Esposito
I sit in the car with Gabe Marino, waiting for my captive.
I refuse to get out of the vehicle to board the plane myself. I refuse to go to her.
The princess will come to me.
The guards have already put Vittoria Marino's and Camille Conti's bags in the trunk.
I sit in the back of my armored Rolls-Royce, Gabe in the driver's seat, waiting. Vittoria and Camille didn't emerge when the plane's cabin door opened and the stairs were rolled out.
Gabe hand-picked six of his most trusted men for this assignment involving the Conti Princess, and he sent them to board the plane and bring her out.
She's likely being a stubborn bitch, railing against her captivity.
"Maybe Vittoria killed her on the flight here," I murmur.
Gabe grunts a laugh.
It was a long flight, even on a private plane. I can't imagine my mafia cousin tolerating screeching demands and hissed threats the entire way. Vittoria wouldn't stand for that.
Dino Dario involved her early in the family business back in Italy. She has the stomach for this life—though he refuses to give her a leadership role simply because she doesn't have a dick between her legs. A loss, in my opinion. Vittoria would make an excellent second-in-command.
My phone rings.
Vittoria.
What the fuck is the hold-up?
I remain calm. Controlled. "Cousin, please don't tell me you can't handle a waif of a girl—even if she's being a spoiled brat?"
"Fuck you," Vittoria huffs.
That's not good.
"Call your dogs off, Esposito."
I frown.
"We're coming out, okay? Just tell the guards to back up."
"Why?"
"They're… triggering her or something."
I bark a humorless laugh. "Of course they're triggering her. They're there to make her cooperate. Are you falling for whatever ruse Ricco Conti's spawn is pulling?"
"That's not it," she snaps, swearing at one of the guards. "Esposito, seriously. Call them off."
I grit my teeth. "Fine."
Only because Vittoria asked.
I hang up and glance at Gabe. "Call the men back."
He relays the order.
Six men in combat gear fall back, weapons still visible, forming a controlled funnel toward the rear passenger door. The princess won't be running anywhere when she finally deigns us worthy of her presence.
Gabe prefers field gear over suits—functional, intimidating. Clearly effective.
But what did I expect?
I'm dealing with Ricco Conti's daughter. Of course she'd be difficult. Of course she'd fight, try to bend the situation to her will.
I smile inwardly.
I'll enjoy breaking her.
Movement catches my eye.
Vittoria appears at the top of the stairs in a flowing yellow dress, raven hair loose around her shoulders. I don't even need to look at Gabe to know how he reacts to her.
My head bodyguard may be death incarnate, but he's a soft bastard where my cousin is concerned.
I frown as Vittoria turns back toward the cabin, speaking quietly to someone inside. She descends the stairs and waits at the bottom, glaring at the guards.
"What is she doing?" Gabe mutters.
She's coaxing.
That's wrong.
You lead captives out—by the hair if necessary. You don't negotiate.
If I didn't know Vittoria better, I'd think the roles had reversed.
Then the princess appears.
I've seen her only in photos—images Christian, our tech genius, pulled from Conti territory back in Monaco. Perfect hair. Perfect makeup. Designer everything.
Now?
She's smaller in person.
She wears a brown suede romper that exposes her shoulders. Still elegant. Still expensive. But her hair is twisted into a messy bun, her face bare.
And her demeanor…
Wrong.
I expected fury. Resistance. Indignation.
Instead, there's nothing.
No fight.
Fear flickers in her eyes as she studies the Rolls-Royce, the darkened windows. But she doesn't resist. Doesn't lash out.
I narrow my eyes.
Well played, princess.
She's conned Vittoria, too—because my cousin speaks softly to her, coaxing her forward like a frightened animal.
Camille Conti is far more like her father than I anticipated. A snake hiding in the grass.
I catch the tremor in her hand as she grips the rail. Head lowered. Eyes averted. She doesn't try to escape.
Vittoria opens the door.
Camille slips inside.
She startles when her doe-brown eyes land on me.
There's a console separating us, but I'm a large man. I let the menace roll off me deliberately. I want her to understand something very clearly.
She's in my world now.
She recoils against the door.
"Esposito," Vittoria warns.
I flick my gaze to her.
My world. My rules.
"He won't hurt you, Camille," Vittoria says.
I arch a brow. "So sure of that?"
Camille closes her eyes.
"Stay in your lane, cousin," I warn.
"Don't be a dick," Vittoria snaps, then softens as she turns to Gabe. "Hey, big guy. Miss me?"
He grunts, shifting the car into drive.
The convoy moves.
"Seatbelt," Vittoria tells Camille.
Camille obeys instantly.
I don't like this version of her.
I want the real princess—the venomous one. Not this meek performance.
My patience is razor thin. Between keeping Faro and Dantay alive, uncovering Conti's plot, and still being forced to spare his life…
Then there's Jeno and Gavino—two allies who played me for months.
It's a miracle I have any patience left at all.
I had planned to restrain and gag her if needed. This compliant act pisses me off more.
"Look at me, princess."
Quiet. Hard.
She lifts her gaze.
Those eyes close off instantly.
A wall.
Confirmation.
She's hiding exactly what she is.
"Welcome to San Francisco," I say coldly. "You're in my world now."