Sweet Stalker: Mafia Romance

I’ve slugged with the punching bag for ten reps, and I’m making the boxing speed bag rattle when Paul and John come in at about two-thirty. John works up a sweat on the treadmill and cross-trains. Paul is all about the weights.

Paul watches me. “I detect a change in our young lad.”

“You, Paul, are two years younger than me. So you can stop acting like my older brother.” John saunters over, ready to join in. I nod at him as I tell Paul, “This is bollocks, he is my older brother. He has age and seniority, so I have to fucking put up with it.” I catch John’s eye. “I could put him in the ground and he’d still be my older brother.”

John takes a long breath. “Is that something you’d like to try?” Our banter always skirts the edge.

I tell him, “Don’t be a dick, John. Your age gives you privileges, but you know if it came to it, I could snap you.”

He does. I could.

I’ve had enough verbal sparring and I go back to the speed bag. After twenty minutes, John and Paul are ready for the shower.

“See,” I call after them, “that’s the difference. You boys train because you have to. Your minds are always on the fucking clock. Thinking about when you’re going to be done. I’m here for it because I love it.”

As they step out to the changing room, Paul shakes his head and says to John, “Definitely a change in the boy.”

John looks back. “Just be ready for tonight.”

My fear is that she will be there.

I don’t want to see her in danger.

Chapter Eight

Giulietta

“Get a makeover or whatever you girls do,” Giovanni tells me, hurrying out of the study. “You’re going to meet the man of your dreams tonight.” Angelo follows, avoiding my eyes as he strides smartly in Giovanni’s path.

My brothers have been in a huddle with our father since dawn. They didn’t even come out for breakfast. They had Candace serve them in Daddy’s study, overlooking the pool.

“Giulietta,” comes the low rumble of Daddy’s voice.

I can see it now. Already, I know what’s coming. I’ve always known what my fate would be. Someday, my prince would come. He would probably look uncannily like a frog, but he would come bearing a deal, or an alliance. Something of value to my family. And I would be a part of the price.

That’s the destiny of a mob princess.

My Romeo? Well, I’m just glad for last night. Was he putting me on? I guess I’ll never know. In a way, I kind of hope that he was. It’s bad enough knowing that my heart is going to be shattered.

I want to believe that the feelings he showed me were real, but there’s no point in the both of us having to suffer. And at least he won’t ever have to know the family I’m from.

I keep thinking about the fact that he didn’t ask for my real name. Or for my phone number. Have I been scammed? Does he go around scouting for virgins? Finding and stalking innocent young girls to prey on? Well, I wouldn’t say I was all that innocent.

It could be there’s another explanation. But I don’t want to look at it like that. No. That would be too terrible. I won’t even think about it.

No, I’ll walk into Daddy’s study with my head high. I’ll listen as he condemns me to marriage, and I’ll walk back out again with my head still high.

“Giulietta.” His voice from the study leaves me in no doubt. When Daddy has good news, he rushes to the door with a smile and open arms. For the other kind of news, he stays behind his desk and calls me to come.

Like now.

“My darling. Sweetheart. Step inside here. Tonight is going to be a very big night, and you’ve got an important part to play.” Chin up, girl, I tell myself, but I know his words can only mean one thing.

I won’t cry, I won’t sob or sniffle. I won’t argue.

I know what’s expected of me. My afternoon is dedicated to getting me preened and pruned, primped and pampered. I’ve never enjoyed a manicure less, but Armando does wonderful work and I tip him and all the stylists abundantly.

After a long shower, one that I wish would never end, stroking myself with delicious, secret recollections of last night, I’m finally buffed and powdered and I climb into my designer finery.

A red velvet and lace-trimmed stretch silk dress, Tom Ford, of course. A liquid silver waterfall necklace, and enough crystals and glitz to knock a rapper’s eye out. Christian Louboutin So Kate leopard-print ankle boots complete the bling blast.

Whoever the lucky buyer is, I hope he’s appreciative.

We step out of our line of limos, under the golden glow of the awning at The Strip Steak House. Doormen and valets swarm around us, and a glamorous greeter guides us inside. The private rooms are on the second floor, at the top of a red-carpeted staircase. The paneled white double doors are red-roped off, exclusively for our gathering.