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

CHAPTER 16

I stir awake, stretching my hands out, but they come in contact with nothing. I peel my eyes open, and my gaze falls on the vacant space where Stefano should be. The sunlight filtering through the curtains casts a warm glow over the room, highlighting the emptiness beside me. A pang of anxiety grips my chest. Where is he?

Throwing off the covers, I climb out of bed and call his name, but only the echo of my voice responds. I step out of the bedroom and head downstairs, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee guiding me to the kitchen.

Stefano!" My voice trembles as I step into the room. Relief floods through me when I see him, his back turned, pouring a cup of coffee. He spins around, and the flush from last night's fever has faded from his cheeks.

He doesn't say anything, just stares at me, or rather my neck, and I wonder why until I see what he's staring at in my reflection on the fridge. Hickey covers the skin on my neck and shoulder, and no part in between is left untouched. My cheeks flush crimson as my mind flies back to last night, and it's like I feel his lips on my skin again, burning me from the inside out...

I take in his outfit and notice he's dressed for work, his Armani suit hugging his physique like it always does.

"Stefano, you can't go to work," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "You haven't fully recovered yet."

He takes a step back, clearing his throat. 'I'm not sick. Did you unpack last night?' He sips his coffee nonchalantly.

"No, I didn't, and that's not even important right now. As much as you might not like it, you were sick. You need to rest for at least a day."

"I'm fine." He runs a hand through his tousled hair, jaw set in that stubborn way I know so well. "Would you like to wash up first before we leave?" he asks, taking another sip of his coffee.

"Are we going somewhere?"

"We aren't going somewhere," he says, his expression unreadable. "I'm dropping you off at the Costanzo Hotel."

"Why?" I ask, my confusion turning into hurt. "I don't understand... Are you kicking me out of your apartment right now?" I say, my voice trembling, a lump forming in my throat.

Stefano sets his coffee cup down on the counter, his expression still unreadable. "I won't use the word kicking out, but I would like to believe the Costanzo Hotel is more comfortable than my apartment, and you'll have everything you need there."

"Bullshit!" I spit out, not buying his words, an ache filling my heart as I think about the real reason he might be kicking me out. "Tell me the real reason why?" I press, my heart pounding in my chest.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, his eyes flashing with a hint of frustration. He parts his lips to speak, but the ringing of his phone cuts him off. He pulls it from his pocket and checks the caller ID.

"Be ready in five. If not, Samuel will take you once he's done dropping me off," he says before hitting the answer button and stepping out of the kitchen before I can utter another word.

I find myself speechless like I always do with Stefano, but this time, I'm done. I am fucking done with his games. How can he kiss me the way he did last night and ask me to stay in a hotel the next day? What would have happened if we went further and he didn't sleep off? Fuck!

Rage and heartbreak churn inside me. I rush to the guestroom, grab my bag with shaking hands, and blink back tears. This is the last time I let Stefano play with my emotions. The last fucking time.

STEFANO

I watch Andrea slam the door in my face as she walks into my family's hotel without even a backward glance at me. I'm not surprised. After what I did, her anger is justified. I never intended to hurt her, but perhaps it's better this way—her hating me rather than wanting to have anything to do with me. The memory of last night's chaos floods my mind—it wasn't intentional, losing control like that. The fever, the drug, and her scent Fuck, her sweet scent that drives me nuts every time did its thing, and I lost all control. I'm so happy I passed out; otherwise, every inch of her skin would be telling the world she's mine.

A cough rattles in my chest, and her worries about me needing to rest couldn't be more solidified. But I couldn't rest, not when her safety was threatened. Since returning to California, I've tirelessly pursued leads on who sent that scarf to me in Mexico and why Andrea was attacked before we left. It's a tangled mess, but protecting her is worth every ounce of effort. The scarf wasn't her, but its message was clear.

"We're here, sir," Samuel's voice breaks through my thoughts, and I blink back to the present, finding myself in front of a suburban home. Stepping out of the car onto the cracked pavement of the suburban street, I straighten my suit before walking to the home door. The fresh air hits me, and I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head.

"You'd better have good news for me, Peter," I assert as I enter the living room, assaulted by the stale odor of neglect. Peter, my tech specialist, jumps from the couch, scattering Cheetos across the floor. The atmosphere reeks of unwashed dishes and stagnant air, making my stomach churn involuntarily.

"Mr. Costanzo," Peter stammers, dropping to his knees in a mixture of fear and guilt. His complexion is ashen, and he trembles like a leaf in the wind. Peter recently, he fucked up by working for one of my rivals. That's why he looks like he's about to pee his pants right now. I'm not here to kill him because, unfortunately, he's one of the best.

"Why do you look like you saw a ghost?" I ask, taking my seat on the dining chair Samuel brings for me. The creak of the chair echoes through the room, and I lean back, feigning nonchalance, though tension crackles in the air.

"I... I don't know, sir," Peter stutters, wiping sweat from his brow, eyes darting around nervously.

"No need to be scared, Peter." I pat his cheeks, and he closes his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. I smile. I love it when people are scared of me. It makes me happy in a sadistic kind of way. "I just came to find out how the things I asked you to do are going," I say, leaning my hands on my knees, my face mere inches from his.

"Uhmm..." he stammers, his voice shaking.

"I won't hurt you. Speak," I say in a deadly calm voice, leaning back against the chair. The silence is deafening, and I can feel the tension in the air.

"Unfortunately, sir, I haven't even been able to find the details about Petrova's travel," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Hmm...is that so?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, sir," he says, nodding his head.

"Or you mean you are too busy fucking working on other people's assignments to handle mine," I snap, rising abruptly from my chair, towering over him. The next sound I hear is the unmistakable trickle of liquid hitting the floor, accompanied by the acrid scent of urine.

"Disgusting," I mutter, recoiling slightly. The stench is nauseating, and I fight the urge to gag.

"I'll have it ready for you, sir, by the end of the week. Please don't... please don't," Peter pleads, tears streaming down his face as he clutches at my foot, his despair palpable.

I breathe, closing my eyes as I think about whether I should end his life or not. The hassle of finding someone as good as him isn't pleasing, and the last thing I need is more trouble. So I decide against it.

I pull my feet out of his grasp and button my Armani suit. "I want it by the end of the day," I say, my voice firm. Peter's head snaps up, and he stares at me in disbelief.

"Would that be a problem?" I ask, and he quickly shakes his head.

"Good," I turn around and step out of the house before I puke the little breakfast I had this morning.