Page 2 of Claiming His Mafia Princess

Do you want to know the reason women don’t run the mafia?

Because it’s stupid, that’s why.

The rules, and the secrets — the part where everyone kills everyone isn’t even the stupidest part. I want to kill people all the time.

The stupidest part is the lack of reasoning behind the way they blindly follow rules that are older than my very-dead-grandfathers-father. It’s all his fault we’re in this shit show. He joined Cosa and now it’s our inheritance. Because once you are in Cosa Nostra, you don’t get out.

These buffoons often say I am lucky I am a girl, all I have to do is marry the right man and have babies — Yeah. So lucky.

The poker players arrive, one dark blacked out car after another, all the foolish idiots driving in this weather just to come here and clash their egos against the other men.

They dare not miss a poker game.

I have been told to stay out of sight and mind my own business tonight, as always, when they conduct business at home.

Because that’s what these ‘games’ are. Business.

I’m watching from the window upstairs when I see father walking out of the house and getting into a waiting car. He’s brave, leaving my brothers in charge with all the heathens here — there is no one to stop them from being stupid now.

I enjoy watching the guests as they come in, all different types of monsters and men. The younger ones are flashy and loud, the older wiser ones are more subtle.

The false smiles, power-play handshakes and occasional genuine man-hugs.

My cousins arrive, already drunk and falling over their feet. They really need to be managed. I heard my father moaning about them over dinner last week.

I’m about to walk away, thinking everyone had arrived, when I see another car stop, and Nevio climbs out. He’s in his signature long dark coat. The collar popped up and his hat pulled down low to cover the large red birthmark on his face.

The boys used to mock him relentlessly when they were kids. Now he is one of the scariest men in the mafia. He even looks like a monster — otherworldly, almost as if he’s not even real at all. He looks up, and his eyes lock on me for a moment before he smiles and disappears through the front door. I wouldn’t want to meet Nevio in a dark alley, or anywhere alone, for that matter. I shudder at the thought of being trapped alone with him in the dark. I’m terrified of the dark, but it would be worse to have him there with me.

The raucous noise downstairs hasn’t let up, even though it’s well after midnight — my father hasn’t returned either. I’m tempted to trip a fuse, so they’ll have to leave, but I am afraid of the dark and even more afraid of being in the dark with that many members of the mafia.

Instead, I pull on my headphones and turn Taylor Swift louder than them. I move with the music while reorganizing my bookcase. Then, when there is a lull in background noise, I decide to take a shower and put on some comfy pjs. I’d kill for some hot chocolate, but I was told to stay upstairs.

I’m not very good at doing what I am told — in fact, I am terrible at it. Sick of waiting for their party to end, I sneak down the back staircase and into the kitchen. Quickly warming milk and making myself a cup of hot chocolate, I try to be as fast as I can. Almost escaping unnoticed, I have my mug and a packet of cookies in hand when I turn around and walk full force into Nevio. Of all the people I didn’t want to bump into - why did it have to be him?

“Shit.” I utter, spilling the boiling hot drink all over my hand. That’ll leave a damn mark. “Sorry.” I mutter and check that I didn’t mess on him. I try sidestep to pass him.

“Hello Dalila,” he greets me, his gruff deep voice as scary as his face, “should you be down here? — Alone?” He asks with a sinister undertone in his question.

“It’s my house.” I sass at him. He smiles and I take the opportunity to get away. Ducking past, escaping him and this awkward situation, taking the stairs two at a time, I can feel his eyes still on me until I round the corner.

My heart is racing, and my appetite is gone by the time I collapse onto my king sized bed. I have never heard Nevio talk before — or even seen him talk. Celso says he’s mute. I can now say for sure he is selectively mute.

I heard him talk.

He said my name like it was honey dripping off his tongue.

Chapter Two

NEVIO

The Vece mansion is crawling with every monster known to man. It’s like a festival of villains. In this room alone, I can count many men who should be dead or behind bars for what they have done. It’s suffocating me being surrounded by so much noise, smoke, and insincere niceties.

Any other place and these men would kill one another without hesitation, except this is poker night — on poker night we play nice.

Except, I don’t play well with others, not just at poker, but ever.

Earlier I took a walk for air — there is no air in the house that isn’t tainted with smoke or cocaine dust. There is filth for days in here. It’s constricting my throat. I’m no better. I have no room to judge them, but I still do. I am not the same as them — we may be cut from the same cloth, but I have been starched and ironed hard.

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