Scandalous Prince (Mafia Royals 2)

Vengeance would be mine, even if it meant my own death.

Chapter Three

…And of course there must be something wrong in wanting to silence any song. —Robert Frost

Violet

Present Day

I tugged on my tight black knit dress and searched for a pair of heels that wouldn’t murder my feet.

My heart was heavy. Then again, it was constantly reminding me of all the scars it held and all the wounds that refused to heal.

I was pre-med.

So, you’d think that school would distract me.

It wasn’t.

If anything, it was making it worse—because I still saw Breaker on a weekly, if not daily basis.

Things had shifted last Christmas, and they never righted themselves the way they were supposed to. He had easy smiles and sarcasm for everyone but me, and I wasn’t the only one who noticed how he was often just silent and protective, stepping into that role he felt he’d failed at last year without even really thinking about it.

But I wanted my friend back.

I wanted the guy who made me laugh back.

The one who caught my tears and told me imaginary stories about a mystery man who didn’t exist but kissed like a god.

I licked my lips and thought of Breaker’s example, how he held me like I was precious, and brought his mouth to mine like our lips were the only holy pure thing between us.

A knock sounded at the door before shoving open. “Vi, gotta hurry, they want us arriving as a family.”

It was Breaker.

Because, of course, it was. I swear it’s like I conjured him up with my own thoughts.

I didn’t turn around. “I’m deciding on shoes.”

He sighed heavily, his footsteps clicked against the wood floors of my room as he stopped at my side and looked at my two walls of shoes. “Do you even wear all of these?”

“What do you think?” I crossed my arms and grinned.

He didn’t smile back. “It’s a funeral. Wear black.” He grabbed the closest pair, a black half-inch kitten heel that wouldn’t make me look too tall and would actually be quite comfortable.

My heart pinched in my chest at his unreadable, blank expression. “All black…” I took the shoes. “Got it.”

“Great.” He shoved his hands into his black trousers; he was wearing a black button-down shirt and fitted jacket that was made just for him. With no tie, and the top two buttons undone, part of his Campisi Family Crest tattoo peeked out.

What was I even thinking?

I might be Chase Abandonato’s daughter.

But he was the Capo’s son— still extremely powerful regardless of his unknown bloodline.

Not to mention, drop-dead gorgeous and a year younger than me.

I mentally slapped myself. “I just need to grab my purse.”

His green eyes flashed before I turned around, or was it just a trick of the light? His messy reddish-brown hair had pieces of gold in it that almost seemed fake they were so pretty, one piece was currently falling across his aristocratic forehead. We always joked that he dyed his hair, just making him more annoyed when girls commented on how gorgeous it was.

He looked nothing like Tex.

He didn’t even look Italian, really.

His skin had a gorgeous tone.

His eyes were green, though.

His hair more light than dark.

With full bow-shaped lips meant to drive a woman crazy and high cheekbones, he was almost too pretty to be dangerous.

Even though he was lethal.

“Vi?” One eyebrow shot up. “Your purse?”

“Oh, right yeah.” I quickly put on my shoes and grabbed my purse from my dresser. “Ready.”

“Finally,” he muttered under his breath.

I glared and then held out my foot to trip him.

He stepped over it with a heavy sigh like he didn’t have time for games right now.

Which I understood.

We all grieved differently.

My brother Ash had just lost his soon-to-be fiancé in a freak car accident set up by one of the De Lange kids—we’d basically offered them our protection, our name, and the first thing that blotted-out family line of the Five Families did?

They killed someone.

It was meant to be Ash.

But Claire was driving Ash’s car, so it ended up being her.

I’d never seen my brother so broken. So unwilling to be fixed. He was drinking more—not that I blamed him—since he’d found out days before her death that she’d been pregnant.

It wasn’t just a nightmare.

But an inexplicable tragedy.

The funeral would make the news, which meant his pain would be on full display for the world to see.

It also meant I had to put on my fake politician’s daughter smile.

The one I hated.

The one that made Breaker look at me like he was almost disappointed.

I hated all of it.

All of this.

I hated how out of control I felt when I was having trouble just putting one foot in front of the other—trouble just existing and at night, sometimes, trouble breathing without having a panic attack about hands on my body.

Some nights it was Breaker’s face.