Page 62 of Diary of a Mafia Princess

“The ones we keep my father’s enemies in.”

I laughed. “Right. I’ll remember that for the next time I want to get a workout in. Turn left at the dungeon.”

Luca leaned against the wall opposite me, all smug and sweaty. “You say that like it’s a joke. When that’s exactly what it is.”

My mouth dropped open. “Are you for real? Your father has a dungeon full of cages, and he actually keeps people in them?”

Luca shrugged. “Only people he doesn’t like, normally.”

I threw my hands up. “Oh, of course! How ridiculous of me to assume you were joking.”

Luca laughed, like the whole thing was funny instead of completely fucked up. I was no saint. I’d done some messed-up things. I lived with a bunch of bikers. None of us were exactly strangers to fights and weapons and spilling some blood.

But there was something creepy as fuck about realizing Luca was dead serious when he talked about cages in the basement. It sent a shiver down my spine. I’d killed people in my time, with very little or even no remorse. I was probably a borderline sociopath. Or Hell, maybe I had a whole damn leg in the psycho pool. I didn’t know. It wasn’t like I regularly laid myself out on a therapist’s couch and allowed them to diagnose me.

But I’d been locked up for the best part of a decade. Knowing there was another prison just downstairs didn’t exactly have me jumping for joy or interested in going to check it out.

Luca stared intently at my face the entire time I was trying to process the dungeon bomb drop. The corner of his mouth flickered in amusement, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “You done mentally processing that one?”

“For now.”

“Good. You got any other clothes here?”

I glanced down at my suit. “What’s wrong with the ones I’m wearing?”

“Other than the fact that suit is so cheap it’d probably catch fire if I lit up a smoke within six feet of you?”

I flipped him the bird. “We aren’t all made of money like you, rich boy.”

He ignored me. “Not the point. We’re going to the fights tonight. The old man wants Nyah there, so that means you’ll be there too. But you’re going to stick out like a dog’s balls wearing that.”

“Then I’ll need to go home—”

“No time. We’re leaving in thirty.”

I shrugged. “Then this is what I’m wearing.”

Luca rolled his eyes. “You can wear something of mine. Come choose something.”

“You own something other than suits?” I mocked.

“Was I wearing a suit when we met?”

“No, but I figured that was just a phase you were going through.”

He took a step closer, and fuck me, I couldn’t help the way my gaze lowered down his body, skating over his pecs and then lower to his abs and the trail of dark hair that started beneath his belly button and ended somewhere beneath those running shorts that did nothing to hide the muscles in his legs.

He was way too fucking close, his voice too damn breathy when he asked, “Am I wearing a suit now?”

I was all too aware that he wasn’t.

He winked and stepped back toward his room. “Come on. Quit checking me out and come choose something. I think I have something that’ll fit you.”

I should have said no. Should have stayed where I was supposed to. But he was my boss, and if he said I needed something else to wear, then who the hell was I to argue? It wasn’t like anything much was going to happen to Nyah when she was just next door, getting dressed or putting on makeup or whatever the hell it was women did before they went out.

I followed Luca into his room and found him in the insanely large closet. He tossed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that was probably slightly big on him but I suspected was going to be like a second skin on me.

I caught them and sidestepped into the en suite bathroom, shrugging off my jacket.