Page 5 of Heartless Mafia Prince

Rocco intertwined our fingers and stalked in the opposite direction.

My skin heated under his touch. Mainly, it had been his gaze that lit my insides on fire anytime he looked my way.

“My father will see that you pay for this.” Drew yelled at our backs.

Rocco had gone too far again.

He opened the passenger door of his Bugatti. “Hop in.”

“Smitty can drive me home.”

His irresistible rugged bad boy looks were distracting. But why? In my heart of hearts, I viewed him as a ruthless boy. One I’d never allow in my bed. I believed it was safer that way. His slick words couldn’t penetrate the steel cage guarding my heart.

Our fathers were sometimes at odds. But they left us out of their territory and merchandise disagreements.

Rolling my eyes, I slid into the custom blue leather bucket seat, stuffed my black leather messenger bag, and red and white pom-poms on the floor.

He closed the door, then climbed behind the steering wheel.

“Why did you have to let him get under your skin?”

Rocco pressed the ignition button. The engine roared. “Rich boy had it coming. He thinks he’s all high and mighty because his dad is a judge.”

He halted at the end of the parking lot, then lowered the window.

“Hey, Smitty, I’ll take Ryah home.”

I waved at my bodyguard.

“That’s fine. I’m right behind you.”

Rocco nodded and turned on to the road, saluting his security detail parked in a black suburban across the street.

My father, Luciano Conti, was one of four mafia bosses in Philadelphia. Urbano Andrisani, Eduardo Cerullo, and Galil De Bello were the others. We had bad blood with the De Bello’s.

Rocco and I have been in each other’s lives since we were babies.

He often stared at me from across the room with disdain in his eyes. I asked him if he hated me because I was half black and half Italian.

He said, “No, but the sight of you pains my eyes.”

I assumed I didn’t appeal to him. That statement made me loathe him even more. I always hated him. Mostly because he tortured me when we were kids.

Over the years, we learned to tolerate each other. We’ve changed schools five times in the last three years. Rocco stayed in trouble. He took over whatever new school we attended. The jocks and the faculty despised him. The last two transfers happened because students were afraid of me. Or, should I say afraid of my family. This time, I used my mother’s last name, Soloman, to keep people off my trail.

“Rocco, we should discuss the next school we’ll attend.”

“We can stay. You finally have friends.”

“I would’ve lost those friends if you would have outed me.”

His eye twitched. That meant he’d lose his shit in any second.

“What?”

“Stop hiding who you are. Tell them your father’s name and gauge their reaction. If they walk out of your life, they were never real friends. High school will end in a couple of years. Let’s make the best of it.”

The smell of copper mixed in the air with his addictive cologne. Staring at his bloody knuckles, I reached for his hand. He flinched. My fingers brushed across his skin.

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