Reckless Heir (Underworld Kings)

I stifled an eye roll at the sound of Maria’s daughter’s name. Francesca was spoiled by her father, and had a holier than thou attitude to match. But I was forced to be polite and grin and bear it because we ran in the same circle and drama was the last thing I needed.

Women using any kind of intellect or independent thought process in the mafia world didn't do any good. We were meant to be seen, not heard.

I tried on the dresses, doing the obligatory “showoff” for my mother. Once everything was paid for and our bags were in hand, we left the boutique. Tomasso walked beside my mother, and Edoardo kept right behind me.

The sun was bright and I lifted my hand to shield my eyes. We made our way down the sidewalk, but it was only a few seconds before I felt this prickling on the back of my neck, and skating down the length of my spine. I found myself stopping and looking around, the very real feeling of being watched so pronounced it was impossible to ignore.

My mother and Tomasso continued forward, not realizing that I’d stopped, but Edoardo was a solid presence behind me as I glanced up and down the street.

There were a handful of cars driving by, and a dozen or so people walking up and down the sidewalks, shopping bags in hand, the unseasonably warm spring weather bringing them out.

But nobody seemed to be paying attention to me. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was definitely being watched and not just in passing, but full-on staring at me enough I felt like it was a physical presence skating over me.

“What’s the problem?” Edoardo’s hard voice pierced through my thoughts and I blinked back to clear my mind, looking over my shoulder at him, my hand still shielding the sun from my eyes.

I noticed his hand started to go toward the inside of his jacket, and knew he was reaching for his gun. I felt my pulse race a little, because despite being surrounded by men like Edoardo and Tomasso, men who were like every other male in my life--brutal and savage and easily able to kill without remorse--I still found it shocking, appalling that somebody could be so coldhearted that they’d have no problem putting a bullet in someone in plain sight.

I shook my head. “Nothing,” I murmured and started walking again to catch up to my mother.

But no matter how much or how far I walked, I still felt someone watching me and I knew what it was.

A predator.

“I’m sure it’ll be a beautiful wedding. I bet you're so excited, Amara.”

My name being said, dragged me from my thoughts and I looked across the table to see Maria smiling at me warmly. Her daughter might be stuck-up and cold, but Maria was as sweet as they came and I found myself giving her a genuine smile in return.

“Of course,” I lied easily.

I picked up my cup of tea and brought it to my mouth, not really tasting the flavor, and everything in me feeling numb. I listened idly to my mother and Maria talking, glancing over at Francesca to see her on her phone.

She had this sardonic little smirk on her face and then she looked at me, her expression telling me how much she didn’t want to be here.

I felt a pinch of annoyance, but she looked back at her phone, dismissing me.

I didn’t know how long we sat there, me tuning out everything except feeling the hot tea fill my mouth and go down my throat every time I took a sip from the cup.

But it was when I felt that tightening on the back of my neck once more, prickles along my arms, that I snapped back to reality and straight up my spine, glancing around the small cafe but not seeing anyone focused on us.

Tomasso stood in one corner of the room, his hands behind his back, his expression stern. Although he looked easy-going for the most part, I’d known Tomasso my entire life. I’d seen him beat a man on our front lawn simply for making an innocent comment about my mother’s beauty.

I glanced over at Edoardo, who stood by the front entrance, taking the same stance as Tomasso. He was staring right at me and I felt this cold chill race down my spine. And although I should’ve looked away I couldn’t, our gazes locked, his face so unforgiving and hard that it was as if I were staring at a lifeless husk.

I was the one to break eye contact and focused on the inside of my teacup, the tan colored liquid inside now only filling a fourth of the ceramic, dark sediment scattered along the bottom.

I still felt that heavy presence but ignored it. I could chalk up all of this, every nuance and feeling, every intrusive, fearful thought I had, all the anxiety, tension, anger and sadness that was consuming me since I found out about the arranged marriage, was slowly starting to crash in on me.

“So when’s the date set?” Maria asked and I glanced up to see her pick up her espresso, taking a sip from it as she stared at my mother. “Spring of next year? That’s when all the girls seem to be setting their wedding dates.”

When my mother didn’t answer right away I looked at her then. Seeing how my mother was picking at her linen napkins and shifting slightly on her chair told me everything I needed to know. She was nervous.

“We’re looking at something earlier.”

The way she was acting after Maria asked when the wedding date was, and her physical response, told me it seemed like everyone in my family knew when I was getting married except me.

And her evasive answer had dread settling in. How early are we talking?

But I knew better than to ask in front of anyone. Not that my mother would tell me even if we were alone. She may love me and want to protect and shield me from the horrors of our world as best she could, but she’d been beaten into submission for so long by my father that her loyalties—her fears—wild lean toward him. Always.