Page 42 of Princess's Revenge

I’m a murderer.

I feel woozy.

The blonde slides some cash back towards me. “Your change.”

“Thanks,” I try to smile at her, “you keep it. He doesn’t need it anymore.”

“Who?”

“The man I—”

Franky pulls at me, “We’d better get going.”

He’s right…we should get going. I link arms with Franky and start walking.

“Bye!” I wave to the bartender as we pass through the doors.

Francis puts me in the car and we drive.

I listen on the radio for any news about what happened and check my phone as well, but there’s nothing. Maybe it’s too soon?

What would they even say?Motorist found shot dead outside butchery?

Or maybe—Known mob associate the victim of gangland violence?

“Come on,” Francis pokes my shoulder, “we’re home.”

“Oh.”That was quick.We park in the same spot we started from. I get out of the car and feel just the teensiest bit unsteady. “Francis?”

When he comes around the car to me, I push him against it and plant a kiss on him…then another…and now, it’s a full-blown making out session—my fingers are in his hair, his hands on my ass…

He stops me after a minute and whispers, “Everyone will see! Let’s go to your room.”

“Okay,” I whisper back, even though there’s absolutely no one around and the place looks deserted.He’s funny!

I take his hand and start running…then stop because I have no idea which way I’m going.

“This way,” Franky laughs and pulls me along.

This place can be like a maze sometimes.I wonder if they made it like this on purpose?

After a number of twists and turns, which I’m assuming we’re taking so as not to run into anyone—Carlo, Charles, guards, brothers, fathers—we finally get to my room.

I’m pleasantly surprised to find that it’s as empty as we left it—because my life is all about plot twists these days.It would have been funny if the whole family was waiting for us in here.

I lock the door from the inside and take Franky to the bed. I push him down and climb on top of him. I plunge my tongue into his mouth and have my way with him, grinding myself against his crotch.

The second I reach down his pants for his cock, he pushes me away and sits up, “I can’t do this, Andrea.”

“What the fuck?”

“I can’t do this,” he stands up. The way he says it, I don’t think it’s about performance anxiety.

“You mean youcan’tor youwon’t?” I want to be a hundred percent sure—because I really need to fuck right now.

He looks scared. “That was wrong, Andrea. We shouldn’t have done it.”

“Wedidn’t do anything, Francis,” I take his hand and pull him back to me and give him the kind of sensuous kiss that got both his brothers rock hard, “Ikilled that Cassaduchi fucker. You don’t have to worry.”

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