1. Lucia

1

LUCIA

"Who the hell are you?" I bark as I approach the table my papa and I have permanently reserved on Fridays at the back of Angelo's. "This table is clearly reserved for Conti."

The man sitting at the table, who is definitely not my father, flicks his eyes up to meet mine, and I suck in a breath.

He's gorgeous , with rich brown eyes and hair to match. His black shirt is stretched taut over his broad chest, and the sleeves are rolled up to the elbows to reveal his heavily tattooed forearms that are also insanely muscular.

I swallow, forcing my eyes back to his face where I try not to ogle his razor-sharp jaw.

Who the hell is this guy?

"I know."

My skin prickles at the deep and gravelly voice as his dark eyes flick over my body.

I'm wearing a skintight black dress that has never failed to get me free drinks and a man in my bed at the end of the night, which is exactly why I chose to wear it to go out after dinner.

"You're late," the stranger states.

"Excuse me?" I huff.

I really don't have time to be messed around. I promised my cousin Elle that I would meet her and some of her college friends at Dolce at eleven for the opening night. I'm on the list, and they can't get in without me.

Being the daughter of a mafia Don has many perks indeed.

"I was told I would be meeting you at nine."

I roll my eyes, placing a hand on my hip as I stare this fucker down.

"My father knows I'm never on time."

"I don't appreciate being kept waiting. It's disrespectful." His voice is cold and flat.

I'm starting to get pissed off.

And what does he mean, kept waiting? I'm having dinner with my father, unless he's decided to set me up on some sort of blind date…

"And I don't appreciate being blindsided."

"Take that up with Massimo." He swirls what looks to be vodka on the rocks around in his glass with a tattooed hand.

I shoot this asshole a glare, but he doesn't even blink. If anything, he seems bored by the entire interaction.

That's new…

"You can get me a gin martini," I demand as I pull my phone out of my clutch and dial my father.

His eyes betray his annoyance, but I only offer him a smirk in return.

I keep my eyes locked on his as I hold the phone to my ear and wait for my father to pick up .

"How's it going with Mikhail?" my father asks the second he answers my call.

"What do you think?"

"Lucia…"

"What the fuck is going on?"

"Watch your tone with me," my father scolds, but I don't back down.

"I will not. I'm meant to be having dinner with you."

"I sent a respectable replacement."

"Sure as hell doesn't seem like it."

"Mikhail Koslov is a powerful man with many connections. You could do a lot worse."

What is my father getting at?

"I'd use tonight to get to know him."

I frown. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you're going to be marrying him very soon."

"I don't fucking think so." The eyes of some of the other customers turn in my direction, but I don't care. I'm allowed to cause a scene when I've just found out my father has decided to betroth me to a man I've never even met.

It seems Mikhail catches the drift of our conversation as his lips tug up at the corners as I scowl at him.

"You don't have a choice, Lucia. It's either marry Mikhail or be stripped of your trust fund and shipped off to live with your Nonna in Italy."

I have to grab hold of the back of my chair to stop my legs from giving out beneath me. "Enjoy your dinner," my father adds before hanging up the phone.

I'm speechless for a second until reality covers me with a mantle of anger. Papa wants me to enjoy this?

Oh, I intend to.

"Would you like to sit down now?" Mikhail indicates the chair across from him .

I ignore Mikhail and hold my hand up to catch the attention of a passing waiter.

"Are we ready to order, Miss Conti?"

I lock eyes with Mikhail and let a cruel smile pull at my lips.

"We won't be needing menus. Tell the chef to send out two plates of the white truffle ravioli as well as a bottle of the vintage Don Perignon, not the cheap rubbish. We're celebrating an engagement." I grin.

Mikhail's eyes narrow, but he stays quiet.

"Congratulations, Miss Conti." The waiter nods.

"Oh, and make sure the bill is sent to my father."

Two can play at this game.

"Of course."

The waiter leaves, and I take a seat at the table.

Mikhail remains quiet, and my cheeks start to burn under his intense stare.

"Not much of a talker, huh?" I reach across the table and snatch the drink out of Mikhail's hand, downing it in one.

I wince as the vodka burns my throat.

"Urgh, I don't understand how you can bear to drink this shit neat."

"My family's distillery makes this vodka."

"Wonderful. Is this all you can offer me? Crappy liquor and even crappier conversation?"

I know I'm a mafia princess, and I've always been treated as such.

I have dreams just like every other girl out there, and I knew marrying for love would be a long shot, but I was hopeful my papa loved me enough to give me that because I do know he loves me, but I hate how he insists on controlling every aspect of my life .

I get he wants to keep me safe, I'm his princess after all, but at some point he's going to have to loosen the reins and let me live my own life.

Before Mikhail can thrill me with a reply, our champagne arrives, and I hastily down half my glass in one gulp.

Mikhail, on the other hand, leaves his glass untouched.

Well, more for me.

"So, what do you do for fun?" I take a sip of my drink.

Mikhail crosses his thick arms across his chest. "Run, hike, lift weights. Really anything where I can burn off energy and clear my head."

"Sounds great." Not.

"I take it you're not a big fan of exercising?"

"I like the horizontal kind, if you know what I mean. Though I can be partial to the upright, against the wall kind of exercise too…"

I watch with amusement as Mikhail's jaw clenches. He really is uptight.

"Apart from that, the most exercise I get is lifting the blankets over my head after a big night of partying."

Mikhail's eyes flick over my outfit, and I slyly push my elbows together so that my breasts are almost spilling out of my dress.

I wait for his eyes to go half-lidded or a lick of the lips, anything that might prove Mikhail's not a robot in disguise, but there's nothing.

What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

"What else?" I lean back in my chair, folding my arms over my chest.

"There isn't much else." He shrugs. "I run one of my family's companies and that keeps me very busy."

"Don't forget all the hiking and running." I roll my eyes .

My father can't be serious. Mikhail Koslov is my polar opposite. We literally have nothing in common.

He's a grumpy workaholic who seems to have never had a day of fun in his life. Though I suppose, I shouldn't be surprised. He looks to be almost a decade older than me, and while that normally would turn me on, he's way too serious for my liking.

"I have very strict priorities."

"I can see that."

Mikhail presses his mouth together in a firm line as he looks at me, and I smile in return.

"So do I, though mine are more of the fun variety."

"Clearly."

I frown. "What's that supposed to mean?"

His eyes flick to my empty champagne glass, and my cheeks burn.

"Nothing."

Perhaps my father is hoping that Mikhail Koslov will have a positive influence on me.

Sure, I've been a little wild lately, and I might have appeared in one too many gossip columns. But people in this life don't live to be old, and I want to be free until I have no choice.

I've barely turned twenty-one, I'm nowhere near ready for marriage.

And even if I was, I don't want to waste my good years on some random guy who seems to be nothing more than a miserable ass.

Why can't my future husband be fun and carefree like me? Though, I know that's not what Papa would be looking for in a marriage match.

Everything is business where he is concerned, which seems to now include my life .

And of course, I'm well aware of who the Koslovs are, and my father is smart to want to do business with them. Joining forces with the Koslovs will mean power and status, but at what cost?

My happiness, apparently…

Thankfully, our food arrives, which gives us both an excuse not to talk for a while.

I push my ravioli around my plate, seething as I think about the turn my life is taking.

I thought I had time, but it looks like my papa decided to cut off my legs before I was even able to fully walk.

But if he wants an heir, he's got another thing coming. If this marriage has to go ahead, then it's going to be nothing but a signed paper contract.

Though, if I'm to marry this guy, then perhaps I should make it my mission to loosen him up a bit.

Surely, a person can't be this uptight all the time, right?

I guess I'm about to find out.