Page 47 of The Darkest King

Dear Connor,so turns out I forgot to mention I’m the Mancini mafia princess. Also, I told Joe Mancini—mob boss and also my father—that we are engaged. Don’t worry, I’ll get us out of this, but for now, can I move in and live with you?

Yours sincerely

Mia Mancini

Jesus, I’m in deep here. Which is why I’m currently chewing my thumbnail while my friends keep giving me weird looks as I sit opposite them at Toast Bar.

I should’ve stayed home instead of joining them at the bar, but there’s no way I could relax and sleep, although I’m physically exhausted.

“Mia, are you okay?” Sienna asks, scooping nachos loaded with sour cream into her mouth.

“Hmm, yip. Fine. I’m cool.” I nod.

Duncan snorts. “Cool as a forest fire.”

“Huh?” I ask, then laugh awkwardly. He’s a NYPD firefighter, and if he can fit a fire analogy into a joke, you bet your life he will.

Fortunately for him, he’s hot and women like men in uniforms. Just not his jokes.

Isabelle lets out a groan, proving my point. She’s immune to his muscles and pretty blue eyes.

“No, I just had a late night,” I say, leaning my elbow on the table and resting my head on my hand.

Sienna squints. “Did you go out after the Gala? Jeez, I was exhausted.”

Everyone stares at me while I try to come up with an answer. I obviously can’t share my situation with them because a) they don’t know who I really am, and b) I might’ve signed a false name on Connor’s contract, but I won’t break his confidence.

I understand why he wants his privacy. Plus, I don’t want to find myself in theNY Times. Connor is featured every week for one reason or another. Mostly business or appearances, but also gossip about his relationship status.

I trust my friends, but I agreed, and my lips are sealed.

So, I lie.

What I learned about lying from my father was, you should keep it as close to the truth as possible. Then people are more likely to believe it and shrug off any doubts.

Yeah, like I said, I’m no princess.

My dream is to have my own business, but I have no idea what I want to do. I’m endlessly working on a business strategy for an idea that’s not fully formed—and changes by the day, if not the hour.

“I was working on my business plan. Couldn’t sleep. It happens after a big event sometimes,” I say. “My feet and body might have been tired, but my brain wouldn’t shut up.”

They all know how passionate I am about my business ideas. Most of which I run past them and end up hitting a brick wall, but you have to start somewhere.

“Yeah, that happens. Sometimes you get overtired,” Sienna says, nodding. “I wish my apartment had a tub to soak in. Although, I’d most likely drown.”

I snort.

“Magnesium,” Isabelle says. She’s studying natural therapies so is always giving us advice on some supplement or another. Magnesium is the answer to many things, I’ve learned in the past two years. “Relaxes your muscles and calms your nervous system.”

I nod. “Thanks. I’ll try that.”

I won’t.

Magnesium isn’t going to fix this. It won’t stop my gangster father from forcing me to marry some old disgusting mobster or breaking up my fake engagement with an unsuspecting billionaire.

Lord, what a mess.

“Well, here’s to another successful event,” Sienna says, lifting her glass of wine, and we do the same, then drink.

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