Page 3 of Forbidden Mobster's Daughter

It’s already embarrassing whenever I leave the college grounds and have a short, bald, muscular man follow me in a black car. He’s been doing that for the last four years, ever since I left boarding school. He’s like a shadow. A way for my father to keep an eye on me at all times; he says it’s for safety since he’s high profile. I know the truth, though.

What am I going to do?

I can run. But where would I go?

I have no work experience, haven’t finished my college degree in business, and the most important thing—my father and his cronies will find me wherever I go. I learned that lesson after I tried to run away when I was eleven, right after my mom died. My father’s henchmen found me in half a day, and as punishment, he shipped me off to an old-fashioned, high-security boarding school in New York.

And now, it continues.

A marriage!

I blow out some air, looking at the ceiling.

He told me he’d send someone to pick me up tomorrow as if I’m a five-year-old child who needs a nanny to go places. I won’t go—this person can’t make me, right? Certainly, others would see. That’s a good idea to buy some time—to be in public places only to ensure I’m safe.

So many times, I’ve wished I had something on my father to make him pay for what he’s done.

That’s why he’s sent me away—I’ve become too rebellious to live in Chicago and have access to all the information I could use against him. When I was in boarding school, he bribed the warden to keep a close eye on me.

I didn’t need security, as I was barely allowed to go anywhere by myself.

A knock on the door startles me. Did Lisa forget her key again? It’s happened twice this week.

I open the door and see a large man in front of me.

A shiver rolls down my spine.

He’s tall and broad, with bronze skin and a big-dick attitude that drips from him. A few swirls of tattoos escape his black V-neck shirt and the leather jacket of the same color. Dark jeans complete his look. I’ve seen him before… Matteo Sartorre.

His father used to work for my dad and passed away unexpectedly. I remember because that happened shortly before my mother committed suicide.

“What do you want?” I ask. Of course, Dad told me he’d send someone tomorrow, and instead, he did it today. Another one of his so-called elements of surprise. He’s thrown a few of those in my day, and they’re never pleasant.

“Ah. New York hospitality. How have you been?” He enters my dorm before I invite him, his presence alone enough for me to take a step back and close the door behind him. He watches me with curiosity, his brown eyes taking me in.

How did he get into the building?

This is an all-girls college with strict rules for visitors.

Then again, my father’s people always find ways to break them. Whether he clocked off security or offered them money, who cares? Matteo is here… to take me to Chicago.

“Better without you.”

He touches his heart, and the ghost of a smile pulls at his lips. “Now I’m hurt.”

I roll my eyes, wishing I could physically hurt him. Should I kick him in the crotch? “I’m not going with you, Matteo.” Best to lay it all out now, so he knows I’m not leaving without a fight. Though, how I can fight this beast of a man is beyond me.

He looks around my dorm, glancing at the bookshelves, the rippled sheets in my unmade bed, and the amount of crap crowding my nightstand. “You’ve had a good run here. I like the place.”

I cross my arms over my chest. Damn it, I should have taken those wrestling classes back in school. However, I doubt anything less than a black belt would give me a chance against Matteo. I heard he handled four men at once, all by himself. “Good run? What do you mean?”

He perches his hands at his waistline, his fingers caressing his Italian leather belt. “I mean, you’re coming with me.”

I snort. “And marry that old bastard? No. I told my dad I wouldn’t.”

I’ve seen Francesco Caruso once before, when I was ten, at a family function. I doubt that time has been kind to him since he already looked like a sleazeball back then. And that’s only scratching the surface. Anyone who gets into business with my dad is beyond gross, despite what they look like.

Even if they’re as hot as Matteo. I sigh.

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