Page 6 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

Ah. So, Buscetta didn’t wish to do this, either. Good. It meant he and I could come up with a solution to this problem.

I forced myself to my feet. “I’ll go pack.”

“Va bene.” Virga didn’t move, but one of his men started toward me. “Sandro will come with you. And so you know, my men will stay behind here until the wedding in Sicily. Just in case.”

Here? Near my father? “You can’t do that. It will upset him.”

“All you need to do is marry as I’ve instructed and they will leave Toronto.”

I glared at him, feeling my life and future slip through my fingers like sand. I wasn’t prone to dramatics and tantrums—that was more Gia’s style—but I was close to starting right now. Maybe I should scream for the guards outside.

Virga spread his coat wide to show off the pistol he wore in a holster. His tone was as cold as Lake Ontario in February. “If you are hoping for a rescue from the men outside, I hate to disappoint you.”

“What did you do to them?” I choked out.

“That shouldn’t concern you at the moment.”

I’d known most of these men my entire life. Were they injured? Dead? “Are they hurt?”

“I would focus on your own well-being, signorina, rather than anyone else’s.”

More threats? “If you hurt me, I can’t come with you.”

“You very much underestimate me, then. There are plenty of ways I can hurt you, Miss Mancini.” He let that statement sit for a minute, and I could feel sweat building up at the nape of my neck. Then he said, “I suggest you start packing and we can avoid any further violence.”

What choice did I have? I’d rather suffer at the hands of this man than see Gloria or my father harmed.

Buscetta didn’t want this union either.

That gave me a tiny sliver of hope.

Shoving aside my panic, I started for the stairs. I had to speak to Buscetta as quickly as possible. We needed to come to a practical agreement—one that would save my family, while also avoiding a lifelong commitment between a pair of strangers.

Then I would return to Toronto and my father’s bedside, war and marriage avoided.

Don Buscetta, whoever he was, would certainly be reasonable about this.

CHAPTERTWO

Giacomo

“Be reasonable!Vi prego, Don Buscetta,” the man gurgled.

I hit his face again and blood spurted from his mouth. “Reasonable?” I snarled. “Reasonable when you are stealing from the family? Reasonable when you are so disrespectful? Ma dai.” I punched him in the stomach. “Why should I be reasonable after such grave offenses?”

I let him fall to the ground, where he crumpled into a little ball. He was one of my brother’s men, a high-level soldier who handled transactions with the Russians. He thought I was stupid, that I wouldn’t know what he’d done.

People underestimated me because of my large size and rough appearance. They believed me stupid, nothing more than a thug. This included my dead brother and father.

Except I liked math. I was good at it. Math was easy, straightforward, and it never changed, never lied. Which is how I was certain thiscoglionehad stolen from me.

Whimpering, he said, “I’m not stealing from you, Don Buscetta.”

“Cazzata.” I spat into the dirt next to his head. “You are undercutting my profits, skimming from the top.”

Slowly, he tried to crawl away, a denial on his traitorous lips. “No, I swear it.”

Advancing, I kicked him in the ribs with the toe of my boot. “You sold them eight-hundred-and-fifty-thousand worth of guns,stronzo. Except I only have seven-hundred-and-fifty-thousand Euros to show for it. You are short one-hundred-thousand. If I had to guess, it’s either up your nose or in some random pussy.”

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