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His eyebrows raise. “You don’t know?”
“Don’t play games with me right now, Nico.”
“This is no game, princess. This is the word of the Don himself. Your father went and found you a husband.”
I step forward and jab my finger into his chest. I feel nothing but hard muscle, but I’m too angry to stop myself from literally poking the bear and too dizzy with shock to think about how nice it feels to touch him.
“That’s not true.”
He snatches my finger as I try to poke him again. He squeezes hard and I release a surprised yelp. It doesn’t hurt—but it’s right on that edge of pain, and all he needs to do is push a little more to make me groan in agony.
“Don’t touch me, princess.” His eyes blaze into mine and I know I crossed a line. Nico and I might bicker and fight, but we nevertouch, like there’s an invisible barrier holding us back. “If you want to call me a liar, go ahead and do it. But don’t poke at me like I’m some kind of fucking house servant.”
I glare right back. This was a massive mistake—Nico’s not the kind of man I should be messing with, but I lost my temper and couldn’t control myself. Now I get to pay the price like always. I really should get into anger management or something.
“Let me go, dickhead.”
“No. I like watching you squirm. Little spoiled brat like you deserves some punishing every once in a while.”
“Nico.” I glare at him, jaw working. “You want me to scream?”
He leans closer. “I’d love it if you’d scream for me, princess.”
“Asshole.” I rip my finger away. It hurts like hell but at least I’m free. I rub my knuckle as he watches me with an amused smile and I start to shift past him toward my father’s study.
“Fair warning. He’s in a sour mood, so whatever you thought was about to happen is probably going to be worse.”
“How do you know all this anyway?”
He looks away. “Something with the business. I can’t say more.”
“Oath of silence?”
“Something like that. Famiglia shit, you know.”
I roll my eyes. I know what the family business is. “You know, Nico, I can’t wait for the day when my papa assigns you somewhere far, far away and I never have to deal with your crap again.”
“I highly doubt that.” He looks back at me and a smirk graces his pretty mouth. “You love it when I torture you and, princess, you’d better believe I love to torture.”
“What you call fun, I call annoying and borderline harassment, so kindly fuck off,” I flip him off, turn on my heel, and march to my papa’s study.
But his words linger. Nico is a lot of things—asshole, bully, conceited piece of shit, aggressive dickhead, so on and so forth—but he’s not a liar. So I’m more than a little concerned when I reach Papa’s study and knock on the intricately carved wooden door before turning the handle.
It’s cool and quiet. Big, shaded windows line the top of the walls, beneath which bookshelves are packed to overflowing. A big desk sits on the left, and a fireplace that’s never used is on the right. I drift forward and Papa looks up from his laptop, a perpetual frown on his lips. He looks older every day—his thick hair is turning gray and thinning at the edges, and thick bags hang beneath his eyes. It’s all the stress from running the family business, and sometimes I wish my three brothers, Casso, Fynn, and Gavino, would step up sooner rather than later, just so Papa wouldn’t have to work so hard.
But that’s not the way things are. Papa’s the head of the house and the Don of the Famiglia, and I’m just the little baby daughter, the least important person in the room at all times. And guys like Nico will never let me forget it—especially Nico himself, the asshole. It’s like that man was born to tease and bully me, and his words are lodged in my head like a record stuck on repeat, ticking away again and again—this little match of yours—and a cold fear sinks into my stomach.
“Karah,” Papa says and gestures at a chair. “Please come and sit.”
I walk over but I linger beside the chairs. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Papa?”
He gives me a tight smile. “Do I need a reason to summon my youngest child? What if I simply wanted to see your shining face?”
I gave him a big, cheesy smile. “There it is. May I go?”
“Sit.”
I sink into a chair and fold my legs beneath me. Papa studies me for a moment and I feel my cheeks beginning to turn red with anxiety. I hate that I always blush whenever I’m upset or nervous, but I can’t help it.
