Secret Daughter Of Mafia Don

Pool Party

Roman

Macy saw the rejection before I could say anything, and for a moment, I almost saw the disappointment on her face, but it was gone before I could blink. I didn’t care; whatever Macy felt for me was her own business.

“I’m leaving,” I said, almost getting out of the car when she begged,

“Can I come?” she added quickly. “Sir?” I realized we were being formal again. I could have given her the benefit of the doubt, but even then, there was a limit to my leniency. I don’t control my emotions because I don’t have any.

“No, stay here,” was a simple order she didn’t dare disobey. Just because she was my favorite didn’t mean she was irreplaceable.

Alberta lived up to her reputation: their family estate was a huge manor, where I would live when we married. My mother and Uncle Legan would see to it, and her son would become the head of the Alberta clan; it would be a dream come true.

With such a magnificent house, they invested a lot of money in its upkeep. And my fiancé even called, and I was drooling over him, as if he were throwing a pool party.

The party was held on the east terrace, where there was a private garden, tended by Clara. Rumor had it that her father had loved nature in life, and not far from the garden, there was a pool party the pool, the latest addition to the palace.

Surprisingly, for a boring royal, she throws a great party. There were ladies in bikinis all around me, and none of them suspected that they still had to keep up appearances.

The women were beautiful. I did not doubt that they were all socialites and noblewomen, like her. Clara would never invite a commoner here, and I was not prepared for their irritating pomposity, no matter how attractive they were.

However, oddly enough, I found myself at the center of attention. Even in a crowd, I radiated strong sexuality, and I did not care. Where was my charming bride?

"You decided to come, you always surprise me."

She found me before me.

I turned around, and my gaze slid over her body. She was wearing a frilly bandeau bra that revealed her B-cup breasts, but at the same time kept her lower body light, or she was not so confident in herself as to flaunt her audacity. I chuckled to myself, choosing the latter.

Clara was well-groomed, as befits a socialite, but I had seen more beautiful women, and I knew how to manipulate. Even lazily slid my gaze over her body, I did not feel a spark of desire and did not hide the displeasure in my gaze, and she saw it, because it angered her.

"Of course, I am your fiancé. My duty is to answer your royal summons," I did not hide the sarcasm in my tone.

"Then very kind of you," Clara was also sarcastic. "Please, continue to answer," like the royal dog you are.

She did not need to say it; I saw it in the curve of her lips, and her disdainful smirk was not completely hidden.

"Why am I here?" I finally stopped pretending. I needed to do other things, find a weapon. Not that she realized, her disgust for me would only increase if she knew what I was planning. What a hypocrite she was, despising my way of life, yet enjoying my protection.

“Why do you ask?” she sneered. “Are you in a hurry to get back to your warm bed?” I snorted. “Oh, I’m sure you’re more anxious to get back to your own,” I nodded toward the man who leaned over the pool canopy and turned away when his location was revealed.

Clara hid her embarrassment with a smile. “He’s just good company.”

And good company indeed. We both knew we were playing each other and would make a miserable couple.

“You’re here because you’re my fiancé,” she finally said. “And it’s about time everyone knew that, isn’t it?” So I came here for the show.

“Okay, then announce your mafia fiancé to the world,” I smirked. I knew how to annoy her, and I was going to do just that. By the end of the evening, I wouldn’t be the only one feeling awkward. I could tell by the way Clara clenched her teeth that she was fighting the urge to hit me.

Well, it was good to know she knew better than to cross the line. Bride or not, I would snap her neck in half and take the wrath of Albert’s house and my mother on myself, and she knew it.

My cunning fiancé, as expected, tried a different method: he put his arm around me, and now it was my turn to grit my teeth. She knew I didn’t like her touch.

Come to think of it, if we could both stand each other, if there was even a spark between us, we would be a formidable couple. With her cunning and my strength, we would be a powerful couple.

But between us, it was impossible. Clara wanted the kingdom at her feet, and I was a king who would bow to no one.

“Perhaps we should begin our acquaintance with him over there,” I pointed to her beloved, who was still standing by the canopy, her nails, no, claws, digging into my hands. I did not object. The pain was nothing.

Compared to the pain that tormented my heart. I dragged her along with me, and she offered senseless resistance.

"Hello," I said to the man who had his back to me.

The man turned, pointing to his chest, and his gaze seemed to say: "Are you talking to me?"

I chuckled to myself: this one was a mediocre player. Like a gentleman, I turned to my lovely bride: "Will you do me the honor?"

Clara said through clenched teeth: "This is my friend Luther, Luther, this is my fiancé Roman."

"Nice to meet you, I am Luther," the well-groomed gentleman extended a hand that had not seen hard work. I must have been one of those who moved in her circle.

I grabbed it with my hard, calloused hands: "Roman."

I shook Luther's hand with not enough force to break it. I didn't want my lovely bride to think that I had broken her lover's arm out of jealousy. On the contrary, I was glad that she hadn't laid eyes on me... It made it easier for me to breathe.

I was bored to death; this was not the party I had imagined. Nothing interesting, not to mention that my bride was feeding me with the spectacle of her furtive glances at her lover, Luther.

I sighed, running my hand through my hair. Of all the people I could have chosen as my bride, this Barbie doll was the one. Nothing excited me about Clara, because she was vain and obsessed with her image. I preferred women who were a little cheeky, like the girl I had met today; they were fun to conquer.

I cursed, thinking about this girl again; the thought of her was becoming poison, soaking all my senses. Maybe I should meet her tomorrow and see what was so interesting about her?

God, what was I thinking? I should have stopped before it was too late.

"Hi." A lovely girl approached me.

I glanced at the blonde and turned away. It was the redhead I wanted, not her. So I told her without even looking back, "I'm not interested."

The blonde's smile faded, she frowned, and then, with a hiss, she walked away.

I chuckled, "Why do women take rejection so hard?" I wish I had never been polite.

I snatched a glass of champagne from one of the passing waiters and downed it in one gulp before taking another from the tray as the waiter stood up to serve me.

If I were going to survive this party, I needed to be high.

I was finishing my last glass when a voice from the side said, "At this rate, you'll be drunk before the party's over."

"You'd be surprised at my stamina," I replied, not even looking at her.

"If that's true, then you're my type," she said.

Then I turned to the lady who was about to flirt with me, and a smile touched my lips. "And you, my dear, are an angel sent to earth." Yes, an angel sent to cure my itchy c**k. The thought of this redhead made me feel uneasy.

But there was no need to suffer, because right in front of me sat the redhead he so craved tonight. It seemed the Universe was so kind to me that it answered my prayers.

"And you speak rather sweetly," she smiled, blinking at me, and hugged herself so that her breasts bulged out of her bra.

I was satisfied with this gesture; I wouldn't have to fight it. But I had to make sure, because I didn't like pretenders. "So tell me, do you play games?" I used a s****l innuendo.