Page 17 of Vicious Games

“You don’t know that.” Annamaria pouts, hating Stella for going to the crux of why she wants Frances to come over to our house. “I could be if I wanted to.”

“You’re aprincipessa,Anna.Principessasdon’t become nuns. They marry mobsters,” Enzo teases with a wink. “Even Stella will have to settle down eventually. Poor bastard.”

“Fat chance that’s happening,” Stella quips.

“You sound confident,” I say with a mischievous grin, “but if Anna can’t be a nun because she’s aprincipessa,then you can’t be an old maid either. It goes against the rules.”

“What rules?” she snarls back.

“Uh… every rule in the mafia handbook, duh?” I retort.

“Oh, bite me, Lucky. There is no such rule.”

“Of course, there is. Tell her, Mom.”

Our mother’s face turns red, clearly regretting this entire conversation.

Andthis,ladies and gentlemen, is how the Romano family does breakfast—landmine topics everywhere.

“We can talk about that later,” my mother says, quickly steering the topic away from my baby sister’s potential holy vows and Stella’s probable and more precarious impending nuptials. But when she turns her attention back to me, I honestly would have preferred to continue discussing the futures of both my sisters locked away in a convent.

“Ask Frances if she’s free for dinner next Friday.”

“Nope. Not happening.” I cross my arms.

“I’ll invite her,” Enzo offers, relishing my suffering.

“Thefuckyou will,” I shoot back.

Before I can argue further, my father, Vincent, strides into the kitchen in his finest Armani suit, looking more like a high-powered businessman than theCapo dei Capiof the Chicago syndicate.

“Who are we inviting to dinner?” he asks, pressing a kiss on my mother’s lips.

Yeah. They’resappylike that.

“The girl who punched Lucky’s lights out,” Stella chirps.

“She did not knock me out!” I protest, already fearing that news of me getting punched will be highly exaggerated before I arrive at school this morning.

My father glances at me, amusement flickering in his light hazel eyes. “Are you sure? Looks to me like she got you good, kiddo.”

He reaches out, tipping my chin up to inspect the damage himself.

“It was a sucker punch. I never saw it coming,” I try to explain, doing my utmost best not to shrink under his inspection.

“Ah, music to any made man’s ears—that his kid gotsucker punchedbya girl,” Stella says, sipping on her latte.

“I doubt her gender adds anything more to the insult. If it had been a male classmate, the end result would have been the same,” my father says stoically, still eyeing me carefully.

In other words, my shame would have been the same.

“Not if the girl in question is going to be a nun,” Stella smirks.

“Enough, Stella,” Dominic warns. “No need to pour salt on the wound.”

“I’m not, Dad. All I’m saying is, how is Lucky supposed to be inducted next year after graduation when he can’t even see a punch coming?”

“Stella,” my father, Vincent, cautions, letting go of my chin. “That’s enough.”

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