Page 5 of Wicked Prince

Linda seems like she's about to say something else when I hear footsteps in the hall and Dad walks in, looking exactly like he did at the funeral. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was wearing the same black suit and gray tie. He looks like a typical mob boss, broad-shouldered and intimidating with dark slicked-back hair.

Dark hair is the only trait I inherited from him, really. That and the stubbornness, according to my mom.

"Amelia," he says, looking me over like he's searching for something to disapprove of. I guess he doesn't find anything, because he turns to Linda. "Linda. Why don't you find out how long it'll be until dinner?"

"Yes, Mr. Carillo," she says, nodding to him. She gives me a glance that seems almost sympathetic before walking down the hall and leaving us alone.

For a few moments, neither of us seems to know what to say. He's finally the first to break.

"You look well."

I swallow a laugh, looking down at myself. "I would've dressed nicer if I'd known I was having dinner at Buckingham Palace."

His expression already seemed pretty empty to begin with, but when the humor drains from it, I realize it is possible for him to be even sterner. "You get that smart tongue from your mother. Try to curb it at dinner, will you?"

"I'll be on my best behavior," I mutter. He seems like he doesn't know if that's a genuine promise or another smart remark, and I'm not entirely sure myself. He finally gives up and walks down the hall where Linda disappeared, so I follow him.

From the art on the walls to the furniture, this place feels more like a museum than a house. Part of me is glad I didn't grow up here. Our house was small and it wasn't fancy, but at least it felt like a home.

The dining room is even more lavish than the rest of the limited space I've seen. He leads me right there, so I guess I'm not getting a tour. There's a massive wooden table that looks like it was made to entertain royalty, and that's probably not far off. Some of the most infamous mafia members have undoubtedly dined here over the years.

But I'd take Al Capone and Whitey Bulger over the regal blonde woman glaring at me from the end of the table any day.

ChapterThree

AMELIA

It's bizarre to finally have a living person to link with the pictures. I know what Natalie looks like, obviously. The social media age makes snooping irresistible, and I've hate-scrolled more than a few of her Instagram-chronicled vacations and spa days. I guess the diet tea she's always shilling works, because there's not an ounce of fat on her unless you count the silicone airbags squished into the front of her white Prada dress.

I'm immediately ashamed for beingthatgirl who judges another woman for her looks, but it's what's beneath the shiny plastic I have an issue with. Mom would never get into detail about what happened between them, but I’ve put together enough over the years to form an impression. One that isn’t mitigated in the least by the icy blue stare I’m getting from across the table.

To Natalie's left is Kayleigh, pretty much a younger clone of her mother. They’re both blonde, thin, and unfairly gorgeous. Kayleigh isn’t giving me the Stepford glare, though, so maybe she doesn’t already hate me in my mother's stead.

Hopefully.

"Girls," Dad says, although I'm not sure which of us he's addressing. Natalie probably still counts as a girl, even if she was older than Mom when they got married. "Amelia, this is Natalie and Kayleigh."

"Hi," I say, my voice cracking a little with awkwardness. Natalie's gaze is hard to hold longer than a second, so I smile at Kayleigh. "Nice to meet you both."

"You, too," Kayleigh says, an uncomfortable edge to her tone, which is understandable. I feel like if I stand here another second, I'm going to turn into a vapor.

The servants enter the room just in time and start carrying the trays of food over to the beautifully set table. Dad motions for me to take a seat across from Kayleigh and pulls out my chair, which feels more like assurance I won't wander than chivalry. He takes his spot at the head of the table as the servants finish filling our glasses with water. Wine, in Dad's and Natalie's case.

IwishI could take a sip of something stronger than water, but my mouth is bone dry, so I take a sip and resist the urge to chug it.

"Watch it," Natalie snaps. I look up in time to see her shoving one of the servers away from her before she brushes off her arm like it's dirty now.

"Sorry, Mrs. Carillo," the kid says before fleeing the room. Dad might be the kingpin, but it's pretty clear who the servants fear most.

Dad pretends like he doesn't notice, or he just doesn't care. He starts eating, so the rest of us follow suit. At least, me and Kayleigh start. Natalie seems to have far more interest in the wine glass in front of her, and I can only assume it's not her first, given the way her voice slurs as she immediately starts talking to Dad about some party she's been planning.

I'd worried I wasn't going to have anything to say, but twenty minutes into dinner and I realize that's not going to be a problem. She's definitely not interested in getting to know me, and it's mutual. If I wasn't afraid of interrupting the continual stream of one-sided complaining coming from the head of the table, I might venture an attempt at conversing with Kayleigh, but something tells me Natalie wouldn't appreciate being interrupted even if she's not interested in talking to me.

The next time I glance across the table, Kayleigh is watching me. "Nice necklace," she says, taking a sip of her water.

I look down at the ring resting against my collar and smile.

"Oh, thanks. It was a gift," I say, stopping myself short of admitting who it's from.

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