Page 1 of Mabilia

Chapter One

What do you get when you cross a Russian bratva Pakhan and an Italian mafia princess? Me. You get me. My name’s Mabilia Isabella Valentino-Petrov. It’s a mouthful.Trust me, I know. But it also holds weight not only in this town, but across Europe and Asia.

I wasn’t supposed to happen. My parents were not meant to be. And almost weren’t. My papa, though? He says that he andmy mother were destined for one another and that I’m nothing short of a miracle. Evidence of a love that knows no bounds.

Then again, he tells my two younger brothers the same thing. Neo is my Papa’s prodigy, whereas Lex is the more… rebellious one of us all. Well, more rebellious in that he doesn’t try to cover his tracks. Which is exactly why he’s away at boarding school.

I at least go out of my way to try not to get caught when I do something I know I’m not supposed to be doing. There is nothing worse than seeing the disappointment on my parents’ faces. Especially knowing how hard they work for us, how much they love us.

My mother tells me I can never do anything that will make her love me less. People in our world are terrified of my papa, but it’s my mother they should be more afraid of. She’s the very definition of a lioness protecting her cubs. And I hope to be just like her one day. Smart, beautiful… and ruthless.

For now, I’m happy to be young and carefree. Do I take advantage of my name? Absolutely. I’m not an idiot. Being a Valentino-Petrov opens every door in this city. Even at eighteen, I can walk into any nightclub, sit at the bar, and order drinks. Because no one tells me no.

I hand my black card over to the barman. He takes it. Looks at it and hands it back. “Miss Valentino-Petrov, this isn’t an ID,” he says.

I guess there’s a first time for everything.

“No, it’s money, and just as goodif not betterthan anyone else’s in here.” I smile sweetly at the guy.

When I first walked in, I might have come right up to him because of his pretty face. Deep brown eyes, dark hair, and I’m almost certain that under that white business shirt is a body to drool over. I can tell by how form fitting the material is. His forearms on full display. Strong, muscular forearms that I want to dig my nails into.

“You got ID?” he asks me.

“You saw my name, right? Valentino-Petrov. What more do you need?” Again, I smile sweetly, hoping it will get me what I want.

“I saw it. But what I need to see is your date of birth, babe. Otherwise you can order water or a soda,” he tells me.

“Are you new here? Where’s Tommy?” I ask, looking around for the owner of the bar.Healways gives me what I want.

“You knew Tommy?” the barman asks.

“Knew? As inpasttense? No, IknowTommy. Now, where is he?” He has to be around here somewhere… unless this new guy is saying what I think he’s saying.

“Yeah, past tense, babe. Tommy is with us no more.”

“Wait… What happened? I just saw him last week.” I knew Tommy, but I didn’t really know him all that well. At least not well enough to be upset over his passing. Although, if some tears will help me get that drink I want, I’m not beyond using them.

“Heart attack.”

I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my gaze. “Who are you?”

“Tommy, the third, his grandson,” the guy says, holding out a hand and introducing himself.

“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss. He was a great man.” I drop my arms and force a single tear to trail down my cheek.

Tommythe thirdreaches out and wipes the moisture off my face as he leans over the bar. Then he drops his mouth to my ear. “Guy was an asshole. Everyone who knew him knew that too,” he whispers.

“Well, I liked him,” I say.

“You liked him because you could flash that pretty little smile and push those fuckable tits up and get served underage.” Tommy chuckles.

My eyes widen. Did he really just say that to me? No one has ever spoken to me like that before. Ever. No one around here would dare. I’m sure if I screamed or made a scene in this bar right now, at least ten men would come to defend my honor by making this son of a bitch bleed.

“That’s not a nice way to talk about your deceased grandfather—or any grandfather really,” I huff, and Tommy shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“Truth is truth, babe.”

“It’s Mabilia, notbabe. What do I have to do to get a drink?” I ask him while batting my eyelashes.

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