Bad Princess: A Mafia Romance

by N. E. Henderson

  Matteo may suck but his kid is cool.

  Tiptoeing inside, I place the pizza boxes down on my dresser, then I pull my heels from my feet and walk them to my closet. Once inside, I grab my comfy pajama pants, a black racerback tank, sports bra, and a pair of black panties, toting them with me to my bathroom.

  My shower was quick. I didn’t savor the heat and wasn’t in there long enough to steam up the mirror. I’m not in the mood to bask in a long hot shower. I didn’t even wash my hair because I don’t want to take the time to dry it. I snagged a clip that was laying on the counter and pulled my tresses high on my head.

  After I’m dressed, I walk barefoot back into my room, picking up the boxes, and just before I exit, I look over my shoulder, checking on Brooklyn once more. I’m guessing Matteo is still talking to my dad since she’s zonked out in the same position as five minutes ago.

  Leaving my room, I pad across the hall, opening Ren’s room without knocking. None of us ask permission to enter each other’s bedrooms. My brothers know the same as I do, if we don’t want each other or anyone else to come in, we lock the door. That’s common sense for it’s not a good time and walking in will likely make someone uncomfortable. It’s an unspoken rule, and because the door is locked, no one can break that rule.

  When I see my twin isn’t in his room or even his bathroom, that leaves one more place to check—Domenico’s room, which is where I better find him. If he chose to go out tonight and not come home before midnight, I’ll be pissed and hurt. This is our night, and we’ve always stayed up well past midnight to ring in our birthday together—the three of us and Daddy too.

  But Ren has been off for months, maybe even closer to a year. I don’t know what’s going on with him and I hate that he won’t talk to me. I’m sick of him telling me nothing is the matter when I know he’s lying. I try not to push him. I want him to confide in me like I’d confide in him if something were the matter.

  Dom’s bedroom is at the other end of the hallway on the second story. We all used to be on the same end of the house, but when Dom entered high school, suddenly he wanted more privacy; something I still haven’t forgiven him for. It’s not that I’m a clingy sister, but they are both my best friends and I want them close.

  Looking down to the foyer as I pass the landing, it’s lit up bright but there is no one in sight, and I don’t hear voices. I guess Daddy and Matteo are holed up in his office with Daddy giving him the verbal lashing he deserves. At least my father trusts my knowledge and abilities, and at the end of the day, that’s what matters the most, though it irks me that Matteo doesn’t and wouldn’t even hear me out.

  His loss.

  When I get to Dom’s room, his door is also ajar, so I push it open and walk in. Domenico is on his bed on the side he usually sleeps on, leaned against his headboard with two pillows and his laptop on his lap. He’s wearing black rimmed glasses, so he’s already taken his contacts out for the night. This is a version that very few people see. In spectacles, Dom doesn’t look the part of the mean and scary underboss that he is during the day. This is the geeky version of my older brother.

  Ren, on the other hand, is lying on the opposite side of Dom with about two feet between them on the king-size bed. He’s on top of the covers whereas Dom is underneath his charcoal comforter. Domenico has a high upholstered headboard bed. It’s similar to mine, but three feet higher.

  Lorenzo’s dark gaze flicks up to mine and I’m relieved to find him here.

  “I brought food?” I lift the boxes, before placing them down on Dom’s dresser.

  Not waiting for an invite, I step to the foot of the bed and then crawl up the middle, plopping down on my back between them. There’s a movie playing but the volume is relatively low for it to draw my attention. Looking to my right, I see a face mixed with anxiety and disgust. Ren hates horror movies more than I do, which is why Dom forces us to watch them when we come hang out in his room.

  Scooting closer to Domenico, I peek over his shoulder, eyeing the screen on his laptop. It’s mostly black with a lot of white text that makes no sense to me, which means Dom is likely doing something he shouldn’t be. “Whatcha doing, big bro?”

  “Hacking the police commissioner’s finances,” is his immediate response, no hesitation or thought to hide his wrongdoings.

  “Why does Dad care about New York’s police commish?”

  “Probably doesn’t.” Dom clicks away, typing some type of code, I presume. This kind of thing used to interest Ren, but it makes me want to close my eyes and go to sleep. My twin’s attention span as a teenager has never matched Domenico’s, so after a few months, Ren moved onto something else—girls.

  “Careful,” I warn. “The boss doesn’t like it when he isn’t in the loop on everything.”

  “Good thing there’s no one to rat me out,” he comments, a hint of a knowing grin graces his tan features. I’m the least one of us that would tattle on either of my brothers. It would have to be a life or death situation for me to run to Daddy.

  Turning, I move my back against Dom’s bicep to face Ren. “You look like you’re about to bolt from the room.”

  Peeking at the television, I see why. The scene on the screen has me itching to look away. I turned at the worst moment. It’s Johnny Depp’s bloody death scene from Nightmare on Elm Street.

  “Oh, look, it’s the best part of the movie.” The bed shakes with Dom’s silent chuckle as blood shoots from the hole in the bed up to the ceiling. It’s gross. It’s freaky. I could go the rest of my life without watching horror movies. “You can shut it off, Ren,” my brother says, giving away what time it is.

  “It’s after midnight?” I ask, my voice squealing with excitement, the movie already forgotten.

  “Twelve-oh-three,” he responds, the corners of his lips trying hard not to tip up.

  Ren jumps from the bed and I scramble to follow. He beats me to the stairs, jogging down. He’s wearing socks, so his feet slide, making him off balance and giving me the advantage to slip in front of him.

  Entering the kitchen, I see our birthday cake on the island, a good-sized chunk already missing. “Hey!” I shout. “Who got into our cake?”

  “Probably your boyfriend’s kid,” Ren grumbles, annoyance laced in his tone. Grabbing forks from the drawer, he hands one to me and then comes around to my side of the island, perching a foot on the stool leg instead of sitting like I am.

  Daddy has a different layout done each year to make our cake different, but it’s still basically the same: chocolate on one side for Ren and strawberry on the other for me.

  I don’t waste time or wait for my brother. I dig in, stabbing through the icing and cake. My mouth pops with flavor when the icing lands on my tongue. It’s delicious. Never a disappointment. As I’m scooping up another bite, Dom sets the pizza boxes on the counter to my left, lifting a piece out, then he rounds to the other side, standing across from Ren and me. It’s a large, wide slice, but Dom gobbles it up within seconds.

  “Hungry?” I ask between bites.

  “Starving. Thanks for bringing dinner.” He jerks his chin, silently asking for another slice. Without placing my fork down, I lean over, rummaging my hand inside the white box. After I hand it across the island, I go after another forkful of cake even though the smell of greasy goodness is calling to me. “Was the douchebag respectful?” Dom asks, a bite in his words that tells me if I say anything to make him think otherwise, Bianchini will be paid a not-so-friendly visit by not only one of my brothers but both of them.

  “He was a lame-ass pussy that ran away before I made him piss his pants.” The satisfaction in Matteo’s inflated facts has me rolling my eyes. His ego is stupid too.

  “Why are you still here?” I question. I figured he would have grabbed Brooklyn and taken off the second Daddy dismissed him from his office. He must have graduated high school on his looks, because his intelligence couldn’t have gotten him a diploma.

  When he doesn’t answer, I look over my
shoulder to see him staring at the three of us, his expression blank, or guarded, I’m not sure which.

  Daddy enters the kitchen, stopping to take in the scene. After clucking his tongue, his dark eyes snap to Dom’s. “You’re letting them act like heathens too?”

  “Not my kids.” Dom shakes his head. “Besides, you let them do whatever the fuck they want on their birthday.”

  Matteo stops next to me, but I act like he isn’t there even though I can see him lift the pizza box from my peripheral vision. “You didn’t tell me it was your birthday,” he mentions, his words more of an accusation than casual observation.

  Glancing at the clock on the microwave, I say, “It wasn’t until twelve minutes ago.”

  “I see,” he says, and in the next second he’s standing behind me, plucking the fork from my fingers. The pointed part of the pizza lines up with my lips next. “Eat.”

  “She’s not a child, she can feed herself,” Dom grunts. “Don’t you have your own kid to take home? I’m sure it’s way past an acceptable bedtime.”

  “She’s asl—” Pizza is shoved into my mouth, stopping my words that were an attempt to defend Matteo. Why I felt the need to defend him is beyond me. Snatching the slice from Matteo’s hand, I rip a piece off with my teeth. I’m too irritated with his actions to enjoy it. But that doesn’t stop me from chewing and swallowing it, or taking another bite, filling my belly.

  Dad walks over, stopping next to me. “Move,” he orders Matteo, who steps away. Looking up, my father has a rare smile on his face. It’s not a full-on smile, but it’s the best one he gives us when he’s happy. “Happy birthday, princess.” He leans in, kissing my forehead, before moving to my right, telling Ren the same and pulling him into a hug as my twin continues shoving chocolate cake into his trap.

  “Thanks, Dad,” Ren says when he pulls away and walks to the opposite side of the island to stand beside Dom.

  “Thanks, Daddy,” I tell him. “Best cake yet.”

  “Agreed,” Ren chimes in.

  “Why are you still here, De Salvo?” Dom’s voice is cold. I’m not at all surprised by his dislike of Matteo. Domenico knew about my crush when I was a kid. He hated that I went to a separate school more than Ren did and I’ve yet to understand that. I mean, I get that he didn’t like it. We all should have went to the same school, not me at a separate one.

  “Brooklyn’s already sleeping. He isn’t going to wake her, so he’s going to have to sleep in Si’s room or one of the guest rooms, or hell, the fucking couch for all I care,” Dad declares, and my eyes go wide with shock.

  “Like hell is he sleeping in my sister’s bed,” Dom pipes up.

  “Who says I even want to stay? I have my own bed in my own house as does my daughter,” Matteo says.

  “This is my house,” Daddy declares. “Which is where said daughter is sleeping and I’ve already said what’s going to happen. My house. My law. You’d do well to abide by that, Matteo.”

  “What the fuck, Dad?” Dom asks.

  “Jesus, Domenico. Sienna and Lorenzo always sleep in your room the night of their birthday. It’s been that way since they were toddlers. Why would tonight be any different?” Daddy pauses, and I keep my mouth shut, but when Dom does as well, Daddy says, “That was a question, Son. I expect an answer.”

  “He shouldn’t be here at all is my point. I don’t want him around my sister.”

  “Too late for that,” Matteo says. “Already been on a date with her. My daughter even considers her my girlfriend. It’s practically a done deal.”

  “Tonight was not a date,” I correct Matteo.

  “You’re right, it wasn’t. Last night after we shared a meal, and you fell into my bed. That was our first date.”

  “You motherfucker!” Dom yells.

  “God, you really are dumb,” I mumble.

  “Silence! All of you,” Dad yells equally as loud as Dom. “Everyone go to bed. You’re all acting like petulant teenagers instead of the adults you are, and it’s pissing me off.”

  “What did I do?” Ren questions. “I’m just sitting here eating my cake. I haven’t even gotten to the pizza yet. Why am I getting punished?”

  “Why did I have kids?” Dad blows out a huff of air. My comeback is on the tip of my tongue, but he speaks before I muster the courage. “Lorenzo, finish eating, but make it quick. The rest of you get out of my sight. I don’t want to see you until breakfast.”

  Taking my marching orders, I turn on the stool and hop off. Grabbing Matteo by his elbow, I yank as hard as I can, requesting for him to come with me.

  “Sienna,” my dad calls, his voice like ice. I stop and look over my shoulder. “Do not let me catch you where you should not be. Understood?”

  “Never, Daddy,” I say, smiling innocently. It only makes him narrow his eyes, and I laugh. “Yes, sir. I promise. I’m the trustworthy kid, remember?” I glance at my brothers, smirking, and then I grab Matteo’s hand, lacing our fingers for show and pull him out of the kitchen.

  Tonight is going to be the longest night of my life, and I doubt I’ll catch one minute of shut eye with him down the hall. I wasn’t lying to my father. I wouldn’t do that in his house without his blessing, and hell would freeze over before I ever got that.

  Tonight is going to suck. Happy birthday to me.

  “Slow down,” Matteo calls out.

  “Shut up, stupid,” I reply, with venom in my tone.

  Chapter 34

  MATTEO

  Waking up to my five-year-old screaming and jumping on Sienna’s bed was not how I planned to start today. Usually, I get in a two-mile run and then I’m in my garage gym for four, sometimes five hours. I have a big match coming up in less than six weeks. It’s the first one this year. This is when I put most of my time and energy in getting prepared to face off against my opponent—not taking a day off to walk around Coney Island, eating trash food.

  But do I give a fuck about any of that right now? No, I do not. After learning today is Sienna’s birthday, I spent hours lying in bed next to my sleeping daughter, thinking of something fun and meaningful that the three of us could do. I didn’t even recognize myself in the bathroom mirror when I swiped some of Si’s mouthwash from her bathroom this morning.

  We did a couple of rides in Luna Park, making my daughter happy. She’s never been here, and I’ve been wanting to bring her for a while now, I just hadn’t taken the time and figured it might be something Si would enjoy too. I have no doubt she’s been here multiple times, being as it’s a staple in New York. My parents used to bring me here every summer, even if it was to the beach to play in the sand.

  We’re walking along the boardwalk, heading to the end of the pier. It’s my favorite part of coming to the Southside of Brooklyn. Not to mention we’re near Brighton Beach, where the food market is second best to my mother’s authentic Italian cooking. She’d disown me to know I love Russian cuisine nearly as much as my own heritage.

  “Why did I agree to come again?” Sienna asks, lacking any of the annoyance her question was supposed to pose.

  “Because Brooklyn asked you to. If I’d asked, you would have told me to eff off.”

  She turns to face me, walking backward so that we don’t stop on the crowded pier. “You shouldn’t use your sweet daughter like that.”

  “It’s one of the perks of having one, so yes, I most certainly should have and will definitely do it again,” I admit.

  “Come here, kid,” Sienna calls out to Brooklyn. Holding her arms out, she flicks her fingers on both hands, motioning for my daughter to come to her. Once she’s in reaching distance, Sienna scoops her up and hugs Brooklyn to her side, securing her on her hip. “We’re taking a selfie.”

  My daughter squeals, pulling a smile not only from Sienna’s lips but mine as well. There’s a recurring feeling I get when I watch the two of them together. My chest tightens, but not in a bad way, and it’s getting harder to not give meaning to what their interaction with one another does to my hear
t.

  What if I’d paid more attention to Sienna back in high school? What if I’d even attempted to talk to her or gotten to know her? What if Kennedy hadn’t been the girl I knocked up . . .

  Too many what ifs have been surfacing lately. I’m questioning far too much, but not only that, I’m picturing futures I never dreamed of before.

  “Put your phone away,” I tell Sienna as I dig into my cargo shorts and pull out mine.

  “I got this, but thanks.” She gives me a tight smile, then proceeds to squeeze Brooklyn to her as she angles her cell out in front.

  Instead of arguing with her, I step forward and pluck her phone from her hand, pocketing it, and then offer the same tight smile she flashed me. Pulling up the camera app, I turn my phone sideways and hold it out in front. “Don’t let my daughter fall.”

  “What about, I’ve got this, wasn’t clear, De Salvo?”

  “Can we take the picture now?” Brooklyn interjects.

  Smirking, I glance at my daughter. “Of course, now smile you two.”

  Sienna doesn’t give me anymore shit, and finally, her lips curve up and part into a stunning, happy look on her beautiful, olive-tinted face. I snap two shots of them.

  “Now, hold that pose.” Stalking over to stand on Sienna’s side, opposite of Brooklyn, I wrap my free arm around them both and hold my phone higher up and away from us, snapping a couple more shots. She must be humoring me, because I swear the smile on the screen is genuine. It must be for my daughter.

  Stepping away, I go ahead and text Sienna a copy of all the pictures since it was her idea. “Can I have my phone back now?”

  I peek over my shoulder. Brooklyn is still fused to her hip and Sienna is holding her hand out, waiting. Pulling her phone out of my pocket, I give it back. She didn’t give me crap, so I’m not going to deny her what she’s requesting.