Conquered by the Mafia Boss

Hating the tremble in my voice, I stand up straighter to make me feel less weak.

Maria adjusts the baby on her hip and narrows her eyebrows, the high arches fixed in an expression of contempt. “You got yourself into this mess, and you can get yourself out of it. Too bad Daddy isn’t here anymore to fix it for you.”

A gust of icy wind blows across my face, almost as if summoned by magic by her cruel words. Her perfect indifference stuns me. It hurts so much that my legs tremble and freezing wetness gathers at the corners of my eyes. For God’s sake, she needs to push aside her sibling rivalry or whatever fucking grudge she has against me. This is serious.

“I need your help. I’m desperate.”

“Go to Mom’s house.”

I shiver violently in the cold, wishing that my goddamn sister would let me in the damn house to continue the conversation.

“The feds seized it. They’re giving her a couple weeks to move out. They’re taking everything. We don’t have any money. They froze the bank accounts.”

“I know. I’ve been giving Ma cash for a while, but you’re on your own.” Her face twists in malevolence. “You always were a spoiled little brat.”

Fine, I could live without money, but I couldn’t keep living with Rafael.Property belongs to Nôvel(D)r/ama.Org.

“At least give me a place to stay! I really need to get away from him.”

A sad smile flickers on her sour face.

“You know as well as I do that he’ll just drag you back.”

My eyes burn as the truth of that statement sinks in. The air swallows my choked sobs, and Maria reaches outside for a moment to pat my shoulder.

“He’ll get bored of you eventually and move on to someone else. They always do,” she adds bitterly. “Now, go. If he finds out you’ve been here, you’ll be in worse trouble.”

She closes the door and the Christmas wreath bangs loudly in my face.

Where the hell am I supposed to go?

They called me the Mafia princess.

I was the boss’s daughter.

When I was old enough to realize Daddy wasn’t exactly living a normal man’s life, I started reading the papers. All the violence splashed over the pages and my dad’s name interwoven with the stories horrified me, at first. Why did so many people hate him? Why were the cops always harassing him? Then I remember watching him shake hands with the mayor, and I was in awe. He was a tough guy. He was a villain, yes, but he was my villain. Nobody could touch him, or me by extension. His men were always respectful toward me, afraid of saying anything that could get their heads chopped off.

I’m not an idiot. I know who my dad was, even though he sheltered me from the life-from the violence. The boys I grew up with, who later became his associates, were like family to me. They were always around the house, picking up Dad to drive him places, even to have dinner with the family.

And then he was murdered and they completely disappeared.

Shame weighs on my heart as I trudge up the icy subway steps.

There was only really one rule in our family, growing up.

Don’t ever talk.

Don’t talk to the press, don’t talk to outsiders, and definitely, never, ever talk to the police. It was like a mantra in our house. Every time there was an indictment, Mom would drill the rules in our skulls.

But he talked.

He talked to the feds. I found out from the agents who visited our home just before they raided it and began taking everything that wasn’t bolted to the floor. They told us that my dad’s body was found in an abandoned farm in east Jersey, riddled with bullet holes.

None of his friends came to the funeral.

I know he was a rat, but he was still my dad. He adored me, and yes, spoiled me a little more than my brother and sister. Now he’s gone, along with his protection. I’m not the boss’s daughter anymore. I’m just the daughter of a traitor.

My hand trembles over the handle of the pork-deli store where my father used to hang out. We used to get our meat here all the time. Vinny, the new boss, should be there. A wave of self-disgust rises like caustic acid in my throat.

Worst of all is that I know who’s responsible for my father’s murder, and I’m about to go to him for help. The idea sickens me, but I am literally out of options. Last resort.

This could be a huge fucking mistake.

I try to glance inside, to check the moving shadows and see if one of them resembles Vinny. A large, warped form suddenly appears at the frosted glass and the door swings open, revealing a young man who I vaguely recognize.

“Hello-holy shit!” His eyes widen as he takes in my appearance.

I grit my teeth to stop the chatter against the cold. “Can I please see Vinny-Vincent?”

He steps aside and I sigh as warmth washes over my frozen limbs. Hours of walking on New York City’s streets made them numb with cold. The young man gazes at me in concern and takes my arm, as if he’s afraid I’ll keel over. We move past the few customers dallying in the cafe, who shoot me alarming looks, and head toward the back of the store. It’s a place I’ve never really been.

Please, let Rafael not be there. Please, God, he’ll kill me.

Fear boils in my stomach, making it turn as the coffee I had for breakfast burns holes inside me. I stop at another set of doors and try to see whether Rafael is in there. The young man opens the door before I can decide whether to go in or not and pulls me in a large room with a pool table, chairs, desk, and a dining room table. I spot Vinny hanging near his pool table, stick in his hand, as he laughs at something Nicky said beside him. Vinny is a tall, good-looking man about ten years older than I am. His laughter used to fill me with a warm glow, but now it grates against my ears. He has no fucking right to laugh when my father is dead. Everyone knows that he killed him. I know it was him-or at least one of these bastards.

Dad talked to the cops, so they killed him.

“Vince.”

The young man’s voice rings out, and I do a quick scan of the room. Sitting there on the edge of the pool table is the man I’m trying to avoid. He wears a black leather jacket over a red button-up shirt that I ironed for him this morning. Despite his little coke habit and alcohol problem, he always looks clean-shaven-just like you expect the devil to look. Handsome, attractive, and deadly. He stands up immediately, hands wrapping around his pool cue as if it’s my throat.

Oh no. Oh no.

Rafael takes a furious step forward, his handsome face twisted in a cruel grin. It says: I’m going to kill you later.

A loud, obnoxious voice rings across the room.

“Jesus Christ!”

Vinny finally notices me, the laughter evaporating from his face as he scans me.

The boy next to me faces him. “She said she wanted to see you.”

I would give everything in the world to make him take back those words. All the heart leaves me in an instant. Oh God, it was stupid to come here. I must have been delirious. Rafael stands right there, right there, and he knows exactly why I came.

“That’s not what I said! I just wanted deli meats-and to say hi. My mother and I, you know, we really don’t, we haven’t seen you in a while, and-”

Vinny raises a hand, cutting off my babbling nonsense as he walks closer to me. A mixture of fear and revulsion makes me want to vomit. Concern knits his face and he lifts a hand to my jaw. I flinch as his fingers touch the swollen area.