Page 20 of Diary of a Mafia Princess

I had mentally planned for Carlos Guerra to come home, turn on the light, and be surprised when I was there, naked in his bed. In my mind, he’d do a double take, and then his old-man wrinkles would have smoothed out into something of a leer. He would cross the room like a panther stalking prey and then rip the sheets from my body, so he could see exactly what he was getting in his fourth wife.

I’d waited in the dark, practicing my seduction face—pouty lips and tousled hair and come-fuck-me eyes.

I would have bet money I looked utterly ridiculous.

I tried blaming it on the fact I didn’t know this man from a bar of soap. So of course I was going to be awkward and uncomfortable. He was a stranger.

Except, Dax had been a stranger the night I’d met him too. And yet there hadn’t been an ounce of awkwardness between us. He’d been sweet and kind and funny and sexy, tattooing flash pieces in a corner of Psychos, the local sex club.

It had felt like the most natural thing in the world to sit next to him and talk, falling for him minute by minute in a way I hadn’t even known was possible outside of romance books and movies.

It had felt so easy to hop up on his table and let him tattoo me.

As well as everything that had happened afterward.

I reached down to my mound, where he’d put his ink, and then closed my eyes and pretended the asshole jacking off across the room was my sweet, tattooed man.

It was the only way I would get through this.

I touched myself, thinking of him.

I didn’t stiffen when the mattress beside me dipped and Carlos Guerra rolled onto his back, jerking his shriveled salami.

The moan I let out as I rubbed my clit, pretending it was Dax’s fingers, was not for the man beside me but for the one my heart could never forget.

“What the fuck?”

The bedside lamp flooded the room with weak yellow light.

I didn’t have to use my practiced seduction face. With Dax on my mind, the need in my expression was real.

It took me a good moment of blinking to realize the man on the other side of the bed was absolutely not sixty-something.

And it absolutely was not Carlos Guerra.

I screamed.

The man jerked back from the noise so violently he teetered on the edge of the bed, his arm windmilling as he tried to find his center of balance again.

He didn’t.

He fell off the bed with a thump and a shout of his own when his tailbone connected with the floor.

To add insult to injury, the door flew open, and Lynx stormed in, gun drawn. “Nyah! What’s wrong?”

“Oh my God!” I gasped, realizing I was now very naked with not just one man I didn’t know, but two. I grabbed for the sheets; way too late.

Lynx’s eyes flashed with heat, his gaze traveling up my legs, over my pussy and naked tits.

I finally got myself covered up, but that look left behind a fire that didn’t help the blaze thinking about Dax had created inside me.

“Nyah?” the masturbator on the floor asked. “As in Nyah Matish? For fuck’s sake. Does somebody want to tell me why my future stepmommy is naked in my bed?”

Future stepmommy? What?

Red-hot embarrassment raced across my skin. Carlos only had two kids that I knew of. And that deep, gravelly voice certainly didn’t belong to his daughter.

I’d been touching myself while lying next to Luca fucking Guerra.