Page 9 of Nico (Belles & Mobsters 2)

She just didn’t know it yet.

ChapterFour

BIANCA

Two Weeks Later

My twins played in our yard, the beautiful Chesapeake Bay view spread for miles in front of my eyes, the sound of waves and boats a distant noise among my girls’ laughter. The unique smell of the bay invaded my lungs and mixed with the hollow pain that lingered in my chest.

I don’t want to lose our home too.

Gibson Island gave the appearance of seclusion and privacy; it was my dream location to raise my little family. I fell in love with this house from the moment I saw it. It didn’t matter to me that it was only a shack when I spotted it. All I saw was potential in a prime location. William and I had put so much work into it. We camped in the living room for months while we slowly renovated the house.

My heart twitched in my chest. I should be scouting for apartments that I could afford, not staring out to the sea, unable to move or act.

I failed them. In another four weeks, their life would be turned upside down.

Today that dreaded letter finally came. It has been part of my nightmares for months now. I knew it was coming, but it was still a shock to see the foreclosure letter from the bank with the deadline by which we have to move out. Gosh, if only I had some of that money that William took. I’d probably use it to buy us some more time here, despite the fact I shook for days after running into Nico Morrelli.

That last month of William’s life, I took any money I could get my hands on. Even the dirty money he stole. I refused to give up, chasing any treatment and hope of keeping him with me… with us. Financially, we were completely unprepared for his illness and death.

Would I have made William and John return the money if we had another chance? That was the scary part. Initially, I insisted they return it, but then when I realized William needed it for his medical treatments, I never brought it up again. I was almost positive that I would have probably used that dirty money, even knowing the outcome would have been the same. William would have died either way. But it was only due to that money that my girls and I got a few extra weeks with my husband, and that made it all worth it. After his death, the punishment came.

Karma was a damn bitch if you asked me.

I took a job just to be able to afford to put food on the table. We were left with no savings and a little sum from the life insurance policy barely paid for funeral costs. With very little experience behind me, I couldn’t be picky and took the first job that paid decently. So here I was, playing secretary in a little law firm, trying to get by and failing miserably.

As long as we are together, we can handle everything.I kept repeating it over and over again. It just didn’t make me feel any better.

I had been working so hard to keep it together since William died. It made no difference. I still failed. Turns out, I didn’t realize how bad my financial dependence on him was until he was gone. It wouldn’t have mattered if the mortgage was half of what it was, I still wouldn’t be able to afford it along with property taxes on my salary. I was so desperate that I considered calling my mother.

But then I reminded myself where that could lead. There was a reason we rarely talked. She had sacrificed a lot already. She didn’t need another thing added to her plate.

Mom was Benito King’s mistress. My childhood was complicated. I rarely saw my mother growing up. I haven't seen her in a long time, but I did catch a picture of her and Benito King in the papers a while back. There was another man in the picture, Benito’s son. He looked just as cruel as his father - Marco King. He had some sick tendencies and his cruelty matched his father’s. At least that was what the papers said.

Mom had colored her blonde hair red and was on Benito’s arm, smiling happily. It was a fake smile though. The light in her beautiful blue eyes was slowly extinguishing. All because ofhim. I didn’t see my mother much, but I knew her well enough to know her happy smile from a fake one. Her whole persona was fake - what Benito wanted her to be.

God, I couldn’t even remember the last time I saw her happy. I wanted to save her; I just didn’t know how. I couldn’t even save myself and my girls from eviction. How in the hell would I have saved my mother from Benito’s clutches?

Sometimes I wondered how she could do it - be around a man so cruel. Even though she was doing it for me, everyone had a breaking point. And she had endured so much over the years. Was her breaking point coming or had she reached it already? It devastated me to imagine what she had to endure for so long.

“Women of our family are strong,”my grandmother’s voice echoed in my head. “We fight and we never give up. In the end, we always prevail.”

I had to remember that. The protection my family enveloped me in made me depend on them, but I had to get my shit together and step up.

From what I had learned, Benito King used my mother when he wanted something or needed her body. It made my stomach churn and despite the fact that he was my biological father, I wanted to stab him through his black heart. I wouldn’t mind watching him suffer and bleed, a long and painful death.

Mom expected him to be tired of her, but somehow that never happened. I loved my mother, but sometimes it was hard to understand her reasoning when I was a kid. None of it made sense to me - until my father revealed the truth on his deathbed. It would seem shit always came out during those last moments.

Honestly, I wasn’t even sure who my mother was or whether she even knew who she was. She has been Benito’s puppet for so long, I believed she’d lost herself. I mean, how could you not? In order to survive that man, you had to go under.

Being around the mafia kills all the joy out of a woman’s life,my grandmother would say. She would know, too, since she left her family in Italy exactly for that reason. She wanted a normal life in the land of the free, only to see her own daughter and family fall into the same world she attempted to escape. Talk about fucking irony.

I learned early on in my childhood the reason I couldn’t see Mom whenever I wanted was because of some fucked up agreement. The story was that Mom got pregnant before she had to be given in the Belles and Mobsters agreement. I didn’t like it, but I bought it. I didn’t learn the specifics of it until much, much later. The phrasethe devil is in the detailshas never been truer. I learned that Benito King was my biological dad and that I was the owed generation in the fucked up agreement when my dad passed. Or the man I believed to be my father until I learned otherwise. Except she traded her place, so I wouldn’t be part of the agreement. So, it skipped to my girls.

Obviously, we all bought the fabricated truth, including me and Benito King.Thank God.I couldn’t have imagined growing up with him as a father. Unlike Benito, the man my mother loved was caring and selfless. He was the best father any little girl could wish for. He taught me how to fix cars, how to survive in the wilderness, how to shoot, and even how to stab a man. My grandmother taught me how to cook and bake, and sew; although she claimed I should give up the latter.

I could remember the hurtful look in my mother's eyes when I’d tell her everything I’d done with Grandma and Dad. I couldn’t understand it, until much, much later. There had to be a way I could help her.

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