I don’t know what made Daddy make the offer. He doesn’t profit from any of the shops like he does all his other investments. I never asked, but I guess my father just wanted to help out a good-hearted couple trying to achieve the American dream.
Once Brooklyn’s fingernails are painted the color Manny suggested, the nail tech moves us to an open chair to do her toes. When I place Brooklyn down, I notice the person in the next seat over, on the other side of Brooklyn, with her head tipped down, staring at her smartphone while another technician is filing the heel of her left foot.
None other than Sasha Nikolayev, my archenemy and the pro kickboxer that I’m fighting in July. “Well,” I draw out, eyeing her with disdain about the same time her arctic blue eyes snap up to mine.
The technician says to me, “You want to take these off so I can do the bottom of her feet?” She points to the shin guards Brooklyn wanted to put on her bare feet and legs before we left the gym.
“No!” Brooklyn whines, her voice stern for a five-year old. Turning her head up, she looks at me. “I don’t want them off. I love them.”
“Let her wear them. She’s still so young she probably has baby-like feet. We can just do her toes.”
“I’m not a baby!” she argues, copping an attitude.
“I didn’t call you a baby. I said baby feet, as in soft feet. It’s a good thing; a compliment.”
Her eyes narrow. I can see the accusation in her eyes and the snarky remark wanting to burst out of her mouth. She must decide against saying anything, because her lips remain sealed.
Good choice, kid. I think in my head.
Chapter 25
MATTEO
When Tony explained where he found Brooklyn and his reason for taking my daughter, I came unglued. That piece of shit bitch was getting high while our daughter was left alone in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the city.
Only one other time in my life have I wanted to wrap my hands around a woman’s throat and drain the life right out of her. Both times that woman was Kennedy. Both times were because she endangered our daughter. The first time I thought it, I was ashamed the image ever graced my mind. But now . . .
Now I’m more determined than ever to make sure she never sees my daughter again. Brooklyn isn’t Kennedy’s; not anymore. She put herself above my daughter’s safety. That stops today. She will never get close enough to see her again, and if she does, it’ll be over my cold dead body.
I never thought Antonio Caputo would earn my respect, but on some level he did, and after today, I owe him. He assured me I didn’t, but that’s bullshit. I’m indebted to him. I just don’t know how I’m going to repay him, because it sure as shit isn’t going to be by staying away from his daughter—that’s for damn sure.
After I calmed down, my phone started blowing up with calls and text messages from Kennedy’s mother, but knowing I didn’t have the willpower to deal with her without calling her daughter every dirty word in the English dictionary, I put the device on silent and shoved it back into the front pocket of my jeans.
Before I left Tony’s house half an hour ago, I found out his daughter helped herself to my daughter and decided to take her into town. Did the Boss tell me their location? No, he did not. Just mumbled something about keeping track of my own kid from now on and told me to get the fuck out of his house.
Not only did Sienna take off with my daughter, but she stole my Lexus too. After everything that’s happened in the last couple of hours, the mafia princess cruising town with Brooklyn in my SUV is the least of the things boiling my blood.
I’m assuming Kennedy is in the hospital somewhere recovering, seeing as Domenico called in an anonymous tip about a woman that overdosed before they left with Brooklyn. I don’t know what her current condition is or her whereabouts. The last place I need to be is in reaching distance to the goddamn mother of my child. In the emotional state I’m in right now, I’m liable to kill her if the drugs didn’t do it, and since I plan on keeping the Boss’s daughter tonight to unleash all this pent-up frustration, I ordered an Uber to the small strip mall the GPS tracker showed Brooklyn to be at.
“Here you go.” I hand two twenty-dollar bills to the old man, letting him keep the extra ten bucks as a tip, then exit his Honda Civic and glance at each sign. The only two shops open just after seven tonight are a nail salon and a tanning salon.
I decide on the nail shop and make my way inside. I stop and scan each patron. The place is slam full of women, dudes, and a couple of teenagers. When I finally spot Brooklyn in the far back, I’m not prepared for the way my chest constricts at the sight before me.
Brooklyn isn’t dressed in the same dirty clothes I saw her in when I arrived at Tony’s house earlier. Sienna has turned my little girl into a miniature version of herself, and something about that makes my lips curve up.
My daughter’s long, brunette hair is braided down the side facing me, starting tightly at the top of her scalp and ending two inches from the end of her hair. Sienna is standing on the opposite side with her hands behind Brooklyn’s head, her mouth moving—talking to someone—but I can’t hear what she’s saying. My guess is she’s braiding the other side of my daughter’s hair judging by her stance and focus.
No one besides my mom or me messes with Brooklyn’s hair, though I do take her to the hair salon every few months. It’s only to keep her wavy locks trimmed to hang near the end of her back. She likes it long and so do I. It’s a bitch to get untangled, but my daughter is too adorable with it long for me to cut it short.
She looks happy based on that giant smile gracing her beautiful face. In ways it pains me that Kennedy can’t put a grin on our daughter’s beautiful face the same as Sienna seems to do so easily.
It doesn’t go unnoticed that I feel my dark mood making a turn for the light, and that has everything to do with the woman giving Brooklyn the attention Kennedy should be willing and able to give but never has.
As if sensing someone watching her, Sienna’s movements still, then her head snaps up from its downward position, her eyes locking with mine. Now that I’m somewhat calm, I refuse to let my ex pull me back down the murderous road I felt two hours ago. I still haven’t figured out what’s so different about Sienna from all those years ago except her appearance. Was I really that shallow? Of course, I was. I was a stupid teenager after one thing: easy pussy.
Nothing about Sienna screams easy. Then again, nothing I’ve ever truly enjoyed and loved has been easy to obtain. It’s taken years of mental discipline and training my mind and body to get to the level I am today, to get my body to the size I am. Doing that on top of being a single father has had many rough moments. There have been times I’ve wanted to call it quits and find a job where I was guaranteed a paycheck, but I’m no quitter; especially when I want something, and right now, I want Sienna Caputo.
I want her bad.
And I aim to get her.
If I’m honest with myself, I don’t think I’m going to be satisfied with only one night.
Chapter 26
SIENNA
Are you the girl’s mother?
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?
I could go the rest of my life without hearing the word capisce. I hate when he treats me like I’m a fucking child. It pisses me off.
“You’re hurting me,” she complains for the third time, pulling me away from my recollection in my dad’s office.
“I have to pull your hair tight or the braid will fall out.” Her hair is long and fine. The strands will likely loosen and unravel on their own without a gallon of hair spray being used to secure her hair in place. “You’re the one that wanted to look the part of a little badass, so hold still.”
“I said I wanted to look like you, not a badass.”
“Language,” I scold. “Looking like me is looking like a badass.”
“Hmph,” comes from the chair next to Brooklyn, but I ignore her the same as I’ve done since realizing she was here twenty minutes ago. “You might want a new idol if you’re going for the badass look. Sienna isn’t exactly up to par in that department.”
Sasha loves to goad people. It’s her specialty—one I stopped playing into three years ago. She’s Krishna’s little sister, and like Ren and me, they could pass for twins. They look a lot alike except for the height. Sasha isn’t short, but she isn’t tall either. She’s two inches shorter than my five-feet-eight height. I’m fit, toned, and muscular, but she’s in the gym more than I am. It pains me to admit it, but I’m softer than she is. We’re in the same weight class or we wouldn’t be able to compete against each other. She just happens to be slimmer, more toned, and more muscular than I am, and I secretly hate that about her.
Well, it’s not exactly a secret. I’ve never liked her, and the feeling is mutual. Like Brooklyn’s mother, Sasha is an attention seeker. She’s perhaps worse than Kennedy in that category. She purposely made herself the black sheep in her family. She doesn’t get along with her dad and makes sure the world knows it.
She also had the privilege of attending the same private school my brothers did, and I’ve held that against her for a very long time. We’re the same age, so she was in the same graduating class as Ren. Sasha has always had a thing for my brother. He denies it and brushes it off like she doesn’t, but she does. I’ve seen her watch him enough times to recognize it. It’s the same way I used to look at Matteo.
She isn’t good enough for Ren. She’ll never be good enough for my brother. Luckily, he doesn’t hold the same interest in her as she does him, so there isn’t anything to worry about; not that there would be even if he did. It’s like Krishna said . . . it would cause World War III, mafia style.
The Caputos and the Nikolayevs have been at odds since my great-grandfather ran things. They both wanted the same territory in New York back in the 1930s or ’40s. My grandfather inherited the “family business” upon his father’s untimely death at the hands of reigning Pakhan of the American-Russian mob back then.
There is a lot of bad blood between our families. It’s one thing for my father to go legit while maintaining his stronghold on a criminal empire. It would be another to allow his kids to fraternize with a Nikolayev.
Brooklyn’s head swivels and I almost lose my grip on her strands. “She is so a badass,” Brooklyn sasses.
“Ughh,” I breathe through clenched teeth as I pull on her braid. Placing my hand on top of her head, I position her to face forward. “Stop moving your head and do not talk to strangers.”
Disobeying me, she looks up. “She isn’t a stranger. Her and my mom are friends.”
“Wouldn’t go that far,” Sasha quips, still staring down at her phone while moving both thumbs across the screen like she’s typing.
“But you told my daddy to tell my mom hey.”
Pausing, Sasha looks to Brooklyn, then to me, and then back to Brooklyn. “That was only to piss Sienna off. And it worked as planned. It’s too easy to get under her skin.”
“If you keep talking, it’s not only my skin you’re going to get under. It’s going to be my body and all my limbs coming at you,” I chime, but my tone lacks any real punch. I’m not in the mood to bicker back and forth with Sasha. We have plenty of that coming up the closer we get to our upcoming match.
“My daddy said you two are going to fight soon.” Brooklyn tries to turn her head again, but I grip her neck, making her keep her head straight. So, Matteo knows about my upcoming kickboxing fight. Interesting.
“Yep.” Sasha pops the word out of her mouth. “I’m finally going to show Sienna just how much of a crappy fighter she really is.”
“Good luck with that,” I tell her, flashing a fake smile.
“Well, I’m betting on my daddy’s girlfriend,” Brooklyn says, matter of fact, and with a little bit of a snarky attitude, mind you. Even though I tug on the end of her braid for lying, I want to fist bump her for her snarky little mouth.
“Who’s my girlfriend?” My head snaps up, seeing Matteo stop next to the nail tech as she’s applying the last swipe of topcoat on Brooklyn’s pinky toe.
“Sienna,” she singsongs as she answers her dad.
“No, I’m not,” I correct the little hellion, tugging her braid as I twist the ponytail holder around the end of her strand to hold the braid in place.
“How much are we betting?” Matteo asks.
“Don’t humor her,” I chastise, dropping my hands from Brooklyn’s hair and planting them on my hips.
“Might want to place your money on the fighter that’s actually going to win,” Sasha interjects.
“Nah. My kid is right. I have to bet my money on the girlfriend I just acquired. Can’t be starting our relationship off on the wrong foot by betting against her.” He laughs. I don’t. Sasha rolls her eyes but doesn’t comment back. This is probably the one and only time her gesture is fitting, but I refrain from copying her. “Are you two done here?” Matteo asks, looking at me, his laughter gone, but a smile remains on his handsome face.
“Just need to pay.” Grabbing my purse, I pull out my wallet, retrieving the credit card inside and start to hand it to the nail tech.
“I’ll get it,” Matteo says, but I ignore him, handing my Visa over. The technician stands from her crouched position, taking my card and pivoting to walk toward the receptionist’s desk. “I said I’d get it,” Matteo repeats.
“No one asked you.” Pulling out his keys, I hold them out to him. He takes them and then bends forward, picking up his daughter.
“Do you like my new clothes, Daddy? What about my nails? Aren’t they pretty?” Brooklyn fires off.
“Prettiest nails and toes I’ve ever seen. My favorite color too. You do that for me, Irongirl?”
“Pink is my favorite color too, Daddy. Duh.”
“You’re in a far different mood than you were earlier,” I comment, walking past him to checkout and sign the receipt so that I can get my credit card back.
“Oh, no, baby. I’m way past murderous right now. I’ve moved on to manic level.” Tossing my head over my shoulder, I cock an eyebrow in his direction. “Pay. Let’s get out of here. I’ll tell you about it when little ears aren’t in hearing range. Deal?”
I nod, but otherwise don’t say anything. Matteo is here and he looks unharmed, but he’s also the heavyweight boxing champ of the world, so I wasn’t worried for his safety. Should I have been concerned for my father’s? When I left, Dom and Ren were home. No way would Matteo have gotten a hand on my dad without coming away marked himself, or dead at the hands of one of my siblings.
So, what was it that my father told Matteo but didn’t want me to know unless Matteo chose to tell me himself? Guess the only way to find out is to go with him.
Curiosity is too much of a bitch sometimes.
Chapter 27
MATTEO
I brought us to my place. I didn’t ask Sienna, nor did she object when I pulled in the driveway, or when I parked, or when I turned off the ignition. I got out of the SUV, pulled Brooklyn from the backseat, and waited until Sienna followed me inside.
She was quiet during the ride here; more like the old Sienna from high school than the version I’ve become used to in the last few weeks. I have to admit, I don’t like the silent, timid side. I prefer the loud, mouthy, takes-no-shit woman I now know her to be.
I cooked us dinner. Nothing fancy or complicated. I had steaks in the fridge I’d planned on grilling anyway, along with a hefty salad. She and Brooklyn split the second steak. For a small child, my daughter eats well. She doesn’t whine or fuss about what is placed in front of her. I likely have my mother to thank for that. She doesn’t cater to my daughter’s every want, and since I turned out fine, I follow suit and try to parent the way I was raised.
After dinner, Sienna
mentioned that she was going to ask Ren to come get her, but Brooklyn begged her to stay long enough to watch a movie. None of us watched any part of the movie, though it was playing in the background. Brooklyn asked Si to teach her how to braid, so Sienna did, and I couldn’t take my eyes off them. Sienna let Brooklyn braid her hair and my daughter attempted to make Sienna’s braids match her own, but it didn’t turn out that way. One side she did okay, the braid is a braid, but the strands are loose. She couldn’t get the other side to do right, so she ended up leaving that side down.
That was the last thing I remember until I heard someone bang their fist on my front door, jarring me awake. I must have dozed off on the other end of the couch. When I look around, the television is still on but the movie that was playing isn’t the same one that’s on now. Sitting up, I glance down from me, seeing Si and Brooklyn snuggled together and fast asleep. I don’t get the chance to process what my eyes are witnessing for the incessant pounding that continues, successfully irritating the fuck out of me. And after today, I have a short fucking fuse.
I make my way to the stairs and then jog down them. After I unlock the door, I pull it open to find Kennedy on my doorstep looking worse for wear. Her blonde hair is stringy and tangled in sections like the wind blew it all over the place. She’s in a pair of green scrubs and a white T-shirt.
“I’ve called you repeatedly for hours. So has my mom,” she says, her voice accusing, like I’ve done her wrong or put her out in some way.
“And I see you didn’t take the hint. I don’t want to talk to you, Kennedy. I don’t even want to see you right now, maybe ever.”
Bad Princess: A Mafia Romance Page 15
