Page 4 of Princess of the Mafia

Yeah. That was his way of saying I didn’t have to go through this if I didn’t want to. Except I did. We needed alliances, and I gave my word. I killed for a living, but I always kept my word. Had to, because that was how Mamma had brought us up. I opened my mouth to tell him exactly that, when a loud rumbling shook the streets, making us jump to our feet with our hands on our guns. It should have been gunfire, but it wasn’t. A bunch of boys came screeching down the street in make-shift Go-Karts made out of… well, any rubbish they could find. I recognized the wheels of an old truck, an old ironing board, a broken hanger, paint cans, and, of course, paint in all variations.

Amusement pulled at my lips as Nico’s thinned in light annoyance. I didn’t know this was still happening. Memories of riding i calacipiti in the summer holidays washed over me. We’d never worn a helmet, and judging by the looks of it, that hadn’t changed much either. That was how I spotted one girl among the throng of boys. She headed our way, aiming to hit the parapet wall meters ahead of us. Her brown hair flew behind her like a kite as she wrapped her naked legs around the pink board and skidded to a stop, missing the wall by mere inches before bursting into giggles. Jesus! Talk about fucking recklessness. She disentangled herself from the killer machine and stood up with trembling legs. Then she dipped into a deep bow to her audience of teenage boys and gave me a view of a pert ass in the tiniest shorts I’d ever seen. Fuck! It had to be a crime to hug her ass like that denim did. Yeah, that was no girl. That was a woman.

“Well, fuck me.” I turned to find Stefano behind me. Adrenaline ran through my body, triggered by competition, as I turned back to watch the show. Fuck me instead.

“Daria!” The woman from the cafe who’d followed Stefano out yelled at the girl. But she was too busy attending to the attention of the teenage boys to hear. The woman bustled over to us and put the tray down. I frowned at Stefano. Espressos? I need a fucking whiskey.

“Can’t go to your future wife reeking of whiskey,” Stefano muttered loud enough for the woman to glance at me. Her expression went from neutral to cautiousness in a matter of seconds. She threw me a nervous look before rushing off to the girl.

“Daria,” she yelled as she grabbed a cloth on a chair nearby and strode over to the girl. I wasn’t sure what she was mad about but she didn’t like the girl being near us. She was quite the beauty, no doubt, at least from this distance but it wasn’t like I would fuck her against the wall before I went and signed a contract to trap myself in a marriage I didn’t want. Although those legs around me…

Yanking on the girl’s arms, she pushed the cloth into her hands and muttered something in her ears. Well, I’d be damned. The cloth was a long skirt, which the girl hurriedly donned before running off.

And I thought the girls of Cosa Nostra were timid dolls. Maybe she wasn’t part of the Cosa Nostra, but the way the woman behaved towards her told me otherwise. I could only hope she wasn’t the one I’d be marrying. I’d barely be able to adapt to a porcelain doll in my house, let alone a firecracker who was anything but quiet, came screeching in loud, and had the legs of a porn star.

I needed a fucking whiskey.

CHAPTER TWO

DARIA

The Sicilian sun burned down on me, hotter than Mamma’s pizza oven. My feet took me home in white sneakers that had turned brown, much like the gravel I had ridden my i calacipiti on. For months I had been preparing my carretto for this race, and there was no way I was foregoing it because some don was coming down from New York for my sister.

Not even Mamma’s imminent anger was going to keep me away from the race. I was not home to help with whatever it was I had to help with. But most importantly, good girls didn’t ride Carretto. Apparently, they stayed home till the next made man thought it worthy to pick them up and take them a continent away. Away from family and all that we have ever known. For what exactly? Stay home to make home-cooked meals while he went about his days as a man whore. They were all the same. Made out of the same cookie cutter as Papà.

Minchia! I hated Papà. He was the reason I cursed so much, even if it was in my mind alone. I hated him when he was alive because despite all his faults, and God knows he had many, he made me love him. I thought the world of a man who stuck his dick in any woman with a pussy like it was his God-given duty to do so. I imagined he’d always been like that. Even if I had beautiful childhood memories of him. My papà, the Don of the Cosa Nostra but gentle and kind with me. Attentive to his wife. Loving, even. But the older he got, the worse my memories became. It was like the air around him masking his evil evaporated one deed at a time, leaving behind a truly sinful man. Bad to his very last bone. Before, he’d had his whores and mistresses lined up, but always out of sight. But in the last couple of years, it was like he stopped caring for his wife, or to have his dick in his pants. I idolized a man who took his pleasure from fucking any woman who stepped inside our home, whether Mamma was in it or not. Whether we were home or not. We’d all begun to dread a female hand knocking on our door more than a gunshot inside his office.

I hated him dead, too. As if it wasn’t bad enough to get himself killed while he was buried in another woman. He took so much away from Mamma. So much away from us. He had to keep taking away shit when he was dead. It was so easy for him. He was dead. Fucking Cosa Nostra was tilting off balance, and Vitale had to fix it by forming alliances using his sister as a pawn.

I didn’t know what was worse. Papà dead or alive. A world with Papà hurt like constant knife stabs in my heart. Without him, it all felt empty and felt suspiciously like sorrow.

My feet touched our driveway, and the chaos of activity quivered underneath me. Big, fat cars lined it right up to the street. I was not sure whose idea it was to invite our uncles, aunts, and cousins, but I couldn’t imagine it was a good one. Unease collected in my belly like little black pebbles in the shallows of a lake.

My plan had been simple. Sneak in through the backdoor up to my room and pretend I had fallen asleep. Except the moment my feet touched the black-and-white checkered, tiled floor of our kitchen, Mamma jumped on me as if she’d stood there the whole time waiting for me. Impossibile! My head jittered as she pulled me by the ear and shook me like I was a wet dog.

“I’ve been looking all over for you. Where’ve you been?” Mamma was a beautiful woman, but I swear when she was mad, death itself would dash away from her. Her lips thinned, and her face darkened, and she turned into a witch. It’s a pity she never showed it to Papà. Everything went blank in front of me. All my well thought comebacks scurried out of the room.

“Well…” her voice shook with impatience. “I don’t have all day, Daria.”

“Urgh…”

“Schifiu! I told you to stay home. Why can you never listen to me?” she wailed.

“Hmm—”

“Never mind.” She released me suddenly, making me stumble back. Her eyes coasted behind me. “Go now to your room,” she hissed.

I turned to find Divya with little Aria in her arms. Papà’s consigliere’s pretty wife was truly a blessing in disguise. I could have kissed them both. Mamma’s voice rattled with annoyance. “I don’t have time for this.”

I didn’t hang around for her to change her mind. I squeezed past Divya with a quick kiss to Aria’s cheek, and a whispered thank you. There was something about her that calmed Mamma down. A task not suited to any of her daughters. I was more than happy to pass it to her and rush out of the kitchen.

I ran into the hallway and stalled at the bottom of the stairs. Vitale’s office door was ajar, and I could see him pacing as he spoke on the phone. He’d converted the library into his office. We all knew why he didn’t want Papà’s office.

I hoped he wouldn’t get himself killed like Papà did. At least his sixth sense was better. He must have sensed my eyes on him because he turned and beckoned me with his finger to come in. His gaze dropped to my shoes as I stood near the doorway. He hung up without a goodbye. Typical, of course.

“Mamma know you took your carretto out?” He asked, a light amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I won’t tell her if you don’t,” I quipped.

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