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Mia Mancini...but it’s a common enough name.
Joe, my father, gave me two years, then I must return and work in the family—a.k.a. gangster—business. Or, and get this, I can marry and he will give me my trust fund.
A trust fund worthtwo million dollars.
Twenty-four years old and I have barely dated. I’m not a virgin, but dating the head of the mafia’s daughter isn’t on the top of any man’s to-do list.
There’s more.
It’s likely the man I marry will be chosen by my family. Or rather, Joe. If there is a partnership to be made that benefits the family, it is expected of me. My mother primed me to be prepared, but it’s not a given.
However, I have been kept out of the media’s eyes and protected because of who I am.
A mafia asset.
But I have different plans. I love my family, but I don’t want any part in the business they are involved with. Yes, it pays for my apartment and financed my education. I’ve not had the freedom of choice to do anything differently.
But that ends now.
When I marry, it will be for love.
I’m working toward freedom and independence. Or at the very least, not being involved with the soul-destroying business my family profits from.
I just haven’t figured out how yet.
In around two weeks, this bubble I’ve been living in for nearly two years is about to burst, so my plan is to renegotiate with my father for more time.
I’m confident.
So, this mafia princess has some experience being around large and intimidating men. Just about every single one of my father’s soldiers has run their eyes over my body and shown me they desire me.
I’ve slept with a few of my bodyguards—sorry, Papa—and enjoyed their broad chests and height compared to my petite frame, the dominant way they took me.
But the hunger I feel staring up into the rich brown eyes of Connor Barrett is beyond any type of arousal a man has elicited from me before in my life.
My hands are clammy, and my throat nearly clunks as I swallow. Worse, it feels like my core is throbbing so loud the entire room can hear.
I can see in his eyes that dark knowing sparkle—he is enjoying the way he’s affecting me. Connor’s well aware of what he’s doing.
I can smell whiskey on his breath, he’s standing so close. Or maybe it’s the bourbon I just poured down his tuxedo. All I want him to do is kiss me.
Irrational.
But I do.
Just one mind-blowing, wild kiss, then I can carry on with my life.
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘sorry,’” Connor says slowly, darkly.
You assume I can form words right now, sir.
I cannot.
I’m also quite sure my panties are just as wet as his tux, so it feels like an equal swap, but I don’t say that, of course. Instead, I do something even stupider. I run my hands over his jacket and shirt, feeling solid, ripped muscles as I go, and attempt to wipe the bourbon away.
Oh God, I’m insane.
“Mr. Barrett, I’m so sorry,” I say as I keep touching him. Then he grabs my wrists and I freeze, drawing in a breath.
