Page 22 of Wild Heart
“I heard she’s bossy as hell,” says Snips.
“The Prez has finally met his match,” quips Travis.
The men break into lighthearted banter, but I can’t deny anything they’re saying.
“You’re not stupid enough to deflower Carlo Berone’s daughter are you, Prez?” asks Vintage. “Please don’t do that. I don’t want him to get all mafia on our asses. He’ll likely take all of our balls, not just yours. And I’m quite fond of mine.”
“I’m not de-flowering anyone.” My voice chokes on the words, because that’s exactly what I’d like to do to Isabella. But the men are right. I’m not that stupid.
“She’s just here for a few days as our guest. Nothing more.”
“We should send her back. We don’t need that kind of trouble.”
All eyes turn to the silent man in the corner with his arms folded. Specs doesn’t speak much, and when he does it’s thought out and the men respect him.
There’re murmurs of ascent. But there’s no way I’m sending my princess back. The only thing she’ll be going back for is to pack her bags and kiss her daddy goodbye.
But I’m not admitting that to my men. Not yet.
“She’s pretty,” Davis adds.
Rage thunders through my body, and my fingers close into fists. Sensing the tension, the huge mastiff that follows him around sits up from her spot under the table by Davis’s feet. Her tail thumps on the floor as I stare down Davis.
If it was anyone else but Davis, I’d rip their throat out for noticing her. But Davis is young. He got voted into the club from being a Prospect a few months ago. He doesn’t know any better.
“Anyone lays a hand on Isabella, and I’ll rip your balls out myself.”
I thump my fist on the desk, and the room goes silent. The men are looking at me like I grew two heads. I make eye contact with each and every one of them so they know I’m serious.
“Prez has got it baaad,” mutters someone from the back.
Geez, they can see right through me.
“We treat her as our guest, with respect. And she has our protection for as long as she’s our guest.”
“We voting on this?” asks Travis.
“No.” I slam the gavel down. “There’s no vote on this. She’s staying, and she has our protection. It’s not negotiable.”
I stalk out of the room and straight upstairs. Colter is sitting in the chair where I left him outside her door. He’s one of top guys and about the only man I’d trust to guard Isabelle right now.
“She come out?”
“No,” he answers. “But I heard her singing.”
Son of a bitch. He’s heard her sing, and I want to rip his ears off for it.
“Go join the party,” I tell him.
“You need anything, Prez? Food, beer?”
What I need is right behind that door.
I shake my head. “No. Go join your wife. I’m hanging here for a while.”
Colter gives me a nod and heads back to the party. He doesn’t ask questions and I give no answers. He’ll get the low down from the men downstairs. Right about now, they’ll be telling their wives about the mafia princess in the room upstairs and the entire place will be gossiping about it.
I don’t care.
