Page 11 of Mabilia

“Mabilia, who drove you home today?”

“A friend,” I tell my father in the most innocent voice I can muster.

“What friend?” he asks me.

“Just a friend. You don’t know them.” I shrug.

“Where’s your car?”

“Josie needed to borrow it. I lent it to her and got a ride home from a friend,” I reply, narrowing my eyes in his direction. “Papa, why do you look like you’re going to burst a blood vessel?”

“That friend of yours, Tommy Johnson. Stay the fuck away from him, Mabilia,” Papa growls.

“If you already know his name, why are you asking me?” I yell back as I climb off the bed.

“Stay away from him,” Papa repeats.

“Why?” I fold my arms over my chest.

“Because he’s older than you, and you’re not dating,” he says.

“I’ve been dating boys for years now, Papa. And Tommy is only two years older than me. Give me a better reason to stayaway from him, and I might just listen.” I raise a challenging brow.

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to watch him bleed out after I remove all of his fingers for touching you.” Papa’s voice is much quieter now. Serious.

“If you do that, I’ll never forgive you and I’ll go live with Nonno and Nonna in Italy.” I don’t think I’d actually do it, but the threat of moving out is pretty much all I got right now.

Papa smiles. “Try it, printsessa. You’re not going anywhere.” He turns to leave, calling out over a shoulder to my mother. “Isabella, teach your daughter to refine her taste in boys. He drives a fucking red Ferrari. What kind of punk-ass kid drives around in a red Ferrari?” Papa shakes his head.

“Mikhail, you have three Ferraris in your garage,” Mom reminds him. “Leave her be. She’s not a little girl anymore. If she wants to date, she is going to do it, with or without our blessing.”

“You can’t date a dead man.” Papa shrugs.

Chapter Eight

Ituck my phone into my back pocket after checking it for the tenth time in as many minutes. Mabilia hasn’t responded to the message I sent her seven hours ago. Yes, I know how long it’s been because I’ve been obsessing over it. And it’s not because I’m codependent. I just need to know that she’s okay.

What if something happened to her? Her family isn’t exactly living a safe life. They have enemies.Shehas enemies.

“Why do you look like a teenage girl waiting for her crush to message her back?” Denny asks.

“Shut the fuck up,” I grunt at my best friend.

“You know this girl has you all twisted up. I’ve never seen you like this over a chick before.” He observes my reaction.

I don’t give him one. There’s a reason I win so many poker games. I’m good at schooling my features, giving a neutral expression. At not giving the opponent a single thing to judge my hand by. “I’m not twisted up,” I tell him.

Denny smirks, his glare falling behind me. “Sure, whatever you say, bro.”

I follow his line of sight, turning around until my gaze lands on the object of my latest obsession. Making her way towards the bar. She sits down on a stool, her eyes on me while every fucking male in here has their eyes onher.

What the fuck is she wearing? Her cleavage is on full display, her dress dipping into a deep V that ends at the middle of her stomach.

I lean over the bar. As much as I want to kiss her, I don’t. Not here. “How much did this dress cost you?” I ask her.

Mabilia looks down and then back up at me. “Three and a half grand. Why?”

Without bothering to look, I swipe a napkin from under the bar, pick up a pen, and write anI owe youon it for three and a half thousand dollars. Then I hand the napkin to Mabilia.

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