“How long till Luciano and Carlo get back?” I hiss to Stefano as he restarts the car and drives around to the front of the mansion.
“Couple of hours,” Gabriele says.
“Great. Mattia, let’s ditch and watch a movie.” His arms are still wrapped around me, trapped on his lap, afraid that if he lets me go, I’ll attack Rocco again.
“Don’t have to twist my arm,” Mattia replies.
Stefano raises an eyebrow at us. “Aren’t you supposed to be teaching Charlie to shoot?”
“Not anymore. Tell Luciano if he has a problem with it, he can come find me,” I tell him.
Mattia shrugs. “Better listen to the boss.”
I glare over at Rocco, but he’s staring out the window silently. “I suggest you stay the fuck away from me for the rest of the day.” He looks like he wants to say something but keeps his mouth shut.
Pulling out my phone while Mattia and I walk to the media room, I send off a text to Luciano.
Fuck Rocco off, I want someone else.
His response is instant.
No
The balls on this man.
I’ll have Mattia kill him.
Mattia’s phone rings seconds after I press send. His face is stern, and I can tell it’s Luciano on the other end. I reach over and snatch thephone from Mattia, catching the last part of Luciano’s rant. “Touch him and I will punish you the exact same fucking way.”
“Does that count for me as well, or just Mattia?” I call out.
“Principessa,” Luciano says. He’s trying to use my nickname as a deflection, but I’m not having it today.
“Don’t fuckingPrincipessame. I’m not a fragile doll, Luciano.”
He chuckles through the phone. “Far from it.”
“Did you make him my bodyguard to torture me or Rocco more?” I question him, glad he isn’t in front of me right now.
“Both.”
“I want someone else,” I demand, barging through the media doors. I motion my hand in the air for Mattia to shut the door and he obeys.
“No,” Luciano says right before hanging up on me.
I throw Mattia his phone and flop into the recliner. “Fancy getting baked?” I pull a fat bud from my pocket.
He laughs. “You naughty troublemaker.” He scoops me up from the couch like I weigh nothing and spins me around the room. His laughter is infectious, and for a second, the heavy weight of the family, of Luciano, of everything, slips away.
“I’ll handle the setup,” Mattia says, grabbing the bud from me and already moving to the mini bar in the media room. I decide to ransack the mini bar, grabbing anything that looks like it’ll be great for our munchies.
“Grab it all,” he calls out, eyes dark with delight. I dump everything on the floor, throwing pillows and blankets off the couches to build our own little sanctuary.
In no time, Mattia has rolled a couple of joints, his hands almost too skilled for someone so young. We collapse back against the chair, lighting up and letting the smoke curl around us.
I exhale thick clouds, feeling the tension start to melt away. “This stuff’s amazing.”
“Only the finest on the coast.” Mattia takes another drag, his eyes reflecting something deeper.
