Page 2 of Triplets for the Mafia Prince

Again, I imagine strangling my father and his Gentlemen’s Society, a more palatable name for a group that indulges in orgies, often with women who don’t have any say about their participation.

The casual cruelty in his voice makes my stomach lurch. I’m no saint, but I’m not a man who abuses women. The idea of delivering an innocent girl into the hands of a monster is untenable. I won’t be complicit in his sexual perversions.

“No. I won’t go. Find someone else to fetch your child bride. I won't have her blood on my hands."

I think back to the string of wives and mistresses, each one younger than the last. How they'd arrived thinking they’d be treated like Mafia queens, only to wither under my father’s cruel manipulations. The way he'd parade them around like trophies, share them with his friends, then discard them when he grew bored. I suspect most are dead, although they’re officially listed as missing or having run off.

I recall overhearing him once, bragging to his cronies about "training" his latest conquest. The casual way he spoke aboutbreaking a woman's will, as if it were nothing more than breaking in a new pair of shoes.

Even his relationship with me, his own son, has been nothing but a series of manipulations. The constant undermining, the impossible expectations, the deliberate sabotage of my efforts to prove myself. It's all part of his narcissistic need to be the center of attention, to ensure no one threatens his position at the top.

He sighs, like a father tired of arguing with his son. “You know you’ll do this, or Gia and those brats of hers will suffer.”

“You fucking bastard.”

“That’s your problem, Niccolo. You care. How can you think you’ll ever be a successful Don if you can be manipulated so easily? Caring makes you weak and vulnerable.”

"She has nothing to do with any of it."

"Oh, but she does," Gino counters, already knowing that he’s won. "Everything and everyone in this family is a potential asset, my boy. You'd do well to remember that."

"Fine," I spit out. "I'll go to Chicago. I'll bring the Rinella girl back. Just leave Gia alone."

Gino's smile widens, triumphant. "I knew you'd see reason. Take her to Gia. She’s going to keep her until the wedding.” Gino waves a dismissive hand. "Now get out of my sight. And Niccolo? Don't fuck this up."

I leave my father's office, my mind reeling from the confrontation. I hate that I’m not strong enough to defy him wholly. That I’m not brave enough to kill him.

He’s right in that Gia and her twins are my weak spot. It’s probably why I’ve never wanted to get married, at least not for love. Love makes you vulnerable in more ways than one.

But I’ll die before I let anyone hurt my sister and her kids. So I drive over to her place to check in and let her know I’ll be out of town tomorrow.

I’ve set her and the kids up in a nice townhome not far from Central Park. She works from home as a paralegal for the legitimate part of my law practice. I stop by a nearby pizza place to grab a pie and then to her home.

As I approach the front door, I hear the high-pitched squeals of the four-year-old twins inside.

Gia answers my knock, her face lighting up. "Nic! What a surprise!"

I manage a smile, pushing aside the dark thoughts swirling in my head. "Hey. I brought pizza."

She ushers me inside, and I’m immediately ambushed by two pint-sized tornadoes.

"Uncle Nic!" Daniella and Dario latch onto my legs.

“Goodness, all of a sudden, my legs feel like lead weights,” I say, trying to walk with them hanging off me.

“We’re not lead,” Daniella corrects me.

I set the pizza pie on the kitchen counter and then scoop them up, one in each arm. “No, you’re munchkins!"

Gia watches us with a fond smile. "They've been asking about you all week. You're overdue for a visit."

I set the twins down, ruffling their hair. "Sorry about that. Things have been… busy."

Her smile fades slightly, picking up on my mood. "Everything okay?"

I sighed. “Same old bullsh—ah… crap. I have to go to Chicago tomorrow."

Gia pulls a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and tells the kids to go wash their hands. I suspect it’s to get them out of earshot so they don’t hear family business. "Chicago? What for?"

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