Page 90 of Diary of a Mafia Princess

I folded my arms across my chest. “You really think your dad would kill you if you slept with her?”

“He’s killed men for a lot less.”

Fuck. This was going to be harder than I thought.

Luca didn’t exactly act like he was scared of his father, but it was clear there was a healthy level of respect there. And not in the good way. It was in the way you respected a bear or a lion.

Nice to peek at from behind the safety of zoo bars.

Not so much if you found yourself with one in the wild.

And sleeping with your father’s fiancée was definitely akin to putting yourself in danger.

That triggered something inside me. That part of me that protected people I cared about.

It wanted to protect Luca.

I blew out a long breath.

Sometimes I missed prison. It was so much easier than trying to navigate the real world, which was filled with people and their emotions and well-being. I hadn’t cared about anyone but Reaper on the inside, and that was the only way to be. One person to watch your back. Assume the rest were your enemies.

But I’d tried that once I’d gotten out, and it had felt wrong.

It had felt a whole lot like loneliness.

Luca pointed at another woman across the sparkling, perfectly cleaned pool. “See that woman over there? In the blue dress?”

I nodded, taking in the bottle blonde, shooting coy glances in our direction every so often. “I think my father is going to arrange our marriage.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “That just how things work in your world?”

He laughed and took another long, gulping swallow of the alcohol, like he needed it even to be present here. “Yeah, pretty much. Nobody marries for love.” He waved a hand toward all the people standing or dancing around the pool. “All of this is fake. None of these people even like each other. It’s all just one big game of show and power and alliances and connections.”

He slurred that last one just a bit, and it made me realize he’d been drinking long before the flask had come out.

“You don’t want to marry her then?”

“I don’t even fucking know her. Other than her name is Marissa. Marissa with the big tits and even bigger hair.”

I hid a smile. “Not a tit or hair man then?”

He shook his head. “Neither. My father is obsessed with tits. The faker the better. Just wait. Nyah will lose that perfect little handful and have massive fake knockers before their first wedding anniversary.”

I screwed up my face. “I can’t see her wanting that.”

“As if it’s about what she wants. It’s always about whatever Carlos wants. The rest of us just go along with it because we have no choice. He finds weaknesses. That’s his specialty. And the minute you have one, boom!” He clapped his hands together. “It’s all over. He’s got you. He wins.”

I considered that, then asked, “What’s your weakness, then? What’s holding you here?”

“My sister,” he admitted, gaze dropping to the sparkling blue water of the pool. “If I don’t play the game, he tells her piece-of-shit, older-than-the-moon husband where she is. I can’t have that. I’ll marry Marissa the Mafia Barbie before I let him bring Isabella back here.” He dragged his gaze away and laughed bitterly. “So as you can see, I might as well have shackles around my ankles.”

Fuck. This was all getting deeper than I’d expected. The part of me that cared about people, the one I’d had to turn off while I was inside, was now blaring at me like a foghorn.

It wanted to go put my fingers around Carlos’s throat and squeeze until his face turned purple and he clutched at my hands, his eyes begging me for release.

I wouldn’t give it to him. I’d lean in and whisper their names. Nyah’s. Luca’s. I’d make sure he died knowing I’d killed him for them.

It wouldn’t be the first time I’d ended a life. There had been many before him.