Page 13 of Princess of the Mafia

My heart pounded in my chest. The walls of the hallway pushed in on me. Let me out. Let me out. A scream lodged in my throat. Let me out! I broke free from the shield that held my voice, and I screamed and screamed till the light went on, and I was wrapped in strong arms, and I screamed some more. “Shhh… I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” Vitale. I crawled my way onto him and wrapped myself around him. I wasn’t losing him too. He was alive. Only Papà was dead. My breath hitched. He was dead. There was a wetness on my face and an emptiness lodged in my heart. It wasn’t right. I shouldn’t have been missing him. He was an awful human being. Awful.

“Shh… I’ve got you.” Vitale’s soft, deep voice. “Breathe with me.”

I tried. His breath. Mine. His breath. Mine. The pounding in my heart reduced to a soft lub-dub. His breath. Mine. His breath. Mine. My tears stilled. Only sobs remained. His breath. Mine. His breath. Mine. My grip on his neck loosened and I plonked back on the bed.

He gave me a sad smile. “Papà?”

I managed a shaky nod. He didn’t need to know everything.

“It’s okay to miss him, Daria.” I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “He was a good father to you.” But not for him. Or a husband to Mamma. Went unsaid.

Why couldn’t it be only love or hate? Not love and hate.

He stroked his thumb on my cheek. Where Mamma had hit me with her pain, he soothed me with his love. “We can still get out of this,” he said tightly.

If only we could. I shook my head vigorously.

“Why not?” he asked gruffly, even if he knew it was insane to question it.

Crimson in our home. Again. “He’s not too bad,” I choked out.

Vitale let out an angry laugh. “You don’t even know him.”

Didn’t I know it. “What are you still doing here?” I changed the subject. The clock on the nightstand said it was close to midnight. He moved out of the house a long time ago. It was the only way that he could survive Papà without killing him.

“Had some stuff to do.” His eyes met mine. “You’ll be okay?”

I nodded because I would not give words to my lies.

He stood up. My brother was tall. He had touched shoulders with Lorenzo. Six feet three. But when Vitale towered over me, I felt protected. I had the feeling it wouldn’t be the same with the Don of New York.

“If you ever need something, you call me. Sì?” His voice rasped like dark memories in the room. “I couldn’t protect Mamma. That’s going to be different with you. Capisti?”

I clutched his hand tightly. That’s what I was afraid of. “I’ll be fine.” But we both knew my assurance was as fake as Papà’s love for his wife.

I watched Vitale leave with guilt, a heavy pit in my chest. I rocked on the bed with my arms clutched around my knees as Orietta’s words went in a loop in my head.

“If a man like Martello took my virginity, he’d own me! You think I am going to give a man a power like that over me?”

Divya’s words slithered through my mind.

“Anyway, first times aren’t that great.”

“With the right man, it’s amazing.”

Except there was no right man. I’d be married in two days. Two days. Rage fueled me. For the thousandth time, I cursed the day I was born a girl. Determination shot through me. My fingers trembled as I messaged Luna to the sound of Vitale driving away. If there was anyone who would understand me more than myself, it would be her. She wasn’t in the Cosa Nostra, but she was my partner in crime. We’d got into so much trouble, and half the stuff my family didn’t even know about. It was time for some more of it. Perhaps for the final time.

By the time the pebbles hit my window, I was dressed in a short black dress, fishnet stockings, and black boots. The sluttiest ensemble I could manage by cutting the dress I wore for Papà’s funeral in half. It was only fitting. Another sacrifice of a part of me to erase the scars that he had left behind. This wasn’t me, but I needed to do this to be sure the Don of New York didn’t own me.

The moment I opened the window, I regretted my choice of clothing. I hadn’t thought about going down the gutter wearing a dress. My inner thighs were lined with red angry lines by the time my feet touched the ground.

“What happened to trousers?” Luna asked, hugging me the moment I walked over to her.

Her hug was tighter and longer than on any other day. She tried her best to bring warmth to my trembling form. She knew how heavy this was on me. Luna and I were opposites. She was tall to my moderate height. Dark-haired to my brunette. She was a tomboy, and I was a frilly girl. She was modern compared to my conservative upbringing. I wanted to be her, and she wanted to be herself. That’s why I loved her. The confidence that she oozed was like a fashion vibe, and everyone wanted to ride that train to be part of it. She was a pioneer. She did things, and I followed. This would be the first time I would do something she wouldn’t need to.

“Dress is easier.”

She nodded tightly. “You sure about this?”

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