Page 25 of Diary of a Mafia Princess

To turn her laughter into moans.

But instead, I’d probably have to stand in the fucking hallways and watch as she did that with Carlos Guerra.

Jesus. That killed the fantasy hard.

I changed the subject. “What do you have on your schedule tomorrow. I’m back on duty.”

She shrugged. “I don’t think I have anything. I think my only job is to sit here until Mr. Guerra gets back.”

I frowned at that. “They were serious about that? You aren’t supposed to leave at all?”

“I don’t think so.”

That didn’t sit well with me. I might not have had any pull with Carlos Guerra. But presumably, if he wasn’t here, Luca would be second in charge. And maybe I could persuade him to let Nyah out. I pushed her further. “If I can get you sprung, where would you want to go?”

She opened her mouth but then closed it quickly. “I don’t know,” she said eventually, though I was pretty sure that wasn’t the answer she actually wanted to give. “What do you like to do?”

“Watch hockey. Play hockey.” I shrugged. “I’m just learning more about bikes now that I’m a prospect with the Slayers.” I slanted a glance at her. “I could take you over there, if you wanted? To see Violet? She’s often there with Reaper.”

But Nyah shook her head in a panic. “No! I can’t do that. I told Violet and Dax I was going home to look after my mother…”

I didn’t ask why she’d lied. She clearly had her reasons.

“Please don’t tell them I’m here.”

I didn’t talk to either Violet or Dax regularly, so that seemed easy enough. “Sure. But it might be good to have a friend you can talk to.”

She forced a smile. “I have you, right?”

But we both knew how sad that sounded. That me, a man she’d just met, hired to be her bodyguard, was the only friend she had.

I silently promised myself I’d find a way to get Violet back to her. Whatever Nyah was hiding, she would need a friend.

One who didn’t have the image of her naked body beneath his jacket seared into his mind for the rest of eternity.

8

DAX

Dear Diary,

The love of my life is marrying a mob boss. Over my dead body.

My face throbbed like a motherfucker, and my eye was nearly swollen shut, but I dragged my ass out of bed and went to the shop anyway.

The temptation to just lie in bed all day was strong, but the shop had been my whole heart for a lot longer than any woman had been in my life, and I was damn determined to make sure it still ran long after she’d walked out.

It was almost ridiculous how much I gaslit myself, trying to believe that.

But I’d keep saying it, and maybe one day it would be true.

The lights were already on behind the window, Saint View Tattoo painted right in the middle of it. One of us painted it a few times a year, whenever it started getting shabby. And because we all had different styles, the window was an ever-evolving display of the artists who worked inside.

Roarke and King looked up from the kitchenette as I walked in. Roarke winced at the sight of my face.

But my youngest brother, only by the minute that separated him and his twin, just shook his head. “You idiot.”

I flipped him the bird. “Good morning to you too, Tim.”