Mafia King: A Mafia Royals Novella, Rachel Dyken [i am malala young readers edition .txt] 📗

man I would measure everyone against—my daddy. “You can’t, Daddy. That’s why you have the gun and get to pull the trigger if they fail.”

He barked out a laugh. “That’s my bloodthirsty girl.”

“Up top.” I held my hand up for a high-five and earned one from Dad before we both burst into laughter.

“Serg.” The Petrov boss, Andrei, approached in all his golden, godlike beauty—damn, he was fine. “A quick word?”

“Yup.” Dad leaned down and kissed my forehead again, whispering, “Stay out of trouble.”

“Please.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m the epitome of perfection.”

Dad stared.

And Andrei? He shook his head and murmured, “Girls terrify me.”

Dad just laughed. “And yet, you have one.”

Andrei looked heavenward. “My point exactly.”

His little girl wasn’t so little anymore, but she did just turn sixteen. I imagined the fact that she was driving kept him up at night more than all the kills under his belt.

“Stay safe,” Dad reminded me, his full lips pressed into a smile. We both knew that out of my younger sister and me, I was as pure as the newly fallen snow—I lived for his approval.

Gladly.

And he knew it.

God, I’d rather die than disappoint him.

“Promise.” I waved with my fingertips then made my way over to the cash bar. My brown hair was pulled into a loosely braided bun at the base of my neck, and pieces of hair tickled my skin as I attempted to walk across the grass in ridiculously high electric-blue heels.

One of the first pairs I’d ever purchased with the unlimited credit card that every Abandonato heir was given.

People stared, but they always did. I was Kartini Abandonato, Tiny to my cousins because of my short stature—and a daddy’s girl through and through.

But it wasn’t just that.

It wasn’t like I was vain, not even a little bit. And it wasn’t even that my mom told me on a daily basis how striking I was.

It was just the knowledge that I’d hit the perfect mixture of both parents’ gene pools and came out from the deep end like a freaking mermaid.

From the perfect smattering of freckles across my nose.

To the naturally full lips and high cheekbones. And, of course, the dimples that had every guy—bad and good—falling all over themselves to help me.

My legs wobbled a bit on the grass, and I immediately had two guys rushing over, both who’d been staring for the past few minutes.

“Are you okay?” The golden Adonis held my elbow, his smile wide, his teeth straight and perfect.

“That was a rough fall…” the other said. He had a strong jaw and hair that fell across his forehead in a perfect messy arrangement of jet-black curls.

I smiled my appreciation. “Thanks, boys, but I’m a big girl.”

“Yeah, you are,” dark hair said, earning a smack from golden hair.

I threw back my head and laughed, then whispered, “You’re gonna have to try harder than that if you want my attention. And a little bit of advice, when you get my attention, you also get his.” I turned and pointed at my dad, who was at that very moment pulling back his suit jacket to reveal not one but two guns strapped to his chest.

I nearly did fall when they both released me with excuses.

“Yeah, I gotta…go…pee,” said dark.

“Alcohol.” Golden made a beeline for one of the two open bars, nearly tripping over his feet.

Huh, they were sexy.

Now, they just looked like scared little boys.

I grinned and shook my head, then continued making my way toward the bar near the water.

“It’s rude, you know…” a rich, masculine voice said from behind me.

I recognized it instantly.

Recognized him.

How could I not?

If there was one man in the entire world that my dad would murder for touching me without even hearing an excuse—it would be Tank. FBI agent, friend of the Families and the government, made man, and all-around conundrum of goodness and virtue.

I bet he sported red power ties and carried a briefcase when he wasn’t with us.

I shuddered.

Hot.

Why did Tank in a suit sound so freaking hot?

I glanced over my shoulder. “You’re still alive?”

“Haha.” He rolled his eyes. “Where’s your babysitter?”

“I’m looking at him.” I winked.

He paled instantly.

“WOW!” I kept laughing. “At least now I know how you feel about me. Keeping watch over me makes you physically ill, memo received.”

“No. Yes…” He ran a hand through his rich chocolate-and-honey-colored hair. It was thick, I-used-to-be-a-quarterback-in-high-school perfection. “It’s just…I have enough Abandonatos on my ass right now. The last thing I need is one more using me for target practice.”

“Oh, he has a guy for that.”

“Pardon?”

I shrugged. “For live target practice. Just has him run back and forth, back and forth, until he tuckers out. I mean, naturally, Dad would never actually hit him, but it does make it more interesting. I think the worst he got was hit in the leg.” I examined my pink nails. “Nothing but a flesh wound.”

“Says literally no sane person outside of the mafia.”

I just repeated what the bosses said on a daily basis. “We’re all of us, a bit insane, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think. I know.”

For one brief second, I got lost in his eyes, in the way they drank me in and then shuttered as if he were hiding something.

As if he had something to hide.

Everyone had vetted him.

But it didn’t matter, did it?

He looked nervous. And Tank never looked nervous. Furthermore, he wasn’t a lingerer, especially with me. Was he trying his hand at being a human shield?

“You headed to the bar?” I started to move as his eyes darted behind me and then around as if he were checking out the perimeter to ensure we were safe when we had hundreds of men on our payroll walking around.

We were safe.

“Yup.” He held out his arm. “Now, let me help you walk before you kill yourself or twist an ankle.”

“Ah, the perfect gentleman.”

He snorted. “You have no idea.”

“You’re right…I don’t. None of us really do outside of when you come and train with the rest of the guys or when you’re