Shattered Prince

Carmine watched me closely. I sat down with a sigh, trying not to let him see how much I needed to get off my feet. I grabbed a nearby remote and used it to ignite the gas fireplace. The flames trickled up and danced in slow, undulating waves.

“We should talk about something,” Carmine said.

“Want to pry into my personal life some more?”

He tilted his head. “You’re always so defensive. Why is that?”

I looked away, out the windows. Because I’m always in pain. “What do you need?”

He watched a moment longer, like he was trying to read me. That stare sent another shiver down my spine.

“Things are heating up with Mauro Balestra. Your father told you about that?”

I shrugged. “He gave me the basics. You two hate each other. You’re in a war for San Antonio. The usual mafia drama.”

His eyes narrowed. “It’s more than that,” he said, his voice low. He sounded more serious that I’d ever heard him before. “He killed my parents. He stole my crime syndicate. He thought I was dead, but I’ve been biding my time, preparing to strike. He survived my first attempt, but he won’t survive forever.”

I blinked a few times. “He killed your parents? I didn’t know that.”

“It was a coup. The bastard was a trusted ally.” His fingers gripped a glass hard. “Now he’s going to bleed.”

I chewed my lip. Carmine was normally all smiles and teasing. But this was an interesting side of him. Darker and more intense. I saw the hate behind his pretty eyes and it was startling.

It reminded me so much of the way I looked in the mirror.

“I’m sorry about your parents,” I said quietly.

He nodded. “Thanks.”

“But why are you telling me this?”

“There are going to be guards around. Your father put you in my care, and I need to make sure none of the coming violence blows back on you.”

I sighed and leaned back, closing my eyes. “Guards,” I said.

“You’re not happy about that.” A statement, not a question.

“I’ve lived my whole life with guards. I’ll be honest, Carmine. I’m very sick of them.”

He laughed gently. “I can’t blame you. But I also can’t fuck around. I’m going to ask your father for someone you’ll be comfortable with.”

An ugly spike of fear run down into my core. I pushed it aside and turned my head slightly. My lips tugged up into a coy grin. “There’s no way you could shadow me? I’m sure I’d be perfectly safe with you around.”

His smile faded. “Don’t joke. I’m just warning you.” He raised his glass and took a long sip.

I shrugged and looked away. I felt that thrill again, that spark between my legs. What the hell was I doing, flirting with this man? I wanted to tease him and rile him up. I wanted to piss him off.

I wanted to see that black glare behind his eyes again.

What the hell was wrong with me?

“So long as I can keep going to school, I’ll play along. Does that work?”

“That works,” he said, and I heard him leave the room.

Carmine. I didn’t know what to think about him. Handsome, beautiful really. Full of himself. Scary when he wanted to be.

A mafia bastard like all the rest.

I had to play along. For now, at least.

This was a long game, and I intended to win.

Chapter 2

Carmine

Jules poured a glass of whiskey and placed it on the bar. “That’ll be twelve dollars, sir,” she said, leaning forward on her elbows.

It took all my willpower not to stare at her full lips. “Put it on my tab.”

She laughed and walked off to serve another customer.

The Lowdown was doing a good business. It wasn’t the most popular place or in the best location, but the renovation gave the place a new life. Mal and Cap poured themselves into making it as incredible as it could be, and I had to admit, they did me proud.

I sipped my drink and watched Jules move. She had a strange, fascinating grace that I found insanely alluring. It didn’t hurt that the girl was gorgeous: thick, dark hair, dark eyes, smooth brown skin, and that incredible coy smile. Most of the time, her lips were locked in a scowl, but every once in a while, I caught the playful, flirty demon lurking beneath her fuck-off surface, and it dragged me down into her depths every time.

I wanted to know her. I wanted to learn everything about her. She was a few years younger than me, but that didn’t matter. We came from similar backgrounds: she was the daughter of a powerful cartel leader in Mexico, and I was the son of a former mafia Don, currently deceased. Every time she walked into the room, she drew me to her like an obsessed, addicted monster, and I had to constantly remind myself that touching her could get both of us killed.