Ruthless Princess (Mafia Royals 1)

“Serena, have a little heart. Junior hasn’t had it as easy as the rest of you.”

I felt Junior go still behind me.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just… Never mind, just know that the mafia doesn’t forget. We don’t talk about it, but that doesn’t mean we don’t know, so yes, things have been harder on him because he has to prove he isn’t his bloodline, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

“But— I held my towel tighter. “Phoenix is amazing; he’s your best friend.”

Dad was quiet and then. “Honey, we should talk about this later.”

“Okay.”

“Love you,” he said.

And then he was gone.

I whipped around. “Junior, what’s he talking about?”

Junior’s eyes looked haunted. He gritted his teeth; his jaw clenched like he was ready to lose his shit. “Nothing.”

“Junior?”

“I said nothing!” He moved past me and snatched the other clean towel. And then he hung his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. Just know that it’s not something I want to talk about—ever, especially with someone who might look at me the way you are right now.”

“How am I looking at you?”

He was quiet and then, “Like I’m unpredictable. Like I could snap. Like something’s wrong with me.”

“That’s not what this look is.” I shook my head. “This look is one of concern.” I took a deep breath and said it. “From one friend to another.”

His head jerked up; long, wet, golden-brown hair stuck to his forehead as his teal eyes locked on mine. “You promise?”

I knew in that moment I should have run in the opposite direction. No good would come from us being friends.

In fact, it almost felt like a bad omen, holding out my hand and shaking his, like we’d both just sealed our fate.

Done something we would never come back from. But I still said, “I promise.”

“Hate you for as long as we both shall live.” He said it with a smile.

I grinned and said. “Back atcha.”

I didn’t realize how much I was smiling until I was back in my room and saw my reflection.

And all my heart kept screaming at me was. “We are so screwed.”

Chapter Fourteen

Junior

Nothing like calming the arousal down like the reminder of your family’s past, the reminder of your blood, of where you came from, of choices made.

The minute Serena left the bathroom.

The minute I knew Nixon was gone.

I slammed my hand against the tile, over and over again, until the pain turned numb, until I couldn’t feel my fingers.

She knew that there was a past.

She didn’t know what my dad had done.

She didn’t know the forgiveness her mom had extended or her dad, for that matter.

And she sure as hell didn’t know the shame I carried when I thought of the name I was born with.

Not Nicolasi, but De Lange, the cursed and forgotten arm of the five families—my dad took the Nicolasi name the minute he inherited Luca Nicolasi’s job as boss, making it even harder for the De Lange name, a name attached to traitors, murderers, and rapists, to survive.

But there’s something about a name.

Something that people don’t talk about. It doesn’t matter that I was a Nicolasi under my father’s rule, because I knew, in my heart, in my head, the blood that pumped through my body knew, that I was still a De Lange, that I was part of the original Family that the Cosa Nostra despised.

It didn’t matter that Nicolasi covered a multitude of sins.

My blood was still evil.

Serena didn’t know the whole story, none of the kids did, but I’ll never forget the day my dad sat me down and explained why it was essential to become a Nicolasi and not slide back into what was easy—being what I was born to be: a De Lange.

Fucking evil.

I didn’t understand; I mean, I was twelve.

And then he showed me the pictures.

Pictures of strung-out prostitutes, pictures of death, pictures of my grandfather, of business deals made, and finally.

Of him and his friends.

The original Elect.

All four of them standing next to another girl, Nixon’s wife, Trace, all of them smiling, all except my father who in the picture was looking directly at the innocent dark-haired girl—his expression dripping with hatred.

A person doesn’t forget the first time they see that sort of hate, that sort of brainwashing, which my dad assured me it was, didn’t mean that the sins were totally forgiven.

That day I went into my dad’s office innocent.

I left with the sins of my father on my hands, and I’d been trying to rectify that ever since. I learned that day that no amount of showers and soap would cleanse me of our sins, of our family’s legacy, so I had to be better, do better, and then I’d locked eyes with her.

Serena.

I remember the day things shifted.

The day we went from laughing and climbing our favorite tree, to making out behind her dad’s giant ass garage. We went from making out to skinny dipping to our first time when she told me she loved me when I told her I had no idea what I was doing, and when she told me it didn’t matter because we were together. J and S.