Page 102 of That Time I Accidentally Took Over the Mafia

Some step out, taking positions on either side of the wide walkway leading up to the front door. Others remain by their vehicles, ever watchful. Several surround the limo, and one opens our door.

Enzo steps out first, adjusting his suit jacket. Luca and Jax exit from the other side while Enzo holds out his hand for me. I know he can feel the tremor in my fingers as he helps me from the car. He gives my hand an extra squeeze and a wink as I step in front of them, walking with my shoulders back and confidence in my stride.

The boys fall in step behind me, and while I want to look around, I know there must be no fewer than a dozen eyes on me as the long-lost Caputo heiress returns to claim her empire.

Luca had drones flying over the property all morning, so we watched from the limo as the heads of mafia families arrived. We practiced names as we watched the drone footage, then switched to the security feed in the house, watching them mingle.

Giovanni "Johnny Boy" Moretti was the first to arrive, and I chuckled, remembering my dance with Mr. Moretti and Eloise’s confessions in the bathroom. He looked absolutely nothing like Mr. Moretti, so anyone with eyes could tell his first wife stepped out on him and had the milkman’s baby.

Domenico "Dom" Ferrara, a strong enforcer of the Italians, and his men are often sent to collect debts from rival families. Raffaele "Ralphie" D'Angelo, a loan shark and extortionist, spent years working closely with my father. Now that my father’s gone, D'Angelo is eager to position himself and his family at the top of Chicago’s underworld.

Antonio "Tony" Vitale is Enzo’s cousin. The Vincenzi and Vitale boys have been long-running partners, known for their involvement in high-end real estate and money laundering operations. If there’s one family I know will be on my side today, it’s theirs. And they’re a force to be reckoned with.

I was especially excited to see Francesca "The Queen" Lazzarini arrive, and she did not disappoint. The first and only female boss, her icy demeanor and strategic brilliance were evident from a mile away. In black heels and a black pinstripe pantsuit jacket worn without a shirt, her buttoned blazer revealed just enough. Her ear-length black hair was styled in loose curls, with one side shaved. Her piercing green eyes scanned the property before she helped her wife out of their vehicle.

Lazzarini is a true story of rags to riches within the Italians, keeping her family under the radar while quietly expanding their influence. Now, she sits at the table with the other family heads—a formidable equal—and it’s impressive.

Other families haven’t survived the weeklong power struggle incited by my father’s death. Some are recovering, licking their wounds and laying low. So, there’s something to be said for those here today. These are the survivors.

After the Italians, the other mobs arrive, save the Sicilians who were wiped out in a mob war about four years before I was born. With the stature of the Caputo name, the heads of gangs attend in person. No representatives or dignitaries would be appropriate to meet the new leader of the Italians.

The Asian mobs and Irish arrive simultaneously. The Polish and Mexican mafias come next, with others filing in succession. The Russian Bratva arrives about five minutes before we do—definitely by design. They’re setting themselves up as rivals or equals. Either way, they’re someone to watch.

My heels click loudly against the concrete path as I pass the line of staff working full-time at the estate. I want to stop and say hello, maybe look for familiar faces, but there will be time for that later. These people work for the mafia—they know how these things go. All of them dip their heads in reverence as I pass, while I pretend this isn’t weird as hell.

Two guards wait just inside and walk ahead of me. Enzo, Jax, and Luca follow behind, with more guards bringing up the rear. I keep my eyes forward while trying to take in the details.

Touches of our Italian heritage are everywhere—in the home’s design and the art that hangs on the walls. It feels warmer now—not at all the drab, chilling place from my memories.

I had dreaded what it would feel like to be here again. I was certain I’d want to level this place and never step foot on these grounds again. But perhaps not.

The reading of the will is set in my father’s wine cellar. It’s vast—like an entirely separate estate underground. There’s an elevator, but descending the wide marble staircase that curves into the cellar is much more dramatic.

And today is all about putting on a show.

Enzo takes my hand as we descend the stairs. I hold my dress with the other hand and take a deep breath as we head into the belly of the beast.

As soon as the curve of the stairs reveals us, the family heads rise from their seats, their eyes fixed on me. They sit around the largest table I’ve ever seen. It must be twice the width and length of a standard table. Each family head sits in their designated space, with enough room on either side for another person or two.

I suppose it’s better to spread them out rather than stack a bunch of killers on top of each other.

There’s an open spot at the head of the table for me. Another seat next to it remains empty for Enzo, as head of the Vincenzi family. A few other empty chairs mark the families who are absent. On the other side of my seat is the executor of the will, who will oversee today’s reading.

Giuseppe Thomas.

I can’t stop fangirling over his name. Giuseppe.

I must have said it twenty times today, each time pinching my fingers together and saying, “Fuhgeddaboudit.” Jax joined in, and I thought Enzo was going to burst a blood vessel on the way here.

“Giuseppe is going to be my new safe word,” Jax announces with a gleam in his eye.

“I swear to God,” Enzo huffs under his breath, “I will get out and walk the rest of the way.”

“You’d be late then. You said twelve times the families can’t arrive after I do,” I remind him, echoing the rules he drilled into me last night.

“Hey,” Luca rubs Enzo’s knee, his eyes full of earnest understanding, “just fuhgeddaboudit.” He cracks a smile on the last few syllables, and Jax and I burst out laughing.

“Not you too,” Enzo groans, shaking his head.

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