Page 10 of Tainted Princess
My uncle, Silvio De Marco, one of the Family’sCaporegimes,sat to his right. He was only a few years older than my father, but he looked as if life had beaten him hard. He was short and bloated, with small eyes and a bulbous nose, and he appeared to constantly be squinting. I had never liked my uncle, always wary of his wandering hands and vulgar words. He was a disgusting, brazen asshole who thought the world owed him something simply due to his last name. Silvio never got the fact that hard work and dedication were what his father had used to build the empire he now ruled, and he behaved like a spoiled brat because of it.
He also hated that my father had been voted in as Underboss and he hadn’t. Whined about it all the time when he thought no one was around to hear him. Lucky for me, I had been good at being ignored.
The otherCapiwere also seated at the table, Gino Bertoli, Carmine Lombardi, and Giuseppe Argenti. Their respectiveSoldatiwere spread around the room in the other chairs.
Almost the entire might of the Family was here tonight to hear my verdict and none of them looked particularly happy about it.
Except for my Uncle Silvio. His face was filled with elation, red and sweaty as if he had just run a mile.
Or had sex. Gross.
I turned my attention to my grandfather, nodding respectfully but not speaking, and waited for him to begin.
“You know, Francesca,” he began slowly, “if you were a man, you’d be dead already.”
“Yes, Don Carlo.” My grandfather studied me, watching for a reaction to his words. It was more patriarchal bullshit, but at least this time it was working in my favor. No one relished the idea of killing a woman.
My eyes strayed to my uncle again. Well, almost no one. I bet there wasn’t a whole lot Silvio wouldn’t do if it got him closer the title of Boss of the De Marco Family.
I suppressed a shudder at the thought of Silvio at the helm of the Family. He would be a greedy bastard with the crown on his head, consuming all the resources without a care for the future.
The Family would crumble in under a year with Silvio in charge, I could almost guarantee it.
“I met with the Commission earlier.” The Commission was the name for the gathering of all the heads of all Five Families. It had been formed before the second world war as a way to take some of the tension out of having one leader telling everyone what to do. It was more a board of directors these days, with a chairman and voting and such. Very democratic.
“Among other things, we discussed what should be done with you.”
Done with me. Like I was just some problem to be solved.
I resisted rolling my eyes, but stepped forward, pulling out the chair and taking a seat. The men in the room shifted, everyone suddenly very uncomfortable now that a woman was seated at their table, like it was bad luck or something.
Fucking traditions. I was likely the first woman ever to sit at this table, and you’d think it was the end of the world or something.
That’s the thing with the Mafia; they were always looking backwards, so focused on their histories and traditions that they failed to see the new opportunities right in front of them. They were so obsessed with the way things had always been done, that there was no room for ambition or ingenuity. My father and I would discuss this often when we were alone. We would drive out to the river, find a quiet bench and toss breadcrumbs to the ducks while he laid the woes of being the Underboss at my feet.
The inability of the Families to embrace change was his biggest concern. He hated that they refused to accept women into their ranks. "Mia Stellina," he would say, shaking his head sadly. "They are missing out on a brilliant mind when they pass you by. You are worth more than your ability to make sons and daughters. It’s a shame they will never see it."
We would talk for hours about ways to make improvements to the Organization. It was hard for him to put our ideas on the table. He had to be so cautious. My uncle in particular would use every opportunity to undermine his brother, rallying the others in opposition to anything he presented.
In the end, he was able to make some headway, moving the Family forward while keeping hold of our interests in these uncertain economic times. My father was a good earner, and when all was said and done, that was what mattered.
And now he was rotting in a federal prison.
Fucking Eric.
While the other men glared at my impudence for daring to sit at their table, my grandfather looked at me with more than a little respect.
“There are those in the Commission,” he went on, his voice silencing the grumbles around the room, “who think that you are responsible for your father’s arrest. That you are nothing more than a rat and should be dealt with as such.”
Six months ago, that accusation would have sent me from the room weeping. That someone in the Family would think me capable of such a thing would have rendered me a sobbing mess.
Today it simply hardened my black heart.
“Those people know nothing of me or of my commitment to this Family. This Organization means everything to me. You know this, grandfather.”
His eyes softened marginally, but there were more grumbles from around the room at my informal address. I was not before him now as a beloved grandchild, but as a potential threat to the Organization.
I understood it, even if I hated it.
