Page 9 of That Time I Accidentally Took Over the Mafia

“Seriously?” I mutter, laughing as I flip him off.

He doesn’t stop, even pulling his gun and aiming at the car. For a moment, I think he’s going to shoot, but he doesn’t. Instead, he yells, “Delaney, stop!”

Yeah, right, fucker!

I floor it, speeding down the street. One last glance in the mirror shows my own face—eyes narrowed, jaw set.

These assholes will learn I’m not some damsel in distress. I’m Delaney Caputo, and this is my life. I call the shots.

Idrive with my hands clenched around the wheel, the gears of my mind spinning just as fast as the wheels on my car. My thoughts are a chaotic jumble of bullets, mafia wars, and—God help me—my father’s legacy.

Of course, I’m headed straight to Stacie’s.

I’ve known her for four years now, ever since I moved to Seattle. We hit it off instantly, both escaping the pressures of the world by getting lost in coffee shops and the pages of a book. I was there, plugging away at my next manuscript, and she was there, reading one of my previous books—unaware that the woman she was reading was sitting right across from her.

I still haven’t told her my real name. Four years of friendship, and I’ve let it go on like this. She only knows me as Dela Montgomery.

I’ve felt bad about it, honestly. I planned on telling her after I knew she was trustworthy, but the timing just never felt right. Then, after so long, it seemed weird. So, I just let it go. And now, here I am, driving to her place without a clue how to explain my real life. The one I left behind.

I call her as soon as I clear my street, my hands trembling as I pull up her contact.

“Stacie,” I say, trying to keep the edge of panic out of my voice.

“Oh my God, what’s happening over there? Where are you? The neighborhood app says there are gunshots near you,” she practically shouts through the phone. “Are you okay?”

My heavy sigh fills the car. “It’s... it’s just so bizarre. You’re never going to believe this.”

I begin running through everything, starting with Mr. Mediocre Marty. (I know that is not right. We’re moving on.)

I’m still in shock, but I know I need someone to process all this with, and Stacie is the only person I’ve trusted to be real with me—no matter how much I’ve kept from her.

By the time I pull into her driveway, I’ve just finished the part about the delivery guy getting a smoking hole in his head because my ex-fiancé shot him.

I can’t shake the images of blood, gunfire, and chaos, no matter how hard I blink.

Stacie greets me at the door, eyes wide with concern. “What the hell, Delaney?” she asks before pulling me inside and yanking the curtains shut.

“So, this whole time, you had no idea your dad was a crime lord? That’s so fucked up.”

“You’re telling me. And now I’m the head of his mafia empire.” I barely register the words as I say them, but somehow, they sound so much worse coming out loud. “Like, go eat shit, dude.”

Stacie looks at me, unblinking, before she pulls me into a hug. “This is insane. This is… unbelievable.”

“I know,” I mutter into her shoulder. “I’m still processing all of it.”

She pulls back and looks me up and down, her eyes assessing. “And you’re still here...in one piece?”

“For now,” I say, trying to hold my own, though I’m secretly shaking inside.

“You’re not doing this alone,” she says fiercely, her voice sharp. “We’re going to figure this out.”

Stacie’s kitchen feels strangely calm, like the world outside doesn’t exist—even though everything inside my head is a fucking dumpster fire. She’s standing at the counter, the kettle whistling as she prepares tea like we don’t have an entire mafia conspiracy unfolding just blocks away.

I’m so lucky to have a friend like her. There’s a literal gunfight going on because of me, and as soon as I get here, she just says,“What the hell, De…laney?”

Delaney.

The way my real name rolls off her tongue is like a pinball ricocheting around my brain. Not Dela. Delaney.

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