Page 17 of Spring Break with a Mafia Prince
He waved a hand. “Mix. Mince. We can do either with our enemies. But we must be kind to our friends. The men may drink in the main room. The woman may stay there. Drugs, too. But if they want to fuck, they can find their own space later, yes? A medium ground.” He shot me a side eye.
“Middle ground.” I nodded. “It’s a solid compromise. If it meets your approval, of course,” I addressed Bracchio without looking at him.
Neither of us needed his approval, and my remark was laced with sarcasm. He wasn’t the only one with a truncated lifespan, and now he knew it.
Wisely, the man on the other side of my father's desk with a whore on his lap did not speak.
“Good. We are in agreement. Tell the men they find a new place to fuck in, eh? I hear there’s a nice club in town. Half go tonight, the other half tomorrow. Put a tab on the bar before you leave.” He nodded to me.
“Before I…?” I knew my father hated repeating himself, but I wanted to be clear on his expectations.
“You’ve worked hard these last days. So, have your time off. Take her on a date.”
“Who?”
He laughed at me. “Don’t try to keep secrets from me, Falcon. It does not work well.”
I smirked and rose, bowing at the waist as was our custom.
He gestured me closer. I frowned but walked around the corner of his desk, hugging him and letting him kiss my cheeks when he motioned me to bend down. “Bracchio and the slut. Get them gone before we leave this silly little town, yes?”
“Yes, father,” I said formally. “I’ll be back in a few days.”
That’s all he would give me before his job had to be done, and we left Love Beach. All the time I had remaining with Bella.
I needed to make the most of it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BELLA
I walked through the crowds I usually avoided, winding my way between the night market stalls and headed into the traveling carnival that had set up the weekend prior. I had avoided this place at all costs, but tonight I was feeling suicidal enough to actually attempt to people.
Dad wasn’t speaking to me, or anyone from what I could tell. I’d managed calls from three aunts I didn’t want to deal with this week to deliver proof of life. Falcon had messaged nonstop for the first two days of his absence, saying he had work to do for his family, which I understood, and then his chatter reverted to radio silence.
Where the doubts crept in.
So rather than sit at home and stare at the world wondering what went on in it that I missed in a seriously understated case of FOMO once Dad predictably passed out, I walked down the hill. My feet took me all the way past the marina without once looking in the direction of Falcon's boat, and led me into the town.
Through all the people. The music. The smells.
I was a good halfway through the carnival when my people-phobia set in and I decided I'd had enough. Unfortunately, that meant wandering back through all those same people to get back home.
I sucked in a deep, fortifying breath determined to manage my internal chaos, and choked on the terrifying scent of burning hotdog.
“It’s pretty bad.”
I pivoted on my heel, my eyes streaming as I took in Falcon, dressed in a white loose fitting shirt, loose white pants and brown loafers.
He looked nothing like a mafia prince, and everything like a normal beach town holiday maker. Or the early twenty something he was on spring break from college.
“It’s feral,” I choked a little more, swiping the back of my hand across my eyes.
He took pity on me, though the corners of his mouth stayed fixed in that enigmatic smile as he studied my plight. After a second he relented, catching my shoulders and guiding me away from the smoke that billowed around me.
“Are you okay?” He swept my hair out of my face, twisting it into a neat bun at the back of my neck and securing it with my elastics without being asked. He tucked the flyaway ends back, stroking my cheeks with his thumbs. “I missed you,” he said quietly.
I looked up at him, all the words I wanted to say from the last days not tumbling out of my mouth because they got lodged somewhere in my throat behind a swamp of doubt and self-consciousness. And an excess of carnie smoke.
