Page 110 of Heartless Mafia Prince

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You know she asked me not to kill you?”

He flashed a devilish grin. “How does that make you feel? Knowing she cares about me?”

I felt my blood heat under my skin.

“We’re all friends, Bosco. We grew up in the mafia life together. Stop making it seem like she wants to be with you. Because she’s made it clear she doesn’t.”

Bosco grabbed the Rémy bottle and poured more in his cup. He took a long sip. “I told her it’s just a matter of time before you fuck up.”

I shoved my palms against his chest. “Motherfucker stop meddling.”

Rémy spilled all over his black t-shirt. He extended his arms. “Get a grip, Rocco.”

I slapped the cup out of his hand, then I slammed him against the wall. “You’re lucky I don’t cut your lips off. You better thank her. She spared your life.”

Gian shoved me back. “Chill, Rocco.”

“You’ll slip. And when you do. I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”

That was it. I had it. I pushed Gian back.

“You won’t ever have her,” I roared, as I stalked toward Bosco.

Curling my fingers in his t-shirt, I threw punch after punch. Each time my knuckles met his jaw bone. He slammed his hands into my chest, shoving me back. I winced as my spine met the edge of the desk.

“You fucking asshole,” I roared.

Bosco ran toward me. His fists plunged into my face like a bag of rocks.

I returned a blow to his rib cage.

“Oof,” he groaned, stumbling back.

Felt good seeing his bloody, swollen face.

The smell of copper hung in the air. My top lip felt numb. Was I bleeding, too? I didn’t care. The fight had to continue.

Gian didn’t interfere again. He understood Bosco, and I had to get this shit off of our chests.

“Did she tell you I was her first kiss?” A wicked smile curled his lips.

What the fuck?

I rammed my head into Bosco’s stomach. His back smacked the concrete wall.

“Ouch,” he yelled.

Bosco’s fists plowed into my torso.

“Ah,” I groaned.

“You better savor that kiss for a lifetime, because that’s the last time you’ll put your lips on her,” I gritted out.

“Don’t be so sure. You’ll fuck up.” A dark chuckle tore from his throat.

I wriggled free. Fists raised, I stood in a fighting stance. “Let’s go, motherfucker.” I felt blood trickle over the edge of my chin.

The ogre shielded his face with his fists. Bosco was six-four, I was six-three, and Gian was six-two. We were all built like Italian stallions. We could fight all night. Bosco threw a punch. I dodged it and swung. He leaned back, and I missed. Moving in closer, I slammed my fist into his nose. I wore his blood on my fists like a badge of honor. We beat each other to a pulp. Still standing, we swayed back and forth. Each eyeing the other with our bruised knuckles held high.

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