Page 7 of Princess of the Mafia

Di Matteo looked at me like he would rather put a hole in my head than welcome me into his house. Couldn’t say I blamed him. If I had a little sister as he did, I would kill any man with eyesight, and the ones without, just because of the odds of one day crossing paths with her.

Jesus! That was the best fucking smoke break I’d ever had. There was no wrapping my head around that one. She was innocence wrapped in a body that screamed porn star. Those lips, soft and luscious, were made to wrap around my cock. That thought alone had got me so turned on that I had to drop my eyes to harmless body parts like her feet. But the moment I saw those little toes painted in bright pink, I wanted to suck every one of them into my mouth and hear her groan.

Even as I burned the back of Di Matteo’s neck with my gaze, I followed him to his office, a little more eagerly than before. Still, I hoped it wasn’t this sister that my contract was with. She wasn’t doing wonders for my blood pressure, and my brothers weren’t interested in taking over as Don.

Vitale’s office was a library. Dark, all books, leather, and the distant memory of cigar smoke. Either he was an avid reader, or he wanted to avoid his old man’s office. Something told me it was the latter.

The air was stifling in the room of hard liquor and pent-up egos, and it only got worse the moment the door closed behind me. My two brothers, who’d used the front door like gentlemen, leaned against the window sill, projecting relaxation, but their trigger fingers grazed too close to their guns and betrayed their facade.

It amazed me that Di Matteo hadn’t asked for our weapons. I would have said he was a smart man. Any made man would have a hidden weapon on them somewhere. Except perhaps for Antonio Capizzi, the only neutral party in the game, if I could call him that since he was the old man Di Matteo’s consigliere. Whether he was of the new Don or not was yet to be seen. The rumor mill spoke of tension between the two. Still, Capizzi was a diplomat and was the first to stand up and shake my hand, even though his eyes were dark and his handshake tight. There was no recognition of the rare times we had had a meal together on foreign soil.

There were four other men in the room. The thought filtered through my mind that we would be outnumbered if it came to a fight, if we didn’t have the Martello attitude of flying first into one, and thinking later. Ah! Amusement slithered through me at the situation we were in. Only in the Cosa Nostra would we think of getting in and out of a fight at the signing of a marriage contract.

Capizzi introduced me to the other four in the room. An uncle whose name I forgot as quickly as I hoped to forget his protruding middle sticking out of his shirt, two cousins, rather boring and unworthy of remembering their names, and an outsider, a bodyguard, I got the impression. Who he was guarding, I wasn’t told. I was apparently not worthy of the information. I had a feeling it was my future wife. The first thing I would do was kick him out because his attitude warmed my heart as much as a snowstorm in the Arctic.

Di Matteo poured himself two fingers of whiskey and, at my nod, one for me. Capizzi took the seat next to me, facing the big leather desk, while the rest stayed behind us. I didn’t worry about it. My brothers had my back.

“Heard you had a pleasant flight.”

I met Capizzi’s stare. Ah, his driver was as loyal as he’d told me. “An excellent one.”

Di Matteo rounded the corner of his desk, put my glass in front of me, and sat down.

“Time to shut down on those.” His words were quiet and fell like dust on the table.

Di Matteo frowned in confusion. He didn’t look like he was privy to Capizzi’s information. So the Sicilian Cosa Nostra wanted to pretend we were all faithful men. Interesting. What I’d do to be a fly on these walls. Although these specific walls looked old and worn out. A stark contrast to my new and glossy penthouse.

I waited until Di Matteo took his first sip before I took mine. Whiskey warmed my throat but left my heart cold.

“Right. Let’s discuss business.” He took out the papers from his drawer. My peripheral view caught the bodyguard coming to stand behind him in the very corner of the library. Odd move. Di Matteo either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He put the papers in front of me. “Article one—”

With a flick of my fingers, I pushed the contract away. I wasn’t discussing anything before I saw the toll. He looked at me with a frown.

“I want to meet your sister first.”

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers running through his scruff. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Not when it comes to picking me a wife.”

Hesitation filtered through his face. They had similarities, brother and sister. Both shared tousled brown hair and sharp jawlines. His eyes were hazel bordering on green while hers had been blue. Nico had blue eyes but his were cold as ice. Hers had been warm. Hers had pulled me in with a tug. Jesus! When had blue ever been warm? Maybe hers had been bluish-green? Fuck! This Sicilian air wasn’t doing me wonders if I was deliberating colors.

“Luigi,” Di Matteo indicated to the bodyguard, “Get her.”

I immediately imagined the girl I saw with the name Daria as my eyes followed Luigi out the door. Something about his vibe was off, and it pissed me off that I couldn’t put my finger on it. An awkward silence followed while we waited. We weren’t friends, and I was too agitated for small talk. Di Matteo had the same idea, I guessed, and Capizzi couldn’t be bothered to break the tension in the air.

The door opened a few minutes later, and a girl followed behind Luigi. Disappointment sank in my stomach like lead in water. Confusion rattled me. The whiskey in my glass rippled. This one had my type written all over her. Straight black hair, big tits and an ass to match it. Fucking her from behind would be glorious. There was no confusing innocent porn star look going on, no messed-up brown hair, and definitely no warm blue eyes. She should have been exactly what I wanted.

Except she wasn’t.

She wore a white dress, but there wasn’t anything pure or virginal about her. For a brief moment, when her brother stood up and wasn’t looking at her, she looked straight at me with defiance rolling off her in waves. I didn’t know where they hid the timid future housewives in Sicily but it wasn’t in Di Matteo’s household.

He wrapped his hand around his sister’s elbow and pulled her close to me, reluctantly away from her bodyguard. It was more about the body than the guard, I was guessing. I swirled my chair around to face her.

“This is Orietta.”

I was missing a Daria in front of me.

A pink frilly dress colored my vision.

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