Bad Princess: A Mafia Romance

by N. E. Henderson

  “Whatever, this was bullshit anyway. And so we’re clear, Sienna is staying at my house again tonight.”

  I step around the chair and turn away from him when he says, “No, she isn’t. She missed a session with her trainer that she’ll have to make up after work.”

  I stop and glance over my shoulder. “She stays with me. She’s mine, Tony, and that is something I will fight you on. Don’t push me.”

  “Dinner is at seven. Don’t be late.”

  Without arguing further, I turn, storming out of his office. A test? What bullshit. Oh, he’s Mister Tough Guy. The Boss. I should have knocked his fucking teeth out. I ought to turn around and do just that, but I won’t. I’m not that stupid. He just better be glad I don’t actually have a death wish, or I would have shown him exactly why I’m called The Beast in the ring.

  Thank God Brooklyn is at my parents and I don’t have to pick her up until later. The need to hit something—to pulverize something—is too high, and not something I want her to witness. It’s why she’s never seen me fight. It’s why I’m not sure if I’ll ever want her to see one of my matches.

  Chapter 37

  SIENNA

  I don’t feel different.

  Looking in the mirror, I can’t spot any difference in my appearance. I don’t even ache between my legs. Shouldn’t I at least be sore? Even a little . . .

  I heard—or should I say read—that when you lose your virginity your muscles feel overworked. It’s rare that I have time to read anything these days, but back in my high school and college days I’d often read well into the morning hours, devouring hundreds of books a year. And I have no shame over the types of books I enjoy; mostly romance, some mystery, and the occasional supernatural or paranormal, none of them lacking detailed intimate scenes.

  So why do I feel like I was lied to in all of those books? Granted, fiction is just that; it’s exaggerated or embellished truths, made-up stories, but I also thought those parts were believable.

  Maybe Matteo fits me that well, like he was meant to be the one to take my virginity. I don’t normally have cliché thoughts, but . . .

  Of course, it’s not like I don’t overwork or overuse every muscle in my body on a regular basis either. Speaking of working out, if I continue missing training sessions with Caesar, I’m going to get my ass handed to me in a couple of weeks when I face off with Sasha.

  When her coach and manager reached out to my personal trainer six months ago, putting the bug in my ear, I grabbed at the chance. Why the thought never occurred to me I don’t know. Sasha and I have never liked each other, so to be able to go toe to toe without causing a war between our families was the perfect opportunity.

  There was a time when I was a teenager that I thought about becoming a professional kickboxer for a hot minute. For me, it’s fun and more of a mental release than something I want to do for money. Besides, my love for my family and wanting to take a more active role won out, so I focused on business and finance in college.

  Sasha, on the other hand, focused on training—both on a mat and on a pole. Fucking slut that she is. And yes, she’s actually a better fighter than I am. I’ll never admit that out loud, but I’m not stupid or in denial either. Even if I lose, it’ll be worth it to make her bleed.

  The sound of a bang followed by my bathroom mirror rattling brings me out of my thoughts. What in the hell? Something would have had to slam rather forceful to make fixtures move.

  I’m dressed, I just need to grab my purse from my bed and then I’m ready to head to the warehouse in Jersey. Once I’m down the stairs, I see Matteo through the glass windows, flooring it in reverse from our driveway.

  What did Daddy do now?

  The asshole could have said bye. Fucking douche.

  Setting my purse on the accent table in the foyer, I pivot and make my trek to Dad’s office. When I peek inside, he is standing in front of his desk, his head cast down, fiddling with items.

  “You threaten to shoot Matteo again?” I ask from where my shoulder is braced against the doorframe, my arms crossed.

  “Get in here and sit your ass down,” he orders, glancing up at me, his dark gaze a mixture of something I can’t decipher. I’m not sure if he’s pissed at Matteo or me or both or someone else entirely.

  I comply, walking in, but I stop behind one of the chairs in front of his desk and place my hands on the backrest.

  “I hope you’re smart enough to learn from his first mistake by making him wrap his shit up,” he tosses out, anger laced in his tone. He did not just say that! My eyes round and the heat in my cheeks send a wave of dizziness throughout me. “You get pregnant before you’re supposed to, Sienna, and I will follow through with my threats. Do not force my hand. The winnings from his fights make up a quarter of my income. I’d hate to take him out of the game, but I will if he disrespects my daughter. Are we fucking clear?”

  My mouth drops. I’m stunned speechless, but that doesn’t stop my own temper from flaring. “Don’t refer to Brooklyn as a mistake, Dad.” I steel my spine and cross my arms, standing four inches taller wearing my peep toe heels.

  I’m not sure why his reference to Brooklyn being a mistake was what sparked my outburst rather than my dad calling out the fact that he knows I’m having sex with Matteo. When I found out he was having a baby with Kennedy, I was crushed. I don’t think I’d ever cried so hard in my life. But now that I’ve gotten to know Brooklyn, I don’t hate the idea of her existence.

  “Can we not have this discussion, please? Seriously. I’m not talking about that with you.”

  “If you can’t talk about it, then you aren’t old enough or mature enough to be doing it in the first place. My point is—”

  “Wait a minute,” I interject as I eye the items on his desk and in his hand. “What is all that? Is that . . .” My voice trails. No. It can’t be. Is that why Matteo stormed out? “Daddy, what did you do?”

  “I tested him.”

  “Tested him?” I repeat my father’s words, tasting the bitterness on my tongue. “Dad, that is not a test. That’s . . . that is the real deal. Even I know that. I-I don’t even know what to say. Did you freak him out?”

  He must have. I’m freaked out right now looking at the remnants of something I thought my father did away with.

  Why did he do this?

  What could he possibly expect of Matteo?

  “The man that marries you and the women that marry your brothers will prove their commitment, honor, and loyalty to this family, to my family, before I give my blessing, Sienna.”

  “You expect—”

  “Silence, daughter. I’m not finished.” He drops what he’s holding in his hand. “I bulldozed my way to the top so that I would have enough power that no one would be foolish enough to cross me. Fear alone is not enough. And trust is not something I hand out.”

  “Dad, I understand that’s earned but . . . this?”

  “Is our way of life,” he says pointedly. “There are things I can change and will, but this,” he fans his hand across his desk, “isn’t one of them. This is something even I believe in. Vows and oaths carry meaning.”

  His office is dimly lit, and his skin is tan like mine, but even so, I can see the heat marring his cheeks, telling me his emotions are on edge. It’s a rare glimpse he’s allowing for reasons I’m not sure. Maybe he’s trying to show me rather than simply telling me why he feels this is important.

  “De Salvo passed, in case you were wondering.”

  “Fucking great, Dad. So, he’s a full-fledged member of the mob now?” I spit, my tone etched in sarcasm and disrespect; something until this moment I never would have believed would fall from my lips in front of my dad, or even behind his back.

  “Betrayal will not be tolerated, but neither will disrespect. Do you hear me?”

  A chill slithers down my spine, and as if on reflex, I take a step back and then another. Dad’s brows furrow, and a line forms between them. “Sienna?” he questions, his voice fu
ll of caution all of a sudden.

  “No.” I shake my head back and forth in rapid cessation. He wouldn’t do that. “No,” I repeat, my feet retreating again.

  “Princess, why are you looking at me like that?” He steps around his desk, but stops at the corner.

  “You wouldn’t,” I say, but it’s more of an internal argument with myself, not with him. He wouldn’t do that.

  He loved her.

  “Wouldn’t do what?” His voice is a command, and I see worry etched in his dark eyes. Eyes that until those words came out of his mouth have always been my sanctuary. He’s my daddy. My rock. My biggest supporter, and until recently, the only man I ever wanted to make proud. “Sienna, you’re looking at me like I’m the Devil himself.”

  “Are you?” falls from my lips without thought. He’s not. He can’t be. Not Tony Caputo. Not my father.

  Long strides eat up the space between us until he’s in front of me, and my back connects against the bookshelves that line one of his walls. “I’m a lot of things, Sienna. Not all of them are good, but not all are bad either. And there is not one thing I would do to ever make my daughter, or my sons, think of me as such.” He closes the rest of the gap between us and grabs my elbow before I bolt. “Sienna . . .”

  That voice, both powerful and soft at the same time is etched with more worry than I’ve heard from him before. “You need to tell me whatever it is you think I’ve done. And you need to tell me right now.” I can see he’s losing patience, but he’s trying hard to rein his temper in—for me.

  “You said . . .” I gasp. I can’t even repeat the words. Words I’ve forgotten until now. How did I forget them? When did I forget them?

  “I said what?” he prompts, and then his eyes narrow. They’re trained on me, but he isn’t looking at me. He’s thinking back to what he said and then he’s uttering that dreaded phrase once again. I start to shake uncontrollably. “Is that what I said that made you . . . freak out?”

  I nod. Words won’t leave my throat.

  “Why?” He grabs my other arm, running his palms up and down both of my arms in a soothing, fatherly gesture. I want to step out of his grasp, yet at the same time, I want to step into his arms and pretend I didn’t hear those words.

  I swallow, and then my breathing becomes labored. That stops him, but only for a second. His right arm lifts, and the next thing I know my chin is caught firmly between his fingers. “Why would those words inflict fear in your eyes? I can’t recall ever saying them until now. I’m not even sure why I did. I hate those words. I despised them every time they fell from his mouth.”

  “Who?” I ask, finding my words again.

  “Not until you tell me where you heard them and why I’m scaring my own daughter.” He lifts my chin and I have no choice but to look him in his dark storm-filled eyes. “Princess, you are the last person on this earth that I’d ever scare or hurt. Tell me,” he urges.

  “M-Mom,” I choke out.

  “Ari,” he says, her nickname coming out as he exhales. “What about your mother?”

  “When you found me in my closet, after she was . . .” I can’t say the words out loud. I’ve never been able to say killed or murdered outside of my thoughts. “When it happened, I wasn’t in my room.”

  “Where were you?” His grip on my elbow hardens.

  “In the kitchen cabinet, below the sink.”

  “Sienna.” My name comes out of his mouth like a breath of air. Like sadness over the thought of what I must have heard or saw. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Before she made me get in there, she told me that no matter what I heard, never to repeat it. So, I didn’t. I-I didn’t even remember them until now.”

  “But you heard those words?” His voice comes out murderous, and his fingers tighten around my chin. I don’t think he even realizes the amount of pressure he’s applying with both his hands. There’s going to be bruises, but in this moment, I don’t even care. I need to know that my dad did not kill my mother.

  I close my eyes and nod my head.

  “Tell me everything, Sienna, and don’t leave anything out.” The venom in his voice matches the darkness I see when I open my eyelids.

  “Tell me you didn’t kill mom. Please, Dad,” I plead. “Say you didn’t do it!” I holler.

  His fingers loosen and they roam to the back of my head where he cups my neck in another firm grip. His other hand comes up and he keeps my head tilted back to look up at him. “There are no words that can even begin to explain how much I loved that woman. I worshiped the fucking ground that she walked on. And I have never once stopped searching for the person who took her from me, from us.” He pauses, taking in a deep breath. “No, I didn’t kill, Ariana. I didn’t kill my wife, Sienna.” His voice booms, making my ears ring.

  My back sinks against the shelves, relief flowing back into my body. I knew he wouldn’t have done that. His confirmation soaks in like oxygen, ridding me of the hurt and betrayal his words sprang.

  It takes me longer than it should to remember what he said a minute ago. Why would those words inflict fear into your eyes, Sienna? I can’t recall ever saying them until now. I’m not even sure why I did. I hate those words. I despised them every time they fell from his mouth.

  My eyes snap to his. “You know who did it?”

  “Tell me the rest,” he demands, not answering me.

  “It was silent for a few seconds after mom put me in the cabinet, then I heard footsteps on the tiled floor. They had to be expensive shoes from the sound of it. I didn’t know that then. I just had that thought actually.” I take a breath, pulling in air through my mouth. “Mom asked why he was there, and when he spoke I knew it was a man. Something about his voice shook me. I didn’t like it. It was harsh, mean. He said something that I didn’t hear. I remember my ears ringing back then, and I had to put my hands over them. But then he said something about Mom changing someone. Ruining everything he’d worked hard to build. And then . . .” I trail out, my tongue refusing to say those words.

  His head tilts back, resting on his shoulders. “That motherfucker,” he seethes.

  “Dad,” I call out, my voice loud to get his attention. “Who killed Mom?”

  His head falls forward, eyes distraught and filled with so much hatred that I’m not sure I’m looking into the eyes of my dad. “My father,” he finally says, and shock grabs ahold of me.

  “What?” I breathe the words out, fanning his face with my breath. “Wh-why?”

  “I . . .” His eyes close, his jaw locking in place as a war brews deep within my father’s bones. My grandfather killed my mother. Dad’s own father killed his wife.

  Is that why I’ve never liked him? Did my subconscious recognize that he was the one who took Mom’s life? Why did it take until now to remember what happened? Dad asked me for weeks if I heard or saw anything and I always said no. I drew a blank every time I tried to recall that night. I didn’t even remember being placed inside the cabinet until a few minutes ago.

  “How could I forget?” My voice is weak. “Dad, I’m sor—”

  “You do not have one thing to be sorry for, Si. Nothing was your fault. You were a kid who experienced something horrific. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me for failing to protect my wife and child.” He pulls me against his chest and my body sags, mental exhaustion overwhelming me. His lips graze my forehead, lingering until he wraps his arms around me, holding me to his chest.

  My eyes sting but tears don’t fall. I don’t know what that says about me. I’m not a crier; never have been. Maybe it’s because I was raised by a strong man, but even when I was younger and Mom was alive, it was rare for me to cry.

  “I’m sorry, baby girl.” He pulls back and I have to snap my gaze up to see his. “But you can’t tell your brothers, Si.”

  “What?” My shock is evident in my voice, because I am. “Why? They need to know.”

  “They do,” he agrees. “And they will, I assure you. But not before I handle this
myself.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “You know what I’m going to do. You might not know exactly, but you know the end result.”

  He’s going to kill his father.

  Tony will finally avenge the death of his wife, even if it’s the last thing he does. Even I know that. I’ve always known that. Anger courses through me like rapid fire, burning through my body. “If you aren’t going to tell Dom and Ren, then let me help.”

  “No,” he barks, and then turns away from me, heading back to his desk and taking his comfort with him. My arms are cold despite the warmth in the house.

  “Dad,” I bite out just as harshly. “I can help.”

  “I said, no, Sienna.” He whips around, his eyes flaming. “You are never going to go down that road. Neither will Ren. I hate that I have to involve Dom in some of the things I do. None of you were supposed to be touched by the shit I do.”

  “But we’re family. We’re your kids. And Dad . . .” I sigh, stepping toward him. “We can handle whatever it is you need us to shoulder.”

  He meets me halfway and he wraps his hands back around my shoulders, squeezing. “I know you’re tough, kiddo. You’re strong, and I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become. But this life, the way of the Cosa Nostra, is not and will never be something I want for you. I made a vow to myself on the day Domenico was born. I will change this life, this family, for my children. I’ll never steer away from that.” He tightens his grip. “You cannot tell your brothers, not even Matteo. Is that clear?”

  I’m silent. I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t hide secrets from my brothers. And Matteo and I aren’t that far into our relationship. It’s so brand-new I don’t even think there’s a term for whatever we are. Sure, it’s been a fairly quick and fast-paced love affair, but I know deep within my core that it’s real for the both of us.

  How can I keep something this big from the man I’ve been in love with since I was a kid? I’m not delusional. I heard what he said last night, and I do believe he meant it, but that doesn’t mean I’m expecting him to profess his undying love for me anytime soon.