Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
I dump all of our shopping bags onto my bed, tossing my sunglasses down with them. Thankfully, Poppy is easy to shop with. She takes what she likes and doesn’t mess around.
She sighs, falling onto the chair near my patio door. “It doesn’t make sense why your dad would take us in.” She isn’t wrong. I know more than anyone just how unforgiving my father is. The fact that he brought both of them home that night? It isn’t from his kindness. That much I know.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know anything.”
“What’s it like?” she asks, unzipping the gown cover and running her hand over the blue silk. “To be the daughter of the Sicilian mafia?”
“Honestly…” I make my way into my closet to bury my face. “I’ve not known any other way.” There’s a knock on the door before it’s being swung open and one of my father’s foot soldiers is standing on the other side.
“We’re leaving in four hours.”
I stare back at him until he closes my bedroom door again. Grabbing my phone, I dial glam so they can start on both Poppy and me. Fifteen minutes later, Giana and Ria are walking through my door, makeup trolleys in tow with hairdryers and straighteners.
I tell them to start on Poppy first so I can quickly wash up and slip into a silk gown. Poppy is telling them a story about her brother, with both Giana and Ria fully immersed, when I glide my hand over the blank wall beside my bed. Poppy stops talking every now and then to see what I’m doing, but Giana and Ria urge her to continue.
“Come on, girl. We need more juice! So this brother. He’s a bit of a player?” I knock on the wall, until I find the hard sound.
“No, he’s not really. But he did sleep around with girls older than him.”
I push my palm down on the wall and it pops open, revealing the discreet door.
“Wow!” Poppy jumps up from the bed, coming up behind me. “What—” I flick the light on and my collection lights up like the Fourth of July.
“Papa had been collecting them for me until I was old enough to start my own.” My fingers wrap around the Beretta. Hitting the light back off, I shut the door and hike my leg up on my bedside drawers, strapping it to the holster around my thigh.
Poppy’s eyes widen. “Why would you need that at a charity gala?”
My eyes shift to Giana, who pats her on the shoulder. “Come on, girl. You are done.” I sit still as they work on me. I go for straight hair and dark makeup. My plan was to offset the sunshine yellow of my gown, but now I’m thinking it probably just looks like I chose the wrong dress. Giana and Ria are quiet as they prep me. They always are. They’ve been doing Mama since she was young, and now me. Other families use them too, but we are always priority.
After they’ve left, I scoop up my Chanel clutch and smile at Poppy. “You look beautiful. You ready?”
She nods, but I can see it in her eyes that she’s figuring out who I am. Or at the very least, guessing. Fortunately for her, she will never know.
We make our way down to the lobby. I’m laughing at Poppy over her bad reinvention of Chibbs from Sons of Anarchy when I notice her face change.
Her eyes widen and she beams a bright smile. I follow her vision to the front door, where Papa and Wicked stand.
Papa smiles up at me so tightly the wrinkles in his cheeks fold in. “Principessa…”
“Papa…” I wince, gazing at Wicked over Papa’s heavy arm that’s around my back.
It’s Wicked, but it’s not…
Aside from the blank expression on his face, it’s noticeable that whoever he was before meeting my father, no longer exists. I made a promise I didn’t have the right to make with Poppy, because it’s obvious now. Papa didn’t take him or Poppy for no reason at all, and if he’s linked to the Family, he’s here for a purpose.
“Where’s your mother?” Papa whispers into my hair, and I quickly divert my eyes away from Wicked.
“She’s getting ready upstairs.”
He squeezes my arm reassuringly, turning to look at Wicked. “You’ll go with Wicked.”
I freeze. No doubt shock spreads over my face because my father adds, “And don’t fight me on this, principessa. There’s been some changes. You will go with Wicked.”
My mouth slams closed and I slowly bring my eyes back to Wicked, who is glaring at me now. His eyes darken when I don’t pull them off him and goose bumps prickle the back of my neck. Jesus fucking Christ. What the hell did I do to him, and why do I feel the first signs of indentations of his wrath cut beneath my flesh? And again, what the hell did I do? I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt a little, but I should have known better.