Bad Princess: A Mafia Romance

by N. E. Henderson

  Crossing his arms, he stands there looking at me. No words leave his lips, and his dark eyes don’t give anything away. Those eyes are hard, calculating, maybe even devious. The eyes on me right now are not of a father staring at his daughter, but of a man in charge of a lethal organization. This is the Boss, here to teach me whatever lesson he deems necessary.

  Ren loves to say that I have our father wrapped around my finger, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. The only woman, or person, that ever achieved that feat was our mother.

  “Daddy.” I greet him with a smile, but it does nothing to defrost his ice-cold features.

  He steps forward, his pace slow and steady. Even though his chocolate brown eyes haven’t left mine, I feel them everywhere, and it makes goose bumps break out along my arms. I’m in such deep shit right now, I don’t think I’m going to be able to crawl out of this one. I don’t let that thought show, though. That would give him too much satisfaction, and I’m the one that asked him to come, not the other way around.

  He’s mad, or furious. I don’t know which. I figured we would do what Dom, Ren, and I do when we get angry at the other. We fight it out.

  There is no doubt in my mind that the man before me can take me down without barely working up a sweat, but there is that part of me that wants to know for sure. I act a lot tougher than I actually am. You have to in my world. I’m the only female, and I’ll be damned if I let dicks run all over me.

  “So,” I draw out, rocking back and forth on my heels. “How do you want to do this?”

  His hands aren’t wrapped. He’s not wearing any boxing gloves either, but neither am I. Muay Thai is the sport I favor, but I’ve dabbled in a few different styles of MMA training. I started out with Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and did it for five years. After that I got into kickboxing, which brought me to Muay Thai. There are too many rules in kickboxing that I don’t care for. Fighters are too limited, which is why Muay Thai fits me better. Plus, an elbow to the head is the most satisfying move there is, and you can’t do that in kickboxing.

  My father may have a love for the sport of boxing, but he spent his youth doing jiu-jitsu—hence why my brothers and I started BJJ when we were little kids. Even boxing is limited. I can’t for the life of me understand why Matteo loves it when all you’re allowed to do is punch. He should try ramming a knee into some guy’s gut so hard they feel it in their spine. Once you knock someone out, it’s over. Where is the fun or challenge in that?

  My brothers, like our father, love ground fighting, but I prefer to be on my feet. That doesn’t mean I’m not good at grappling. It’s just not as much fun in my opinion, and I simply love to throw a punch or kick the fuck out of someone.

  My father’s head swings to his left and his body turns. “Gloves,” he seethes, the word coming out like an order.

  Michael appears out of nowhere, walking up to the ring with two sets in his hands. He tosses my father his gloves and then looks at me, waiting until I walk to the edge of the ring closest to him. Holding the other pair up, I take them. They’re my gloves, so he must have grabbed them from my bag.

  “Back out, Si,” Ren calls out to me. “It’s the smart thing to do.”

  He’s probably right. Okay, I know he is, but this is the only option I can think of that might get me back into Daddy’s good graces. I’m certainly not going another hour without him speaking to me. He only does this to get a reaction out of me, and it works, every freakin’ time.

  “Stop ruining my entertainment,” Dom chimes in. I don’t bother acknowledging his comment this time. This is between Daddy and me. They didn’t need to be here. I didn’t tell them, so our father must have.

  Walking back to my original spot, I shove my hands through both gloves and use my teeth to pull the strap around my wrists, my eyes never leaving my father’s, and his never leave me. He steps toward me, but once his gloves are secured around his wrists, he stops, leaving four feet between us. “Your brother is right, you know. You can back out.” He tips his head to the side, his neck cracking at the forced movement.

  “And you go back to giving me the cold shoulder?” I cock an eyebrow. “I don’t think so.” I’d rather get my ass served up on a silver platter than choose that option. And Daddy knows I won’t back out. I asked for this. This is what I want. Once it’s done, whatever shit he’s holding against me will be over. Life will be back to its normal peachiness.

  “Had I not found you some place you shouldn’t have been, we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes. “My fault.” I give him a snide smile, knowing damn well I’m acting like a brat.

  “Tsk. Tsk.” He shakes his head. “That’s going to cost you, daughter.”

  I should shut up and take my punishment. It really would end better for me, but I’ve never chosen the easy way out of anything. Always the opposite.

  “You sure you still got it, old man? Seems like you’re doing more talking than actually doi—” Advancing in one quick stride, his heel hooks behind mine and he jerks my feet off the ground, knocking me on my ass. “Son of a fuck,” I yell, and then snap my mouth shut.

  “Keep running that mouth and using foul language . . . You’re going to get your little ass dragged to the bathroom and your trap washed out with soap.”

  Laughter hurls out of both my brothers’ lips.

  Planting my palm on the platform of the ring, I push back to my feet.

  “Where’s your mouth guard?”

  “I don’t need one,” I say, instead of answering the question.

  “Put it in.”

  It’s in the small pocket inside my shorts and I’m sure he knows that which is why he’s ordering me to, but I make no effort to grab the flexible gel rubber piece that will help prevent my dad from knocking my teeth out. I don’t like being told what to do. He could’ve asked nicely or he could have reached for his and in doing so, suggested I use mine too. But did he do either? No.

  “You first.”

  “Another comment, Sienna, and I’ll make you wear headgear too.” He cocks an eyebrow in challenge, then smirks when I grind my teeth. I’m mouthy. I’m not stupid. I know when to keep my lips sealed and pushing Daddy any further than I have will only end badly for me.

  Pulling one hand out of a glove, I reach into my shorts and retrieve the mouth guard and shove it in, then I squeeze my hand back into the glove without unwrapping it.

  He just wants to shut me up. That’s the only reason he wants me to wear it. Yes, a fighter should always wear a mouth guard when fighting, but even I know my father isn’t going to go balls to the wall with me. Though, there is no doubt in my mind I’m going to lose.

  In Muay Thai there are five rounds with each round lasting three minutes and a two-minute rest period between each round. Typically, there can be no more than a five-pound difference between fighters, but this isn’t a regulated fight or a competition. This is Tony Caputo’s form of discipline, so the weight class is out. There are usually judges that give scoring too, but I know my dad is going to make me tap out—probably within the first three minutes if I had to place money on it.

  Lifting his gloved hands in the air, he stretches his arms out wide. “Waiting for you, daughter.”

  He wants me to come at him first, giving him the advantage. Daddy has enough of an advantage on his side. He’s a more experienced fighter than I am and he has twice the number of years fighting than I do; not to mention at least seventy-five pounds on me. Plus, he has the height and reach advantage too. The chances of me knocking my father out or having him tap-out before I do are slim. All he needs to do is lean backward to be out of my range.

  I shake my head in slow succession. Daddy’s lips tip up.

  Bringing my feet and hands together in front of me, I give him a slight bow, nodding my head out of respect, and he does the same. We’re both right-handed, so getting in a stance, I step my right foot backward, putting most of my weight on my right leg. My left leg is ou
t front, and my heel is lifted off the floor. Bringing my arms up, I ready my stance, my father doing the same.

  It’s hard not to be intimidated by the man standing in front of me. I’ve always looked up to him, and there is no doubt in my mind that I always will. He’s the strongest person I know, both mentally and physically. Okay, maybe he’s not technically the strongest, but through my rose-colored glasses he is. Matteo isn’t called a beast for no reason, and ever since he won the heavyweight title two years ago, he’s still undefeated.

  But through my eyes, no man is bigger, tougher, or fiercer than my daddy. He’s my king, and I will always be his princess.

  The ball of his left foot bounces against the floor of the ring, the same as mine. My eyes are on his, but I need to pay attention to every one of his limbs at the same time. I can’t allow one thing to distract me or I’ll leave an opening for him to strike.

  Daddy is the first to make a move, advancing and attempting a strike to my thigh with his right shin. I jump back, but the top of his foot nails his target. I don’t wince, though it hurts like a motherfucker. This is a welcome pain, though I can’t explain why. I love this, and I can’t stop my lip from lifting as I walk the pain off, stepping to my right with my elbow still lifted, my guard still up.

  Flicking my hip forward, I throw a cross punch, but Daddy dodges it easily. I follow through with a jab at the same time he dodges, nailing his gloves, but I’m not done. I lift my knee and snap my leg up, but he’s quicker than me, and before I know it, he kicks his leg out, his foot connecting with my heel. My other foot comes off the ground and before it sinks in, my back hits the floor.

  Fuck.

  I try to verbalize the curse word, but because of the mouthpiece, it comes out like a frustrated breath instead. From the smirk on his face, he likely deciphered it anyway.

  “Get up, daughter,” he orders, and beckons me with the flick of his gloved wrist.

  Blowing loose strands of my hair out of my eyes, I jump up, getting back into a stance once again. This time I wait until Daddy comes at me. We go back and forth longer than three minutes, longer than ten minutes, and at some point, he thrust kicks, nailing the fuck out of my hip. By the time I go shower, a bruise will be forming.

  I get a hint of gratification when I nail him in the jaw with a jab that surprises him. After the shock ebbs away and after he stretches his jaw out, his smile is one of pride, and that warms my heart.

  Knowing I can make my Daddy proud is one of the best feelings. It makes me feel stronger than I really am. His pride makes me feel invincible.

  Of course, on the tail end of his “punish Sienna for not obeying,” I feel as small as an ant. He takes off his gloves, throwing them out of the ring, and I follow, knowing I am about to get my ass handed to me, but I go in eyes wide open anyway.

  We are done with standup fighting. It’s time for the ground. It is time for Tony Caputo to show me what he is made of. And that is exactly what he does.

  Daddy gets me into side control while I’m on my back. I manage to get an under hook around him, thinking I’m about to turn this around when I turn up onto my side. He can’t see my face, but I’m sporting a smirk, knowing I have him exactly where I want him; I’m about to dominate my father.

  It’s my cocky attitude that does me in, but I don’t realize his arm has gone underneath mine until his thumb is behind my head. The smile is wiped from my face and my eyes get big. In the blink of an eye, he’s onto his feet. He moves, pushing my arm inward. I try to escape, arching back, but Daddy is much stronger than me and I don’t have a chance in hell of getting out of the D’arce choke he’s put me in.

  I tap out without thought and he releases me, jumping up as I suck in a breath of air. He stares down at me as I stare up at him. His mouth is shut, but his eyes are saying, lesson learned. I’d grit my teeth, but I’m not stupid enough to make the slightest move.

  “See you at dinner, daughter.” And with those words, he exits the ring, not a drop of sweat on him, whereas my body is soaked.

  Sitting up, I take notice of the crowd that’s formed around the ring. Great. Everyone witnessed me get my ass beat by my father. Fucking perfect.

  As my father is walking out, not acknowledging anyone, I watch him trip, nearly planting his face on the ground, but his hands shoot out, bracing his fall. Gasps echo off the walls and it’s the only noise palpable in the room.

  My mouth drops open, and that’s when I see Brooklyn standing next to my father while he’s on the ground. “My Daddy said boys aren’t supposed to hurt girls.” She crosses her little arms, purses her lips, and juts out her hip while her tiny brunette eyebrow arches high on her forehead.

  I’m so stunned I can’t even laugh.

  “They’re not,” my father deadpans, lifting his head and taking in Brooklyn’s form. Her head swings toward me as if to call him on his bullshit. “Disciplining a child is not the same thing as hurting one, little girl.”

  “She’s no kid, Mister.” Her nose scrunches up, and I must admit, it’s cute. A smile forms on my lips as I push up to my feet.

  “Oh, she’s every bit of a kid; the same as you are. Don’t let her age fool you.” Planting his palms on the floor, he pushes himself to stand up. Once he’s at his full height, he’s at least three times as tall as Matteo’s daughter.

  “What did she do?” Brooklyn asks as I climb out of the ring, jumping to the ground.

  “Brooklyn,” Matteo barks out his daughter’s name, and I’m not sure if he’s scolding her or warning her to shut up. My eyes snap to where he’s standing against the wall near Domenico. He’s got a pissed-off look going on, but at the same time, he seems to be holding himself back too, his body rigid.

  “She stayed somewhere she wasn’t supposed to,” my father tells her.

  “Well”—her eyes squint and I have to bite back a laugh—“you’re just a big meanie.”

  “Brooklyn Martina!” Matteo bites out.

  I stop next to my father and Brooklyn. “Squirt,” I greet her, smiling down. “I’m touched that you’re coming to my defense.”

  My eyes shift to Matteo, noticing that his breathing is coming in and out of his mouth in a slow but hard rhythm, which makes me think he’s about to lose his shit. Pushing off the wall, he storms out of the room, leaving Brooklyn here by herself, and I’m not sure if that’s because I’m here with her or if he really did have to get away before he lost it.

  My father bends and grips Brooklyn by her chin, his hold firm but still gentle, and tips her head back. “I can be a very mean person, little girl, but”—he lets a slow breath flow from his lips—“I’ve never once been mean to Sienna, and I never will. She’s my little girl, the same as you are your father’s.”

  “Awww, Daddy,” I draw out in the girliest voice I can muster, and then I place myself between my dad and Brooklyn, causing him to release her chin. Stepping into his arms, I wrap mine around his waist and squeeze. I hope it’ll show Brooklyn that my dad isn’t the bad guy she’s formed in her head. “I love you, too.”

  He kisses the top of my sweaty forehead, and then he leaves without another word. “So,” she says, gaining my attention. “If he can beat you up and you can beat my daddy up, does that mean your daddy can beat up my daddy?”

  I smile, because this little girl still believes I whooped Matteo’s ass. I find that hilarious. Squatting down in front of her, I lean in so that only she can hear my words. “No one can beat your daddy’s butt,” I admit, curbing my language. “Not even me. Your dad was just playing around the other day. He didn’t really get beat, but,” I stress, “let’s keep that secret between us. Capisce?”

  Standing back up, I grab her hand, but before I lead her off to find Matteo, a strong arm wraps around my neck. I get a glimpse of a crown tattoo on the inside of his left forearm, telling me it’s Lorenzo just before he tightens his hold, pressure squeezing my neck and fusing my back to his front. “Bet you’d like him to beat something of yours, sister,” he whis
pers so only I hear him, and then his arm is gone just as quick as it appeared, laughter falling from his mouth. Walking off, he turns, walking backward. “You think he pounds that just as hard as he does his fists?” Ren cocks an eyebrow and I glance down at Brooklyn, praying that she has no idea what my brother is insinuating.

  She isn’t paying him any attention, thank God. Her gaze is staring out toward the open gym, and I’m guessing she’s searching for Matteo.

  “He tries that shit and he won’t be the one doing the pounding,” Dom chimes in, following Ren. “I will.”

  “You realize I am an adult, right?” I yell at their backs. Dom shrugs, but continues walking away without another word. Looking down, I tug on Brooklyn’s hand. “Let’s go find your dad.”

  Chapter 11

  MATTEO

  Disciplining a child is not the same thing as hurting one, little girl.

  Those were his words only moments after locking his child in a goddamn choke hold. I throw my right fist into the heavy bag hanging in front of me, and then I follow with my left, my knuckles stinging from the lack of material that should be wrapped around them.

  I have a fight in less than two months. I shouldn’t be putting this type of strain on my fists. If my trainer, manager, or even my promoter saw me now, I’d catch an earful on how I could damage my hands. They’re only worried about losing the money I line their pockets with, not my fucking flesh.

  She stayed somewhere she wasn’t supposed to.

  Last time I checked, she wasn’t underage, so it isn’t like she needs permission to stay at a man’s house. What is this, the fifties?

  Stepping backward, I lift my right elbow and swing it across my body, nailing the leather bag and sending it swinging. Elbows aren’t allowed in boxing, but it’s something I’ve always got a thrill out of doing. Today, the usual adrenaline isn’t coursing through my system like it normally does. Anger, on the other hand, is very much front and center.

  She stayed somewhere she wasn’t supposed to.