Page 3 of Owned by the Italian Mafia Boss
“Your funeral, lady.”
His concern has nervous turmoil brewing in my belly, and I started biting on my nails again—an awful habit I need to break. I have no idea what I’m doing, but something needs to be done, and I can’t just sit by and do nothing. I stare out the window, watching the trees rush by in a blur, and memories of my dad playing dress-up with me as a little girl run through my mind.
He’d even put on a tutu, which looked ridiculous, but mom left, and he had to play both parental roles. He’s an amazing father, so trying to settle this for him is the least I can do.
“We’re here,” the driver says.
“That was fast.”
“It’s been twenty minutes. You’ve been quiet, probably wondering what your fate is. Good luck.”
The moment I slam the door closed, the tires of his little Nissan spin burning rubber, and he speeds away.
And I’m left standing outside a fifteen-foot iron gate. It’s the only break in the giant metal wall that wraps around the entire property, and I can’t see anything behind it.
“You’re doing this. You are doing this,” I pep talk myself and walk up the driveway, then press the button on the intercom.
“What?” a man barks with a slight accent.
“I’m here to see Mr. Milazzo.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No—”
“You can’t just demand to see Mr. Milazzo. He’s a busy man.”
“I’m Delilah Reynolds. His people shot up my house last night because my father owes him money. I need to talk to him.”
Silence answers back, and then a growl. “We didn’t know he had a daughter.”
Something in the man’s voice sends a shiver down my spine, and the gate creaks open.
“Mr. Milazzo will see you now.”
“Thank you.” I want to hit myself. Why am I being nice to the people who ruined my life?
I step through the gate, and my breath catches. “Wow.”
Blood must pay well because this house is beautiful. It’s a large ivory-colored mansion with huge windows and round pillars bracing the front door. Green vines spread across the front of the house, giving it an inviting appearance in spite of the building’s intimidating size, and a fountain gurgles cheerily from a pond in the middle of a gorgeous green lawn.
I don’t allow people to make me feel less than, but as I walk up the marble steps and face two massive cherry-stained wooden doors, I feel small. With an exhale, I wrap my fingers around the metal ring hanging from the devil’s mouth, but the door opens before I can knock. A man dressed in all black is standing in the opening.
“Follow me,” he says, walking away without giving me a chance to respond.
I follow, but it’s hard to keep up when the inside of the house is just as beautiful as the outside.
Not wanting to be caught gawking, I keep my head down and follow the heavy footsteps in front of me. The click of the man’s expensive shoes echo down the vast hallway. Expensive paintings from the walls on either side of us, but I barely glance at them as we pass.
We came to a set of white double doors with sleek black handles.
“Mr. Milazzo? Ms. Reynolds is here.” the man speaks into his wrist. He must have received an answer because he swings the door open.
“Good luck.” He shoots me a predatory smirk and steps back so I can pass.
I wish people would stop saying that to me.
I enter what looks like a spacious office. The stranger shuts the door behind me, and a click sounds from the handle. I’m locked inside the room.
