Come on guys,” I shout. “This one takes priority.”

A 20-year-old PT Cruiser. Not exactly the right car for a princess. Unless it were a princess hell-bent on making a big statement that she is not her father’s daughter. That she wants nothing to do with her family–or mine.

I roll under there myself. I used to actually work in the garage, long before my father died. We have a series of garages all over Queens, Long Island, New Jersey–even one in Philly. They’re a cover for our real business, but they have to be profitable.

Still, I stopped getting my hands covered in grease a long time ago, but for Princess’s car, I’ll do what it takes to get the job done in time.

“Let’s replace the water pump while we’re at it,” I shout.

Vinny lets out a whining sound, one that sounds wrong coming from a grown man. “Ah, come on boss, it’s just the timing belt.”

“I told you,” I say, loosening the drain plug with a wrench. “This one’s special, got it?”

“Got it,” he groans.

I don’t let my men talk to me like that, but Vinny is our legit cover. Our firewall. He doesn’t touch any of the shady stuff, and he’s a damn good mechanic. He’s not lazy, he just doesn't want to spend extra time on a job that doesn’t pay. I can’t blame him, ‘cause I bust his balls if he doesn’t make good money. It’s a lot easier to launder money through a business that’s doing well. Way easier to cook the books that way.

Just when I’m balls deep in grease from the timing belt, with my head deep down into the hood of the car, I hear Vinny clear his throat.

I look back and see Princess. She’s wearing a sundress now, and the sun is setting just behind her. It shines right through that thin fabric, and I can make out the outline of her delicious thighs. Her hair is combed too, which is a big step up from when I saw her in the cafe.

“Ah,” I say. “I thought you didn’t want to see me?”

“You took my car,” she says, her voice icy.

“Oh,” I say, “Right. I guess I did.”

I hold up the timing belt. It’s basically shredded, and dripping grease. “Here was your problem. Vinny and I are getting a new one in, should be done in another hour or so.”

“I didn’t ask you to fix it,” she says, crossing her arms.

I can’t help but notice the way that presses her breasts together, making her generous cleavage...even more generous.

“You ask me,” I say, tossing the shredded belt onto the ground. “You should just buy a new car. This is the car a grandma would drive, and you sure as hell don’t look like any grandma I’ve ever seen.”

I step closer to her, and I eye her up and down, making no secret that I’m doing so.

She looks down, and I swear I see her cheeks redden just a tad. Then her face goes steely, and she points a finger at me. “I know what you did, Luca. You called in a bomb threat, and then you threatened my landlord too.”

“Your landlord,” I say, “As I see it, he had you under his thumb. He was exploiting the power dynamic, so to speak, and doing something he shouldn’t do just because he knew he could get away with it.”

“That doesn’t mean you threaten him with violence,” she hisses.

“I never said I did!” I say, giving her a shit-eating grin. “I’m just saying, that he wasn’t treating you right, and now he is. No one is gonna get hurt, and everyone gets what’s fair.”

“Great,” I say. “I’m glad your moral compass is so flexible.”

“Compasses have got to be pretty flexible, otherwise they can’t spin around. Look, Bella, it looks to me like you’ve got some extra time to study. Why don’t you go into the waiting room–or hell, you can use my office–and study while I finish up with your car. We’re putting a new water pump in there too, those things go out right after the timing belt. We’ll fix it now to save you the headache later.”

She sighs and shrugs, and I lead her to my office.

“What’s the deal with her?” Vinny asks after I come back.

“She’s Anthony Riela’s daughter,” I say.

I hear him drop his wrench. It clatters against the ground. “Big Tony’s daughter! Why–why you messing with her?”

“You’re not supposed to know who Anthony Riela is, Vinny,” I say.

“Ah!” He snaps. “Right, right. No more questions then.”

“You saw her,” I say, an evil grin filling my face. “I think that tells you all you need to know.”

“Maybe,” Vinny says, “Excuse me for talking out my ass, Luca, but you’ve got it for her ‘cause she’s like, the one you ain’t supposed to have. You know?”

“You’re saying she’s forbidden fruit?”

“Something like that,” he says. “That shit always tastes best, right?”

I nod. Maybe that’s it. I’ve always wanted a taste of Bella Riela since as long as I can remember. Just because our fathers wanted to kill each other doesn’t mean we didn’t see each other around. Mafia feuds are a lot like feuds between family members, you always end up seeing each other for certain events and celebrations, and you’ve gotta try to place nice. I was never a big fan of going to mass, but once I got an eye for Bella Riela, I’d beg my parents to take me.

Just because my father wanted to kill her father didn’t mean I couldn’t play nice with Bella, and I always tried my best to be obliging, and to put the feud behind us. I figured it couldn’t hurt. I liked her well enough–and hell–if she ended up liking me back, maybe we could get the whole feud thing behind us?

Then her brother, Little Tony, got killed, and Big Anthony Riela found a way to blame my father for that. That’s when Princess Bella decided she was too good for her kingdom, and she cut ties with her family. I stopped seeing her around so much after that, and it’s not like I was hurting for my choice of women anyway.

Then I saw her again a few months ago, for the first time in years, and fuck, did that do a number on me. She’d grown way the hell up. She’s a student at NYU now, and she’d managed to pay her own way, cutting ties with father completely. I’d dreamed of doing something like that from time to time, though I’d never seriously considered it. Still, I respect her for pulling it off, and I made it so I did run into her again. From time to time.

Now she’s in my garage, and I’ve probably sweetened her up as much as a guy like me can sweeten up a girl like her. The iron is hot, and it’s time to strike.

I wash all the grease off my hands and forearms, and I change into some real clothes. A nice, navy blue shirt and black slacks. I skip the tie, and leave the top button undone. I’m going to ask her out for dinner, not to the damn prom.

I strut into my office and see her feet up on my desk. Her little notebook on her thighs. The sundress had hiked itself way up, showing some serious leg.

I whistle, and she pulls her feet off my desk and spins around toward me.

“Jesus,” she says. “You scared me.”

“Glad you made yourself comfortable,” I say, grinning.

“Sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t put my feet on your desk.”

I shrug. “Your feet have gotta be cleaner than mine. So the car is good to go. If anything breaks again, don’t hesitate to give us a call. We’ll fix her right up again.”

She grabs her purse and starts digging through it.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“I’m going to pay you,” she says.

“Ah! Bella, come on.”

“Seriously,” she says. “I didn’t make a clean break from the Rielas just so that the Gallos could do the same shit for me.”

“Alright, alright,” I say. “I shouldn’t have–uh–convinced the landlord to be so helpful.”

“And,” she says, “The bomb threat.”

I smile. “Students do that shit all the time! But yeah, alright, I should have let you fail your exam. I’m sorry for saving your ass.”

She rolls her eyes at me, but I see her smiling.

“Look, Princess, the car, at least let me do the car. It’s not something you gotta pay me for. Even if I weren’t who I am, the garage is the garage, and I did it with my own two hands. And Vinny’s two hands, but I had him help just to get it done fast enough to give it back to you tonight. You don’t need to pay us. Let me just do you the favor, alright?”

She puts her purse down and eyes me suspiciously.

“How about this,” I say. “You let me buy you dinner, and we call it even?”

She cocks her head at me, then laughs. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Huh?” I ask, pretending to be dumb as bricks.

“You do me a favor,” she says, “And then, when I try to pay you for it, you do me another favor, but say that doing me two favors makes the first one ‘even,’ how does that add up?”

“Hey,” I say. “I’m just a simple mechanic, not some NYU math genius. And from what you just said, you are considering me taking you out for dinner a favor? That means you want to go out with me.”

Her face turns red this time for sure, and she looks down. She keeps her face down at the floor, but looks up and meets me with just her eyes. “If I say yes, I don’t want any more favors. Especially ones that involve threats of violence? Got it?”

I laugh. “I got it, so that means you’re saying ‘yes,’ huh?”

She shakes her head. “I am focused only on my exam. I haven’t decided yet.”

“You’re not saying ‘no,’ though.”

“I’m not saying no,” she says, grabbing her purse and standing. “So I can take my car back now?”

I nod, already thinking of the best place to take her out.