Savage Prince (DeSantis Mafia Book 2)

by S. Massery

  Her eyes go wide. “Um, I hate to break it to you, but Aiden’s sort of taken over.”

  I freeze. “As of when?”

  “Yesterday, I think?” She grins at my expression. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  “I…” I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “No, no, it’s fine. I mean, I don’t really have any idea what I want, and it doesn’t feel real. You know, it’s a sham wedding.”

  Her eyebrow tics up, then smooths.

  I cross my arms. “You don’t think it’s a sham.”

  “Sorry, babe. I might’ve agreed with you before I saw you and Aiden interact, but he’s totally smitten. And I think you like him, too.”

  I stare at myself in the mirror and sigh. I do like him, and that’s the problem. “The whole world is against us,” I whisper. “The chances of us working out are…”

  “Pretty damn high,” Cat finishes. “Seeing as how you two are both smart and tough. Anything is possible.”

  “There’s a meddling father to contend with, though.”

  She grimaces. “Fair.”

  I turn away from my own reflection. “Okay, what’s on the agenda today?”

  She perks up. “Spa day! The wedding ceremony is at the church down the street—unlike Wilder’s, this should be a lot more contained. We’re starting early, and then we’ll have all day to party. But, that means you need to be all ready for like, nine o’clock.”

  I sigh and nod. She trails me into the closet, and I give her my back to drop my towel and pull on underwear. “Okay, well, I can do my hair fairly fast—”

  “No! God, Gemma, you’re getting the works. A hair stylist is coming, along with the dress designer, and a makeup artist.” She grins at my shocked expression. “It’ll be fun.”

  “They’re going to get here at the crack of dawn?”

  “Well…”

  “Great.” I move to my little section of clothes. “So, spa day. I don’t need to be fancy?”

  She flips her dark hair over her shoulder. She’s in leggings and a long, loose blouse. Her hair is down, and she’s not wearing much makeup. A chunky turquoise necklace completes her casual outfit. There’s probably a car downstairs with our name on it, unless the spa happens to be in the DeSantis building.

  Which, actually, makes a lot more sense.

  She waits for me to slip a silky baby pink dress on, then sandals on my feet. I’m running out of things to wear, but this will do for now. We head downstairs, and I pause at the paper on the kitchen counter. It’s pinned in place by a cup of coffee made the way I like it, and a keycard beside it.

  So you don’t get locked out today, it reads. Love, A.

  “Love, huh? I totally called it.”

  I roll my eyes and palm the card. I don’t know what it’ll open, but I can test it out later. It’s a piece of freedom I didn’t have yesterday… and I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

  Cat grins and gestures for me to try the card once we’re in the elevator.

  I swipe it, and the little light turns green.

  “Which floor?”

  “Eighteen,” she says. “They offer it as a perk to clients who come up to their offices on the twentieth floor—like, hey, you’re coming in for a meeting, do you want a facial?”

  “That’s a weird perk,” I mutter.

  She shrugs. “Politicians, you know?”

  “I guess.” No idea. I never had to navigate that part of this world.

  Mom did, though. She was good at it. She and my father…

  Pain lances through me, and I reflexively rub my chest. It’s old wounds merging with new grief. They’re both gone. What I wouldn’t give to see either of them again. To hug them. I should’ve hugged my father when I saw him at the restaurant. Kissed his cheek, told him I loved him. Now it’s too late.

  The elevator doors slide open. We take a left and walk toward a wall of frosted glass. Cat opens the door for us, gesturing me ahead, and the receptionist immediately rises.

  “Gemma, Cat,” she says.

  Is it me, or is she nervous?

  She gestures for us to follow her. “You’ve got a few minutes before your appointments, so you’re welcome to relax in our sauna or the hot tub area. Lockers are here. Towels and robes are inside, as well.”

  “Thanks,” Cat says.

  The employee hightails it away from us, and I raise my eyebrows at Cat.

  “She’s probably never seen a West in real life before. You’ve got a reputation.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, right.”

  “Well, Aiden has a reputation,” she amends. “And you have one by association. The only girl who’s stood up to him… People have been talking about the card game nonstop. They liked you, but when you didn’t shirk away from Aiden flinging you over his shoulder like a caveman? Respect.”

  That’s… hard to swallow.

  “Soon after that, someone tried to kill me,” I remind her.

  She waves my words away. “Some people are too hot-headed. You impressed the ones who matter.”

  “Who matters?”

  We shed our clothes and replace them with soft terrycloth robes. I tighten the belt and wait for her answer.

  “Mac, for one.”

  I eye her. “Your uncle.” And Jameson’s brother.

  “Yep. He had a soft spot for my mom. Thinks my dad’s a fucking dumbass.” She knots her hair on top of her head and winks.

  The door cracks, and a new woman sticks her face into the locker room. “Gemma?”

  I nod.

  “You’re up first,” she says. “Marta will be over to grab you in just a moment, Catrina.”

  I follow the woman down a hall and into a private room. It smells like lavender, and the air is warm. She points to the raised, cushioned table, motioning for me to shed the robe. I hesitate, then do as she says.

  She sucks in a sharp breath when she takes in my new injuries. “We’ll avoid these,” she murmurs. “Just relax, honey. I’ll take good care of you.”

  And she does. She loosens knots I didn’t know existed, and my anxiety funnels out of me. I close my eyes.

  Minutes or hours later, I wake up to a dimly lit room. It’s empty.

  I hoist myself off the table and look around, trying to remember what happened. The too-good-to-be-true massage happened.

  Right.

  I grab my robe and open the door, peeking into the hall. It’s similarly deserted. No one stops me from finding my way back to the locker room. Cat’s stuff is still in her locker, although I don’t know how long she could be. Just in case, I check the sauna and hot tub.

  Empty.

  Wait a second. We’re on the eighteenth floor… just two below Jameson’s and Aiden’s offices.

  I shouldn’t, but now that I realize, my curiosity is too strong to ignore. I bypass the shower and get dressed quickly, the keycard clutched in my hand.

  “If Cat finds you, we can abandon this,” I reason aloud. A deal with myself.

  And yet, I encounter no one when I trace my steps back to the elevator, then the staircase beyond it. No one stops me from going up and quietly slipping into the office space.

  My heart steadily climbs into my throat, but I need answers.

  I need the full picture to this puzzle I’m solving. I have no idea if I’ll find it in Jameson’s office, but if he’s distracted by Aiden… Now is as good of an opportunity as ever.

  24

  Aiden

  Sandra White, the councilwoman, rises from the table. It’s been three fucking hours of… nothing other than Dad’s flirting, really. I didn’t have to be here for this. I certainly never wanted to witness him being friendly to a woman and make subtle innuendos.

  Your job is hard? I’ll show you what’s hard, sweetheart.

  Instead of scoffing, like I’m sure she’d do if any other bastard said that to her, she giggled.

  Fuck my life.

  Anyway, we’re done here. I learned a few pieces of information that were of interest: th
at Sandra has had pushback from her fellow councilors about the construction permits she’s been passing, and donations are on the rise. The two seem to show opposite interests on the surface.

  But really? Donations are a way to nudge a government official one way or another. Donate to their organizations, to the charities they support—and sit on the board of, and take a cut from—and they’re more likely to get what they want.

  Except these are anonymous under a company, and Sandra’s team hasn’t been able to suss out the owner. Or their agenda.

  She brought it to our attention because she’s worried it’ll force her to act in one way or another, if the donor ever steps forward.

  And I’m sure it will. These things don’t get overlooked, especially in Manhattan. New York City politicians are brutal, but the lobbyists are worse.

  They can destroy a person’s career in days.

  “It was so good to see you both,” she says, stretching her hand out toward me.

  I take it and shake, then retreat as soon as is socially acceptable. I’ve always preferred to avoid anything to do with politics, but this is my new life. Luca met with her. Amelie forced me to bring her because she was on a warpath, and that’s how that stupid article in her mother’s magazine came about. The councilwoman made sure to mention how flattered she was about that, too.

  “Likewise, Councilwoman,” Dad says smoothly. He shakes her hand and places his other on top of hers.

  She blushes. “I’ve told you to call me Sandra.”

  I bite back my gag and turn from the table. They finish their conversation, and Dad meets me in the SUV we rode in together.

  “Well?” he asks.

  “I’d be concerned with the donor.”

  Dad scoffs. “It’s only a problem if she bends to their will. Or if she’s using that as a ploy to get us to donate more.”

  “Is that how she would play it?”

  He shrugs. “Never assume anyone is acting in your best interest. People are inherently selfish.”

  I don’t respond. There’s truth to his words. I know people are selfish. I’ve caught men trying to weasel their way out of trouble by any means necessary. Too many of them are willing to give up anything for escape. Their families. Their employers.

  All to scrape themselves out of a hole, or to chase freedom.

  How far would I go for such things?

  How far would Dad?

  Or Gemma?

  I shake off those thoughts as the SUV enters our parking garage.

  “Join me in my office,” Father says. “I have an assignment for you—something more in your wheelhouse than wining and dining.”

  I arch my eyebrow. “Really.”

  He grins.

  The SUV parks, and I follow him to the elevator. My phone chimes on our way up—a text from Cat.

  Gemma finished spa day early—I think she’s back upstairs.

  I slide my phone back into my pocket. The elevator doors slide open on the twentieth floor. Dad leads the way down the hall, and I try to put thoughts of my beautiful girl out of my mind. My father has a knack for detecting when my head isn’t in the game.

  Years of experience dealing with other people’s bullshit has given me a similar talent.

  I pause and glance in my office. The door is cracked, when I could’ve sworn I closed and locked it.

  He opens his door and flicks on the light, then turns and glances back at me. “You stalling?”

  Over his shoulder, I see a flash of blonde.

  My stomach bottoms out. Too late, he steps farther into his office and gestures impatiently for me. I grit my teeth and walk in, closing the door behind us.

  So help me God, Gemma better not be in this fucking office.

  I try to be subtle when I glance around.

  There aren’t too many places to hide. He’s got two walls of windows, and his large chestnut desk takes up most of the space front and center. When he sits, he faces the door. It’s an old ingrained habit—I don’t like putting my back to the door, either, even though sometimes it’s necessary.

  Like when the move is a power play.

  There’s a couch and two chairs off to the side. That part is a sham—I don’t think he’s ever offered a visitor to sit on that couch unless she was a pretty woman. And pretty woman, I am not.

  He leans against the front of his desk, picking up a file that was left next to his laptop.

  “There’s a bank manager trying to steal from us,” he tells me. He flips though the file, then tosses it to me.

  I catch it and scan the first page. It’s a typical compilation of information from one of our private investigators. Nothing too exciting: fat white guy thinks he can get away with… well, not quite murder.

  “Right. How do you want him to pay for his crimes?” I ask.

  Something moves under my father’s desk, just a quick shadow.

  I force my gaze up.

  Dad glares at me. “Am I boring you?”

  “No.” I clear my throat. “No, I just remembered I had something in my office I need you to sign.”

  Please follow me.

  Dad laughs. “I want the banker strung up by his ankles for the whole city to see. But I don’t suppose you’d do that, would you? We could go the old-fashioned route. Take a finger. Maybe the whole hand.” He shoves off the desk and whips his door open, striding to my office.

  I stare at the shadow under his desk, knowing how close she just came to being caught. I open my mouth, but I don’t have anything worth saying. Not when my throat suddenly closes in anger.

  It’s the same feeling I felt after I dragged her out of her aunt’s pool. How infuriated I was that she would risk her life…

  Yep, I’m pissed.

  So I don’t say anything, instead leaving the door ajar and hurrying into my office. Jameson has made himself at home in my chair, his feet up.

  “Comfortable?”

  He chuckles. “Your office is too neat. How do you function?”

  I shake my head and point to the drawer he’s blocking. He shifts out of the way, and I take my time to unlock it. He makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat.

  Honestly?

  I’ve got absolutely nothing. A few permits for the construction going on near Central Park, but I can be the signer as easily as him.

  “Son.”

  I meet his cool gaze.

  “How about you sit and tell me what the real issue is.”

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t have an issue.”

  He nudges me aside and puts his legs back up, crossing his arms. “Sit. Talk.”

  Gemma is going to pay for this—because she might need more time to do whatever the hell she’s doing, and I don’t want her to face my father’s wrath. Just mine.

  “If I were to die, who would you choose to inherit our businesses?” I ask.

  He blinks at me.

  Then bursts out laughing.

  He roars so loud, he scoots back in the chair and drops his feet to the floor, slapping his thighs. I hate him for this—for telling me to spill what’s on my mind and then laughing in my face.

  “Aiden,” he finally says. “You’re not going to die. And if you do, then I guess I’ll just… not.”

  I scoff.

  “I’ve got it handled. I can see why you’d be worried, because it’s a lot of responsibility. But you don’t have to, because we’re protected.” He stands suddenly. “Good chat. Now get to work on that banker—preferably before your nuptials tomorrow.”

  I nod and see him out. His office door is now firmly closed, and I let out the smallest exhale. I give him a minute—to go inside and shut his door again—then lock my office and stride toward the stairs.

  By the time I reach my apartment, I wonder if I’ll be able to contain myself—and then I ask myself why the hell I should. She knows what happens when she breaks the rules.

  I unlock the door, slamming it behind me. She sits on the dining table, legs swinging. She grins at me, b
ut it fades when she registers my expression.

  “What were you thinking?”

  Her legs stop swinging.

  “Or did you think your little stunt went undetected?”

  She swallows.

  I approach slowly, still unsure what I’m going to do with her. I guess it depends on what she says next. I part her knees and step between them. Her head automatically tips back, her eyes glued to mine.

  “Well?” I prod.

  “I, ah…” She looks away. “I didn’t mean to get caught.”

  I stare at her. “Indeed.”

  Fuck. I thought, at the very least, she might apologize. Or offer up an explanation. Instead, we descend into stony silence. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and that’s the only sign of her distress. But now there’s this, and I’m hard as a rock.

  Not good.

  I shake my head once and grab her hips, pulling her flush against me. Her ass slides to the edge of the table, and she can feel my cock slide along her panties. She lets out a little sigh, eyes wide. She still doesn’t know what I’m going to do, and that’s only fair.

  Because I don’t know what I’m going to do, either.

  She’s a seductress—but only to me. She pushes my limits. She’s headstrong.

  I love all of it.

  But she’ll get herself killed if she continues along this path.

  I lean forward and haul her over my shoulder. She squeaks and grabs at the back of my shirt. It rides up, revealing my weapon. Her cold fingers press into my skin.

  “You touch my gun, I’ll shoot you myself,” I warn.

  She huffs. “I’m not a complete idiot.”

  I carry her in the opposite direction of my bedroom—out the door of our apartment and into the elevator.

  “What are you doing?” There’s fear in her voice now.

  Better. Better to terrify her now than have something happen to her. Something almost did happen to her, and it was luck that I found her alive instead of at the bottom of the pool.

  Or with my father’s bullets in her.

  Or burned alive.

  I tighten my hold on her thighs.

  “Aiden.” She kicks at me, but I deflect her blow.

  I lock down her legs and finally drop her.

  “Where are we going?”