Page 8 of Their Princess

“I never asked to be in this situation.”

“They sure as shit seemed to be after you.”

“I didn’t need to be here,” I mumbled.

“As if this was my brainchild.” He pushed me forward, and I stumbled. But he caught me around the waist before I fell, pulling me flush against his body.

My heartbeat went inexplicably erratic as he leaned down and hissed in my ear, “If you think your little teenage ass and flat chest is what I’m looking for in a woman, you’re full of yourself, princess.” As though to emphasize his disdain, he reached down to the hem of my skirt and pulled it away from my leg, letting it snap back in place.

I tried to pull away, but he didn’t let me go. So, I looked up and over my shoulder at him. “Good thing we’re on the same goddamn page, then. There’s nothing about you’re lanky and skanky ass that could even hope to drench my panties.”

He grunted.

The fucker actually grunted like a motherfucking cave man. Then, tightening his grip on my waist, he began walking us both toward the back door entrance.

Rafe ran out of the shop, meeting Sas and me halfway, he looked down at Sas’s arm, to my face, up to my enormous captor, and then back at me. “Adelina, are you okay?”

“Let me go.” I squirmed until the iron-like grip on my waist loosened, then I pushed my way out of Bigfoot’s hold and faced my uncle. “Is that all you’ve got? Am I okay? I’ve never been shot at before.” Being a Mafia princess never brought me so close to death. And I’d never been so manhandled.

“Are you all right?” asked Rafe through clenched teeth, emphasizing each word.

“None of this blood is mine, but this skirt is trashed,” I said, knowing what Rafe wanted to hear.

I had come here untainted, and Rafe was just making certain I wasn’t now ruined for my future husband. His concern was nothing more than protecting the Don’s business. Not if I was actually okay with all the shit that just went down. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hide the dried tears, no matter how much I scrubbed my cheeks and acted like the dust got in my eye.

Sas was covered in blood too, but no one was asking if he was okay. He had even been limping while he held on to me, threatening to drag me down. I thought the Mafia was bad, but at least they protected their women. Even up in my gilded tower with too much money to know what to do with, I lived an upper-class life. But the MC and whoever the fuck those assholes were showed me a whole new level of violence. The type I’d never seen.

My father sheltered my sister, me, and our mom away from such things. My future husband didn’t seem to have the same sense of propriety.

Papà stepped out of the shop, holding his hand over his eyes to block the sun, and Rafe returned to his side.

“Do we know who they were?” my uncle asked.

“The Medellín Cartel,” said Sas, but I had no knowledge of that cartel. Or any cartel.

I turned to my father, wanting to ask what he had sold me into. What kind of business had he turned the Mafia into? We weren’t saints, but la Famiglia didn’t take shots at random girls. Did they?

Did I know my father or his business at all?

“This is proof.” My father flung out a hand in the direction the truck and some of the bikers had gone. “They tried to kill my daughter.”

“Don’t sound so upset, Papà,” I muttered, rolling my eyes, and Sas raised an eyebrow at me.

Wilde came out the back door, joining us.

My father continued, “They tried to kill us all, and they would’ve. They’re onto our deal, and this attack is proof that we’ll be stronger together. The deal goes forward as planned.” He leveled his gaze on me. “Say thank you, Adelina, to your future husband. He saved your life.”

He definitely could’ve let me die. But then my father would just use my sister as his pawn, and I couldn’t bring Catalina into this. She was young and still learning to have a good head on her shoulders. She thought the best of everyone, no matter how many times they proved otherwise.

“It is a debt of honor we now owe, daughter,” said my father, meeting my gaze. “An omertà.”

I lowered my gaze at hearing the word. It wasn’t something I’d heard him say often, but it had deep meaning in the Family. By using it, he put an end to me questioning his authority. No matter how much I wanted to argue, the omertà bound me to silence.

“I agree that this arrangement needs to continue,” said Wilde, breaking the awkward silence. “The union is strategic, and apparently both of you need to wrap your noggins around that.”

Sas bobbed his head. He was just a follower. Like me. And together, we were entering into a marriage of violence.

Chapter Two

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