Page 21 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

I hated this. I hated lying, especially to my father, but I had to do it. My story needed to sound convincing so he wouldn’t worry about me, and I couldn’t risk involving my sisters. True, they never talked to our father, but lies involving other people always went badly.

Much better to tell a story that would fool my entire family.

“Hi, Papà. I’m away on a last minute research trip with school. I should be home in a couple of days.”

“Are you studying dead bodies again?” His chuckle was weak, but genuine. “Who knew my sweetest daughter would be so fond of death?”

He liked to tease me about this. “I’m fond of savinglives,Papà. Not death. How are you feeling?”

“The same. Don’t worry about me. Enjoy your trip and call us when you can.”

“I will. Rest up and don’t overdo it when I’m not there.”

“Always nagging me,” he complained affectionately. “What would I do without you?”

My heart constricted, the organ squeezing painfully in my chest. With any luck, he’d never have to find out. “Love you, Papà. Speak soon.”

“Ti amo. Ciao, baby girl.”

We hung up. To distract myself from the lump in my throat, I checked on my texts. The group chat with my sisters was as active as ever. Everyday boring stuff, like what Frankie’s kids were doing and a drawing by Gia’s stepdaughter. They chatted about what they were streaming and asked for movie recommendations. Perfectly normal conversations between the two of them, and they hadn’t noticed my absence. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or annoyed.

The whole world was carrying on as usual, I supposed. It was only my life that had been turned completely upside down.

As Gia would say, FML.

CHAPTERSEVEN

Giacomo

Ipurposely came home late.

My mood was only slightly improved by a fantastic lay tonight. Theresa had been energetic, to say the least. We fucked for a long time and no doubt I reeked of pussy.

It had helped, but not much. The day’s events lurked in the back of my mind the whole time, distracting me while I emptied my balls.

A marriage I didn’t want.

A bride who didn’t want me.

A boss I needed to kill.

A sister to protect.

I couldn’t escape any of it, not even despite a mind-numbing orgasm.

The kitchen was dark when I came in. I hadn’t eaten tonight and I was ravenous. Like a mind reader, Sal left a note on the counter with instructions on how to reheat the caponata in the refrigerator.

As the microwave buzzed, I pulled out my phone and checked my messages. There wasn’t much. My men reported everything verbally. This was out of necessity. My father had been careless with his words and wallet, allowing the Guardia di Finanza to build a case against him. He’d gone into hiding and spent the last six years of his life on a farm, living in the mountains like a peasant.

That would not be me.

I’d rather die than go to prison and sit like a rat in a cage. I lived simply. Quietly. Intelligently. There would be no flashy purchases, like expensive watches or custom-made suits. Those government bastards would have to work hard to find dirt on me.

Surprising that I hadn’t heard from Mancini or Ravazzani yet. Hadn’t Roberto Mancini informed the family of the marriage? Emma might be temporarily stuck here with me, but I still expected a few useless threats from Toronto or Siderno.

Something to look forward to, I guess.

I carried my food to the kitchen island and poured a glass of wine, rolling the tension out of my neck. Then I found a football match on my phone and began to eat.

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