Bad Princess: A Mafia Romance

by N. E. Henderson

  “I’d have let you, babe.”

  She pivots her head, looking over her shoulder, her eyebrow raised in challenge. “Let me?” God, I fucking like this girl. “Learn this now, Matteo. No one—and I do mean no one—allows me to do anything. I make my own choices. The only person that owns me is me.”

  If she only knew how much of a turn-on that bold attitude of hers is . . .

  “I’m going to enjoy having you for a girlfriend.” I laugh, easing up my hold around her waist. “Let’s go to sleep before I try to fuck you.”

  “I’m not your girlfriend.”

  “We’ll talk about that tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow won’t change that fact, Matteo.”

  “We’ll see. Good night, Si.”

  Chapter 28

  SIENNA

  Voices penetrate my eardrum, pulling me from slumber. It’s a good kind of sleep too. Cozy. Warm. Like being wrapped up in the warmest blanket. I could stay here forever and be content.

  I’m half lying on my side and front with something solid and heavy pressed against my back. The bulkiness isn’t uncomfortable; far from it actually. It’s welcoming, with an air of protection that isn’t like anything I’ve ever felt. And that’s strange considering I’m not only Antonio Caputo’s daughter, but the youngest amongst my brothers. Lorenzo may only have a few minutes on me, but there’s a pecking order in my family—which puts me last.

  “Where’s your dad?” A woman’s voice registers, causing my eyes to flutter. It’s a warm sound, yet the authority in her tone doesn’t go unnoticed, even in my semi-awake realm.

  “They’re still asleep.” Brooklyn’s sweet, sassy rasp warms my insides. I’ve yet to figure out what it is about the kid that I like so much. Maybe I see myself in her. Otherwise, what could it be?

  “They?” the woman draws out, irritation palpable.

  “Daddy has a girlfriend, Nana.” The excitement in Matteo’s daughter’s voice almost makes me wish her statement were true.

  Hold up. Where the hell am I?

  “Fuck.” Matteo’s curse is whispered so close to my ear that I feel his hot breath coat the back of my head. “Mom’s here.”

  The events of last night filter back through, replaying in rapid succession. I’m suddenly baffled as to why I agreed to spend the night. As soon as that thought exits, I realize that warm, cozy blanket is Matteo’s body wrapped around me, and my eyes pop open as I suck in air.

  I’m in bed with my childhood crush.

  Was I drinking last night? No. Not one drop. Can’t blame it on being inebriated. Not that I ever get that way to begin with, so . . .

  Pushing his arms off me, I scramble out of bed, half falling down before I bounce up. His chuckle from behind me does nothing to settle my nerves. “Forget where you were, babe?”

  “I’m not your babe. You keep forgetting that.” My stare is steady as I bend down, grabbing my tennis shoes from where I kicked them off last night. I’m still wearing the fight attire I changed into at the gym yesterday before Brooklyn and I went to the nail salon. The way Matteo’s eyes are appraising my body is doing things to me that I don’t need right now—or ever where he is concerned.

  My cell phone chimes with an incoming text message, so I grab it from the nightstand and pivot, leaving Matteo’s bedroom. I should not have stayed here last night.

  What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t, or maybe I was and wanted to be in his bed way more than I should. I know he just wants what isn’t being freely offered, and there is no way I’m going to be another notch on his bedpost. Fuck that. I have too much pride to allow that to happen. I’m a Caputo, after all.

  Glancing at my phone as I head down the hallway, I see the message is from Dom.

  Dom: I’m waiting at the curb, little sister. Let’s go.

  Before I can open the message and reply, another message comes through.

  Dom: Don’t make me come inside.

  Great. Now I get to deal with daddy number two. Sometimes Dom is worse than our dad when it comes to me.

  I need to grab my bag that has my dress and heels in it from when I changed yesterday, but I’m pretty sure I left it in Matteo’s SUV last night. With my tennis shoes in hand, I pad into the living room, coming to a stop when I see Brooklyn with a middle-aged woman standing next to the couch she is bouncing on.

  “Sienna!” she screams when she sees me. The kid is still dressed in the same outfit I changed her into, including the shin guards. My lips curve up, seeing her hop off the couch, running to me. As she nears, my eyes go to the other woman in the room—Matteo’s mom. I remember her from time to time when she would come up to the school whenever he would get into trouble. I used to work in the principal’s office back in high school. It was one of my electives from tenth grade through senior year.

  Mrs. De Salvo places her hands on her hips, watching me closely. It takes seconds, but I swear the way her motherly eyes penetrate mine, our stare-off lasts ages. Recognition flashes and I know that she knows who I am—or rather whose daughter I am.

  “Hey, kiddo,” I greet Brooklyn. Personal space doesn’t seem to be in this kid’s vocabulary. Just like that night at my mom’s restaurant, she launches herself at me and I have to release my shoes, letting them drop to the floor in order to reach out and catch her.

  “Are you going to spend the day with Daddy and me?” Her breath fans my face, and the smell of chocolate sweetness wafts through my nose, making me wonder just how long she’s been awake and what all she got into while Matteo and me were asleep. Sneaky little kid this one is.

  “I can’t,” I admit, and before she can interject, I glance over her head to Matteo’s mom. “Hey. I’m Sienna.”

  “I know who you are.” Her tone is harsh. Nothing like the voice she used with her granddaughter only moments ago. Ouch. This lady hates me before she even knows me. Not that I’m not used to that type of reaction. It goes with being a Caputo. I’m used to it, but I have to admit, this one stings more than usual.

  “Hey, Mom,” Matteo says from behind me. “Morning, Daughter.”

  “Mornin’, Daddy.” Brooklyn giggles as if Matteo made a funny face. When she wrinkles her little nose, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing with her.

  “You got into the Cocoa Puff’s, didn’t you?” Matteo asks, and Brooklyn’s head bobs, her smile expanding, not the least bit worried. Not that Matteo sounds irritated. The opposite really. He sounds rested and happy and something about that makes me feel warm inside. Too warm. I’ve got to get out of here. Matteo’s hand squeezes my hip in a silent greeting. “I don’t remember you telling me you were coming, Ma.”

  “I didn’t know I needed a reason or an invite to visit my son and granddaughter.” Her dark eyes are still boring into me like an accusation. If I don’t get out of here, I’m bound to open my mouth, and then she’s really not going to like me.

  Loosening my grip on Brooklyn, I let her slide down my front until her feet touch the floor. After letting her go, I squat, picking up my shoes, then proceed to stuff my feet into them without socks. I lost my socks sometime during the night between Matteo’s sheets.

  “I never said you did,” Matteo replies. “If you’re going to be here a while, I need to run Sienna home. Can I leave Brooklyn with you?”

  “No need, big guy. My ride’s outside waiting on me.”

  “Who?” There’s an edge to his tone. One in which I can’t decipher.

  Turning to face him, I wave my phone in his direction, but it’s snatched from my grip. He’s lightning fast; something I should already know considering who he is, and I do, but I didn’t expect him to take the device from me—again. Dick.

  His eyes scan the messages that I’d just opened, but then his fingers are moving across the screen, a slow smile spreading his lips out.

  “What did you just do?” I accuse, knowing he did something I’m not going to like.

  “Text myself so I could get your number.” His eyes pop up, loc
king on mine as he holds out my phone for me to take.

  “You could have asked.”

  “Would you have told me?” He cocks a knowing eyebrow as he crosses his arms over his thick chest.

  “No.”

  “There you go. Had to go a different route.” That smile of his should not be doing what it’s doing to my belly, but hell if I can’t make this feeling stop. What I can do is mask my expression. For some reason that’s harder to do with him than it is others. “I’ll text you later with the time I’m going to pick you up for our date.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to spout back that he’s the last man I’d go on a date with, but I don’t since we have an audience. Instead, without another word, I turn away from him and make my way to the stairs that lead to his front door.

  I can always tell him to go jump off a bridge when and if that text ever comes through.

  Domenico’s black Range Rover is parked on the curb, just like his message said. The vehicle is running, and I can see my brother’s head downcast, most likely working from his smartphone. Dom may appear distracted, but he has eyes in the back of his head; that I’m convinced of. There is no doubt in my mind that he knew the moment I opened Matteo’s front door and stepped out of his house.

  Walking down the driveway, the chill of the morning air coats my bare legs and arms, making me wish I had the lightweight jacket I keep in my gym bag just for mornings like this. The sun is already out, and by late morning it’ll be a lot warmer. May in New York is the best time of the year. It’s not humid yet, like it is in the summer, and the temperatures aren’t too hot.

  The doors unlock as I reach for the handle. Once inside, I drop my cell phone between my legs and pull the seatbelt across my body, buckling myself in.

  “Morning,” I greet my brother.

  Setting his cell phone down, he rolls his head in my direction, giving me a once-over. Dom has a stare that’s penetrating—and not in a good way. It’s accusing without saying the accusation.

  “If you have something to say, then spit it out,” I order, frustrated. It’s too early on a Saturday morning to be getting my panties in a wad.

  “Couldn’t you have tried to comb that rat’s nest you have sitting on your head? You look thoroughly fucked, little sister.” His eyes narrow and his jaw hardens.

  “Mind your own, Dom.”

  “I do. Every fucking day.” His hard, dark eyes are still on me. “Do I need to go in there?”

  “I’m good. Is this mine?” I grab the disposable coffee cup in the rear cupholder. Dom always places his drinks in the one closer to the dashboard.

  He nods, confirming what I already knew was true. Anytime Dom picks me up he always has my favorite coffee drink waiting. He’s a good brother. Overbearing and an asshole, but I wouldn’t trade him for anyone else—ever. “I need to know if you slept with De Salvo. Or have at any point slept with him.”

  “The term TMI went over your head, didn’t it?”

  “Knowledge is—”

  “Power,” I finish for him. “Blah, blah, blah. Can we leave now?”

  “I’m not Dad, Si. I don’t care who you fuck, though you could do better than him. I just need to know in case issues arise from it.”

  “Issues?” A humorless laugh falls from my lips. “You and Lorenzo screw whoever the hell you want. No ‘issue’ ever comes about from either of your sexcapades.” I roll my eyes. Double fucking standards. I should be used to it in our family, but I’m not.

  “You’re right. I do fuck who I want, but I don’t think Ren does.”

  “He’s not a virgin, Dom.” Because who’s a goddamn virgin at twenty-three. “And yeah, Ren does get it on the regular.”

  “I didn’t say he didn’t. What I meant is that I don’t think he fucks multiple women. He’s seeing the same one he’s been seeing for a while now.”

  “You know who he’s dating?” My anger flares, roaring up at a rapid pace. “Not even I know that.”

  Lorenzo is secretive. I may be the bad princess as Matteo likes to refer to me as, but Ren is the dark prince. It’s the only thing I despise my twin for. It’s petty, but he isn’t supposed to keep things from me.

  “No,” Dom admits. “I don’t know her identity, but I know he’s a one-woman type of man.”

  “And you aren’t?” His eyes flash the first sight of light since I slid in the passenger seat a minute ago. “Right. You like your promiscuous ways.”

  “I like my sanity. Women have the ability to ruin men.”

  My brother has a lovely view of the opposite sex. I don’t bother to set him straight. I wouldn’t be able to change his mind. Dad wasn’t the only one affected by mom’s death. We all were, but Dad and Dom never recovered. Sometimes I think Dom loved her as much as Dad did—just in a different way. He placed Mom on a pedestal just like Dad.

  No woman will ever compare to her, just as no man will ever compare to my father. We were lucky to witness true, unconditional love between our parents, and I think that high of a standard ruined Dom for any potential relationship. He will never risk falling in love. He’s too afraid of suffering the same fate our father did.

  In an effort to change the subject, I ask, “So where are we headed?”

  Dom glances at me from head to toe again. “That the new line?”

  “Arrived yesterday,” I tell him.

  “Michael said you outfitted the girl and yourself. Looks good by the way. I like the look of the bold colors this time over the pastel color from last year.”

  “Me too,” I agree. “And her name is Brooklyn.”

  “I lined up a meeting with Niccolò Bianchini,” he continues, ignoring my correction. “He’s only in the city today, so we’re headed to have brunch.”

  “Merchandising is my area.”

  “Yeah, well, you’ve been too busy with an overrated boxer and his kid. It came up, so I arranged a meeting that likely wouldn’t have happened otherwise.”

  Niccolò Bianchini owns a conglomerate of corporations; one being a chain of MMA gyms spanning from Florida and throughout Texas. I’ve been trying to nail down a meeting with him for nearly a year. How my brother managed to do it piques my interest, but his comment about Matteo gets under my skin.

  “Matteo has been undefeated for almost two years. I wouldn’t call that overrated.”

  “Boxing is dead. Has been for years. Your boy should think about stepping into the octagon. Then we’d really know what he’s made of.” Putting the gear stick in drive, Domenico pulls away from the curb. “There’s a change of clothes in the back. You’ll need to change and get ready in the car. We don’t have time to stop by the house. We’re heading to the city now.”

  “It’s a quarter past seven, Dom. Are we eating breakfast with Bianchini?” Normally, I’d still be asleep. Saturday is the one day a week I allow myself to sleep in. Surprisingly, I’m not the least bit tired. Probably due to the fact that I got the best night’s rest that I can remember. Why did it have to be with Matteo? I mentally whine. On one side, the schoolgirl in me is thrilled, but the responsible adult, not so much.

  When it comes to Matteo, it won’t amount to anything real. I’m a challenge for him, that’s all. I’m not the woman he takes home to Mom. In fact, I’m willing to put money on him getting a tongue lashing at this very moment by his mother on account of me walking out of his bedroom. The look on her face told me everything I needed to know, and I’m the last woman on earth she wants her son and granddaughter around.

  “Hop in the back and change,” Dom says, his voice laced with irritation. “Breakfast, brunch, it doesn’t matter what you call it, we’re doing it now. We can’t let him leave the city without sealing a deal with him.”

  Unbuckling, I twist in the passenger seat, giving him a I hate you right now death glare as I climb into the back of his SUV. Plopping down in the middle, I survey what Dom brought. There’s a black garment bag hanging in front of the window. On the floor, I see my favorite pair of pumps—the only c
omfortable pair I own—along with the ones I refer to as Satan’s heels. They’re black six-inch heels with a red bottom, and I swear Lucifer himself designed them. I only wear them when I’m going for sex appeal and know I won’t be standing for long periods of time, like to dinner, so why Domenico brought these I haven’t a clue.

  Opening the garment bag, I pull the material of the clothes out. My crisp, white, show my girls-on-display shirt is staring me in the face. Behind it is my red pant suit, followed by a black cocktail dress that I recently bought and haven’t worn yet.

  I glance at Dom in the rearview mirror, but his eyes are focused on the road. “Are you trying to pimp me out?” I deadpan. The power suit and the I’m gonna fuck you tonight shoes is making me question my brother’s motives. I’d believe this behavior from Ren, but never Domenico. He’s the protective one. Not that Lorenzo isn’t, but he’s my twin soul. We’ve always been one and the same. He wants me to have fun, and he knows that I’m capable of defending myself. Dom will forever see me as his baby sister needing protection from her knight.

  “I didn’t pack your shit. Dad did. I just swung by the house and grabbed it when I told him about the meeting.” Dom doesn’t glance in the mirror. “I was perfectly happy doing this solo. Dad was the one that insisted I take you.”

  “Hello,” I say louder than necessary. “Again, my department.”

  This time he does look at me through the rearview mirror, his facial features hardening. “The three of us are in this together. We’re equal partners. If I can get us the meeting when you couldn’t, then it is what it is. Be happy. Don’t pitch a hissy fit over something petty, little sister.” His eyes cut back to the road. “What the hell did Dad pack anyway?”

  “An outfit that clearly says, no need to buy the cow when the milk is free,” I singsong in a sarcastic tone.

  “He’s old, Sienna. Give the man a break. He probably just snagged the first thing he saw in your closet.”

  “Grandpa is old. Dad? Not so much.” At least not in my eyes. The man could take on both my brothers and me in a match at the same time and beat all of us. That I’m certain of. He didn’t even break out in a sweat when he kicked my ass the other week.