneath was loud in the hair breath of space in between us. He leaned forward. Just an inch, but enough for his voice to catch the light dusting of hair on my skin.

“If you had asked nicely, I would have blown a hole through that door.” He took a sidestep and brushed past me.

Turned out my cognato spoke as rudely as he behaved. I turned in a daze to follow him and found Vitale’s unamused gaze on me. I had no idea what I had done, but apparently, it was something bad. Mamma pulled me inside as we followed the two men. They were both almost identical in height, although one was smartly dressed, and the other came into a stranger’s house with an open shirt, hanging tie, and uncouth words in his mouth.

CHAPTER THREE

LORENZO

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