Page 1 of DeLuca: The Devil

Chapter One

GIADA

My father is Anthony Baretti, boss of the Baretti Crime Syndicate. A mob boss doesn’t have positive qualities, my father is not an exception. My mother married him because she didn’t have a choice. Her father arranged the marriage, and like me, she had to go along with it. I always swore I’d never be married to a mob boss. I have no interest in this life. The money is the only enticing part of it, and the cost surpasses the benefit of sitting on a pile of cash.

Six months ago, on my twenty-third birthday, my father informed me that I would be marrying Enzo Bianchi. As a female born into this family, I have no other use. Marry a man I can’t stand to give my father more money and power.

I’m expected to give Enzo as many babies as he desires. Of course, he wants sons and only sons. Any daughters will be worthless to him, other than to marry her off for a profit. That is not what I would want for any daughter of mine.

I’ve never been allowed to date because I must stay a virgin for my future husband. If I lose my virginity, I will likely lose my life. If Enzo discovered I wasn’t pure, he wouldn’t want me. I’d be useless to my father and experience the same fate my mother did. Without batting an eyelash my own father would end my life like it’s just another day at the office. All because I was born without a dick.

I set the design plans I’ve been working on down on my desk when I notice my phone ringing. It’s my father, so I take a deep breath before answering, “Hello?”

“Giada,” he growls, as if I’ve done something to offend him other than merely existing.

“Yes, Papa,” I respond sweetly because I know it pisses him off. I can picture him squeezing the bridge of his nose in annoyance. I fight the grin on my face as if he can see me.

“In my office within the hour,” he hangs up, not bothering to wait for a response from me.

I have little to no relationship with him, so I can only imagine this has to do with Enzo.

Enzo Bianchi, head of the Bianchi family, my fiancé and no less dangerous than my father, in fact, maybe even more so.

I’m surrounded by criminals with no heart.

It has been said that I’m a carbon copy of my mother. Rosa Baretti was a woman full of love. She let her passionate heart lead her down a dangerous path- one that brutally ended her life. I was five years old when I last saw her alive and came to know the monster my father was.

I was outside playing on my swing set when I came inside for my mother’s famous chocolate chip cookies. Walking into the house, even at such a young age, I knew something was very wrong when I heard my mother crying. It wasn’t uncommon for my father to make her cry. His violence became part of daily life earlier than I can remember, but the sounds this time were different. Following the sound of her cries, I reached the bedroom and found them. I stood silent and terrified as my father straddled her and punched her in the face repeatedly. I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. The sounds stayed trapped in my mouth. When he wrapped his hands around her throat, the struggle ceased. All the fight left her body as her face turned red and then blue. Eventually, he stood and stared at me, “She’s gone. Go find the nanny and get ready for bed, Giada.”

I tried to go to my mother, but he wouldn’t allow it. Next came the threat I’d hear over and over again. I didn’t know it then but it would become the soundtrack to my life.

“There’s nothing you can do other than what you’re told. Do not cross me, Giada, or you will join your mother.”

That was how I learned about death. I was too young to understand, nobody explained it to me. There was no funeral, no mourning. She was just gone. Eventually I came to the realization that no matter how much I cried, mommy was not coming back. My father had been keeping the wife of an enemy mob boss. Mom couldn't bear to watch the woman be brutalized. Every day she listened to the woman’s screams as she was beaten and raped by my father and his men. My mother set her free when my father left for the day on business. Sometimes, I wonder if that woman thinks about my mom and what she sacrificed to save her. Surely, she would have died if not for her. I wipe the tears from my eyes, it’s been eighteen years since that day, and it still hurts me. At this point, I think maybe, a broken heart never completely heals. I still remember the sound of her voice, the smell of the house when she was baking my favorite cookies, the way she laughed, and then the way she died. The stillness of her body haunts me.

My father frequently reminds me of that day, and how if I don’t do exactly as I’m told, he’ll end my life as well. I’ve spent a great deal of time fantasizing about running away where he’ll never find me. The truth is hiding from men as powerful as my father, and Enzo is impossible. It doesn’t matter where I go. Somehow, he and his arsenal of men would find me. And when they do, I’ll pay with my life. It’s the only reason I haven’t left already. Crossing my father cost my mother her life, and I don’t want to have the same fate. I guess it’s why I spend most of my time with my nose in books. It allows me to escape into another world and dream of being the main female character. The kind where she meets this strong alpha male that will do anything to save her from a dangerous existence. If only. Okay so it’s not going to happen to me but still, a girl can dream.

I finish getting ready to meet with him, and of course, my driver is waiting for me when I exit my apartment. Javier barely speaks a word of English, but it doesn’t matter because none of my father’s men are permitted to talk to me. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. They don’t speak to me, but they do talk about me. They call me a mafia princess and snicker behind my back. I’ve met mafia princesses, and we are not the same. They are thrilled to do as they are told for the freedom to spend unlimited amounts of money. That’s not me. I’d gladly give up everything I have to live a quiet life. One without guns, drugs, and never-ending violence. I never fit in with my father’s world.

I hate all my father’s men, however, none more than my father. We pull up to my father’s sprawling estate, lined with roses, around the circular driveway. It’s a gated mansion, but the black metal gates are not what keep people out, it’s the men with weapons. He has fifty guards stationed outside, with another twenty or so inside. Anybody not part of this world, would call it excessive, but if they knew the things my father does on a daily basis, they’d realize it’s not overboard, it’s necessary.

He has his hands in every evil thing imaginable. Weapons, drugs, prostitution, and probably more that I don’t know about. Making enemies is his greatest hobby. It’s one he does well.

After Javier opens the door for me, I step out of the vehicle and make my way along the pathway. All his men near the door lower their weapons silently.

I walk into my father’s house, and his guard dogs look at me like I’m the scum of the earth.

Do they know this is the last place I want to be? When Anthony Baretti summons you, it’s not optional. I may be his daughter, but he’ll snuff out my life without a second thought. Surely these assholes must know that. I stop outside his office door, where I must wait to be granted entry.

Hector’s gaze travels up and down my body. When his eyes land on my face, his expression appears like he ate a mouthful of shit, as if I’m repulsive. In this world, women are not accepted. We have one role. To procreate. That’s how you get appreciation in this organization. Have a baby. A boy, specifically. Girls are mostly useless. Normally we are married off to someone that can provide money and power to our fathers.

I assume that’s why I’m here today, as I haven’t seen my father since he informed me that Enzo would be my husband.

My father yells, “Send her in.”

Hector waves his hand, telling me to go in. I walk into my father’s office, and he nods, “Have a seat.”

While he sits behind his desk like a king on a throne, I take the black chair on the other side of him.

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