Page 76 of Princess of the Mafia

I was too scared to ask, but I had to know. Even though the clues were all there in front of me and I had been too self-involved to realize it. “How did she die?”

His jaw clenched. Like he would have preferred to bite down on venom than tell me. But he spit out the words that blasted off every wall in the room. “A fucking car bomb.”

My blood thundered in my eardrums even as my heartbeat slowed. “Is that why you always check… the cars?”

He gripped my jaw, determination in every vein. “No one’s fucking dying on me again. Capisti?” I blinked back tears and nodded numbly. “No association with that woman, sì?” I nodded again. “Good,” he muttered, his tone moody. “Enough with the talk. I want to fuck you.”

His words were crude, but his deeds were gentle. His hand skimmed roughly on my skin, but the tattoos on his knuckles were soft on my soul. I was edging too close to that cliff, and I wasn’t sure anymore if I cared enough to hold myself back from falling.

I was packing my backpack like a teenager, but my thoughts were far away from starting college in four days’ time. The idea that he wasn’t like Papà was crawling through my mind. It was putting up nails on every cell to anchor a belief. Trust. Was I going to trust him? Just like that?

Stefano’s voice filtered through as the office door closed with a thud, and a minute later, he framed the arch to the living room.

“So, heard your rebellion didn’t end well.”

He walked over to the dining table, grabbed an apple, and popped half of it in his mouth. I always wondered if someone stole his food when he was small.

“Was worth a try.”

“You know, I like you, right, cognata?”

I nodded slowly, not sure where this was going.

“So take it as brotherly advice, don’t fucking test him.”

Geez. He always looked so nonchalant that I was fooled. The quiet rage in his voice smacked me right in my face. “I don’t know what you did to wrap him around your fingers, but he’s wrapped around you, alright.” He dropped the half-eaten apple back into the bowl, and my immediate thought was that it was going to annoy my husband.

“You should finish it off,” I muttered.

“Yeah? You should appreciate my brother.” He picked the apple up and flipped it behind his shoulder. I frowned as it landed perfectly on the worktop. “He’s changing a lot for you.” His tone softened. “It’s only because he cares for you. Not every man is your papà, cognata.”

“Mamma…” I had timed it just right. On the Friday morning before I started college, when neither Vitale nor Lia would be home, I could get her just for myself. “Why did you do it?”

Her brow creased in confusion. “Do what, Daria?”

They said video calls were not the same as a face-to-face chat. It wasn’t. Distance and a phone screen in between us gave me courage even though my throat burned with anxiety bringing up bad memories. “Let Papà do what he did.”

I couldn’t bring myself to put the words ‘cheat,’ ‘liar,’ and ‘Papà’ together in one sentence when I was already hurting her by bringing it up. When I was already hurting her by bringing it up. When I could see it in her dull face, in the emptiness of her eyes, the shake in her hand when she tugged an invisible tendril in her tight bun.

I thought she’d dismiss it. Or tell me that was how he was made. To change the subject to the weather or Lia doing something to piss her off. But the silence ticked away, and nothing came out. I tiptoed to the door and closed it softly. Benedetta rarely disturbed me when I was in my room, but still…worse than having this conversation was having someone overhearing it. Panic overtook me at the thought that Lorenzo might miraculously walk in when he had just gone off to his office. Ridiculous.

“Mamma… I don’t want to hurt you. I just… I am confused. Lorenzo… he’s doing… so many things… nice things,” I added through my own confusion. “I don’t know what to think, Mamma.” I swallowed the thick lump clogging my windpipe. “I don’t want him to do…” I squeezed my eyes when the thought alone made my lungs clench like they were in a vice.

“Do what piccola mia?”

“What Papà did. I can’t. I won’t allow it, Mamma. I won’t,” I choked out.

“Oh, mia Daria. Mia zo zo dispiace. Lorenzo is different to Papà.”

“He’s not Mamma,” I pressed, because I wanted someone to pull me back from the danger that was him.

She sighed. It was heavy and hollow, and it ached, and it touched behind my ribcage. “I should have done it all differently. I know that. I think… I let Papà do what he did because I loved him. So much. It hurt me more to be without him than to be with him. Even with all his faults.”

My chest hurt to see her eyes shine bright with unshed tears. To listen to her shaken words.

“Mamma, I am so sorry…”

“No, piccola mia. I need to explain. I should have done it a long time ago, but I didn’t because sometimes even I couldn’t explain it to myself.” She let out a shaky laugh. “It’s not like every marriage is the same. Not like there’s a manual on how to do it.” Her hand looked weathered, clenching the old chain around her neck, her face lined with old memories and new troubles. “But it was my burden to carry, and I shouldn’t have let my children shoulder that burden as well. You all think I am selfless. I am not, Daria. I was selfish. I should have seen how much it hurt my children, but I couldn’t. I only saw Carlo.”

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