Page 20 of Alliance

She senses my sarcasm immediately and eyes me sternly with her resting bitch face. “You know what I mean,” she huffs. “It’s okay if you’re fucking pissed.” She waves her hands as if gesturing to my life in general.

“What’s your point, Mads?” I ask, annoyance tinging my words.

I wanted her to spit out whatever she was trying to say.

She blows a stream of air between her lips before continuing, “Ya know, just tell them fuckingno.”

I don’t know why the defiance worked for Madi, or why I couldn’t act out the ways she did. What would happen if I walked downstairs and told Damien and Carlotta Romano that I would not be marrying Davis LaFontaine. Ma would scream. Her voice was louder and higher pitched than an opera singer. Dad would firmly plant each of his hands on his hips and fix his deep brown gaze on me. After my body burned from fear, he would finally say “you think it’s okay to disrespect your parents like this?” There had been too many times my parents had given the wholeI clothe and feed youspeech. At this point in my life I had the damn thing memorized.

I should just leave, but they’d never let me. I think my ma would stalk me across the country before she let me move out of New Orleans. My family is fucked up. I can’t leave due to this silly notion that being born means I’m enslaved to them. But staying means I’m miserable.

At this point, I don’t even know what happiness feels like.

The emotion seems so foreign.

“What good would that do?” I mutter.

What would I even do if I left? My whole life has been my family. From a young age it was drilled into me thatfamily is everything. I can’t leave.

“I don’t know!” Madi sighs. “But it’s better than just resigning to...to this.” She waves a hand at me.

I look down at my yoga pants and oversized t-shirt. I’d given up on style lately.

Since my parents locked me in my room after my outing with Naz, everything seemed pointless and the last thing I wanted to do was dress up. No matter what I did, I would still end up walking down the aisle to Davis, and once he had me, my life would no longer be my own.

Davis has every desire to control me, to force me into the mold of what he wants a wife to be.

Apparently when you have enough money and influence, you no longer have to date to find yourself a perfect woman. You can just force someone else to be her.

My stomach rolls just thinking about my future husband. He elicits a deep sickness in me, one that can only be cured with another swig of Jack Daniels.

“It doesn’t matter,” I murmur. “It would be a waste of time to try and fight them.”

Madi stares at me, her face twisted with annoyance. “So you’ll just marry him?”

“Yep,” I tell her, taking another chug.

My fate is sealed.

Tony drives me home from the cemetery in deafening silence. The man doesn’t speak much, and it’s a fact that makes him one of my favorite enforcers. I often wonder how he feels about being put on “Lana duty.” He’s six feet of pure muscle, like all the enforcers that work for my father. The men with brains rarely end up driving daughters around.

No, those men are probably off doing something else. Inky black tattoos sprawling over olive skin floats to the top of my mind. I can see Naz’s dark eyes, the way his fingers trace over the St. Jude metal that falls from his throat. I wonder if he’s one of the smart ones. What kind of job does a man like Naz do for Marcus and my father?

I let the possibilities run through my mind. My knowledge of the American mafia comes more from documentaries and repeats of The Sopranos rather than my own family. My parents were quick to hide the realities of their life from Lily and I. We always knew something was off, as soon as we got to school it was apparent that not everyone was followed around by muscled men in black with guns strapped to their hips.

We knew our family was different.

By my teenage years, I had heard all the stories about my grandfather. To me, Papa was a hero. I love him more than I loved any other family member. He was my number one supporter, constantly amazed by everything I did. When I spoke, he listened intently, in a way that my parents never did. The version of him built up in my mind was nothing like the one in the stories I heard.

My classmates spoke of Carmine Costello as a ruthless murderer. The list of men killed on his orders was endless. Everyone I knew had a connection. People either loved him or hated him, there was no in between.

But I never saw that side of my family.

It wasn’t until I Googled his name in seventh grade that I finally realized how real the rumors were. My grandfather was head of the New Orleans mafia. My father had his own Wikipedia page, citing him as a well-known Capo, a high-ranking member of the mob.

My reality shattered that day. I had been living in an illusion, believing that my family was “normal” but all along we were criminals living a facade.

When I told Lily about my new discovery, she told me to keep it a secret, not to let Mom and Dad know that I found out. She told me it was easier that way.

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