Page 16 of Spring Break with a Mafia Prince
She would be the first thing to go. He could find another whore. One who I hadn’t fucked, and had no intention of touching. Ever.
My phone buzzed. I leaned across the pasha bed and grabbed for it before it slid off the other side.
DEX: My Saturday night involved a split lip and cracked ribs. How was yours?
FALCON: Licked the best pussy I’ve had in years. You in hospital?
DEX: Brag brag, fucker. Was there. Walked home.
FALCON: Refreshing. Zinzi patch you up?
DEX: She still doesn’t know.
FALCON: That you fight? Are you fucking kidding yourself? Course she knows.
DEX: Probably. Anything goes where that girl is concerned.
FALCON: Know the feeling, brother. You need anything?
DEX: Gonna borrow your pillow. Cry on it for a while. You know.
FALCON: Whatever gets you off, man. You do you.
DEX: Roommates for life.
FALCON: Fuck off and let me sleep.
I tossed my phone aside and fell asleep still grinning my stupid, love drunk ass off because of the girl who lived at the top of the hill who I’d fallen for in a matter of days.
Pity she’d never fit in my world.
It took me three days and dozens of text messages to see Bella again. The opportunity to make the changes with my father I wanted to see came up and?—
Yeah, I took them. Stupid ass me, because with spring break half over, I had limited time with my sire before I headed back to college.
Which also meant I had limited time remaining with Bella. The tradeoff was that I could talk to her—I just didn’t get to hold her when I ached for her. And so my obsession grew.
“I like this side of you, Falcon.” My father made all the approving noises while Bracchio and Olivia looked on, the latter grinding her hips away that never seemed to stop, the former staring daggers in my direction.
I knew the street boss had plenty to say about my current involvement, but my father asked me to take on more of his business. For all the times in my teenage years I pushed against the responsibilities he threw my way, the recent months apart gave me a different focus.
Hell, two days with Bella shifted my focus.
“I want to understand your vision, but I also have my own,” I said in Italian, watching him as he smoked. “There are…cultural changes I would like to make.”
He smirked. “I know you enjoy the parties. Sometimes. But they bore you, yes?”
I practiced my Italian on him, and he practiced his English with me. Our ongoing deal.
I inclined my head. “The internal…activities shift our focal point away from what is necessary. Let them blow off steam at other times. Keep the business floor for what it needs to be.”
My father’s eyebrows rose. “What do you think, Bracchio?” he asked without looking at his unofficial second.
“I think if he takes away the men’s fun, they will revolt.” A white toothed grin flashed gold and diamonds in my directionfrom his grill. “I think your son’s lifespan will be short. My Don.” He bowed his head in a modicum of respect that was neither.
My father laughed. “He does not miss words.”
“Mince words,” I corrected softly.
