Bad Princess: A Mafia Romance
Page 14
I’m starting to understand my mom’s side of it. I don’t want this life for my daughter either.
Turning her back to me, she tugs my shirt once more, beckoning me to follow.
Tony’s office isn’t far. From the foyer, we bypass the stairs and then their enormous living room to head down a corridor, before Sienna turns left, now walking down a dimly lit hallway. Giggles I could recognize in a crowd of hundreds hit my eardrums, propelling me to step around Si, quickening my pace until I reach Tony’s open doorway. Brooklyn’s back is to me. She is sitting cross legged on his desk, her long, straight, dark hair covering the T-shirt I know damn well I dropped her off in at Kennedy’s last night.
Tony’s eyes snap up, connecting with mine. His easygoing smile instantly hardens, making me question if he was actually wearing one at all.
“Brooklyn Martina, come here,” I order, my eyes never leaving the man that should not be in possession of my little girl.
Twisting the top half of her body, she eyes me. “Daddy,” she squeals. Her legs untangle and then she pushes off the desk, landing on her feet, before running toward me.
When she nears, I bend, grabbing her under the arms and lifting Brooklyn into my embrace. Once she is secured and my blood starts pumping again, my anger returns.
I’m about to lash out when Brooklyn stuns me into silence. “Oh, Daddy, I’ve had the best day ever with Papa Tony. Can I come back tomorrow?”
Papa what? Did she just call him Papa fucking Tony? The most feared man in all of New York?
“You’re welcome to come back anytime you like.” Tony leans back, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What’s going on?” Sienna ducks between the entryway and my side, squeezing inside the office to stand a few inches past me. “Why is Matteo’s daughter here?” She straightens her spine, standing tall, and crosses her arms to match her father’s.
“I’d like the answer to that as well,” I tell him.
“Princess, why don’t you take Brooklyn to do whatever it is five-year-old’s like to do. I’d like to have a talk with De Salvo.”
“Why?” she questions, her eyebrows furrowed.
Tony stands. Leaning over his desk, he places both hands palm down. “Let me rephrase. Take the kid and shut the door on the way out.”
His tone leaves no room for argument, but either that didn’t register with Si or she isn’t fazed by it, because she takes a confident step toward him. “Not until you answer my first question. Why is she here?”
“Are you the girl’s mother?”
“What?!” Sienna drops her arms, then shakes her confused head. “You know I’m not, but what does that have to do with answering my question, Dad?”
“Your question is irrelevant just like this conversation. Why Brooklyn is here doesn’t concern you. If Matteo decides to fill you in then so be it, but I’m not. Leave, Sienna. You’re trying my patience and it’s at its max for today. Capisce?”
Sienna balls her fists and grits her teeth. She wants to argue but doesn’t. “Fine. Let’s go, Brooklyn. We aren’t wanted with the big boys.” Si leaves, and my daughter squirms out of my arms, following, confusion and worry on her little face too. I need answers from Tony, and until I get them, I’m not leaving this office.
Sienna doesn’t shut the door, obviously being the brat she is, so I do it and then turn back to face him, crossing my arms over my broad chest. “What is my kid doing here?”
“Have a seat,” he orders, dodging my question or refusing me an answer; I don’t know which.
“I’m not doing a damn thing until you tell me why you kidnapped my daughter. And don’t you dare give me that, I’m the fucking Don, do what I say shit. You crossed a line with me when I found out my kid was here and not where she was supposed to be. Why the fuck do you have her?! Where’s Kennedy?” I yell, my anger growing with every word coming out of my mouth.
“I don’t really care for the Don, mobster reference, De Salvo, so don’t give me that shit, but I am who I am, and you are in my house. You will show me some respect, and if you want answers you’ll sit the fuck down so we can have a chat about the type of woman you shoot your shit into and make babies with. Now, take a fucking seat before I tire of this and put you six feet under and keep your kid. Frankly, I like her more than I do you.”
“Stay the hell away from my daughter.” Stepping toward him, I do as he says and sit in the chair in front of him. He mirrors my move, sitting back down in his leather chair. “I did what you said, now talk.”
He arches an eyebrow, as if shocked by my own order. The old man probably isn’t used to someone not bowing down to his every demand. I’m smart enough to recognize that it’s dumb to talk to a man capable of murdering me and then covering it up, but he isn’t the only one that’s been pushed to his limit today.
So, have I.
“How about we start with how you knew where to find Brooklyn. I didn’t order anyone to inform you, and Sienna didn’t know. Only Domenico and I knew she was here. Does the necklace she’s wearing have GPS installed?”
“Of course, it does. So does the watch she sometimes wears.” If Tony is surprised, he doesn’t show it. Brooklyn isn’t always with me, so to put my mind at ease and not constantly worry, I make sure she is wearing something that will show me her whereabouts at any given moment. I know it’s not rational. I know that if someone were to take her, they can remove any device. Still, it gives me peace of mind.
“Well, then perhaps I won’t put a bullet in your head after all.”
Chapter 24
SIENNA
I carry Brooklyn on my hip into the kitchen where I find Domenico unwrapping a Tootsie Pop and shoving it into his mouth. He eyes us but says nothing. Brooklyn squirms, so I set her on the floor.
Dom motions with his fingers, telling Brooklyn to come to him. Concern isn’t etched on my face, but my interest is piqued. Picking Matteo’s daughter up, my brother places her gently down on the granite top of the island in the center of the kitchen just left of the sink.
“There are three things you and I need to clear up,” Dom informs Brooklyn as I watch them interact like she’s a problem he deems to fix. “And if you agree to do as I say, I’ll give you one of these.” He pulls a wrapped Tootsie Pop from his pocket. I’m sure he has at least several since he’s come in the kitchen and restocked his pockets.
“I love candy,” she chimes, her already big eyes expanding at the sight of the lollipop Dom is waving in front of her.
“Of course, you do. That’s why this is going to be an easy arrangement.”
“What’s an arrangement?” she asks him.
“The things you’re about to agree to.” Brooklyn starts to ask another question, but Dom continues, not giving her a chance to speak. “One, you are not to refer to me as pretty ever again.” I raise an eyebrow, wondering where this is going, but neither are paying me any attention. “Two, if you ever hear anyone else refer to me as pretty, you’re going to punch them in the mouth. Has your dad taught you how to throw a proper punch?”
Brooklyn shakes her head but remains silent when Dom purses his lips as if her answer doesn’t satisfy him. If Dom ever has kids, they’re going to come out of the womb knowing how to fight. I feel sorry for the woman my brother marries, if he does end up marrying a girl that is. She can’t be weak to handle him.
Dom glances in my direction finally. “You need to correct De Salvo’s lack of parenting.”
“Who are you to say he lacks something in that department? Not like you have one yourself. Besides, Dad didn’t put us in martial arts until we were older than she is now.”
“And Dad learned the error of his ways.” That’s the extent of Dom bringing up anything to do with our mother’s death. It’s not a subject he likes to discuss. I know he helps Dad in his continued search for Mom’s killer, but neither talk about it. Turning his attention back on Brooklyn, he says, “If she won’t do it, you come tell me, and I’ll show you how to knock som
e punk kid to the ground. Would you like that?”
“Yes!” She exclaims, nodding her head in rapid succession. “I really, really would, but Daddy says I can’t hit other kids.”
“We won’t discuss what your Daddy is. On to number three. From here on out, I’m the scariest person you have and will ever meet. Agreed?”
“You’re so not scary.” She shakes her head, disagreeing with him. The look on her face is so comical I have to bring my hand to my mouth and clamp my teeth down over my lips to keep from laughing. “Why would you want me to think you’re scary?”
“Because I am scary. And you should be scared.”
“Nah.” She continues her head shake. “You’re still too pretty to be scary.”
“You just broke rule number one. Do I need to start over?”
“Brooklyn is right,” I chime, smirking at my brother. “You’re way too pretty to ever be scary.” I’m lying, but I can’t help myself. In some ways, Dom is scarier than our father. With Dad, I’m scared of disappointing him or getting in trouble. At twenty-three, I still get in trouble and Dad still reprimands me all the time. Adulthood didn’t change that. He can’t ground me, but he can sure lay into me, or give me the silent treatment like he did recently, though I wish he’d just ground me instead.
Domenico has a darkness that our father lacks. Dom learned his ruthlessness from our father, but he’s more wicked than Dad will ever be. I’m not scared of my brother. I know he wouldn’t maliciously hurt me. We beat the crap out of each other a lot. Dom makes me a better fighter than my personal trainer does.
With Dom, I’m scared how far he can be pushed to protect those he loves the most. If Dad or Dom ever find out who killed Mom, I’m more afraid of what Dom will do to that person than I am of what Dad would do. Dad would kill the person, sure, but he wouldn’t drag it out. He wouldn’t torture the bastard, whereas Dom would.
“Careful, sister, or I might be inclined to show the kid just how scary I can be and teach you a lesson in the process.”
“You kicking my butt will have to wait. I have a nail appointment in an hour and I’m taking the kid with me.” I turn my attention to Matteo’s daughter. “Hop down. We’re leaving.”
“Yay!” she cheers.
“Did you not see how De Salvo reacted when he showed up? I don’t think taking his daughter is the smartest thing you could do. Don’t make me trigger happy,” he orders, his playful demeanor vanishing, hardening to Dom’s normal self.
“Keep all weapons holstered where Matteo is concerned,” I issue an equally firm demand. “Dad told me to take the kid. I’m leaving, so I’m taking her with me. Matteo obviously knew how to find her. I’m sure he’s just as capable of finding her when she’s with me in town. Let’s go, Brooklyn.”
“At least take De Salvo’s shit. Dad wasn’t happy he had to bring her home without a proper kiddie seat she’s supposed to be strapped in.”
“Fine,” I agree. Matteo jumped out of his Lexus so fast he left the driver’s side door open anyway. Keys are probably still inside, unless it’s an ignition with a start button, then I’m screwed, but I’m sure I can figure out how to transfer her kid seat to my car. “Come on, kid.”
When we get out to Matteo’s SUV, Brooklyn climbs in through the driver’s seat and then over into the back like that’s how she gets in all the time. Matteo’s vehicle is a button ignition, but I find his set of keys in one of the cup holders. It’s stupid to leave anything of value in your car, even in an upscale neighborhood like this one, which is gated, but the gates are usually open until dark. Open or not, it wouldn’t keep criminals out if they were determined to get inside, but being who my father is, the thug would be even stupider to steal anything on Dad’s property.
“Ever had a mani-pedi?” I ask, looking at Brooklyn through the rearview mirror as she buckles herself.
“No. Been with my nana, though.”
“Want one?” She nods, a grin forming on her lips. “Then you shall have one.” And with that, I shoot my father a quick text letting him know I left with Matteo’s daughter and his SUV, then I start the vehicle seemingly excited to be hanging out with this kid again. I have no idea why taking her to the nail salon seemed like a brilliant idea when I left Daddy’s office, but for some strange reason, I like her. I might even like her more than I like her father, and as much as I hate to admit it to myself, I have it worse for Matteo now than I did as a teenager.
He’s too hot and cocky for his own good. Apparently, much to my irritation, that’s still my type.
When I walk into The Polish Bar, I stop at the check-in counter to sign in, seeing every waiting chair full and every station except one filled with a body. There is even a woman and a couple of teenagers standing around waiting for their turn.
This is why I always make an appointment, and why I usually come during the work-week at lunchtime to avoid the crowd. I once came when I didn’t have an appointment and I’ll never make that mistake again. I waited almost three hours just to get seated for a pedicure.
Never. Again.
It’s not even a small nail salon. For every station there is a technician on duty. The only time a station goes unused is if someone calls out and the owner can’t get anyone else to fill the spot.
“Hey, Si. You ready?”
“Yeah. But . . .” I glance from Manny down to Brooklyn. “Is there any way you can fit in an extra tonight?” I smile, but it’s more of a plea. With this many people here, he’s liable to shoot me for asking.
“I’d do damn near anything for you, but that isn’t one of them. We’re swamped this evening. I’ve been turning down clients without appointments for the last hour.” He peeks down at Brooklyn and I can see he wants to tell me yes. Not because he’s afraid of me or what my father might do if he denies my request. He knows who I am. I’ve been getting my nails and toes done here since I was about the same age as Brooklyn, maybe younger.
He was stuck here hanging around because his mom had to work and couldn’t afford childcare. We don’t run in the same circles. I didn’t go to school with him and he didn’t attend my brothers’ private school either.
Hang is the reason Manny doesn’t treat me with kid gloves or bow down to my every request. Manny’s mom is fearless, and she made sure Manny didn’t grow up being afraid of someone based on a certain reputation.
She’s of Vietnamese descent. Her parents came over when Manny’s grandmother was pregnant with one of his uncles. Whereas his mom was born and raised in America, but fully Vietnamese, Manny is only half Asian. His mom married a black guy she fell in love with during college. Manny’s mom is barely five-feet in a pair of heels and his dad is at least six-feet barefoot. They’re cute together, and I still see them from time to time.
Hang may be petite, but she doesn’t take orders from anyone. She gives the orders in her household, and her basketball-player-sized husband is perfectly fine with that. Hang was never fazed anytime my dad brought me in here. The only time I’ve ever seen her feathers ruffled was when Daddy had to leave me here to handle business and he had my grandfather swing by to pick me up.
You’d have thought the air had changed the second the door chimed and he walked in. It was unnerving to see Hang flinch, but at the time I got it. That’s often how I felt anytime I was in his presence too. As a kid, the old man scared the crap out of me. As an adult, I’ve grown used to him and simply don’t like his old school way of thinking or business sense.
“I get it,” I tell him. “I knew it was going to be a slim chance the moment I walked in. Let Brooklyn take my place and I’ll reschedule for next week.”
“That we can do.” His lips part, spreading into a toothy grin that shows his perfect white teeth. Manny is pretty to look at. He has the creamiest warm-colored skin and curly hair that he keeps braided in rows close to his scalp. He isn’t as tall as his dad, but he and I are usually eye level unless I walk in wearing a pair of heels. “What color polish are we doing?” he asks me.
“I want pink to match my new outfit.”
“A girl after my own heart,” I swoon, teasing her.
I got a text from the assistant manager of the gym informing me that the new fightgear I ordered had come in when I was leaving my house with Brooklyn. Wanting to be the first to see the new fight attire, I made a small detour. I changed out of my dress and heels and into a newly designed gym branded tank top, sports bra, and a pair of the newest line of Muay Thai shorts. My tank is white with the gym logo in black across my chest and the shorts are mostly black material with the word FIGHT written in all caps, in white, at a slant on the right side and the company name across my butt in black outlined in white.
Not only did the adult sized clothing come in, but so did the youth. Brooklyn picked out a white tank top with a pink logo and a pair of matching pink, glossy shorts to go with them. I also outfitted her in a pair of six-ounce boxing gloves for kids and shin guards, both in pink and white to complete her little badass look she has going on. The gloves she took off, but the rest she’s still wearing.
Even though Matteo’s daughter looks more like her mother than I care to confess, I have to admit she looks adorable decked out in clothes I helped design.
“Look at the top shelf,” Manny tells us as I start to tote Brooklyn to the nail polish wall. “There’s a pearl pink that would go perfectly with the girl’s digs.”
Manny graduated with a business degree the same as me, only a year earlier. He runs his mom’s slew of nail salons all throughout New York City and Long Island now that his parents have retired in the Hamptons. Manny’s folks struggled for a long time with only one shop, this one, until my dad approached Hang and offered to help her open a second location, then a third, and kept on until reaching ten salons. All of which are highly sought-after and successful nail shops. They’re always busy, hence the reason I schedule appointments.