Page 84 of Diary of a Mafia Princess

I fucking hated being the one to put that expression on her face. It was pure hopelessness and despair.

So I needed to be the one who gave her hope back.

I stared at the wall until the solution came to me. “You need to have sex with Luca.”

She looked at me sharply. “Excuse me, what? I most definitely do not.”

But she did. “Carlos won’t believe the baby is his because he’s had a vasectomy. But Luca hasn’t. If they think the baby is Guerra by blood, the baby is still their heir.”

“Carlos wouldn’t kill his grandchild,” Nyah said softly.

I nodded. “We couldn’t know for sure, but it would be this baby’s best shot.” I sucked up a breath that felt as heavy as lead. “The plan is still good. It’s just Luca you need to fuck instead of his father.”

27

DAX

Dear Diary,

The price of being near her is pretending I don’t want to kill him.

Istood behind the reception desk in my shop, Reaper beside me, his partner, X, across from us, flipping through the example book the other guys and I had created to show off our styles. He pointed at a traditional snake I’d completed a while back, blood dripping from its fangs.

“Ooh, this! Because this is exactly what I look like when I’m out on the ice in my mascot costume. Sharp. Focused. Deadly. I really just spell out intimidation to the other team, just like this snake does.”

Reaper screwed up his face. “X, your costume has a sparkly cape…”

X glared at him. “I’m a snake with sequined scales! Sequins are manly, Levi!”

“I guess maybe you blind them? Sequin light in the eye could be very painful,” I offered, trying to help the guy out.

I’d seen him skating, or more like stumbling, around the ice in his handmade viper costume that had once been described as more sparkly dildo than vicious predator.

X sighed. “I could just get the team logo tattooed on my ass, I guess. Do you think that’s too much for our first season together?”

“Yes,” Reaper and I said in unison.

My phone buzzed, and I left the two of them debating over X’s next tattoo to answer it. I didn’t know the number, but that wasn’t unusual. People shared my number around with friends who wanted work done. It was just as common for me to get a call as it was for the shop to take one.

“Dax?” a man on the other end questioned after I said hello.

“Speaking.”

“Good, good. It’s Carlos Guerra calling.”

I turned away, walking farther out of earshot of the rest of the guys, busy with machines running, ink being pressed into skin. I curled my fingers around the phone so hard I was surprised it didn’t crack. “What can I do for you, Mr. Guerra?”

He chuckled into the phone. “No need to be so formal. Carlos is fine. I’m calling to invite you to a party I’m having. Tonight. At my house. I believe you know where it is?”

A prickle of awareness spread across the back of my neck. That statement had sounded an awful lot like a sly reminder he knew I’d been at his house.

Which meant he knew I’d spoken to Nyah that day.

I hoped like hell it didn’t also mean he knew what Nyah and I had done in the bathroom at the hockey rink, or in the back seat of my car after the fights.

I forced my voice to sound as normal as possible. “I do. I don’t think I can—”

“I won’t take no for an answer, son. We’re going to have a great time. There’re people I want you to meet. People who can do things for your career and make you a lot of money.”