Page 82 of Triplets for the Mafia Prince

"In the shower. Wash thoroughly," she commands, standing watch while the man waits outside.

My hands tremble as I adjust the water temperature. The hot spray would normally be soothing, but nothing can ease the sick feeling in my stomach. I take my time washing, trying to delay whatever comes next, until the woman barks at me to hurry up.

She roughly towel-dries my hair, then sits me at a vanity. I stare at my reflection as she applies makeup, smoky eyes, red lips, making me look older, seductive.

“I thought she was a virgin,” Al says at the door. “Doesn’t he want that school-girl look?”

“He said Niccolo had her and he wanted her punished like a whore.”

So he didn’t believe me.

"Arms up," she orders, sliding a black silk dress over my head. The fabric clings like it’s a size or two too small. The neckline plunges indecently low. She adds strappy heels that make me feel even more unstable. But maybe I can stab Gino with one of the stilettos.

"Perfect," the woman says with cold satisfaction. "The Don will be pleased."

The woman shoves me back into the bedroom where Gino lounges in an armchair, checking his watch with eager anticipation. My skin crawls at the predatory gleam in his eyes as he looks me up and down.

"Beautiful. I’d hoped for white during our wedding consummation, but alas…” He gestures to a chair across from him. "Sit. The show is about to begin."

I remain standing, my legs shaking in the ridiculous heels. "There won't be any show. Nic will?—”

He lets out a harsh laugh. "Such faith. Niccolo will be here shortly, but he won’t save you. He’ll be dead.” His phone pings and he checks it. "Ah, right on schedule. Flying is so much faster than driving. Niccolo should be arriving any minute now."

"You won't succeed," I tell him, lifting my chin defiantly despite my terror. "Whatever sick game you're playing, you'll fail.”

His laughter fills the room. "Such childish notions. Maybe I should have you in the white.”

“Good will win over evil. You’ll see.”

“You’re so refreshingly energetic. I’m pleased. A feisty woman makes fucking all the more satisfying.”

31

NIC

I'm strapped into a seat on my father's private jet, flanked by two of his most ruthless men, Paulie and TJ. The ache in my head from their earlier blow still throbs, but it doesn’t erase the thoughts of Bella. How did my father find her? Who betrayed us?

I can’t worry about that right now. I need a plan to get us out of this. I’ll admit, I doubt myself at this point. I’d been so sure my plan to kill my father was foolproof, and I failed. But Bella and our child need me, as do Gia and her kids, so I need to come up with something.

I scan the cabin of the jet. Paulie is reading on his tablet. TJ is scarfing down a sandwich as he looks out over the New York landscape.

"Need to take a piss," I announce, shifting in my seat.

Paulie sneers. "Hold it."

"Unless you want me to piss myself on your boss's leather seats…" I let the threat hang.

Paulie nods at TJ. "Let him go. What's he gonna do at thirty thousand feet?"

TJ grunts and unlocks my cuffs. As I stand, I notice his phone clipped to his belt. In one fluid motion, I bump into him, palming the device as I stumble toward the bathroom.

"Watch it," Paulie barks.

“Sorry. Foot fell asleep.” Inside the tiny bathroom, I pull out the phone. My fingers fly across the keys, typing a message to Max. It’s a riskier plan than the one I thought was foolproof, but I’m desperate.

Max sends a symbol that lets me know he’s received it. I delete the message from theSentfolder and palm the phone again. When I exit, I stumble against Paulie again, deftly returning the phone to his belt clip.

“Jesus, you drunk?” TJ sneers. "Sit down.” He shoves me back into my seat.

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