Bad Princess: A Mafia Romance Page 19

  “I barely remember my Uncle Giovanni. Can I leave now?” Tony nods, and I turn, only making it one step.

  “Matteo,” he calls out. The edge of darkness in his tone stops me, and my eyes dart to his deep brown ones. “There’s one thing you need to understand if you’re going down this road with my daughter.”

  “I break her heart. You break my legs. That goes without saying. I understand, Tony.”

  “You break Sienna’s heart, it won’t be me that you have to worry about. My daughter will cut your balls off—unless one of my two sons get to you before she does.”

  “Then what is it you want me to understand? I have a date to break up, so please, enlighten me.”

  “Careful, De Salvo,” he bites out. The look of a father who is seconds from smacking his son in the back of the head for saying something dumb crosses his features. I recognize it, because still to this day, it’s a look I often get from my old man. From Antonio it should seem weird, but for whatever reason, it doesn’t. “Omertà,” he finally says, sending a chill straight down my spine, something no one has ever managed to produce from me.

  “What about it?” I ask.

  “It’s a real thing. I need to know that you know what it means.”

  “A promise. An understanding,” I reply.

  “An understanding, yes, but it’s more than a promise. It’s an oath. One I take very seriously. One that you cannot break and walk away from.”

  I’m silent; one, because I’m in uncharted waters and I don’t know what I’m expected to say, and two, because my mother’s words come back to me, making me question if I should be standing here to begin with. He’s the worst of the worst kind of man, Matteo. He’s a murderer.

  “This is where you reassure me that you are not only serious about my daughter, but also that you will not under any circumstances speak to anyone in law enforcement about anything, Matteo.”

  “I am serious about your daughter, Tony.” I pause, eyeing him without cowering to his powerful stare. “But I’m also not willing to get involved in anything illegal or criminal; therefore, I have nothing to tell anyone in any form of law enforcement. Happy?”

  “Wrong answer.” He shakes his head.

  I’d laugh, but with the expression he’s giving me, he really would pull a gun and shoot me. “I said what you wanted to hear, so what’s the problem?”

  “No, you did not say what I wanted to hear. What you said tells me that you do not have the first clue what it means to date my daughter. You don’t know what it means to involve yourself in her life or what it entails to bring your own daughter into my family. You don’t even know your own family.”

  “Then I guess I’m still waiting for you to enlighten me on the ways of Cosa Nostra.”

  “Smart boy knows big words,” he mocks. “Been brushing up on mafia terminology, I see.” He doesn’t wait for a response. “To date my daughter means you put her life before yours. You protect her at all cost. If you’d die for your kid, then you’ll die for mine too. It means that if you are going to be associated with my family in any form, you do not talk to cops, or local or federal agents. If they stop you—and they will—the only words out of your mouth are ‘I want a lawyer’ or ‘I have no comment’ and you walk away if you are not under arrest. If you’re friends with anyone in law enforcement now, you disassociate with them immediately. That’s what it means, and that’s what I expect or there will be consequences. Am I clear?”

  “Crystal,” I bark, but not because that’s what I want to respond with, but it is the only thing I’m sure of that won’t get me killed.

  “I hope so, because Matteo, you don’t want to be the subject of my consequences. Now beat it before I call my daughter and warn her that you’re coming to ruin her night.”

  I walk away without another word. Hell, it can’t only be pussy I’m after if I’m willing to leave my daughter in the hands of a mob boss. The thought of Sienna on a date with someone else boils my blood and makes my head run away with crazy thoughts. I’ve never felt this way about another woman.

  This can only end in one of two ways: a hot, scorching flame that never goes out or a bloody fucking disaster.

  Chapter 30

  ANTONIO

  I close the door after watching Matteo pull out of my driveway. I really do hope he’s not a disappointment. I would hate to end his life. He has a lot to prove to me if he has any hopes of actually dating my daughter. Taking her to dinner isn’t going to get him anywhere with me.

  “He has the capability of being a true De Salvo.”

  Irritation grates on my nerves as my furious eyes cut to the man dressed similar to me, wearing a dark suit and tie with a glass of Blanton’s Single Barrel clasped in his right hand. It’s the same whiskey I was enjoying until Matteo interrupted my night, though I was waiting on him to do exactly what he did, so perhaps there is hope for him yet.

  “You were supposed to wait in the basement until LeAnna and my sons have left for the night. What wasn’t clear about that?”

  “I wanted to see him. I want to see the girl too.”

  “No. Now make yourself scarce,” I order, walking toward him. “Stop reminding me why I hate you.”

  “You never hated me, Tony. You just wanted to shoot me.”

  “And I regret every day that I did not do just that.”

  “Yes, that was an error on your part. It would have prevented so much bad blood.”

  “I have to go check on the kid. Go back down to the gym. I’ll text you when you’re allowed to come play with the adults, G.”

  “Fuck you, T.”

  Walking away, I make my way into the kitchen where I find Domenico perched on a stool at the island counter with Matteo’s daughter sitting with her legs crossed on top of the granite, the massive three tier cake in front of her. Like a heathen, she has a fork in her hand and she’s eating the cake from the platter instead of a plate like she should be doing.

  “Where’s LeAnna?”

  Dom’s brown eyes snap to mine, a mischievous smirk settling on his face. It’s better than the scowl he typically wears. In this moment, he looks his youthful twenty-five years instead of the dangerous underboss I turned him into. On one hand I’m proud that he’s strong enough to handle what I’ll eventually lay at his feet, but at the same time, it tears at my soul. I never wanted this for him or his siblings. I promised my wife. I made a vow that they wouldn’t become me. She’s in the ground because I failed her, and I’m failing my children the same way.

  “Left ten minutes ago.”

  “So, this is your doing?” I stop on the other side of the counter in front of the sink, pointing to Brooklyn. Not only is her face covered in chocolate and strawberry icing with crumbs, but she also has it all over her dress and on the countertop.

  “She told me that you said to give her cake. As instructed, she’s eating cake, right?”

  “Are you going out tonight?” I probe.

  “Not unless you need me to. I’m going to take a shower and then crash. I’m exhausted.”

  “Good.” I nod, staring at him. “You get to watch Brooklyn for the night.”

  “Yeah, I’ll pass on that. Why is she here . . . again? I thought you returned her.”

  “That’s not any of your concern. Just go clean her up and keep her upstairs. Turn on a movie or something in Sienna’s room, but make sure you stay with her. I don’t need a child to go tumbling down the stairs because you’re closed off in a different room, Domenico.”

  “Where’s the girl’s father?”

  “Daddy went to get Si,” Brooklyn mumbles through a mouthful of cake. There are sizable chunks scooped out on both sides. The cake arrived this afternoon for the twin’s birthday celebration tomorrow. Sienna’s favorite is strawberry with strawberry icing and Ren’s is chocolate on chocolate. I used to get two separate cakes, but over the last five years I’ve had the baker make one where there is chocolate on one side and strawberry on the other. “They’re going on a d
ate,” she proceeds to say.

  Dom’s resident scowl returns. “You already sent her on a date tonight. What’s going on?”

  “Your sister is my concern not yours. Now I’ve given you an order and I expect you to take care of it. Can you do that, please?”

  “Not if De Salvo thinks he’s going to get with my sister. I kept my mouth shut the other week when you told me not to interfere, I’m not doing that again. You keep the kid. I’m going to get my sister. He’s already knocked up one chick, I’m not letting him do that to Si.”

  “No,” I bite out, displeased that he thinks he can give me an order. “I run this family the way I see fit, so you will stay out of it, and you will take Brooklyn and give her a bath and you will stay upstairs for the rest of tonight unless I call for you otherwise.”

  He huffs, but doesn’t backtalk me. Instead, he grabs the girl, pulling her gently from the counter, and places her on the floor. “Go that way, kid.” He urges her out of the kitchen. “I hope you know how to bathe yourself. I’m not doing it for you.”

  Brooklyn looks over her shoulder, an attitude already plastered on her cute face. “I’m a big girl, not a baby.” Then she stomps out of the kitchen, reminding me of Sienna when she was that age.

  Rounding the island, I grab Dom by the elbow, halting him. Lowering my voice, I ask, “Had she actually OD’d when you found her?”

  “The bitch was high—oblivious to the world around her. What does it matter if I helped her over the edge or not?”

  “She’s a woman, Domenico,” I reprimand my eldest child. “You know more than anyone else I take a hard line against harming women.”

  “She put her daughter’s life in danger. You have a line of steel against hurting kids.” He shrugs like his excuse should satisfy me as he pulls his arm loose from my grip. “Had it been someone else, someone with other intentions that drove by and noticed a five-year-old girl sitting on those steps alone, her mom nowhere in sight, things could have played out differently. The only thing I did wrong was call nine-one-one. I shot enough heroin in her veins that she wouldn’t have woken up without paramedics injecting her with Narcan.”

  “If anything, Dom, that was the one call you did right.”

  “If you expect me to be you one day, then I have to get my hands dirty, Dad. It’s the way this life is. You’re just pissed I handled it and not you.”

  He’s not wrong. I am pissed for that exact reason, but not that reason alone. I never wanted his hands stained the way mine are.

  Not waiting for me to continue scolding him for his actions, he heads out of the kitchen and I follow, checking my watch for the time. As irritation flares at the time, the chime of the doorbell can be heard in every room in my house.

  “Who the fuck is here now?” Dom barks out.

  “Handle the child. I’ve got the door, Son,” I say to the back of his head.

  “Domino,” Brooklyn calls out and we both look to the top of the landing, finding her with her fingers wrapped around the railing on the second floor. The kids’ bedrooms and three extra guest bedrooms are on that floor, while my master suite is on the first.

  “If you can’t say Domenico, then say, Dom, but do not call me Domino again, girl,” my son calls up. His irritation from our conversation has vanished and there is light back in his eyes. If Matteo’s daughter has that affect on him, then I may just keep De Salvo around even if Sienna doesn’t like it.

  Instead of going up the stairs after her, he heads to the front door.

  “I said I’ve got our guest. You have a duty to do.”

  “You are not answering the door. There is no telling who could be on the other side that is here to harm—” He stops in his tracks and it’s obvious he recognizes the figure through the glass on both sides of the door. “What’s Nikolayev doing here?” Dom questions, turning to face me. Being my second-in-command, he’s usually privy to every part of my business. Except this. Which is why I wasn’t expecting him to be here when Mischa arrived.

  Mischa Nikolayev is the head of the Russian crime organization in the United States. Whereas I only run a slice of the Italian Mafia, every syndicate in this country goes through Mischa. Like I’m the Boss, or the Don, he’s referred to as the Pakhan in his circle.

  “Nothing you need to be concerned with. Mischa and I have business to handle that’s only between him and I.”

  “Everything our family is involved with, everything you’re involved with, includes me too.”

  “Only when I say it does.”

  “What are you keeping from me, Dad?”

  “Nothing of importance at the moment. Stop worrying, and for the love of God, do as I have instructed and take care of the little girl that’s waiting on you.”

  “That’s all the more reason to worry, Boss,” he states, addressing me in a term that I despise coming out of any of my three children’s mouths. “You don’t want me involved. Why? What do you really have cooking?”

  “Upstairs, now,” I order in a low tone he knows not to cross. He may be twenty-five, and he may be his own man, but he will always be my son, and I will always expect my rules to be followed over his own just as I expect from his siblings. In this house, in this family, it is my way and my way alone. There are no second options, no alternatives.

  The bell chimes again while Dom grinds his teeth back and forth. Finally, his eyes leave mine and he takes the stairs two at a time. When he reaches the top, he scoops Brooklyn in his arms, pulling a giggle from her lips. Once they’ve disappeared down the hall that leads to Domenico’s bedroom, I walk to the door.

  “You’re late,” I say.

  “Flight was delayed. Get over it, Caputo,” Mischa tosses back at me. He isn’t afraid of me like most. He doesn’t succumb to my orders the way I prefer. He and I have that in common being the boss of our people. For a long time, I didn’t like him. Hell, we’re not exactly friends, but we have a common idea of sorts, which is the only reason I allowed him to enter my home.

  “My office.” I raise my arm, gesturing for him to enter. “You know where it is. We have things to discuss,” I say, closing the door. Before I follow, I pull out my cell phone from the pocket of my slacks and send a message to my other guest, telling him he’s allowed to come up now.

  Things are starting to unfold the way we planned, I just have to make sure each piece fits the way I want them to.

  Coming out of one message, I tap into another, sending Sienna a message to check in on her.

  Me: Is Bianchini behaving himself?

  His trip to the city couldn’t have come at a better time. I killed two birds with one stone. I gained a business deal and I thoroughly pissed off my soon to be son-in-law. That is, if he doesn’t disappoint me again.

  Sienna’s reply is almost immediate as I make my way down the hall that leads to the master suite, the basement entrance to my gym, and my home office.

  Princess: No business deal is worth subjecting me to this amount of boredom, Daddy.

  Me: Baby girl, I’ve already closed that deal.

  I’ll have to watch the camera footage later. The look on her face right now is going to be priceless. I pocket my phone even though several more text notifications come through.

  “Gentleman,” I say, walking in my office and closing the door behind me, “let’s get down to business.”

  Chapter 31

  SIENNA

  I read my father’s text message again, and I’m still thoroughly confused, so I read it once more. He’s already closed the deal. I thought that was the reason I’m here, wining and dining this meathead. In all fairness, he’s not exactly a meathead. Nico is intelligent. I realized that early on in our conversation at brunch talking shop.

  It’s more the fact that he comes off too fake Italian for me. Before today, I didn’t even know that was a thing outside the movies. Maybe he’s watched too much of The Godfather or The Sopranos. I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s a complete turn off. Maybe I’m being judgmental. He
is from Italy, or spent time over there, I’m not sure which. Maybe New York Italians are just a different breed than the rest.

  But that doesn’t explain what the hell I’m doing here. I fire off several text messages to my father.

  Me: Come again?

  Me: What the fuck, Dad????

  Me: Hello!!!

  I set my phone down, face up in case he decides to reply. Looking at my dinner guest, I lean back and eye him. He smiles over the forkful of charcoal roasted salmon that he just shoved into his mouth.

  “Did you sign a business contract with my father when you met privately with him earlier today?”

  Swallowing, he places his fork on the table and gulps down a drink of his red wine. Finally, his head bobs, and then he replies, “Yes, of course. Did he not tell you?”

  “No, he did not. And since he’s not here, care to tell me why we’re eating together if the deal has been made official with your signature?”

  If this motherfucker comes back and tells me this is supposed to be a motherfucking date, I may strangle him before going home and strangling my father too.

  “Tony,” he says, his accent thicker than earlier today. “He asked me what I thought of you, so I spoke the truth. I told him you are not only a very smart woman, but beautiful too; the most beautiful girl I’ve seen.” He places his palm over his heart, and I have to swallow to avoid vomiting the little bit of my dinner that I did eat. “He said I should let you take us out to dinner and celebrate our companies doing business together. So, here we are in this fancy restaurant, eating a delicious meal and enjoying one another’s company.”

  “His name is Antonio or Mr. Caputo—I don’t really care which you use—but since we’re in business, I expect you to address him respectably.” I’m full of shit. Dad probably told the guy to call him Tony, but I’m pissed that I’m here instead of out with Matteo. Not that I’d planned on going with him, but it would have been amusing to answer the door in my pj’s. “Are you expecting anything more once the meal is finished? Any happy ending to this night?”