Page 47 of Bitter Prince
“I didn’t know you two were bringing company?” Papà said as he made his way back, Amon towering over him.
I chewed on my lip, clutching the bathing suit to my chest. “Ah, sorry. Should have asked first.”
“It’s your home.” It really wasn’t. My sister and I felt no connection to this house. “What are your friends’ names?”
Dante and Amon stood, patiently waiting, although something about their demeanor clearly indicated annoyance. “Raven.” I jutted my chin at my dark-haired friend. “Athena. And Isla.”
Papà muttered something in Italian and the three of them headed back inside.So much for that famous Italian hospitality.
“You should be wearing a one-piece, Reina,” he barked, never looking back. My shoulders slumped and I lowered my head to hide my embarrassment. “Modesty goes far these days.”
I clenched my teeth, swallowing the words on the tip of my tongue. If Grandma were here, Papà’d never dare say something like that. She wouldn’t allow it. I’d never understood their relationship. He didn’t like her, I was certain of it, but he never went against her. Almost as if she held something over his head.
Someone must have translated Papà’s words because Phoenix’s arm wrapped around my shoulders. I loved him, but words like those made me feel like shit. I’d overheard him once telling Grandma that I should be groomed to become a proper wife, not a wild child.
Once the men disappeared inside, it was Raven who spoke up first. “Fuck modesty,” she hissed in a low tone. “Don’t listen to him.”
I shrugged, taking a step back, and fastened my top properly. “Let’s go out,” I said instead.
It was better than staying under the same roof with someone who disapproved of me so thoroughly.
23
AMON
Igot a distinct feeling of déjà vu.
A clock ticked, ice clinked, cigar smoke hung in the air. Meanwhile, Romero sat behind his desk, looking like shit, a scowl stretching across his face. Although, I wasn’t sure whether it was toward his youngest daughter or at the topic we were about to discuss.
Dante and I occupied the chairs in front of his desk. I leaned back with one elbow on the armrest and my brother propped an ankle on his knee. I was pretty sure Romero hated our guts, but I didn’t give two fucks about that. I’d continue to sit like I had better places to be.
Romero pulled on his cigar like his life depended on it while Dante and I remained silent. We were used to awkward and tense silence, what with growing up under our father’s iron fist.
“You said you’d secure my shipments.” His words, full of anger and desperation, cut through the air.
My gaze found Romero’s through a haze of smoke and I found nothing but disgust in his eyes. How someone like him could father two decent daughters was incomprehensible. Their untainted morals must be the result of their upbringing with their grandmother.
“We said we’ll secure your shipment to the port,” I pointed out. “You lost your shipment en route to your warehouse. It’s your job to secure your drug routes.”
I scanned his office as he continued to spit words at us. Oddly, there were no photos of his daughters. Only his wife. A few Renaissance paintings—originals, by the looks of it. It was more than likely he wouldn’t keep a safe behind priceless artifacts, so that was out. With the number of secrets he was sure to be storing away, he’d need somewhere more accessible.
“It was a setup.” He pushed his hand through his hair. He wasn’t far off. It wasn’t a coincidence that Reina was almost attacked in Paris and now his shipment disappeared. Not that I’d tell him anything about my idiot cousin sending men after her. I’d protect her myself, and I didn’t need Romero’s men in my way. “It had to be a setup.”
I let out a sardonic breath, shaking my head. My lips pulled into a hard smile. “Not our problem. Pay us the cut you owe us, plus the list of human traffickers, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Careful,” Romero snarled as he shot me a look that said he’d like nothing more than to end us. But he was no match for me and Dante. We were stronger than him and richer than him. And he now owed us. A lot.
My reputation already stretched far and wide, and its details drove fear into men. Dante’s reputation for losing his shit cautioned everyone from getting on his bad side too. We were nothing like our father. We were fucking worse.
Bottom line, Romero couldn’t afford to get on my bad side.
“I need time,” he gritted, his jaw pulsing with rage he was trying to contain.
“You had time.”
“I need time to arrange a marriage for my daughter.” His words sliced the air and unleashed my anger. Volatile and red, it wrapped around my throat.
He said “daughter,” not “daughters.”
