Page 18 of Mafia Mistress

“I can’t imagine what it is like for a boy in our world. My sisters and I were sheltered from my father’s business.”

“As it should be,” Giulio said. “What we do is men’s business, though there are more and more women leading ’ndrine nowadays.”

“There are?”

“Sí. In fact, I thought my father would arrange for me to marry the daughter of La Madrina, the head of the Melbourne ’ndrina. But then you came along.”

Australia, wow. “Did you want to marry this other woman?”

“No, but that hardly matters. My role is to marry and have more Ravazzani boys to carry on our tradition.”

“Not necessarily. Your father could remarry.”

Giulio’s expression said this topic had been broached and rejected. “He refuses. I think he carries around a lot of guilt over my mother’s death.”

Fausto Ravazzani, feeling guilt? I couldn’t believe it. “Was she ill?”

“No, she was murdered.”

I gasped, grabbing the edge of the wooden table as I swayed from surprise and too much grappa. “Shit, that’s awful. I’m sorry, Giulio.”

“Thank you. I barely remember her, but my memories are good ones.”

“How did it happen?”

“She was running on the beach. A South American gang killed her and guards. It had to do with a deal my father made with their rivals.”

“No wonder he feels guilty.”

“Unfortunately, it is all too common in our world.” Giulio heaved a sigh that sounded bone deep. “The only way out of this life is death, Frankie. Each of us knows that.”

I finished my grappa while digesting this grim news. “Shouldn’t you be trying to convince me to marry into your family?”

He lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “I told you, there is no need for convincing. This is happening, whether we like it or not.”

“I know my reasons for not wanting to marry you, but why don’t you want to get married?”

“It doesn’t matter, and we shouldn’t discuss this here.”

I glanced around us, but there was no one else in the old tasting room. Only the wine barrels could overhear us. “We’re alone.”

“No, we aren’t. There is no privacy in the house or anywhere on the estate, Frankie. Never forget it.”

“I don’t see any cameras.” My father’s cameras were the clunky old-school type, that whirred as they moved.

“They are sophisticated. You won’t see the cameras or listening devices unless my father wants you to.”

My stomach sank as I considered my escape plans. Was there surveillance equipment in my bedroom? “At least you have the freedom to leave the estate.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it freedom, but yes, I am able to leave.” He poured us each more grappa. “I’ll take you anywhere in Siderno you wish to go, yes?”

“Sure. How about the airport?”

He chuckled and toasted me with his glass. “You have a sense of humor, Frankie Mancini. I didn’t expect that. You also have spunk, as the Americans call it, but I cannot decide if that is a good or bad thing.”

“I’m hoping it’s good because I don’t know how to act any differently.”

“That must be why my father reacts to you so strongly.”

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