Chapter 47 DON'T CALL ME PRINCESS
••Luciana••
“Asshole,” I muttered as I sat in the living room.
This is what I get for being concerned about him. I should have left him there to burn up or explode if he wanted to. I knew we weren’t going to stay long in New York, and between the stressful flight and exhaustion, I had already searched for a few interesting places to visit. It was my first time here. Roman would be busy with his business, and I would finally get time to breathe, explore, feel like myself. Instead, I spent the entire day nursing a stubborn mafia man who now somehow blamed me for it.
I tried to resume the movie I had been watching, but the remote chose violence.
I pressed play. Nothing. Again. Still nothing. By the umpteenth attempt, my patience snapped. I hit the remote lightly against my palm. Still dead.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered.
I threw it hard on the floor. When I picked it up and tried again, it worked instantly.
I stared at it.
Sometimes, things only function when you stop caring. Proof!
••Roman••
I heard something crash from the living room. I hoped she wasn’t destroying hotel property in my name.
In the bathroom, I stood at the sink, hands gripping the edge, staring at my reflection. I looked fine for someone who couldn’t sit up this morning without help.
I turned the shower on hot and stepped under it, letting the water hit my shoulders hard, almost like punishment.
I hadn’t been sick in years. Injured, yes. Shot, stabbed, stitched back together like torn fabric rushed through repairs. Doctors only saw me when something was bleeding or broken, never because my body decided to betray me for no reason at all.
This morning was different. This morning I had been weak. Thirty years of living, years of being feared, years of walking into rooms knowing I might not walk out alive, and all it took was a fever to pin me to a bed.
Luciana’s voice echoed in my head. You are not made of steel.
I shut my eyes and let the water run down my back. Maybe she was right. That irritated me more than the headache ever did.
When I stepped out, my phone was on the table where she had left it. I picked it up and called Theo.
He answered on the second ring. “I guess you’re better now.”
“Nothing was ever wrong with me,” I said.
“If you missed the meeting, something was wrong.”
I huffed. “The meeting.”
“It’s handled. I told them you were unavailable. We’ll reschedule.”
“Good.”
A pause, then his tone shifted. “I told you to rest.”
“You told me to stop pretending I’m invincible.”
“I said it nicer.”
“You did not.”
He laughed. “How are you really?”
My eyes drifted toward the living room, where the television murmured softly. “Better.”
“And Luci?”
“What about her?”
“She didn’t leave your side today. That’s not nothing, Roman.”
I stayed quiet
“You only learn how human you are when someone forces you to sit still,” he added.
“I was forced by sickness.”
“You were forced by her.”
I ended the call before he could say more. Theo had been with me long enough to become family, which meant he now had opinions he felt free to share, and Theo sometimes talk too much. That was dangerous territory.
I walked into the living room and found Luciana curled on the couch, eyes fixed on the screen. She didn’t flinch as I approached her, I sat beside her leaving space out of habit.
“I feel better,” I said. “Thank you.”
She studied my face, then nodded. “You still look like you need a doctor.”
“I don’t see just any doctor.”
“I figured.”
“There are people who would pay to know I was sick.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “The mafia is allergic to weakness.”
“But iI’ll see the family doctor when we’re back in Russia.”
“Whatever you want, sì,” she said bowing her head. I know she's throwing a tantrum right now. Then, she muttered, “since you’re not my responsibility.”
I shifted closer. “Luci, I’m sorry about earlier. I was angry at myself.”
She nodded.
“Really?” I pressed.
“Really what?” she snapped. “I’m learning my place with you.”
Heaving a sigh, I confessed, “Ever since I’ve been groomed for the mafia life, I've never experienced being unwell like that. Perhaps my body has simply forgotten what it feels like. That’s why I acted the way I did.” I took a breath before continuing. “I’m not accustomed to receiving care like this, Luci; it’s always been about my family and my obligations to it.”
Pouring out my emotions in front of her felt unfamiliar. I had never needed to explain myself to anyone before. I couldn’t quite understand what it was about Luci that made me feel like exposing my feelings was the right choice, especially after the way I had raised my voice at her earlier. In the mafia world, showing weakness is unacceptable.
Yet, I sensed that my honesty was making an impact, as her expression softened. Slowly, I took her hands in mine. “I’m sorry, princess,” I murmured.
With a smile, she replied, “You really should stop calling me princess. Why do you keep saying that?”
I interpreted her response as a sign of forgiveness. “Aren’t you a princess?” I asked playfully.
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide a smile. “I think you already know my name, and you pronounce it well for a Russian.”
“What’s wrong with a Russian accent?”
She ignored me, focusing on the movie. “Don’t forget you belong to the Russian Bratva now,” I said.
She sneered.
\----
While she continued her movie, I paid attention to it because she demanded silence. I didn't know when i got so interested in it, but I had clearly missed some scenes. She shifted closer and started explaining it to me, talking with her hands, voice animated, annoyed every time I interrupted with a question.
Halfway through, I placed a card on the table.
She frowned. “What’s that?”
“Yours.”
“For what?”
“For existing.”
“Roman.”
“It should’ve happened when you moved in. That was my mistake.”
“I don’t need—”
“It’s funded, and every month. For your personal expenses.”
Her brows lifted. “Are you paying me a salary?”
“I’m preventing homicide,” I said. “So you don’t kill rude people.”
She laughed. “You scared the receptionist. I only imagined it.”
“She deserved it.”
“I know.”
She turned the card over, then placed it down. “Thank you.”
Afterwards, the episode ended. She paused it and stretched. “We should go out.”
“You want to go out?" I asked.
“I’ve been trapped here because you decided to feel unwell.”
“I didn’t decide it.”
“I’m calling it compensation.” She smirked.
“Drinks,” I agreed.
She smiled like she had already won. As we stood, she added, “You’re allowed to get sick.”
I opened the door for her instead of answering.
She’s seeing parts of me no one ever has. I don’t know what she’ll make me do next.