Page 34 of Diary of a Mafia Princess

“Only because I value keeping my eyes. And if my father knew I’d seen you naked, he’d scoop them out with spoons. Along with any other man who’s seen you without your clothes on.” I glanced back at Lynx behind us. “Probably best you pretend you don’t know about that little tattoo of hers.”

A pink blush swept across Nyah’s back.

Lynx was polite enough, at least with her, not to say anything.

I led the other two through the house, to the wing my father used as his office and living quarters. At the heavy wooden door, I stopped short and forced myself not to take the deep, steadying breath my nervous system needed.

I’d hated this room ever since I was a kid. Nothing good ever happened inside these walls, and I doubted that was about to change. “Listen,” I said quietly, not directing my words at either of them individually, because both of them needed to hear it. “Once we get inside, don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. Got it?”

Nyah scowled at me. “What, like we’re subpar citizens, not good enough to utter a sound in front of the king?”

I rolled my eyes, but it hid the worry that lit up inside me. She was too independent. Too sassy. While it amused me, my father was going to see it as a challenge.

Just like he had in Isabella. Just like he had with our mother.

I knew exactly how Carlos Guerra broke women who didn’t respect him. Men were easily dealt with. A simple gunshot to the temple took care of the problem.

But women he broke slowly. Painfully. With every harsh touch. Every cruel word.

Nyah might have thought she was tough enough to take on my father, but she was so very wrong.

I grabbed her arm roughly, hauling her around so she faced me. “Hear me when I say this, princess. Shut. Your. Mouth.”

Her eyes flashed venom at me.

Good. She could hate me all she wanted, as long as she kept that side of herself directed at me and not my father. Something inside me enjoyed it anyway. Lit up at the fire in her eyes. My dick gave warning that I was going to get hard if she kept looking at me like that.

It was just one way I was different than my father.

I liked a woman who could challenge me.

But Nyah wasn’t my woman.

I let her arm go, and she snatched it back, pulling away from me.

Behind me, Lynx shifted his weight until his chest brushed my back. His voice was a whisper, so low Nyah wouldn’t have heard, and yet his tone was a dark threat. “That’s the first and last time you’ll touch her like that. You understand me, Mr. Guerra?”

I ground my teeth, irritation rolling down my spine. I hadn’t hurt her. I’d merely gotten her attention.

But since I had no intention of touching Nyah Matish again, I didn’t bother explaining that to him.

Fuck them both. I was trying to help them. If they didn’t want my help, they could go to hell.

I knocked twice on the door and waited until it opened.

I didn’t acknowledge any of the other men in the room, though I was well aware of Enzo, my father’s youngest brother. He was barely ten years older than I was, and I hadn’t seen him for years. His presence here sent a trickle of dread down my spine. But I kept my gaze focused on my father, sitting behind an elegant mahogany desk big enough to fuck on.

An image of lying Nyah out on that desk and taking her hard popped into my mind. Thanks to last night, I knew exactly what she’d look like spread out on it like a feast.

I’d been more into guys for the past few years. I couldn’t remember the last time a woman had made me feel anything.

Trust me to get a hard-on for the most unavailable woman on the planet.

It would pass. She’d marry my father, I’d throw myself into my work, and hopefully I’d only have to see her at events. And by then, she’d be on my father’s arm, wearing his ring, completely his property.

I said nothing, just like I’d warned the others. And thankfully, they followed suit, all three of us standing there waiting for my father to pay attention to us.

A glass of half-drunk whiskey sat to his left, a thick cigar in an ashtray next to it, the scent of its smoke lingering in the stillness of the room. He scribbled the expensive pen across a page, dotting a period at the end of whatever he was writing, and only then did he acknowledge our presence.