A traumatic event places Mia Martinez in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Trying to run from her problems, but instead running into a whole set of new ones by the name of Giovanni Luciano.
Giovanni became the Don of the Italian Mafia at the age o...
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Chapter Eight
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Early on in the week I gave Carlos a call. He's pissed off about me having his heiress, but he doesn't give a fuck about me having his daughter.
I wanted him to crack. I wanted him to rush here out in a goddamn frenzy panic to get her, so I could get my hands on him.
I hate that son of a bitch for what he did, and Mia was my ticket to bring him to his knees. Except everything I thought was true, wasn't. He seems to have cut ties with all weaknesses.
Including his annoying ass daughter.
My plan went to shit in one week. Now I'm stuck with a whining bitch for no reason. I could kill her for the hell of it, but where's the fun in that.
"Fratello," Nico's voice rings through my office door before he pushes it open. I throw a glance towards him as he walks in, sitting in the leather chair in front of me.
Leaning back in my chair, I interlock my fingers as I set my elbows on the arm rests.
I'm itching to put a bullet in his head right now. The fucker told her my name. The name I kill people for calling me. The name I used to go by before they we're murdered in front of me.
To make it even worse, she called me Gio.
"Do explain why you feel the need to talk about me Niccolò," I wave a hand at him to explain himself. He has never crossed me before until now. Not once has he done something he knows would piss me off.
A smirk threatens to tugs on my lips as I watch his eyes widen in surprise. Did he really think I wouldn't find out about his visits to the bitch? Pathetic.
My eyes narrow in on his face when this fucker frowns. Frowns for fuck sake. My best torturer is pouting and all because this girl.
He knows Mia is back in the basement because of his stupid actions.
"She's not what you think Giovanni," he argues. His elbows propped up on the arm rest of his seat. No hint of nervousness or tension except I'm not a fucking idiota.
His giveaway is how his shoulders tense slightly under his Armani suit. A small thing people wouldn't normally notice, but I do. I notice everything.
Being in this organization you have to find rats, liars, pussies who try to cross you. Their mouths get so used to the lies it becomes hard to tell the truth. That's why body language is an important key to fishing them out.
My father and nonno taught me that. [grandfather]
"I don't give a fuck about what she is," I retort as I sit up in my seat, resting my arms over my glass desk. My eyes flick over to the picture of them in the corner before immediately going back to Nico. "All that matters is who she is, and she is his fucking daughter."
