Page 3 of Princess of the Mafia

I put my back against the hot car and waited for my brothers to show up. It took me all of a millisecond before I took out a cigarette and stuck it between my lips. My peripheral view picked up Remo’s disapproval as I blew out that first smoke of gray edged with a harsh sigh.

I supposed I was a badass compared to his boss. Antonio Capizzi was the consigliere and the only diplomat in the Cosa Nostra as far as I was concerned. However, how long he would remain the consigliere or the diplomat was to be seen now that Carlo was six feet under and Vitale was running the show with revenge boiling in his veins. Still, the man didn’t smoke and worshipped his fucking Indian wife too much to have trysts with a temporary stewardess, I assumed.

“You know, Remo,” I told him in between a lazy puff and looking straight ahead. “I imagine life must be boring now with Capizzi. If you miss America, I can always find you a position in my household.”

The man next to me turned rigid. “Grazie, Signore. But I wouldn’t dream of leaving Casa Capizzi.”

I didn’t miss the slight accusation. Whatever. His loss. Still, his loyalty annoyed me. I tried to imagine Antonio’s life and came up with one word. Boring. The exact sentiment I wanted to run away from. His was a life with one woman every single night. I, on the other hand, liked mine with variety. I liked them quiet. Unemotional. Non-Italian. Preferably with long black hair that I could wrap around my fist as I fucked them from behind. The stewardess had been all of that. The non-Italian part was especially important. I was allergic to drama as much as I was to marriage. Which made me wonder again what I was doing here. At least Capizzi had got the non-Italian part right. One had to admire the guts he had to go through with it. If only all of us were free of responsibilities.

My brothers appeared at the open jet door. About fucking time. I squashed the cigarette under the ball of my foot and slid into the passenger seat. “Leave it,” I told Remo tightly, just as he made to close the door. I wasn’t planning to suffocate in my agitation while I waited for my brothers to saunter over to the car.

Nico moved, cool and collected. Nothing bothered him. He could wake up with dynamite pinned to his body and still be unaffected. How would he react if he were in this situation? Nothing made him react. That was his vice. One that I didn’t have. I felt like a gorilla about to be caged. Even if I knew it made sense. Even if I knew this was a necessity. I imagined my balls being bitten off by a rabid dog would be more pleasurable than the situation I was in. No one knew the responsibilities of the Cosa Nostra more than I. Yet even for me, this was stifling at its best.

Stefano strode past Nico with two bags in his hands. He dumped them in the trunk and slung himself into the back seat. “Really, Enzo, you could have at least carried your own damn bag.”

“Forgot,” I said tightly.

“Yeah? Fucking the stewardess will do that,” Stefano muttered just as Nico and Remo got into the car. Remo’s barely-there grimace would have escaped the attention of many if we weren’t made men watching for any sign of an imminent attack. “What’s with him?” Stefano asked loudly.

“Life’s too boring with Capizzi,” I muttered to Stefano’s soft chuckle.

“I hope you took a shower. Another woman’s juice on you is not a good look when you meet your future wife.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” My hands fisted as Remo took off. If I had to be caged in a car, I would have preferred one with an engine. Fucking electric cars. You couldn’t even enjoy the pleasure of a humming motor. The only thing hanging in the air was silence and traction. I yearned for my ride back home. To ride without a wife hitched on to me sounded like a dream just about now.

The scenery whizzed past me without my attention. Mamma said Sicily was beautiful. All I saw was tradition and a contract with a wife on the other end of it. The fact that Mamma had tainted Sicily with her death didn’t exactly fucking help.

“You realize that might have been your last fuck before you tie the knot, don’t you?”

Jesus! Stefano was on a mission today. As if I had not thought of that. For about a fucking second, before I consoled myself. This was a business arrangement. I could fuck anyone I wanted. When I wanted. Wife or not.

“He’s not planning to stop,” Nico said shrewdly.

I sometimes wondered if Nico’s talent to diffuse any situation had anything to do with the fact that he disappeared into the background, and half the time, even I didn’t know he was still around.

I caught Stefano exchanging a glance with him in the rearview mirror before leaning back in the seat. “Of course, he isn’t.”

I didn’t care to know what that tone implied.

What a joke. I was a fucking capo. I’d killed too many men to keep count, owned too many clubs to be legal. I owned laundromats, yet my money wasn’t clean. Weapons were my drugs and murder my comfort, but somehow even I couldn’t choose who I married. Everyone thought it was Di Matteo who was weak now that Carlo was gone. But if Di Matteo was weak, so was I. Without alliances, there was nothing to stand up to. Without clear borders, my goods couldn’t be shipped. Fuck it, we both needed this to go through.

The only silver lining in all of this was that the Cosa Nostra girls were known to be brought up well. They were trained to be the perfect wife from the moment they popped out of their Mamma’s vagina. They were taught to cook and be silent. They wouldn’t know how to spread their legs if there was a video tutorial next to them. Innocence was bred into them, and all I had to do was impregnate my wife for an heir and I could get on with my life. She would be a doll in my house. A picture of perfection. She would drape my home like the artwork hanging on my walls. Perhaps coming home once in a while to a home-cooked meal wouldn’t be bad after all. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had one of those. Probably when I was nine, and Mamma was alive and kicking.

I let Stefano’s chatter about the latest Glock he was into soothe me. Nico listened with a nod once in a while. Both my brothers were batshit crazy. Yet there was no one else I would trust than them.

Di Matteo probably thought I was an idiot to come alone with my brothers. We may have wanted to form alliances, but we were who we were. Made men who lived for the smell of blood. What he didn’t know is that with just the three of us, we weren’t beyond burning down his little town. The only difference was that we just chose not to. Maybe I was beginning to know Capizzi for a bit too long. His fucking influence was rubbing off on me, and I didn’t like the itch it brought to my skin.

“Stop the car.”

Remo screeched to a stop and threw me a look of confusion.

“Need a smoke,” I muttered darkly before striding towards the run-down building we’d just passed. I didn’t need to look to know that my brothers would follow.

The once white, now all kinds of gray building, looked like it would rather collapse in than welcome any guests. The ivy climbing the walls did its best to hide it from any passers-by. But I’d spotted rattan chairs and marble tables. Besides, even a rock was enough to give me a reprieve to take a tad longer before I had to go play fucking nice with my future wife.

I’d already lit a cigarette before I’d pulled a chair out. Nico joined me, his cold eyes calming my nerves as Stefano went inside to the dingling of a bell.

“We don’t need alliances,” Nico muttered darkly.

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