Page 14 of Heartless Mafia Prince 2: Rocco & Ryah

“Dad, spit it out. What does this mean?”

“In eight months, you’ll marry Luciano Conti.”

I pinched my eyes shut as my stomach bottomed out. “No. I have a boyfriend.”

“He’s not your boyfriend, Rosetta. Spencer’s a playboy. He might like you over the other women in his life, but you’re not tied to him.”

Dad was right; we weren’t exclusive, but I’d known Spencer for years. We had the most fun together. I’d go out on a limb and say he’d fucked me more than any other woman in his life. God, that gorgeous man knew how to please me. We also had the most fun together.

We were drunk during our last excursion in Paris.

He playfully asked me to marry him. Spencer held my hands in front of the Eiffel tower, fumbling to his knees. “Rosetta, marry me,” he slurred.

Laughing, I snorted out, “No.”

Spencer wasn’t built for this life. He wasn’t even a made man. Spencer was built to run boardroom meetings and stand at his huge office window and admire the city beneath him.

I’d turn twenty-five in September. My goal was to marry a made man. One who I respected and could grow to love.

“Dad, I can be the Donna of this family alone. I can marry later. We don’t need the Conti’s.”

He threw his hand in the air, telling me he had enough. “You’ll marry Luciano. And you’ll become the Donna of this family. Together, you’ll rule this empire. So, no Italy.”

I met Luciano several times over the years. He was handsome, but I never thought about dating him, let alone marrying him. Now we’d marry in less than a year.

Blinking twice, I peeked at Dad. “I’ll be the Donna.”

“Yes. I know it isn’t ideal. He isn’t a man you’re attracted to. But over time you’ll grow to love him.”

No, the hell I wouldn’t. The title of the Donna was what sparked my attention. Power came with that title.

“Put on one of the dresses you planned to wear to Italy. We’re having dinner with the Contis’ tonight at six.”

My heart plummeted to my feet.

Dad stalked out of the closet. He didn’t care about my feelings. He raised his daughters like men. If it weren’t for our mother, we’d be rough around the edges. Instead, we were sharks in skirts. We didn’t take shit from men and we could spot a man’s bullshit a mile away. My sisters and I were the pretty version of Dad. Sometimes, Dad requested I join him in the cellar.

One particular night, I pranced down the stairs in a tight pink dress. Dad interrogated another asshole in front of me. The man’s eyes followed me around the room while he continued lying to my father.

I grabbed a knife off the table and slowly strutted around him. “You’d never steal from the Vitales’, right?”

His fists curled on his lap as he salivated over my curves.

“Of course, not.”

I’d seen this guy around many times. He begged to fuck me. He told me after I fucked him, I’d never want another man.

“Dad, he’s tried to fuck me several times,” I released a chuckle.

Dad cupped his hands in front of him, glaring at the asshole sitting in the wooden chair.

“Not to worry, Dad. I knew he could never satisfy me.”

Still holding the knife, I unzipped his pants and peeked inside his boxers.

“You a grower?” I tilted my head to the side.

“Hey, why are you behaving this way in front of your father?”

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