Ruthless Princess (Mafia Royals 1)

I tried to shove my feelings aside, but that’s the really inconvenient thing about emotions, they tend to just pop up out of nowhere when you’re constantly around the only person who has the ability to make you feel less shitty.

We had an hour before family dinner, everyone had already gathered at Nixon’s, wine was passed around by the bottle, and I was already bemoaning the fact that we had to tell the bosses what was going on.

And there was no way of doing it gently, not with this crew.

It was too noisy to think, and I had too many damning memories of that house, of being with Serena, sneaking off to her room.

My body felt tight.

I needed to fight someone.

Preferably her.

I touched my neck, couldn’t believe that psycho had bitten me. Then again, it was Serena, and she didn’t like losing.

I almost smiled but kept it reined in. The last thing I needed was for her to see me touching my neck with a dopy lovesick grin on my face.

Not only would I never hear the end of it, but I’m pretty sure she’d pull a knife on me for making her remember all those stolen moments we were never supposed to have had.

“Hey.” My dad rounded the corner into the kitchen. His brown eyes had a hard glint to them even though Mom was holding his hand. She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

She was the light to his dark.

Which just reminded me that I had nothing tethering me to anything good, maybe there really was something wrong with me, wrong with my blood, wrong with the way my brain worked, with the way my heart wanted what it could never have.

“What’s up?” I tried to appear casual as I went in for a hug with Ma, she held me tight as always, barely coming up to my shoulder as she squeezed me and then sighed. “What?”

“Who bit you?” She just had to ask, making all conversation cease in that ginormous kitchen, including the chatter of the younger kids, who seemed to stop playing altogether and gawk in my direction.

“Yeah, Junior,” Serena bit into a red apple that matched her lipstick and winked. “What happened to your neck? Get in a fight?”

“I wouldn’t really call it a fight since you never play fair.” I grinned and flipped her off.

“You?” My dad’s expression was priceless. “Bit him?”

“Hey.” Serena chewed and hopped off the countertop. “He said first blood, I agreed.”

“I meant with a knife, you psychopath.” I clenched my teeth, and there we were, yet again, head to head in the middle of the kitchen.

I lost count how many times family dinners started with both of us staring each other down, ready to draw blood until one of us gave in or begged for mercy.

“Up top.” Chase walked by both of us and held up his hands for high fives.

Serena hit his hand then scowled in my direction. “Why does shit for brains get a high five if I’m the winner?”

I tapped Chase’s hand and shook my head. “Aw princess, your panties in a bunch?”

She flashed red.

And I suddenly wondered if she’d put a new pair on or was still strutting around remembering what it was like during class.

Shit, I needed to really not focus on what she was or wasn’t wearing beneath her skirt.

“Because he fought you, a girl. I’ve never been so proud to be an uncle.” Chase winked, and then something sinister flashed across his face. “You know what they say about love and hate—”

“Can we eat yet?” Tex barged into the room. “I’m starving, and Breaker just told me that something went down at school today.”

“Not it!” all of us yelled again in unison.

The moms simultaneously took a step back like they wanted no part of this conversation if it was going to end in bloodshed.

I sighed and eyed Ash, who eyed Claire, who gazed over at Serena with a pleading look.

“Yeah, we can do this all day,” Ash said under his breath.

“Loser of the fight gets the short straw.” Serena beamed at me.

I let out a strangled cough. “Fine.”

We all moved around the huge table and took our seats; Violet was next to Asher. Maksim had pulled out a chair beside Izzy; they were probably going to talk about school the entire time, knowing him. It was baffling how good looking the kid was at eighteen and disgusting how he was already a college sophomore. He flipped me off with a wink. I sighed and glanced away. Either he was good at reading minds, or he was good at reading me, probably both knowing him.

Breaker pulled out a seat next to King and watched our exchange with a smirk. Everyone else, meaning the younger ones who weren’t in their senior years of high school or college, got to sit at the other table, and I was suddenly thankful that the smaller ears weren’t going to hear what we needed to discuss. Though I guess it didn’t matter, they were always listening, always asking questions, always saying they couldn’t wait to be made.