The Don and His Mafia Princess: Book Two of The Costanzo Series - Standalone

CHAPTER 7

I lock my phone after texting Dad with a vague excuse about needing to stay longer to deal with a situation for Stefano. The lie leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, but I can't risk my father finding out the reason and having him whisk me away to Florida before I find out why Stefano suddenly has an interest in my well-being.

"Why a diner and one in your territory, too?" I ask, breaking the tense silence hanging between us. I drop the laminated menu on the table with a thud, the sound echoing off the diner's tiled walls. Stefano's piercing green eyes bore into me from across the booth; his jaw clenched tight. The tension crackles in the air, suffocating me.

The diner is a well-known neutral ground for Cosa Nostra dealings under the watchful eye of the Costanzo family. No rival gang would dare make a move here.

"You!" He snaps as he shoves his menu aside. The cheap vinyl covering crinkles loudly.

"Me?" I lean forward, my brow furrowing. The pungent aroma of greasy diner food assaults my nostrils, making my stomach churn.

His eyes lock with mine, two green flames burning bright. "I don't want your father to have my head if anything were to happen to you. And most places are closed this late."

I bristle at his implication that I need protecting. "Hmm, I see. And not because you actually care about my safety," I challenge, surprising myself with the daring words that slip out. I don't know what possessed me to say that.

Stefano's face remains stoic, betraying no hint of emotion. "No, I don't give two shits about you," he states flatly, his eyes cold and unreadable.

The sting of his harsh words slices through me like a well-honed blade. "Okay," I murmur, feeling foolish as I snatch up the menu again, using it as a flimsy shield against his penetrating stare.

I study the greasy laminated pages with false interest as the clattering sounds of the diner swirl around me - the hissing fryers, the clanking dishes, the murmured voices of the night staff. Anything to avoid looking at Stefano and seeing that infuriating indifference etched on his chiseled features.

Movement outside the streaked diner window catches my eye. A sleek black sedan with tinted windows rolls up and parks haphazardly in the middle of the street, it's positioning directly in line with our booth, setting off alarm bells. I whip my head toward Stefano, my mouth open to speak, but his expression has transformed into one of lethal focus.

"Down now! Abbasso!" he shouts, vaulting across the table in one fluid motion. His hand clamps down on my wrist like a vise as he wrenches me off the cracked vinyl seat seconds before the first hail of gunfire shatters the diner windows. Shards of glass rain down in a deadly shower as Stefano flattens me to the sticky tiled floor, his solid body shielding me.

"Stay down. No matter what, don't fucking move," he growls in my ear, his warm breath fanning across my cheek. I hear the metallic click of a gun being cocked as he shifts, retrieving his Glock from its holster at his back.

Panic seizes my chest as he moves to stand. "Where are you going?" I cry, grabbing at his arm with trembling fingers. "You could get killed out there! Stay here!" I beg, my voice shrill with terror.

A cocky smirk curves his lips as he leans in close, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear. "This isn't my first rodeo, Andrea," He murmurs. Then he's gone, disappearing into the chaos as bullets continue to riddle the diner. I squeeze my eyes shut and clamp my hands over my ears, trying in vain to block out the deafening roar of gunfire. My heart thunders against my ribcage as I pray fervently for Stefano's life, the man who simultaneously infuriates and enthralls me. I may want to strangle him half the time, but I don't want him dead. Oh God, please don't let him die before I've had a chance to fuck him. Situations like this weren't unfamiliar to me, yet that didn't make them any easier to endure.