Page 15 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

“I’m not taking you to the airport.” His voice was rough gravel.

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“No, I really don’t. This makes no sense. You’re acting as if we don’t have a choice in what’s happening.”

“Because we don’t. Not at the moment anyway.”

“Mo, whatever you are thinking,” Zani warned in the front seat, “don’t do it. Accept this and don’t fight him.”

I caught the flash of a grim smile on Buscetta’s face. “But I love a good fight.”

CHAPTERFIVE

Giacomo

Icouldn’t ever remember being so angry in my life. I wanted to hit something. Someone. Anything.

My skin buzzed with the need for violence, like it did right before I stepped into the ring. Virga thought he had me beat. He actually believed that I would use an outsider—an innocent woman in every way—as leverage in a business dispute. Only a coward would do such a thing.

My father would have done such a thing. My brother, as well.

That wasn’t me. I would win this battle my way. I would end this marriage quicklyandget the drug trade from Ravazzani. If that meant killing Virga and taking on the entire Cosa Nostra, so be it.

I just needed to ensure Viviana’s safety first.

I pulled my car into the drive and motioned to the guards. They opened the heavy gate and I continued on toward the garage.

A heavy feeling settled in my stomach. I hated this place. It never felt like my home. The specter of my father loomed everywhere here, with ghostly remnants of his terrorizing reign around every corner, right down to the floorboards he used to make me kneel upon.

“Stay there until you are ready to show your respect, Giacomo.”

Once I knelt for twelve hours, pissing myself in proud defiance. But I broke long before he did, unable to take the agonizing pain in my eleven-year-old body any longer. I had begged for his forgiveness, like he knew I would.

In response he slapped my face and called me a dog. Then he made me clean the piss off the floor with my shirt.

But I had endured. I suffered everything the old man had dished out because if Papà was focused on me, then he wasn’t paying attention to my baby sister, Viviana.

I got out of the car and headed toward the door. Let Zani deal with Emma. He was better with people, anyway.

First I needed to call my sister. A sweet and gentle soul, she hadn’t been strong enough to withstand our father’s cruelty. At eight years old she started suffering panic attacks and night terrors. When she was twelve they grew worse and my father talked about marrying her off at thirteen years old. I couldn’t allow that to happen, so I faked her death and moved her to a secret facility in the Italian countryside. For years everyone believed her dead.

And somehow Virga discovered my greatest secret.

Inside the kitchen I found Sal kneading bread. The smell, rosemary and garlic, was familiar and calming. “Don Buscetta,” the older man said, looking up. “Zani didn’t inform me you were on your way.”

Sal has been around for as long as I could remember. He used to be my father’s soldier, until he lost an eye and a gunshot practically destroyed his knee. Soon after he became a handyman, doing odd jobs around the estate without complaint. As a boy I spent a lot of time with him to avoid my father and brother, so it only made sense to bring Sal inside as my housekeeper when I took over as don.

It turned out to be a good decision. He was a decent cook and easy to be around, as well as unquestionably loyal.

“We were too busy to ring you,” I said. “Fair warning, my new wife is on the way inside.”

Sal’s hands froze in the dough, his lips parting in surprise. “Did you say . . . wife?”

“Temporary, Sal. Capisce? Don’t get attached.”

At that instant, the back door opened and Zani ushered Emma inside. That was my cue to leave. “Let me know when dinner is ready,” I called on my way into the house.

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