Falling for the Mafia Boss

Chapter One

***The prologue was one year into the future - The remainder of the book will be the story that works up to the prologue.***

Mia POV

Comfort swells in my soul as we turn onto Willow Street. I point to the red brick mailbox with the number 4055 hand-painted on it. "That's it," I tell the Uber driver. He pulls into the driveway and puts the car in park, popping the trunk for me. I dart out the door and grab my bags. Handing him a fifty-dollar bill, I bid him goodbye.

I stare at the house for a moment. I've been gone for three years, and the house looks the same as when I left. It even has the same yellow garden hose wrapped up on the side that I don't think has been used since we got the sprinkler system put in when I was a kid. The bricks are the same red they have always been but a little faded now. I smile at the concrete path that runs up to the steps of the house. Memories of playing hopscotch up that path make my lips curl up into a smile. I search the rock for my and my older brothers’ handprints. When I find them, my heart does a cartwheel.

My mom opens the solid oak door and yells for my dad. "Rocco, she's here!" She jumps down the steps and wraps me in a death grip of a hug. I've always loved her hugs. She squeezes me like a glove when she hugs me. She smells like cucumber melon, and it brings me back to my childhood. I missed her so much. She rocks me as she holds me, coaxing my worries to fade with each sway. That is until I saw my dad.

My dad leans up against the door frame with his hands in his pockets. He smiles, but it does not reach his ears like the smile I remember. "Stellina," he greets me tiredly. His tone breaks my heart but also makes it swell as he uses my Italian nickname, Stellina - his little star. He has lost a lot of weight, at least 100 pounds. He used to resemble Mr. Clean, and we would laugh as a family each time mom came home with one of those products. Now he looks like a true cancer patient. Pale dry skin, tired eyes, and no fat left on his body.

I'm guessing my mom feels that I am holding my breath because she rubs my back reassuringly. "He's doing better today," she whispers into my ear, rubbing my back before letting me go. Her optimistic spirit was always uplifting in hard times, but now I think she's just in denial.

I stop in front of him after hopping up the steps and wait for him to open his arms to me. He opens them, and I smoosh my face into his chest. I expect to take a deep breath and catch the citrus scent that he naturally has, but instead, a foul smell invades my nose. It smells like rotting flesh… like death. I must fight the impulse to gag and pull away from him. I know that these days are his last and that I need to make every moment count, so I stay like this, holding him, for as long as he lets me.

Mom called me last week and told me the devastating news. The chemo wasn't working anymore, and the doctor gave him a few weeks to live. Within a few months, he went from stage 2 to stage 4 cancer. His cancer had spread and moved into his lungs and heart. At this point, the only thing we can do is keep him comfortable. Mom thinks we need to get a second opinion, but seeing him confirmed the ugly truth for me. As much as I hate to admit it, the doctor is right.

When we found out about the cancer, the university let me double up on my classes so I could graduate early. Normally, an advanced student like me would take 5 classes a semester, but I have been taking 8. Luckily, I finished all my work early and was able to get up here before it was too late. School has been rough this last year but I made it through it. I will be able to walk the stage in three weeks to receive my bachelor's. I hope Dad hangs on long enough to see it.

Mom takes me and Dad into the kitchen, and we sit down at the small breakfast nook in the corner. She talks to me and Dad while she prepares sandwiches. I tell her about college and how hard I have been struggling to work and pass all my classes. I brag about my grades because I worked hard. I deserve to brag. She sits down with us, bringing us our sandwiches, and we catch up on other things too. She tells me about the neighbor's cat who has fallen in love with Dad and about other mind-distracting things. We don't talk about Dad and cancer. Instead, we try to brighten the air for Dad's sake.

Being home makes me warm inside, and it just feels right.

"So, Mia, will you be staying in your old room while you visit?" my dad asks and then takes a big bite of his sandwich. I'm assuming Mom didn't tell him about my 'friend' coming because she didn't want to upset him. So, I guess now is the perfect time to break the news to him. Mom's eyes get really big, and she mouths the words 'sorry' to me. Mom never did like to upset Dad.

"I got a room up at the Marriott for the first week. Then I'll come stay here for the remainder of my vacation," I tell him, and he stops chewing.

"Why are you staying there for a week? The Marriott is no place for my daughter; you need to be here with family." He waits for me to answer his question like I'm in trouble, his eyes wide and accusing.

I dig around in my purse and pull out the velvet bag that I hid my ring in on the way here. I dump it onto the table and then slip it onto my ring finger. I hold it out for my dad to see. "I brought someone for you to meet. His name is Dylan. I thought it would be disrespectful for us to stay here being unmarried," I tell him shyly.

Mom grabs my hand and studies the single princess-cut diamond ring. "It's gorgeous, dear, and expensive, I'm sure!" she hypes me up, but Dad is livid. He stands up and pushes his chair in, slamming it back into place. He picks up his plate and throws his food into the trash - the glass plate and all. He begins to walk out of the kitchen but spins back around.

"You are twenty-one, Mia. You are not going to get married to some fool who isn't even man enough to ask for our blessing!" His chest heaves with anger, and his eyes bulge with frustrated pressure. I honestly didn't expect him to react this way. I thought he would be happy I found a good guy who loves me.

Mom gets up and pulls the glass plate from the trash, tossing it into the sink. "Don't be an ass, Rocco; he is good to your daughter, and that should be enough to make you happy." He turns his attention to my mother and starts to huff and puff. He and her argue loudly in Italian, their raised voices reminding me on why I wanted to leave for college so badly.

I'm so thankful when I hear a car door slam outside. My heart raced with anticipation to see Donnie.

Donnie has always been my rock. He treats me like I am the only girl in the world who is worthy of anything. I'm lucky I was blessed with such a good big brother. He was always my best friend and let me get by with things Dad would never have. Having a protective brother was hard at times because I was never allowed to date, but he only wanted me to have everything I deserved. He used to say, "None of these boys are good enough for you, Stellina. Go to college, build a career, and you will never need or want a man."

Donnie is dressed in black dress pants, a subtle olive green silk polo shirt, and grey dress shoes with a matching belt. His black hair is slicked back, and he's leaning up against a blacked-out Jaguar talking on the phone in a hushed tone. He is much bigger than I remember him, and I bet it's from all the time he spends in that gym he owns.

He hangs up when he notices me walking outside and grins from ear to ear, holding his chest like he is having a heart attack, "Mia anima, Mia." (My heart, Mia) he says.

I run to him and wrap my legs around him, jumping onto him. "Donnie!" he twirls me around and kisses my cheek. "Damn, Donnie, did you swallow the Hulk?" I laugh at my joke, and he joins me in laughter. It feels so good to be around him again. I missed him so much. "Nice car, is it yours?" I ask, and he nods.

"Yeah, I bought it a few months ago."

Mom comes out of the house and kisses her son's cheeks and hugs him hard. "Donnie, your sister upset your pop already, and she hasn't even been here an hour. Go calm him down, please. He's freaking out about meeting Dylan in the morning," she tells him.

All the blood rushes from my face, and I choke on the saliva I try to swallow down. Donnie pats my back out of reflex and looks at my mom confused. "Dylan?" he questions.

Mom reaches down and pulls my hand up into Donnie's face. "Mia's fiancé…" Mom looks from me to Donnie and then quickly steps in front of me, blocking me from his growing anger. "You didn't tell him either, Mia! You're going to give all the men in our family heart attacks," she yells at me and then turns to Donnie to do damage control for me.

Donnie is yelling at me in Italian, and I only catch the words I know; young, loser, and never. I really should have focused on learning Italian instead of Spanish, but my plan is to move down south. Not too many people down south speak Italian. The Italian territory is the east coast so if you're not on the east coast you don’t need to know that language.

My phone rings – it's Dylan. I jog over to the back gate and go into the backyard trying to get some privacy.

Me: "Hello?"

Dylan: "Hey baby, I just wanted to make sure you made it."

Me: "Yeah, I made it. Sorry, I forgot to send you a text."

Dylan: "I was worried because you didn't send me your location. I've never trusted those Uber drivers. Send it now."

Me: "I know I forgot. I was so nervous and excited to see my family. I'll send it as soon as we get off the phone."

Dylan: "You tell your dad yet?"

Me: "Yep."

Dylan: "How'd he take it."

Me: "As expected. Better than my brother, I guess."

Dylan: "I’ll win them over tomorrow at dinner. I’ll see you at the hotel later, baby. I got to go. One more meeting and then I’m getting on my flight."

Me: "Okay, I love you. See you then."

Dylan: "Bye—"

Another car door slams, so I go to the front to see who it is. To my surprise, a black SUV is sitting at the end of our driveway, and Donnie is talking to a hooded man who sits behind the steering wheel. The man gives Donnie an envelope, and they shake hands. The SUV slowly pulls away, and Donnie jogs back to his car. He throws the envelope onto the passenger seat and shuts the door.

"Who’s that?" I ask.

He narrows his eyes at me, "Who’s Dylan?" Ugh, he’s not going to leave this alone.

I cross my arms over my chest, "He’s my fiancé, Donnie."

"How long have you been dating him?"

"A year," I tell him.

"Dio mio (My god), Mia, and you’re just now telling me about him. You didn’t think that before you tell him yes you let your family get to know him?" he scolds.

God, this is going to be a long afternoon. "He proposed Sunday night. I thought you would appreciate it if I told you in person rather than through text. I’m giving you a chance to meet him now. He will be here for a week. He would love to see your gym. He played baseball his first few years in college." I’m hoping that maybe Donnie’s gym can help them bond. Anything at this point would do.

Come on, Donnie, throw me a bone, I beg in my mind. My brother scowls like I’ve just told him that the world was flat or something ridiculous. Great. Not even the gym will work as a bonding mechanism.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes out, "Dio mio. (My god)" Again, before looking back up at me. "You're twenty-one. You can’t marry the first boy who likes you and hope he’s the one. You have to get out there, have fun, and mingle. You just finished college a week ago. What if he is a loser or his family sucks?"

"He’s not a boy, Donnie, he’s your age, he’s twenty-five. His father owns a practice in Texas, and Dylan is to be his anesthesiologist. I got a really good job offer in Austin too, and we plan on moving there in June. I have met his family before; they are not losers." I pull my phone out and bring up the picture of the condo that we applied for because that is what I want to talk about next.

Instead of looking at my phone, though, he grabs my hand and studies my ring. He throws my hand off to the side and pushes my phone from his face. "You are too good for anybody. You do not have my blessing, Stellina. I don't like him already. What kind of man asks a woman to marry him without meeting her family?"

He stomps away from me - done with this conversation.

Great... First Dad is upset with me... and now Donnie. They can act like it's my age, or the fact that Dylan didn't ask for their blessing before proposing is why they are mad, but I know the truth. Dylan isn't Italian like them.