Doomed to Love the Mafia Boss.

Chapter 4

I did not even know what my family’s business consisted of. I only knew that certain shipments arrived from time to time. But what did they contain?

Whatever it was, it changed the temperament of the man who claimed to be my father and turned him into a monster every day. He went to Mass on Sundays, prayed, and took communion, but absolutely nothing made that rotten soul any better. His character kept deteriorating, and I watched it happen over time without understanding the magnitude of what was taking shape.

But Paolo knew. That little smile and the ambition in his eyes as we left the dining room told me so. Even so, full of doubts, sadness, and immense disappointment, I went up to my room and cried until I felt dry inside. I felt hollow, as if emptiness were all I had left, and that is how I remain to this day.

Mom was buried in a closed casket, because not even her face was fit to be seen, but I still kept her image in my memory, aware that I had seen her for the last time when she tucked me in to sleep.

I remember the Capo, Don Salvatore Vitale, offering his condolences to Father, and the way his gaze gleamed when it turned to me as he gestured to the Underboss. It gave me chills, but I did not lower my head.

I did not even cry in front of everyone. My eyes burned, my lips trembled, my head ached, and bile rose and fell every time Father wiped away a tear. His despair and the pain stamped on his face filled me with a fury I had never felt before.

I wanted to scream at him, slap him, hit him like a madwoman, but I could not. I wanted to ask him why he did it. He took my mother from us, made sure I could never see her happy… how was I supposed to be happy while burying her?

But one thing kept me under control.

The last thing my mother did before dying was beg, and I would never do that in my life. I would never beg anyone for anything and would probably die because of it, so what? She begged, and where did it leave us? Burying her after a humiliating death.

While the priest said something about grief, I tried to focus on something else so I would not cry. Raoul looked at no one; with his eyes lowered, he seemed to be memorizing every carving on the coffin.

I only paid attention again when I felt the strange sensation of being watched. Lorenzo Vitale was staring at me with contempt, and he didn’t even look away when I caught him. I didn’t understand the reason for his anger, when it was my mother lying there. He knew nothing about rage—I did. Under his gaze, I stood my ground, even as my heart insisted on dying a little more.

He didn’t even offer his condolences. He left after exchanging a few cryptic words with my father:

“Mention that again, and I won’t show the same consideration, Dante.”

I return from my piano lesson just before nightfall, and the soldier, Orazio, hurriedly leads me inside the house, preventing me from analyzing the different cars parked outside. My father has visitors, and I must stay away.

“Leave her at the entrance!” another soldier warns when he sees me. “We’re running late today, and the shipment has to leave urgently for the port…”

“But we picked it up yesterday!”

“More arrived—what can you do? The boss is getting greedy…”

He notices I’m listening and falls silent.

“Take her already and let’s go!” he demands.

“Call two more. Come on, girl,” Orazio tries to sound kind, but I’m too focused on the movement.

“What’s arriving today, Orazio?”

“Nothing that concerns you. Don’t get me in trouble. Now go inside and mind your business.”

I run upstairs and stay on watch by the window, trying to understand, because we don’t have enough storage for that much merchandise. The house is large, yes, but the Capo doesn’t seem like the kind of man who conducts business in his Consigliere’s home. Siena once confessed to me that it’s drugs, but I would know if there were piles of them out there in the yard.

I see Orazio heading toward the south wing, but then he and another soldier get into a van, wearing caps. The family soldiers, like everyone else, almost always wear suits. As soon as the outside calms down, I head there, slipping along the side of the building.

I have nothing left to lose, so I let curiosity take over. What could my father do? Kill me? He already did that when he took my mother from me.

I crouch among the trees and wait, watching, trying to understand what is happening there. I hear Paolo laughing with our father, while Raoul remains serious.

“Stop being a coward! You need to complete your initiation in this family. Why can’t you be like your brother? Your mother made you soft.”

Raoul lowers his gaze at the mention of our mother, while my stomach twists just remembering her.

“But, Father, I already swore—I swore in blood and fire! I went to the club, I became a man! What more do you want?”

“You’d better start accepting this family’s business.”

“That’s not the business…”

“That is the De Luca business—act like one!” my father snaps. “You’ve never touched any of the guests. You’ve never done anything to make them understand who owns them! They don’t even fear you! You know that’s the only way this business works for us!”

Raoul falls silent.

“I have to go now. I have a meeting with Giácomo. Paolo, teach your brother how this business works, and then send him to Bruno. He’ll finish the job.”

He leaves, and Paolo breaks the silence.

“Come on, kid!” he calls to Raoul as if he were much older. “Better you learn already. I’ll need help when it’s my turn to run this s**t. If you pay attention, you might even enjoy it.”

He flashes a crooked smile as he signals for our brother to follow.

“Why do we do this?”

“Do you want to stand up to him?” Paolo scoffs.

“It seems like you like it, Paolo…!”

“I like power, Raoul. If we want to survive here, that’s what we need. So stop whining and let’s go.”

I move closer to the glass and see him holding a leather belt in his hands as he heads toward the back of the building. The door closes, and from where I am, I can neither hear nor see anything. I consider following them, but if I get any closer, a guard will spot me.

It takes them about half an hour to return. My leg aches from the position, but I remain still; curiosity is stronger than fear.

My older brother wears a satisfied expression, shirtless, his jeans unbuttoned, while Raoul keeps his eyes down, as if trying to forget.

Forget what?

I wait until they pass and circle around the building, knowing I’ll be in trouble if they look for me and I’m not there. I climb one of the trees that hide the structure, hoping to see what kind of merchandise Raoul hates so much.

I wipe the window with the sleeve of my blouse to see better, and in that moment, I understand that grief can be greater than life itself. I didn’t emerge from mine in time to prevent another reason from dragging me forever into a new cycle of pain. I feel myself slipping out of my body, seized by something close to death, needing not to be a De Luca—even if it meant dying to achieve it.

I had already lived through the horror of losing my mother and hearing her last breath. But until this moment, I believed my family had already paid its debt to the devil.

How wrong I was.

Tied to a chair with the same straps Paolo carried, there is a girl. Maybe she’s a little older, but she’s so broken I could never be sure. Her brown hair is tangled, her blouse partially torn. She is naked from the waist down, her head hanging to one side.

She’s unconscious.

The De Luca business.

Now I understand what my family does. I don’t know how often. I don’t know how many there are. And as if nothing could get worse, Bruno—the man my father mentioned—walks in and places a cloth over her mouth. She barely reacts, only closing her eyes.

He has light hair and is strong enough to lift her as easily as one would carry a sack.

I don’t move, because if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stay balanced where I am. My muscles are tense, as if frozen, and a damned numbness spreads through me, immobilizing me. I hear the wind shaking the top of the tree beneath me, and its whispers feel cursed in my ears.

I don’t know who that girl is.

I probably never will, but I have an idea of what her fate will be. I am young, not stupid enough to ignore what I perceive.

I remain silent, pulling from somewhere in my memory the words of Gianna:

“Silence can be a weapon and a shield… if used well.”

And I cling to them in this moment, so I won’t completely fall apart.