Page 21 of Princess of the Mafia

“But it’s too warm for that! I want to wear the stilettos.”

“Fine. Go now!”

Lia ignored her and stepped closer to me. The strong masculine smell that used to be Papà’s danced up my nose. She’d worn his aftershave. My smile dipped at the edge. Her awed eyes caught mine in the mirror. “You look so hot, Ria. I think he’ll want to rip that dress off you.”

“Beddra Matri! Basta amore! I don’t want to hear these things.” Mamma wailed, flopping down on the bed.

“What? You do know she’s going to have sex tonight, right Mamma? Might be earlier the way that dress looks.” Lia hopped away, avoiding the stiletto that came flying her way. “I mean…” she stepped closer, her eyes squinting, “It’s almost see-through.”

Mamma threw her a thunderous look that she ignored. “I want a dress just like this, Divya, when I am married off.”

Divya bit her lip to hide her smile. Lia was the sunshine in our family, and somehow she’d gotten past all Papà’s shit without a hitch. It helped when the information was censored before it reached her dainty ears.

“So, do you think he’ll show off the sheets in the morning?”

“What?” Divya and I both looked at her as if she’d grown an extra head.

“Didn’t you know? They still follow the red sheet tradition in New York.”

Minchia! My hands rattled under the vanity.

Mamma yanked Lia by her ear and pushed her out of the room. “Go wash your mouth with soap and wear the pumps.” She gave me a nervous look before she shut the door to Lia’s grumbles.

Apprehension fluttered in the air. No one dared to bring up the pink elephant floating in the room. Divya finished with me with a frown knitted in her brows. Sometimes, even I forgot the strange habits of Cosa Nostra. I couldn’t have imagined what she thought of them as an outsider. I’d bet Antonio loved her so much he wouldn’t have made a play about the stupid sheets.

The thickness of envy flooded my veins. What must it feel like to be at the receiving end of so much love? The Capizzi men were famous for their faithfulness. Like father, like son. In all of Cosa Nostra, I’ve known only them to follow that trait. They were cousins. My papà and Antonio’s, but somehow, there was a world of difference between the two. There was no doubt that Divya got the long end of the stick here by marrying into the Capizzi family.

She didn’t have a future with a man who’d cheat on her. I did. If wasn’t the question rather than when and how many times? She didn’t have a future where the absence of red would stain her reputation far worse than crimson ever could on the white embroidered sheets.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” Divya murmured.

I pushed my worries down and lifted my lips in the fake smile that would have to line my face all day, as long-lasting as the light makeup she’d painted on my face.

“It’s the dress,” I muttered.

“It’s all you. Don’t you think so, Ada?”

Mamma was standing in front of my wardrobe with my dirty sneakers clutched to her chest. Ah! I knew she’d find them. She wasn’t mad, though, when she turned to look at me. Her eyes shone bright, like a single star on a starless night. “Bellissima, figlia mia.” Her voice wobbled like my smile.

Divya collected all the brushes and zipped them up neatly in her bag. “I need to check what Antonio’s been doing with Cora. You don’t want your ring girl to be in a dirty dress. You let me know if you need anything, okay?” She touched my arm to reassure me and rushed out the door.

Mamma watched the door shut, her jaw clenching and unclenching. My heart ached to see her pain.

“Mamma—”

She blinked rapidly and came to stand behind me. Worry lined her face as she met my eyes in the mirror. I don’t think she realized she still held my sneakers on her chest, and I wasn’t going to tell her that.

“I’ve let you down, piccola mia.”

I shook my head vigorously. “No, Ma—”

She squeezed my naked shoulder tightly. “I loved your papà. I did. I loved him so much. Maybe that’s why I allowed him to do what he did. Again and again. But I should have thought… thought of the example I was setting for you girls… I should have listened to Vitale. I let him down too…”

“Mamma…” Thorns in my throat. Spikes in my eyes. I couldn’t cry and let Divya’s work go in vain.

“Promise me, if he hurts you, you come back to me,” she urged.

This morning’s breakfast crawled up my throat. She was asking me to promise things that couldn’t be promised. I swallowed the thick ball of bile in my stomach.

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