Page 39 of Born into Mayhem

As pissed as I am, I hold out my hand to shake my brother’s because it’s easy money. She won’t punch me. She might try to stab me, but she won’t punch me.

After he leaves, Dominic says, “This only works if it’s believable. Do you think she’ll go along with it?”

“She will,” I tell him. “She’s pissed at me right now, but she won’t fuck up a job just because she’s angry at me. That’s not who Mia is.”

I ignore the smirk he gives me and say, “I’ve been training her for a long time. She’s not a spoiled brat or some little diva who’s going to throw a tantrum just because she’s mad about something. She’ll do the job, and she’ll do it well.”

“I can tell you’re impressed by her, which is rare coming from you.” He grins and adds, “That’s probably why you married her,” before he walks off, leaving me alone in his office.

I look down at the passport I’m still holding, reading her name again, and refusing to acknowledge how much I enjoy seeing it.

God, she’s going to be so pissed when she sees this.

Chapter 8

Mia

“Ican’t believe your dad agreed to this,” my mom says while she lugs a suitcase into my room and hauls it onto my bed. Unzipping it, she grumbles, “This is so unlike him. What the hell was he thinking?”

I plop down on my bed next to the large suitcase and say, “I think he’s convinced this might help me get my crazy streak out of my system.”

My mom huffs out a laugh. “Well, jokes on him, right?”

I grin because my mom gets it. She knows I’m never going to fit into any molds, and she’s never tried to force me into one. When I was little, she put me in a pink dress, the kind Natalya would’ve loved to wear, and when I’d angrily torn it off before running around the house naked, she’d just laughed and given me a T-shirt and jeans instead. I’ve always appreciated that. A lot of moms would’ve kept trying, would’ve tried to force me to be someone I’m not, but she never did. Both my parents gave me the freedom to be whoever I wanted to be, and I love them immensely for it.

“Thanks, Mom,” I tell her as she grabs a stack of jeans and starts putting them in the suitcase.

“For going along with this crazy idea?” she asks.

“For never trying to force me to be more like Nat.”

Her face softens, and when she sits down next to me, I scoot over so she can lean back and share my pillow. “I love all three of you in a way that makes my chest hurt when I think about it, and you’re all so perfectly unique. I wouldn’t change a single thing about any of you.”

“Not even Sasha?” I ask with a laugh.

I turn my head to see my mom grinning at me. “I wouldn’t change anything about any of you,” she says again, and I can hear the truth in her words. “He’s the only reason I’m even remotely okay with this crazy plan. I know he’d never let anything happen to you and neither would Dario.”

Forcing myself to not react to his name isn’t easy, and for one horrible second I’m convinced my mom can see right through me, that she can read the truth written all over my face just like I’d heard it in her voice.

She doesn’t call me out on it, though. Instead, she nudges my arm and says, “Try not to go too crazy in Italy. I do want you to have some fun, though.” She smiles even bigger and adds, “Just not too much.”

“I won’t, and I’ll be careful,” I tell her.

“I know you will. Go easy on your dad when you come back and he realizes this has only made you more determined than ever to join the Bratva.”

“I will.” I scoot my head closer to hers and ask, “What do you think about me joining?”

She takes my hand in hers and gives it a squeeze. “I think if anyone can do it, it’s you. You’re so brave, honey, so much braver than I ever was.”

“That’s not true. You survived your brother,” I say, knowing he was an abusive ass and that my dad eventually killed him for it. “You’re brave, Mom, even if you didn’t pick up a knife and learn to fight.”

She laughs at some memory and says, “Your dad did try to teach me. I wasn’t very good at it. I was too busy drooling over him, and I never tried to get out of any of the holds he put me in.”

I let out a half-hearted groan. “Please don’t tell me any more.”

Before I get up, she stuns me into silence when she says, “Dario’s a pretty handsome guy, and he definitely seems like your type.”

“He’s my teacher,” I say, hoping like hell she’ll drop this line of thinking. She does not.