Page 8 of Heartless Mafia Prince

“Fine. No hanging out. Come straight home after the game.”

I shoved my fingers into my coils. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mom placed our plates in front of us. Rocco sat up straight holding a pleasant good boy kind of smile on his face.

“Thank you,” we stated respectively.

Her strong cheekbones lifted. “You’re welcome.” Her low brown ponytail fanned across her back as she bounced out of the kitchen.

He was beautiful as a boy. And even more handsome in a sinful kind of way as a teenager. I could only imagine how devilishly gorgeous he’d become once he turned twenty-five.

Sliding my fork through the flaky salmon, I peeked across the counter. “Drive me home tomorrow.”

“You asking or telling?” He shoved a forkful of broccoli into his mouth.

I swallowed hard. “I’m telling my friends who I am in the morning.”

He nodded. “It’s for the best. Remember, I’ll still be your friend.”

I tilted my head to the side. “We’re not friends.”

“You’re right. I’m the mafia prince and you’re the mafia princess.”

A smile spread across my lips. “Yeah.” In certain settings, I enjoyed the look on people's faces when they learned I was Luciano Conti’s daughter.

“Saturday night we can practice shooting in my dad’s gun range.”

“Now you’re talking.”

Later that night, I stood in the oversized bathroom, staring at my honey brown oval face. I tapped the tip of my pointy nose and puckered my pouty pink lips. I loved my almond shaped eyes and thick brows. My breasts had to fill in before prom. Please, Lord!

It looked like a pair of peaches sat front and center on my chest.

It still bothered me that Rocco hated looking at me. Pointing my nose upward, I blinked away his words. I love me just the way I am. Little chest and all.

“Good morning, Smitty,” I grinned, rushing out the house toward the black Escalade.

He held the rear passenger door open. “Morning to you, Ryah.”

I slid across the warm cream leather seat. Mom left an hour before me. She had a large lunch to prepare at our restaurant Vega in downtown Philly.

In this life, bodyguards were like a second skin. They sat outside our house around the clock. We didn’t leave the house without our security detail.

Smitty hopped behind the steering wheel, then backed out of the driveway.

“Are we stopping at the bagel shop this morning?”

“No, I’ll eat at school.” My fingers skated across the phone screen.

Me: Genevieve, tell the girls were meeting in the lunchroom. I have something I want to discuss over breakfast.

Genevieve: Are you ok?

Me: Yes, I’m fine.

Genevieve: Ok, see you in a sec.

I stared out the window, pondering on what they’d say.

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