Page 46 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

I swallow my anger, though. Patrick’s going to be fine. I’m going to be fine. My concern is now zeroed in on that room with Villani.

“An underboss follows orders, Heaven,” I say to my reflection.

This is true. But I’m also the daughter. And an underboss doesn’t let her father do something stupid, like make deals with the devil.

Seeing Matteo strut in here to talk business makes me uneasy. Being kept in the dark makes me suspicious.

I’m going in. I have to. The resolve burns in my veins and I take a deep breath, splash some water on my flushed cheeks, put the cap back on, and thread my ponytail through the space in the back before leaving the room.

“There you are.” My youngest brother Quinn grabs my arm, his dark green eyes lighting up. “Dad’s summoned you, Heaven. Come on.”

I pull my cap down low and shake him off. “That’s where I was heading.”

“He’s in a mood. Did you see? Villani is here.”

Quinn loves this stuff. Even though he’s grown up surrounded by violence and guns and power, he sees the glamour of it. Not the reality. Not the hard work to protect it and stay afloat.

“I know. Have you checked in with Patty?”

“Yep.” He grins and makes air quotes. “Resting. I sent a couple of the girls to go and stay with him.”

I half smile. Bygirls, Quinn means the bleached blonde, fake-boobed weekend bartenders who are always flirting like mad with Patrick. If he were in better shape, he’d be tearing off their panties with his teeth right about now.

But he’s okay. That’s the most important thing to remember. He’s safe. Just like me.

Quinn slants me a glance. “Maybe Villani knows who jumped you both. It coulda been really bad, Heaven. You guys got lucky.”

The unease starts up again. Deep in the pit of my stomach. He’s right. It could have been bad. And maybe if I was better at my job, I’d have those bastards dead or here facing retribution. But I let them get away.

Just like with Molly.

We reach the end of the hallway and I force a smile for Quinn. “We’re fine and that’s all that matters.”

He’s a good kid. All of my brothers are. Hell, Conor even used to be one of the good ones before Mom died. But we lost him to the life. He never could find balance after that and is a huge liability to all of us now.

Then again, nobody ever promised that mafia life would be all wine and roses.

It’s more like one filled with toxins, bullets, and machetes—roses only come into play in our inevitable funeral arrangements.

So fucking glamorous. But given the chance, I can make things better, safer for us. I can do that—too little too late—and hopefully…hopefully losing Molly won’t have been in vain.

It hurts, thinking about her, so I ease back from the subject in my head.

We stop at Dad’s door. I give Quinn a little punch on the shoulder and he disappears around the corner. I knock.

“Come in,” he calls out.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a split second before pushing it open. I can do this. Whatever this is. Holding my head high, I saunter in and Conor grimaces. Matteo merely watches, that lean, handsome face expressionless.

Three egos. Male egos. All in the same room. Worry and tension pulls at my father’s worn face, and the air is heavy and taut. Like they’re all waiting. They’re all standing.

My father sits and waves a hand, and Conor sprawls in the chair opposite, a power move as it leaves the sofa to the side.

Matteo’s dark gaze catches mine and there’s a hint of a smile there, cool, cynical, and I don’t know whether the shiver that runs through me is from awareness or foreboding.

I’m not sitting if he isn’t, and I ignore my father’s impatient glare.

Finally, like he’s stretched the moment as long as he wanted to, Matteo takes the far side of the sofa, near the door, and places one arm along the back, and I realize my mistake.

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