Page 123 of My Mafia Queen

“A question first,” he says.

“I’m listening.”

He sucks in a short yet forceful breath and brings his eyes to me.

“How do you envision your life with Tina once you get her from your father?”

“If I get her from my father.”

“You’ll get her. I’ll make sure of that.”

My heart races a little.

“You know my plan.”

“That’s not what I asked. If you still think that it’s still possible for you to go away, tell me.”

“Hmm…” He got me. “No. It’s not possible,” I say after a few moments. “Honestly, I don’t know. Is this some kind of pivotal question?”

“Yes, it is. We need to talk about your future.”

“My future?” I blurt, outraged. “Well, if it’s my future, I guess you can spend some money with me and make me go away.”

He doesn’t like my answer. And not because it’s cheeky and defiant, but because it’s immature. And I suddenly have this feeling that him bringing me here, observing me, and having this talk with me is not so much about the future as it is about gauging my level of understanding.

And it’s not like he’s impressed with me right now.

If anything, he is visibly disappointed. He doesn’t even hold it against me.

It’s more about how young and unprepared I am.

No matter how much I want it, I can’t become a mature woman overnight.

I’m still a girl who worked on her homework a year ago.

I’m still a young woman who hasn’t been brought up the right way and hasn’t had support of any kind while trying to figure out things on her own.

And I’m a little bit of a baby gangster, too.

Only a day ago, I had a gun tucked in the back of my waistband while having a conversation with my father.

Although that speaks more about my father than it speaks about me.

“Rephrase that, please,” he says, showing restraint.

I wish it were that easy, yet strong emotions pour through me and tears prick my eyes, another confirmation––if I needed one––that I’m too young and volatile for him.

“It won’t make a damn difference. You got your answer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go before I embarrass myself even more.”

I push the chair back and walk away from him, the dinner table, and the prettiest and warmest room in the house.

The voices of his men echo outside. I bet they’re still in the guesthouse, eating and having a good time.

Honestly, I didn’t expect this. A learning moment.

And I’m sure it wasn’t his intention to teach me anything.

I was right––I muse, moving quickly toward a part of the house I’m not familiar with.

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