Page 1 of Claiming His Mafia Princess

Chapter One

DALILA

Imiss my mother on days like this — on the days when we are all together and I am the only women amongst the men of my family. There’s a hollow sensation that creeps in over the holidays, an echo in my heart that no one but her could fill.

I am not alone, not at all. I am surrounded by the men who raised me. My father and my four older brothers.

Love, laughter, and noise resonate through the halls of my father’s mansion.

Not one of them is a good man, but they have been good brothers. They’re also a bunch of assholes who won’t allow me to have any fun.

My friends are all out at holiday parties this week. I am not — I am here at home where they can make sure nothing happens to me. Dalila has to be the perfect good girl. She isn’t allowed friends, or fun, or boys, or kisses — I am not even allowed a damn dog in case it bites me. As though all dogs just automatically bite.

I roll my eyes whenever I think about how over protective they all are. They don’t hear me out when I try to explain to them it feels suffocating. I know they are trying to keep me safe, but what they are actually doing is stopping me from experiencing anything in life.

The decorations I spent all day putting up give everything a festive glow. A golden light makes the house feel warm even though it’s fucking freezing outside. Mother Nature is angry this holiday season, and she has been throwing a tantrum for days now. Snow, iced roads and freezing temperatures. It’s snow-magedon out there and the weatherman said we are in for at least another week of this madness. The boys have taken over the house, because driving in this shit is dangerous, and I think they’re enjoying the free food too much to leave.

“Mas,” I can hear my father calling my eldest brother from his office, “I need you in here.” God alone knows why he is in there working. It’s the holidays. Normal people are shopping, wrapping gifts and spending quality time together. Not my family — the mob doesn’t have holidays. Mas’ heavy footfalls can be heard as he stomps down the hallway - anything but jolly.

“What?” He roars, and I wonder how he gets away with talking to my father that way. If any of my other siblings tried it, they’d get a backhand. “I am busy.”

Busy shoveling food down his throat and tossing back brandy like its soda.

“Tuomo.” There’s the summons for the next brother — I count silently to myself while I lean against the kitchen counter, waiting for the timer on the oven. It’ll be three more seconds until he calls the next one, and in three minutes he’ll have all four of them in there. The door will slam, and I’ll be left alone in the kitchen.

Three — two — “Rufino.”

I knew it.

Celso groans from where he is digging in the fridge behind me. He also knows it is coming. He might be the baby-brother, but they will be dragging him in there with them. My father is in a shitty mood. He has been grumbling all day long. Like a thunder cloud inside the house.

He is almost as miserable as the storm raging outside.

“You know they’re going to call you. Why don’t you just go?” I ask Celso, who is shoving leftover pasta from lunch in his mouth.

“I’m hoping they’ll just get all caught up and forget I am not there. Dad is in one of those moods, so is Mas.” He swallows his food then goes on, “Apparently Tuomo was caught behaving badly with some chick half his age.”

Sounds no different to any other day. Tuomo has no shame. He will chase anything with boobs. They don’t even have to be nice boobs. I shake my head, but I am not surprised.

“At least it isn’t one of your friends this time.” Celso chuckles. “And they didn’t notice you snuck out last night because they were too busy with his lady-drama.” Celso winces as his name is screamed out. I smile as he stands, getting ready to leave the kitchen in obedient response to my father’s voice.

I did sneak out; I do it often. I just thought I was better at hiding it.

Celso will use this as leverage to get me to do stuff for him — he’s a devious little shit.

“Guess they realized you were missing.” I say, his comment about my friends has annoyed me. My brothers have this knack of wrecking my friendships by fucking my friends — now we have ground rules. They cannot date my friends. It was my father who actually made the rules after my senior year turned into a bloodbath of bitch fights and bullies.

“Ugh.” He groans, putting his food down, he trudges out of the kitchen. I’m alone again, staring at the pile of groceries I ordered for the holiday meals I am going to be cooking.

That’s what sisters do — they cook. Since none of my brothers have wives yet, I am the cook. My family is traditional in a lot of ways and one of them is that women belong in the kitchen.

I can’t wait for one of them to get married, so there’s another woman around to share my load. Housework gets old really fast when they are all here. I prefer it when it is just me and my father. But over Christmas, that is wishful thinking. They ‘work’ from home this time of year. Given how ‘dirty’ their fucking business is, that isn’t always pleasant.

I pull my long blonde hair up into a messy bun, wanting it out of the way. I grin, knowing my father hates that I dye it blonde. He wants my natural heritage to show through in my dark hair. I want to be fun and carefree and blonde screams both.

Tonight is poker night, and my father is hosting — the place will be crawling with monsters, murderers, criminals and all of the very bottom of the barrel of humanity. They will bet their own mothers in these games. Nothing is sacred to them. Nothing except Cosa Nostra. That comes first. Even though they all hate one another, they are all Cosa, and they are loyal to a cause that’ll get them killed eventually.

Men are so fucking dumb.

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