Page 1 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
1
ROMAN
I adjust my tie as we climb the stone steps of the Vitale estate, growing more irritated by this unexpected summons from my boss, Don Marco Calabresi, who’s apparently meeting with Don Vitale. He knows I’m off right now.
"Daddy, how long will this take?" Angelica, my seven-year-old daughter, tugs at my coat, her small face pinched with disappointment.
"Not long, Angel. Just some quick business, then we'll go."
God, I hope I’m not lying, but I probably am. There's no such thing as "quick business" with Marco.
When the Don calls, you answer immediately and for however long he requires.
Angelica makes a face. "You promised we'd get our Christmas tree today. The big ones will all be gone."
I glance down at my daughter, her dark curls bouncing with each step, her bottom lip jutting out in that stubborn pout that reminds me so much of her mother.
Guilt twists in my chest.
"We'll find the perfect tree," I promise. "The biggest, fullest one on the lot."
"That's what you said last time." The disappointment in her voice cuts deep.
She's right. I've postponed our tree shopping twice now.
First for a shipment issue at the docks, and now this.
The Christmas countdown is ticking, and I'm failing her.
The massive oak doors of the Vitale mansion loom ahead.
Inside waits Marco, my oldest friend, my boss, the man who's been like a brother to me since we were kids.
The man whose orders I never question.
"What if we tell Uncle Marco we have important Christmas business?" she says, hope brightening her face.
Maybe in the regular world, that would be an option. Not in my world.
Loyalty to the family isn't optional. It never has been.
The Calabresis gave my father a life when he had nothing. They gave me purpose after losing Emilia, Angelica’s mother.
And while he’s fucking up this moment, Marco gives me room to be a father.
I ring the bell and the door swings open. Roberto, Don Dominic Vitale’s houseman, greets us with a formal nod.
"Mr. Ginetti, Miss Angelica. Don Vitale and Don Calabresi are in his study with the others.”
The others? Is La Corona, the council of Mafia leaders, meeting? Their next official meeting isn’t for several weeks.
Roberto’s eyes soften at my daughter. "Ms. Elena and her little ones are in the kitchen making Christmas cookies if the young miss would prefer that company."
Angelica's entire demeanor transforms instantly at hearing Dominic’s cousin, Elena, and her triplets are here.
The sullen pout vanishes, replaced by wide eyes and a gap-toothed grin.
"Cookies? Real Christmas ones with sprinkles?" She bounces on her toes, winter boots squeaking on the marble floor.
