Savage Prince (DeSantis Mafia Book 2)

by S. Massery

  A touch feral, too.

  I force myself away and flop on the couch. The television is already on, playing some action movie. I pull the blanket around me and zone out.

  I’m not processing. I can’t seem to wrap my brain around anything that’s happening, so instead… nothing. It explains how I was able to sleep for so long, in any case. But self-diagnosis is frowned upon.

  My father would be furious at the turn of events. Aiden touched me, and part of me enjoyed it. Truth be told, if I wasn’t experiencing a major case of emotional whiplash, I’d be furious, too.

  I gag—did I really just think about what Aiden did and what my father would think back-to-back?

  Gross, Gemma.

  I don’t know how long I sit before Aiden sets a plate in front of me. When I don’t touch it, he sits beside me, so close that his thigh presses against my knee.

  “Are you going to eat?”

  I glare at the pasta. It has a red sauce with chunks of meat. The whole thing is swirled like they would in a fancy restaurant, complete with green garnish on the side.

  “It’s not the plate’s fault you hate me,” he says. “But don’t you think you’ll need your energy for whatever it is you have planned?”

  “I do hate you,” I agree.

  He nods and lifts the plate, forcing it into my hands. “Eat.”

  So fucking bossy.

  It doesn’t help that it smells amazing. I give in to my temptation and twist the noodles onto the fork, carefully bringing it to my mouth.

  A riot of flavor assaults my tastebuds. It’s so much better than it smells, even.

  “Oh my god.” It’s ridiculously good. My hunger overtakes my senses, and I bring the plate to my face. I shovel the pasta in, barely chewing. I’m pretty sure I’m making asinine noises of appreciation.

  Now who’s the wild animal?

  He watches me for a moment, then abruptly stands.

  To get away from the crazy woman, I’d bet.

  I get to the bottom of the plate and set it down gently, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. All I need to do to completely horrify the memory of my mother is to belch.

  Aiden returns with water for me, and a dark-amber liquid in his glass. He takes a seat next to me again and regards me. “When’s the last time you ate?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe yesterday morning.” A granola bar…

  “You need to take better care.”

  I scoff. “Seriously?”

  “Yes, Gemma. You can’t just starve yourself.”

  “Well, excuse me with being a bit preoccupied with my impending abduction.” I shuffle myself to the side, putting space between us.

  “Right, that. What was your plan, anyway? Or were you just being a good daughter and following orders?” He’s suspicious. Rightly so.

  I shoot to my feet. “You think—”

  “Sit down.” He narrows his eyes, and the warning in his tone is clear.

  I comply… slowly. “Dad didn’t order me to do anything. It was my decision.”

  He sips his drink and watches me over the rim. “Why?”

  “Isn’t the answer obvious?” I fold my legs under me and gulp my water. It’s one thing to know my own motivation, and another thing entirely to share it. Or have it spread. The last thing I want to be is predictable.

  But in that regard, I feel more like the mouse than the cat. I’m being herded in whichever direction Aiden pleases—and that might be right off the balcony.

  Splat.

  “It’s not obvious,” he says. “But I suppose I can guess.”

  “Guess, then.”

  He smiles. “You think you’re enough.”

  I go still.

  “You think you’re enough to save your cousin and brother. You think that by being here, I won’t look for them. That maybe I’ll take the pound of flesh we’re due from your skin.” He leans forward and puts his hand on my knee. “Or maybe you were just driven by the need to do something—anything—to clear your conscience.”

  I rear back. “No.”

  “I’m wrong, then.” Aiden raises his chin.

  “I…” I did think me being here would be enough to satiate the DeSantises’ bloodlust. I thought my sacrifice would curb Aiden’s need for revenge. I thought I would… be enough. Just as he said.

  But I was wrong.

  The need to warn my father is almost unbearable. There must be some way to tell him that Aiden won’t stop until he spills more West blood. A life for a life. That’s always been the way of things, and he won’t kill me.

  Stupid.

  I’m a dumb girl trying to change decades of Mafia warfare madness.

  “I want to be alone,” I say woodenly.

  “No.” He faces the television and reaches for the remote. “You want to sulk? Do it here.”

  I stand anyway and go toward the stairs. He can bite me for all I care. What I need to do is find the phone he stashed, or any phone. Even his personal one.

  An arm bands around my waist, hauling me back.

  I squeal and kick out, but he lifts me clear off my feet.

  “You. Just. Don’t. Listen.” He’s got me in one arm, supporting most of my weight just by cinching me to his side.

  Spikes of pain zip down my back from the pressure, but the fight is more important.

  “I don’t want to be around you,” I say, clawing at his arm.

  “Lucky for me, you don’t make the decisions around here.” He sits and drags me with him.

  I land on his lap awkwardly. He doesn’t release his arm from around my waist, so I’m forced to either tense, straining forward, or use him as a backrest.

  He’s smug, and it only seems to get more intense when I sag backward. He takes the brunt of my weight and adjusts slightly. I can’t help but wish that he doesn’t make it more comfortable for both of us.

  I close my eyes and breathe deeply. “Your hand better not wander.”

  He chuckles.

  “I’m serious, Aiden. Don’t—”

  “Maybe rethink your need to give me orders,” he says in my ear. “We know how well that works out.”

  I press my lips together. His arm hasn’t moved, but now his thumb edges under the hem of my shirt. He swipes it back and forth across my hip.

  He’s maddening.

  My skin is hot.

  I have a desire to ruin it.

  “Why did you yell at me for going back into the house?” I ask.

  His thumb stops.

  “I mean, it would’ve been easy to let me die. Wouldn’t that have been—”

  “Payment?” he finishes. “You think if you died in a fire, it would be better?” He pulls me closer. “What did they raise you to believe, princess? That your life is worthless?”

  I stiffen. “My parents taught me that my life isn’t more important than anyone else—”

  “Bullshit.”

  It’s amazing how we can have a conversation without looking at each other. That the words are actually coming out, instead of clogging in our throats.

  “You think you know who I am,” he says quietly. “The stories your cousins must’ve told you about the bloodthirsty DeSantis brother. Middle child. Forced to carve out a place in the world—and I did it by being the best. The most savage. The most daring. And you think I would stop with you?”

  I push against his arm. “You could change your mind.”

  He laughs. “I won’t, princess. You gave yourself up willingly. But don’t confuse this with warmth toward you or your family. They’re going to fall.”

  They’re going to die.

  “Wilder—”

  “Do not say his name.”

  I wet my lips. My heart pounds against my ribcage. I get the feeling I’m walking on thin ice, but who would I be if I didn’t blunder forward?

  “He was supposed to take over when your father stepped down.” I blow out a breath. “And now it’s you. It has to be you. That’s why you can’t go back, or let my
family go.”

  Aiden is silent at my back.

  “He died, and your world exploded, too.” I lift my chin, staring at the window. “I think that’s why you’re doing this. It’s less about revenge and more duty.” In that, at least, we can relate.

  His grip shifts. His fingers dig into my jaw, forcing me to meet his gaze. His grasp is bruising. “So many theories bouncing around in your pretty little head. Is that your best one?”

  I narrow my eyes, ignoring the wings fluttering in my chest. I do like a challenge.

  “Hmm,” I say. “Maybe you arranged for Wilder’s death because you wanted what he had.”

  Aiden smiles—not the reaction I was expecting. “Anything else?”

  My mind races over what I know of him. But to know his motivation? He’s right: I don’t know him, even if I thought I did. “Not yet.”

  He hums and releases me. “Go.”

  My skin tingles where he held me. “Go…?”

  “Away. Retreat, Gemma West.” His smile is menacing. “Or you won’t like where this goes.”

  The threat is clear. I shiver and stand on shaking legs. He doesn’t stop me from stepping away from him, and I back up until I’m clear of the couch. Then I bolt.

  5

  Gemma

  “Gemma, wake up.”

  I groan and roll over, burying my face in a hard pillow. My body aches from the past few days, and all the sleep I got only seems to have made me stiff.

  I was in the middle of a dream about my brother. We were arguing about the best way to get someone to give you twenty bucks. I had an idea, but every time I opened my mouth, I kept saying Aiden’s name. In response, Colin dropped to the floor, blood pouring from his eyes.

  Actually, I’m glad to be awake.

  Bloody tears. That has to be a bad omen. A dream interpreter would have a field day with me.

  “I know you’re awake, little princess.”

  I groan and palm the pillow.

  The hard pillow that is very unpillowlike.

  I’m going to kill him.

  I open my eyes, and no lie, I’m wrapped around Aiden like an octopus. How did I not notice this? How did my sleeping self allow this to happen? My arm is around his waist; I’m pretty sure I just burrowed my face into his chest. Our legs are intertwined.

  “I’m not awake,” I inform him, pulling back. “This is an awful nightmare.”

  He smirks. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

  I roll away from him and try to be subtle about wiping my mouth. “Why are you in my bed?”

  “My bed, you mean?”

  My face flames. “I don’t know how to respond to that.” Because I’m the idiot who should’ve done a better job scoping out the bedroom. I should’ve known it was his. He’s already demonstrated a possessive streak, and putting me in his bed is just another step.

  He reaches over me and grabs a remote from the nightstand. I flatten to the mattress, loathing the way my skin tingles where he touches me. I’m in the one t-shirt I own and my panties. The bag didn’t allow for much extra, and I didn’t plan for this.

  If I had foresight, I would’ve brought a freaking chastity belt. But then I remember what Aiden told his father yesterday morning. His decision of what to do with me. And suddenly I realize I don’t know enough about the DeSantis family to survive. I’ve only got the stories that were whispered in the dark, the pieces of conversation I snatched from my hiding places.

  I’ve been kept away from the politics of my family for too long.

  “Why did you tell your father we were getting married?”

  He clicks a button and then relaxes back onto his side of the bed. There’s a whirring noise, and the shades retract up the walls. Sunlight floods the room, and I drop my head into my hands.

  “I told him that because I had to make a decision.” He slides out of bed.

  I peek at him, then immediately avert my gaze. He’s only in a white t-shirt and black briefs. His thigh muscles bulge, and embarrassment sweeps through me.

  My god. I’ve done my best to avoid anything sexual, and in the span of forty-eight hours, he’s made me soar high—and then crash.

  “And I already told you, princess. I knew you’d be mine three years ago.”

  He reappears from the closet, and my gaze automatically drops to his briefs. To his cock, which strains against the fabric.

  He smirks. “I think you might come to like this.”

  I stand and take the sheet with me, keeping it wrapped around my body. I’m not naked, but I may as well be. “I was sixteen. It was one afternoon. You can’t just… say someone’s going to be yours from one day.”

  He shrugs, seeming indifferent. “I did.”

  I scowl. “Why?”

  Aiden pauses, and his face closes off. “You should get dressed. My cousin will be here soon.”

  He knows why he chose me. Why I intrigued him three years ago.

  And maybe why I appeal to him more now.

  I could say no just for the hell of it. To be fickle. But the thought of someone else seeing me without any sort of armor makes my skin itch. So I nod and inch toward my bag.

  We both get dressed in silence. His bathroom has two sinks, and it’s weird that we both brush our teeth at the same time. My stomach growls, which elicits a throaty chuckle from Aiden.

  “My fridge is stocked. You cook, right?”

  I frown. “Of course I do.”

  Well, sort of. We had a maid at home, and a chef. People to clean our house and keep it sparkling. But if I think too much of home, my heart beats faster and my chest tightens. The key to surviving here is to ignore the before.

  I know how to make cereal, and I could probably figure out the inner workings of something easy, like a sandwich. Or mac ‘n’ cheese. Who doesn’t know how to make that staple food?

  Someone bangs on the door downstairs. I follow Aiden to the first level but hang back on the stairs. He unlocks the door—interesting that he keeps it locked in his own family’s skyscraper—and a man pushes past him. His dark hair is cut close to his scalp, and he wears a red-and-black-checkered flannel over a white t-shirt and tan pants. On the first impression, it seems he works with his hands.

  And then he turns to face Aiden. The back of his flannel has caught on the handle of a gun, like he shoved it there and forgot to hide it. I sink onto the second step from the bottom, hoping that maybe I can just fade into the background.

  “We have a problem,” he says without preamble. “The shipment we had scheduled to come in today is gone.”

  Aiden goes rigid. “Gone how?”

  “The ship arrived this morning, but our container was empty. This was supposed to be our supply for the rest of the busy season.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Jameson told me to find you since Luca is—”

  “I’ll handle it.” Aiden’s attention snaps to me. “Gemma.”

  The man—his cousin, I have to assume—whirls in my direction. “Oh, fuck.”

  I frown and stand.

  “You have a West in your apartment?” He glowers at Aiden.

  I, for one, am more than a little surprised that he recognizes me. Or maybe it’s my name—it’s always been the unusual one in a crowd. How many Gemmas are out there—and worse, how many are entangled in Mafia schemes?

  You don’t know that’s what this is, a little voice counters. But what else could it be? A container of what? Do drugs or guns have a busy season in New York?

  “Hi,” I say, forcing myself forward. “Yes, he does have a West in his apartment.”

  The man blinks.

  “And you are…?”

  “Sam.” He moves past Aiden without touching him, slipping out the door.

  The silence is deafening.

  “I have to go,” Aiden says. He scribbles something on a pad of paper on the kitchen counter. “If you need anything, text this number.”

  I cross my arms. “I don’t have a phone. You took mine, remember?”
<
br />   He frowns and seems to contemplate it. “Then I guess you’ll have to do without.”

  My mouth drops open. “Wait—”

  He comes closer, stopping just in front of me. “Listen to me. If you leave this apartment while I’m gone, I can’t protect you.”

  “But—”

  “Only a small handful of people saw you come in. Sam is one of them now, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t say anything. My father is another. But I doubt he would busy himself with the likes of you. Out of sight, out of mind.” He narrows his eyes. “Stay in the apartment, Gemma.”

  I nod. Out of sight sounds just fine to me.

  He searches my gaze, then seems to decide I’m telling the truth. He leaves me standing there without even a goodbye.

  I sigh and kick out at the stair. Of all the things to happen, I didn’t expect distance. The silence seems harsher now, testing me. Waiting for my realization… that I’m all alone once again.

  Three days feels like an eternity when there’s nothing to do. I’ve exhausted the list of movies that were saved on the television. I found an apartment-sized washer and dryer in a back closet—that kept me busy for all of ten minutes.

  The highlight was going through every inch of Aiden’s belongings.

  Am I sorry?

  Nope.

  I found a safe behind a panel next to the bed but couldn’t figure out the passcode. It flashed red at me after my second attempt, so I closed it. Knowing him, it would detonate after the third wrong code and kill me.

  My sleep is off, too. I find myself staying up too late and sleeping in, only forcing myself out of bed when my stomach aches with hunger. I can barely reach my back to apply the cream for the burn. When I finally got up the nerve to inspect it in the mirror, that is. It isn’t as bad as I expected. Just angry red over my shoulder blade, down to the bottom of my ribcage.

  All in all, I’m not thriving.

  I’m in a cage of glass and metal.

  It reminds me of Amelie Page. She survived two weeks of this, and I’m pretty sure it was in a smaller room than this. Maybe one of the hotel-like rooms Aiden took me to when we first arrived.