Page 14 of Diary of a Mafia Princess

If that meant bouncing up and down on old man Guerra’s shriveled dick, then I would feed him all the Viagra necessary and do it.

My stomach rolled at the very thought of it, but what else was I supposed to do? If I told him I was pregnant, and he refused to marry me, my father would kill Dax and probably me swiftly after. If I married Carlos but couldn’t convince him this child was his, he or she would be sent away. Or killed.

Or worse, sold off at auction.

I knew what the Guerras did to make their money. I knew they had a finger in all the illegal pies, human trafficking being one of them.

They weren’t good men. They weren’t even men at all.

They were pure fucking evil.

And my father was no better. I’d thought for a little while he was.

But I’d been wrong about so many things.

This baby wasn’t one of them though. I rested my hand on my nonexistent belly but dropped it quickly when we rounded a corner and the two men escorting me stopped in front of a third man guarding a door.

“Mr. Guerra’s instructions are she does not leave her living quarters until he returns,” one of my escorts informed the door guard.

None of them seemed to care what I might think about the situation.

“Did he just?” I interrupted, shoving down the panic over the fact they clearly did, indeed, intend to keep me in a pretty light-filled prison. “And how long, exactly, will it be before Mr. Guerra decides to grace me with his presence?”

Neither of Carlos’s soldiers paid me any mind. The guard on the door looked at me, and then back at them, like he was confused as to why they weren’t saying anything.

I rolled my eyes and pushed past all three of them. “Forget it.”

Bodyguard number three leapt to open the door for me. “Wait, let me get that for you, Mrs. Guerra.”

I whipped around so fast I practically gave myself whiplash. “Do not ever call me that.”

The guard took a step back, pure surprise and shock in his expression. “I’m sorry. I was led to believe Mrs. Guerra would be occupying this room…”

He trailed off at the expression on my face.

The two who’d led me up the stairs, who were clearly more informed or had been around longer than Three, just put my bags down and ignored my little outburst. “She’s all yours,” Two said as he and his buddy walked away.

I went to pick up my things, but Three beat me to it. “Please let me do that for you. I won’t call you Mrs. Guerra again.”

“I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own bags.”

His gaze swept over my face. “I’ve no doubt. But I’ve been standing at this door for three hours and I’m so stiff and bored that you would honestly be doing me a favor.”

Even still, he waited for me to give him permission.

I eventually nodded, watching him bend at the knees and gather up my things. I squinted at him. “You were seriously just standing here in an empty hallway, guarding an empty room for three hours?”

He nodded as he indicated for me to go inside the bedroom. “It’s my first day, so not really surprising I wasn’t given anything more exciting to do, I guess. I’ve counted every painting on the walls. There’s seventeen if you’re interested. One of them is a landscape, perhaps of Tuscany? I really don’t know. I’ve never been out of the US, but it’s pretty. Anyway, the photo is of these grapevines. About two hours into standing there, I started counting the individual grapes.”

A smile flickered at the edges of my mouth. “And how many were there?”

“Enough to make a barrel of wine, I would think? I was at seven hundred and thirty-three when you showed up.”

“I suspect that’s not even enough for a glass to be honest.” At least not one the size I wanted to drink. Not that I’d be doing that for a few months.

He shrugged, stopping in the middle of the opulent bedroom. “I’m more of a whiskey sorta guy, if I’m being honest. But it felt like a lot when I was standing there counting them. Where do you want these?” He held the bags a little higher.

I glanced around the room as nonchalantly as possible. There was nothing of a personal nature inside the four walls. They were a neutral cream color, and the artwork had the same gilded gold frames, thick as my forearm, that the paintings in the hallway held. The bed had wooden posts at all four ends that reached almost to the ceiling, and a gauzy curtain canopy decorated the top.