Page 151 of Their Princess

Graff gave me a look, eyeing the bag, but he couldn’t see inside. His smirk, however, and the light in his eyes made it feel like he could read my mind.

No, he didn’t know—couldn’t know. I had my secrets for a while longer.

We made our way down the marble-floored hallway toward the mall’s exit. As the door opened and the heat of the evening pressed down on me, I considered the city itself. Twilight was in full descent, and the lights across my home city started twinkling to life.

Vegas had a unique pulse, life breathed into it by the millions of bodies packed into a few square miles. Some called the desert city home and others came for the sin and nightlife that lined the streets, so many poor souls with hopes of striking it rich. That would never happen with businesspeople like my father in position. Everything here was rigged to ensure the moguls’ pockets were the ones lined.

I stood on the curb in the heat—heavy, but not wet like the cities in the Northwest or Milan, places our family visited regularly. And the temperature was starting to drop with the sun having fallen below the horizon.

Caterina chattered in my ear. “Have you met your future in-laws?”

“I’m not sure Sas has family, Cat. He might have hatched from an egg somewhere in the Redwood forests of Northern California.”

“Adelina,” Mamà scolded. “That’s no way to speak of your future husband.”

I rolled my eyes and looked away, trying to keep the peace with Mamà. Despite how she always stood taller when she and Papà interacted, she held firm beliefs that were grounded in the 1950s. Women should honor their husbands, serve them when necessary, always be the pretty armpiece, and obey them.

There were times when I would gladly obey Sas, but those would only come with the promise of pleasure. Again, he didn’t understand how much his rough attitude and demanding nature turned me on. Maybe one day, he would. The thought of it made my lower belly heavy with want.

Caterina grabbed my left hand. “You don’t have a ring.” She pouted as she lifted her big brown eyes up to meet mine.

I, unfortunately, had no answer to her observation.

“She will,” Graff interjected, and I stretched my eyes wide, surprised.

I pulled my sister into an embrace when I noticed the scowl on her forehead, but I kept my gaze locked with Graff’s. Only for her ears, I said, “It hasn’t been a normal engagement, Cat, but it’s okay.” I didn’t want to bring Mamà into this conversation.

Across the parking lot, cars passed on the highway in streaks of red and white light. They burped exhaust, horns blared, and tires whined against the pavement. And we waited for much longer than usual.

“Where’s the fucking limo?” Alessio’s voice boomed as he swiped a hand over his brow. The man was huge, with wide shoulders, and putting him in the suit Papà insisted on had him sweating even though the heat sucked all moisture out of the air.

None of us had a chance to answer before motorcycle sounds—the rev when the rider cranked on the throttle and the puttering of the exhaust—broke through the Vegas white noise. A single blinding headlight aimed in our direction, and Graff moved toward the figure. The only sign of his high alert was the slow movement of his hand drifting around his back.

Noting his caution, the capos reacted too.

“Let’s go back inside, ma’am,” said Alessio to Mamà, and then ushered her, my sister, and me back into the mall.

I backed up slowly, through the sliding glass doors, but when the motorcycle came to a stop, I recognized the cut. Alessio’s hands were full with Mamà and Cat, so I ducked around Papà’s enforcer.

Graff dropped his hand, his shoulders relaxing too. False alarm, at least a little. For a second Graff and Ghost bent their heads together, talking in hushed tones.

Fear trickled down my spine.

Moving up to Graff’s side, I asked, “What is it?”

Ghost—the prospect who Kaos had been riding in the club’s courtyard that first night I was in LA—glared over at me, and his eyes trailed down my body and back up. It made me feel naked, but instead of checking to make sure my clothes were in place, I rolled my shoulders back, refusing to play second fiddle to this prospect.

A small hand grasped my forearm from behind.

“Adelina, hush,” said Mamà. “Let them work.”

She’d escaped the enforcer too, and Alessio now stood to the side, scowling.

Her deference to her husband was how she had always behaved when the capos and Papà were working, but I wouldn’t be silenced. Once I married Sas, I would outrank this lone rider, so I wasn’t about to cower before him.

Bou—the club’s first lady, as Wilde had declared—set a fine example in this department.

“What’s going on?” I asked, and Graff thinned his lips as he waited for the prospect’s reply.

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