Bad Princess: A Mafia Romance Page 2

  Dom’s chin dips, his eyes meeting mine. The three of us have our dad’s dark brown eyes, but Domenico’s are a shade darker, almost appearing black. Everything about Dom is darker than Ren and me. His olive skin, a tint darker no matter how much sun I get. Even his black hair looks blacker, shinier than Ren’s and mine. “Don’t you think you’re a little too old for a schoolgirl crush, little sister?”

  “Sister?” Matteo questions, opening his mouth for the first time.

  Bet he didn’t see that coming either.

  I didn’t attend the same private school my brothers did. My parents thought it would be safer for me to go by my first and middle name—mom’s maiden name—instead of the last name on my birth certificate, and that if I attended public school then no one would realize I was the only daughter of Antonio Caputo.

  And it worked.

  To the outside world, I was Sienna D’Angelo. It’s like everyone forgot Tony and Ari had twins. That was until I graduated high school and wanted in, the same as my brothers—well, as in as Dad would allow.

  I don’t respond to Dom’s question; not like he expected me to. “He stays,” I repeat.

  “The boss said to bring everyone back,” Dom argues.

  “The boss can take it up with me if he has a problem with my decision.” Dom arches an eyebrow. “We both know you aren’t going to go against me on this, Dom.” I look up once again. “And neither are you, Ren.”

  That’s the thing about my brothers and me. We’ll beat each other up until we’re black and blue and bleeding and feeling like we’re five minutes from death, but we’ll also back each other up against anyone, including the boss.

  “What the fuck?” Matteo spits. I don’t hear the knife slip from Ren’s sleeve or realize what he’s doing until the blade digs into the flesh below my jaw. I didn’t need to either. I knew it was coming. Ren is predictable with certain things, but only to Dom and me.

  We love making each other bleed. It’s sick, I know, but it’s what we’ve been doing since we were kids, and I’m the one that started it. The first punch I threw when I was six years old was the beginning of my addiction to violence. It’s an addiction that grew, but I was forced to hide it. As siblings, we never had to hide that part of ourselves from each other.

  “Trust me, Matteo,” I insist, my eyes never leaving Ren’s. The movement of my jaw causes the blade to nick my skin, and that irritates Ren because he isn’t the one to make me bleed—I am.

  There will be a cost to me saving Matteo’s ass and this is just the start. Later tonight, when I step onto the mat with my brothers, the cut under my jaw is going to split open at the first hit Ren lands with his knuckles.

  I don’t let my brothers treat me like some weak little princess they have to protect. I’m perfectly capable of holding my own and protecting myself. Our dad made sure of it after someone invaded our home and beat our mother to death when I was a kid. The attack was personal. She was brutalized and then shot in the chest. Ren and I were seven and Dom was eight. Dad hasn’t been the same since.

  “See ya later, princess,” Ren taunts, using our father’s nickname for me. He shoves off me and I hear his boots retreating toward the exit.

  “Let’s go,” Dom orders, fisting his fingers around the material of Vin’s shirt.

  “Word of advice, Vin.” I meet his worried stare. “Don’t beg and look him in the eyes.”

  Dom jerks him up and out of his chair. Within seconds, Vin is escorted out of the bar and into Dom’s awaiting Range Rover that’s no doubt double parked in the middle of the street like he’s the authority in this city. Then again . . . maybe he is.

  He is my father’s second-in-command, the underboss. Technically, our grandfather is third, but none of us see him as such, so to my brothers and me, Ren being third and I’m fourth. Very few people outside of my father’s organization know that—and that’s exactly how Daddy likes it. His little chameleon, his little Mike Tyson as he sometimes calls me. I manage the money and other aspects of our businesses. Never have I gotten my hands dirty like Dom has.

  “What the hell just happened?” Matteo’s lethal voice assaults my ears, but the sound is so unwelcome that I don’t acknowledge his question.

  What would I say anyway?

  Blowing out a breath, I let my forehead fall against my left hand where my elbow rests on the aged wooden table. My middle finger rubs away the tension between my eyes—or attempts to without much success. I just sent my friend to the slaughterhouse. What kind of person does that make me?

  A Caputo. That’s who I am, after all. I’m headstrong, stubborn, set in my ways—the same as the men in my family. I’m just like them down to the marrow in my bones.

  “Sienna!” My name comes out of Matteo’s mouth like a hiss. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him utter my name. Ordinarily, I’d be shocked.

  I’m about to tell him to fuck off when movement to my right catches my attention, putting my body on guard. My eyes fly up, meeting Bennett’s. He may be the bartender here, but I’ve known him since elementary school; nearly as long as I’ve known Matteo. He was the only one in school that knew my real identity, and to my knowledge, never breathed a word to anyone else about me. His father was an associate of mine, so . . .

  “Drink it, Si.” He shoves the tumbler into my palm as his hard eyes bore down on me. Without breaking our stare, he wraps my fingers around the glass. “You need it.” With a sigh, his light brown eyes soften a hair. “You’ve never let anyone, including me, see you shake. Don’t start now.”

  My jaw locks, my teeth grinding together when I realize there’s a slight tremble coursing through my body. It pisses me off. Lifting the glass to my lips, I knock my head back, swallowing the amber content in one gulp, enjoying the burning sensation that goes down my throat before warming the pit of my stomach.

  It’s rare that I drink, but sometimes this life gets under my skin, like today. I’m just usually better at hiding it.

  “How are you a Caputo?” Matteo demands.

  So, he finally put that together.

  My eyes land on Matteo, but I don’t answer this question. He should be thanking me for saving his ass, but I’m not going to point that out. Instead, I stand and walk out the same door that I entered.

  Fuck him. I didn’t exist to Matteo De Salvo in elementary school. I didn’t exist to him in junior high or even high school, so I might as well not exist to him now either.

  I refrain from throwing my middle finger in the air for good measure.

  Chapter 2

  MATTEO

  How the hell is Sienna D’Angelo—the good girl that used to stare at me nonstop all throughout school like a little creeper—a Caputo? Is she adopted? A long-lost relative that was sent to live with them?

  Nothing that just transpired makes a lick of sense. And what has Vin gotten himself into? What did he almost get me put in the middle of? That’s what I want to know.

  If Sienna hadn’t shown up, it was clear the Caputo boys would have tried to take me when they took Vin and his shit for brains brother-in-law, Levi King. I don’t know what would have happened if she hadn’t been there or spoken up. The Caputo brothers weren’t alone either. They had three goons with them. I’m a damn good fighter—some would say the best that there is—but I don’t think I would have been able to take on all five of them. One thing is for sure: they wouldn’t have gotten me out of this bar without dragging my unconscious body out of here.

  Sienna D’Angelo, or is it Sienna Caputo? Hell if I know. One thing I do know is the woman that sat across from Vin tonight is not the same girl I remember from North Montego High. The girl I remember was a mouse. The woman I saw today was a force to be reckoned with.

  She ordered Tony Caputo’s two sons to stand down and they obeyed her. Granted, Lorenzo pulled a knife on her, but she wasn’t afraid. If anything, her eyes lit up the second the blade met her silky, olive skin.

  Fuck me. I’m getting a hard-on remembering the way sh
e looked when Ren held that knife to her flesh. Jesus, I’m sick in the head. But then, I’ve always known that.

  There was more to Sienna than her muted beauty that drew me to her. Maybe it was the way I’d catch her staring at me or the subtle blush she’d get when she realized she had been caught. Like I said, she was a mouse. She dressed like a proper girl, an innocent little thing. To my knowledge, she didn’t date in high school. She was plain and stayed under everyone’s radar. I didn’t understand why my own eyes would drift to her more often than I care to admit.

  I hated that I’d get a chub in the middle of class when the teacher would call on her and Sienna’s rich, buttery voice would respond. It made zero fucking sense, because I’m not attracted to the good-girl type. They do nothing for me.

  Sienna did.

  Now I’m wondering what I missed.

  Is there more to Sienna D’Angelo—if that’s even her real last name—than she let on?

  “You ready to tab out or do you want another beer?” Bennett questions, bringing me out of my thoughts. My eyes flick up to where he stands on the other side of the table, the same place Domenico stood minutes ago before hauling Vin off to God knows where.

  “What do you know about Sienna D’Angelo?” I probe.

  “Do I look like someone that wants to be on the Don’s radar?” His brow arches. “You want information on Sienna, ask Sienna.” And with that, he tosses my tab on the table in front of me and walks back to the bar, not sparing me another look.

  That’s my cue to get the hell out of dodge.

  Maybe he’s right.

  Maybe I will ask Sienna.

  Maybe I’ll get my dick wet in the process and her out of my system at the same time.

  Throwing three twenty-dollar bills down to cover not only mine but the others’ bill too, I stand, shoving my chair back and then I step from behind the table.

  That sassy mouth of hers would fit perfectly around my cock.

  The thought of her on her knees with my hands in her long, black locks, while shoving myself down her hot throat until she gags makes my boy twitch from inside my pants at that very image.

  If I didn’t have to meet my ex at my place in half an hour to get my daughter for the weekend, I’d hunt that pussy down tonight and get the deed done. But alas, I have responsibilities, so it’ll have to wait.

  Chapter 3

  ANTONIO

  Eighteen Years Ago

  I have twenty large on Pete De Salvo, and though he is the brother of a man known to be my sworn enemy, the bastard is too good in the ring not to bet on him. His opponent doesn’t have a shot at winning the heavyweight title from De Salvo. Everyone thinks Ron Hogan got lucky when he knocked out Johnny Montaigne last month, but I know different.

  Luck didn’t have jack shit to do with Hogan’s win. Montaigne took a wad of cash to go down in the third round. Only a worthless piece of shit does that, and although I haven’t been on friendly terms with anyone from the De Salvo family since I severed a friendship, that’s not a term I would use to describe any of them.

  Pete, just like his brother, will fight for the win every single time. I’d bet my life on it, because it’s what I would do. In many ways, Giovanni and I are a lot alike. There was a time we were best friends, then he was witnessed going after something I’d already claimed, and that was the end of a sixteen-year friendship.

  A small shadow pulls my attention away from the match when her tiny body blocks my view of the television screen.

  “Daddy,” she calls out as her small hands plant on her hips. Her nightgown makes her look every bit of the princess my little girl is, and I can’t help the curve my lips form at the sight of her and her unruly jet-black locks that fall to the middle of her back, much like the Asian girl on her gown from one of her favorite movies.

  “Yes, princess?” I ask, setting my tumbler down on the end table to my right. Opening my arms, I silently beckon her to climb onto my lap. She continues standing there looking at me until her head twists and she briefly looks over her shoulder at the boxing match broadcasting on the TV behind her. When her head comes back around, she steps forward, doing as I request.

  “What’s that?” she inquires, her innocent brown eyes set on mine as she nods her head back toward the television; eyes I pray are never tainted by the world we live in or the life she was born into.

  “The men fighting on the television?” I ask for clarification, and she nods her head. “It’s a boxing match. What they are doing is called boxing.”

  “I want to do that,” she tells me with the most serious expression I’ve ever witnessed on her pretty face. I quickly bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep myself from laughing.

  “Princess . . .” I draw out the nickname I gave her seconds after she was placed in my arms on the day she was born. She was born last, only two minutes after Lorenzo, but a baby she has never been. Not that I can tell Domenico that. I swear that boy has been fiercely protective of the twins since the day he met them. “You’re a young lady. You should be playing piano or taking singing lessons or dancing. Your mother wants you to do ballet. Don’t you want to be a ballerina like other little girls your age?”

  “No.” She shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest, giving me the same look she’s developed over the years that often matches my own—determination. Without a doubt, I already know my little hellion is going to prove herself one way or another. “Ren!” she yells her twin’s nickname so loud I cringe at the piercing sound. How someone so small can make that much noise is beyond me.

  Within seconds I hear the tell-tale sound of little feet barreling down the stairs. My six-year-old son comes running anytime his sister calls him.

  “Yeah?” Ren asks as he makes his way over to us, barefoot with dark-colored pajama pants and lacking a T-shirt.

  “Stand right there,” Sienna orders as she begins to crawl down from my lap.

  What is she up to now? One never knows with Si.

  “We’re supposed to be in bed, Si. Ma is going to kill us if she catches us up this late.” Ren isn’t wrong. Ariana will tan their hides if she walks in and finds the kids in here with me past their bedtime. She may even throw a few swats my way for not ordering them up to their rooms, but the way I see it is if the kids want to tempt fate, then it’s their little asses that’ll pay the consequences if Ari catches them.

  Sienna rolls her eyes and purses her pink lips like it isn’t a big deal. My little rule breaker.

  “We’ll go to bed in a minute. I just need to show Daddy something first,” she tells him. Her eyes flick up to mine, making sure I’m watching. “Don’t look away, Daddy,” she directs, the command rolling off her tongue like an order, making my lips twitch.

  If this kid only knew—no one gives orders to Antonio Caputo and lives to take their next breath. Well, no one except my wife, that is. Ari has always gotten her way, but she is the love of my life, so her requests rarely feel like orders when coming out of her sexy-as-sin mouth.

  I lean forward, my jaw coming to rest in the palm of my hand with my fingers splayed out, covering my lips and cheek and giving my daughter my full attention. To hell with the match I have twenty thousand dollars riding on. The scene in front of me screams all kinds of entertainment is about to go down.

  Sienna takes a quick look at the television screen and then my eyes widen when I realize she’s balling up her right fingers, making a fist.

  “Prin—” I start to call out to stop her actions, but I’m not quick enough. She swings, her knuckles connecting with Lorenzo’s jaw, sending my son to the floor. My jaw drops, but then I can’t control the way the corners of my mouth curl up in a proud smile.

  “Sienna D’Angelo Caputo!” That smile quickly vanishes at the sound of Ari’s reprimand. “What in God’s name were you thinking?” my wife scolds.

  Sienna, on the other hand, just sighs and then turns to face me. “See, Daddy. I can do boxing.” Her little brow lifts as if to back up her wo
rds.

  “Tony!” Ari breathes, her tone coming out as lethal as my own when I’m pissed.

  “Yes, wife?”

  “You let our daughter knockout our son and did nothing to stop it?” Ari’s tone is an accusation.

  “He’s not knocked out.” I lift my arm, my elbow coming off the armrest as my index finger points toward Ren. “See. He’s getting up.”

  Jesus fucking Christ, did that just happen?

  “What did you do that for?” Ren asks his sister, looking up at her from where his ass still sits on the carpeted floor. His little brows crease, then his eyes round. Lifting his arm, he brings his hand to his jaw and I can see his tongue feeling around in his small mouth. “You knocked out my teeth!” he screams, and then tears spring to his eyes.

  Well, shit.

  I’m going to get my ass handed to me for this fuck-up.

  “Oh, please,” Sienna chimes. “They’re just your baby teeth. You should be thanking me. Now you don’t have to wait for Mom to pull them. And you get money.” Sienna refuses to call her mother by the traditional term of “Ma” when referring to her mother. The boys call her Ma, but Sienna goes against the grain; always the one to be different.

  “Sienna!” Ari fumes. “Get. To. Bed. Now. I’ll deal with you tomorrow, but let’s get one thing cleared up now, young lady. If you think for a second that I’m going to allow you to box or hit your brothers, or anyone else for that matter, you’re dreaming. It isn’t going to happen in this lifetime.”

  “That isn’t fair,” she throws back, stomping her feet.

  “Do as you’re told, princess,” I intervene.

  “Daddy!” she calls out, turning to face me, her hands going to her hips and her brows set with a deep line in the middle of them. “You can’t—”

  “Do not make me tell you again.” Pushing out of my chair, I stand to my full six-foot-two height, cutting my daughter’s words off as I take a step forward and grab her chin gently between my fingers. She’s only six, and I’d never harm one of my kids, but this has gone too far. She needs to be put in her place. I run this house and that’s the way it’ll always be.