"What?" Gianna breaks the silence. "Just because I was born into a life of organized crime doesn't mean I want to live that life forever."
"Relatable," I mumble. Gianna and I are two sides of the same coin; both labeled as Mafia princesses, though the title gets her a lot further than it gets me. In a world where she is Princess Anne, I am Princess Diana. Vito and his inner circle will listen to anything she has to say long before they listen to me. They'd go as far as killing me if necessary. It's infuriating, I could scream until I'm blue in the face and they won't so much as glance in my direction. They treat me with all the prestige a princess should have, but with none of the respect or power that comes with the title.
"Look," Rina starts, a bit wary as she returns to her seat. "I get that you think life isn't exactly ideal?—"
Mamma leans against my door frame and laughs, happily showing herself into my room. For fuck's sake! I groan through gritted teeth out of frustration and mentally add lack of privacy to the growing list of reasons I want to further cut ties with the messy mafia life my family is wrapped up in. Don't get me wrong, there are perks to living in one of New York's most protected dwellings, but my entire family and in-laws having full access to my personal space is not one of them. "Do none of you know how to knock?"
The responses ring throughout the room in a cacophony.
"Sofia Gallo—attitude!"
"Hey, I brought you coffee and a bagel!"
"You could have locked your door."
"In my defense, I did knock."
"Yes, thank you Gianna for being the only one here with manners or a grasp on common courtesy," I try to make my tone genuine, but agitation undoubtedly bleeds in. All my self-control is then turned toward Mamma, who undoubtedly expects an apology for my outburst. "Mi dispiace Mamma, non dovrei lasciare che la rabbia prenda il sopravvento. Non succederà più."
"È meglio di no." She responds in Italian, her tone short and to the point. Everyone in the La Famiglia Commission knows some Italian, but my fluency is particularly shown in apologies. Mamma is more fluent, but she knows Rina and I prefer English unless we're working. "What has you worked up?"
Before she has the chance to say anything else about an identity crisis, I shoot Elena a glare to say keep your mouth shut. "It's nothing, Mamma. I'm just frustrated. It's not fair that I—or any of us for that matter—have to be at the Council's every beck and call. For once I want to do something I want to do—work a job that I want to work, I want to have free time instead of doing something for someone else every waking moment of the day. Aren't you tired of it, too?"
For a moment, hope bubbles in my chest that she sees me. Maybe she's finally not just hearing me, but she's listening to me. Trying to read Mamma's expression, pleading for her to understand, my stomach sinks. My invocation falls on deaf ears, her mouth straightening into a hard line, the only concern remaining clear in her furrowed brows.
"Oh, cara mia. That's just life, my dear, it's not fair. We don't get what we want." Her tone is soft, using her nickname for me as she moves across the room to cup my cheek in her palm.
Anything resembling hope bursts at her words, coldness spreading through my core like ice; making me feel like there truly is no way out, and that I will be trapped in this purgatory—not dead, but not quite living—for the rest of my life.
My jaw tenses and the backs of my eyes burn as I hold back tears. Shaking my head, I take a step back from her hand. "So, it's okay for Don Vito to get what he wants? Or Papà?" Willing my voice not to crack, I continue. "All because of what? Because I don't have a dick in my pants?"
Rina stands again, moving to be by Mamma's side. "Sofia?—"
"No," I cut her off, but the only way I can keep my voice level and my tears in check is to whisper. "I don't care. There isn't anything you can say that will make me feel differently."
"Sofia," Mamma's voice grows hard again. "Non comportarti in modo avventato. Fai attenzione, you're not thinking clearly."
I shake my head again, discarding her warning to not act rashly. For Mamma, I'm sure it's easy enough for her to fall into tradition. This life is the only life she's ever known given her father is Leonardo Messina, Don of Cosa Nostra—or Nonno, as I know him. She wants to keep the peace; she doesn't want her daughter rocking the boat and creating tension in an already tense family. "I don't care."
Moving past them, I grab the jacket from my desk, shrug it on and grab my purse. "You can't stop me. I'm just as much a person as any man—I will make my own decisions, consequences be damned."
Gianna is the only one who doesn't call out to me in some form of resigned impatience; she simply watches my outburst with a peculiar, peaceful look in her eyes. Slamming the door behind me, the soles of my boots slap against the marble floors as I rush down the grand staircase. I need to think, to breathe, to come up with a plan before Vito decides my life is an acceptable price for peace with the Costellos.
Most of the trees on the estate grounds are bare; it's too early in April for Spring to have truly sprung, but the sun makes the chill in the air tolerable. A man in a black suit straightens as I exit the main house, whispering into his sleeve when I pass by.One of Vito's made men, I'm sure. I head toward the path that winds down to the river, where I know I'll be able to sit on the overlook and watch the water.
Charter ships and passenger ferries scurry through the Hudson in the distance. Watching life on the river move on while I'm plotting how I can achieve a life like that sends a pang of jealousy through me. I want to be on one of those boats, laughing and free. I want to be able to catch a ferry and just go, on a whim, without guards or family expectations trailing behind me. But I can’t. I'm trapped, stuck under Vito's thumb like a bug.
As I stare out at the water, something Dante mentioned in the meeting replays in my head. What was it he said?"Technically, you don't know that."
Dante Mancini. Vito's loyal enforcer with his perpetual smirk and those dark, knowing eyes that seem to see right through me every time we cross paths. If anyone in this whole operation treats me like I have a brain in my head, it's him—though he masks it with those insufferable princess jokes.
I need a plan, and I need it fast. Because I know one thing for certain—I will not be handed over to Kieran Costello or anyone else like a prize goat at auction. And if that means I have to disappear before Vito makes his final decision, then that's exactly what I'll do.
CHAPTER 3
Sofia
Steal a dress,grab some cash, hail a cab, find a man, lose my virginity.
