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“Mother,” I reply, offering a dutiful kiss on her cheek. Her skin is soft, but her demeanor is anything but.
She studies me with those discerning eyes, the same eyes that have watched over the family’s legacy for decades. “I hear you’re attending an event at The Velvet Whisper tonight. That’s uncharacteristic of you.”
I nod, aware of her probing nature. “News travels fast.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “Is this about securing an heir? Do you finally grasp the importance of continuing the family line? There are three princesses from the families attending. Who’s caught your eye?”
“None of them.”
“So it’s true. That no-mark girl from the dealership holds the key to your heart. Your father will be furious.”
I don’t like hearing Amelia described that way, but I know better than to rise to it. I offer my mother a reassuring smile, one that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “He’ll get an heir. That’s what he wants, right?”
“What do you want, Rafael?”
“To work out. See you later, Mother.”
* * *
In the basement gym, I begin with a series of methodical, punishing weight lifts, each movement a way to channel the tumultuous energy within me.
As I move from weights to the punching bag, my thoughts focus solely on Amelia.
The way her hair falls over her shoulders, the gentle curve of her smile, the look of concentration when she’s absorbed in her work.
The hint of cleavage when she bends down to pick up her pen.
I feel eyes on me and turn to find my father in the doorway.
His eyes are sharp. “Your mother says you intend to attend tonight’s auction. Explain.”
“Nice to see you too.”
“Cut the bullshit. She says you’re bidding on a civilian. What the fuck?”
“You two have been demanding an heir for ten years. It’s time I provide one.”
“Delaney will be there. Have you forgiven him for his sins? Shame on you.”
“He won’t be a problem, trust me.”
He frowns, shaking his head. “Who is she?” His lip curls into a distrustful sneer. “This woman who’s got you all riled up, forgetting that Delaney is our enemy and ordering hits on Russian debt collectors. She must be important. Who is she?”
I give him my back. “I need to go get ready.”
“You should take her virginity, get it out of your system. And then we’ll talk about marriage to a proper mafia princess. Is that understood?”
He walks away without waiting for an answer. I turn back to the punchbag, slamming my fists into it harder than ever.
3
AMELIA
The door creaks as I push it open, stepping into the familiar chaos of home.
The fading sunlight casts long shadows across the kitchen, illuminating the cluttered table where my family sits.
Unpaid bills litter the surface, reminders of a life teetering on the edge. The ever present smell of damp mingles with the stale sweat from my father.
