Chapter 12: Convenient Mafia Wife: Chapter 12

New York City, New York Five Families CATALINA We are on our way home and I relax on the leather backseat of the family Mercedes S-Class sedan. It’s luxurious and comfortable, but not armored like my father’s personal SUV with a 3rd row of seating for additional guards.

Carlotta is still talking about everything she learned from the chef and sous chefs.

‘You should ask Don De Luca for cooking classes. I am sure he won’t object.’

Carlotta’s eyes fill with hope and then they dim. ‘Even if he wouldn’t, I don’t think I could ask him for anything. He scares me.’

‘He’s going to be your husband. You do not need to fear him.’

‘You don’t think so?’ Carlotta shivers. ‘He’s ruthless. I bet he tortures men for breakfast.’

‘Don’t be dramatic.’

‘I’m still a teenager,’ she sasses. ‘I’m allowed.’

‘You’ll soon be married. Teenager, or not.’

Carlotta frowns, but then her expression lightens. ‘You could bring cooking school up to Aria. She’ll suggest it to her son if you tell her you think it’s a good idea for me.’

Not sure how we went from cooking classes to cooking school, I say, ‘Aria is going to be your mother-in-law, not mine.’

‘But you two get along so well.’

‘She wants to help you, Carlotta. Let her.’

My sister’s mouth twists in a grimace. ‘I suppose.’

‘To tell you the truth, I’m a little jealous,’ I admit.

‘You are?’ Carlotta asks, like there could not possibly be anything in her current situation to be jealous of.

‘Most women would be jealous of you marrying the don.’

‘You’re not though. I know you.’

She doesn’t know how I react to Don De Luca. No, I’m not jealous of her being a don’s wife, but being his wife? I’m ashamed to admit, even to myself, that I am.

I say what doesn’t shame me though. ‘I miss having a mom so much and now you are going to have a really kind and caring mother-in-law.’

‘I’ve never needed a mom,’ Carlotta says dismissively. ‘I had Zia Lora and I had you. I don’t want a mother-in-law.’

Carlotta was only four when Mamma died. She doesn’t remember our mom’s gentleness, her loving nature, her sweetness despite being married to a man who never accepted her for herself. Mamma had never let it make her bitter.

‘I’m sorry you don’t want a mother-in-law.’ I don’t tell her she needs to get over it. There are enough people in Carlotta’s life ignoring her feelings right now. I’m not going to be another one of them. ‘I know this is hard for you. I wish I could make it easier.’

‘You are.’

I wish that were true. ‘Your light has dimmed since the engagement was announced.’

‘Can you blame me?’ Carlotta’s eyes fill with tears. ‘All anyone sees or talks about is how beautiful I am, like I’m nothing more than my face and body. Like I’m some kind of prize. But I am a woman with thoughts and feelings. I’m not just a broodmare who will make pretty children. Oh, God, soru, I’m terrified of my wedding night. I can’t stand the thought of him touching me.’

I pull my sister into my arms and hug her tight, my own eyes burning. I can’t stop this wedding, and neither can she. I can’t make my sister be attracted to the don any more than I can rid myself of my own inexplicable desire for him. If I could give it to her, I would. For so many reasons.

The window behind us explodes, glass shattering over our heads. Carlotta screams, but she quickly undoes her seatbelt and drops to the floor of the car, curling up into a ball. I do the same.

We’ve been trained since we could walk in how to respond in situations like this. Not that either of us has ever been in one before.

‘What’s happening?’ Carlotta screams the question.

‘Stay down,’ one of the bodyguard orders.

My sister’s terror suppresses my own. I have to take care of her. I have to protect her. I know where the extra guns are kept in the cars.

Zio Giovi showed me. He also taught me how to shoot. My father would be furious if he knew, but both Zio and I are good at keeping secrets.

I press the lever that allows me access to the hidden compartment under the backseat and pull out a gun. It’s a Glock. Good. I’ve used one of these before. I check that it is loaded. It is.

A loud thump sounds and then the car swerves, a kathunk, kathunk telling me that whoever is after us has shot out one of the tires. The car fishtails wildly but it keeps moving forward. Toward the safety of our home.

Suddenly the kathunk gives way to the sound of metal scraping on asphalt. I don’t know how long the driver can keep the car going, driving on the rim.

Seconds later, I learn the answer to my question as the driver brings the car to a stop.

‘Stay in the car with the doors locked,’ he says before he and the other bodyguard jump out, slamming doors behind them.

Why don’t they use the doors as shields? The car is already compromised with the missing back window. It’s not armored, so if our pursuers get past the bodyguards, all they have to do is shoot through the windows.

Unless they don’t want to kill us. Kidnapping is a bigger worry for my sister and me. Regardless, this car is no refuge.

‘It’s going to be okay, stellina,’ I say, using my dad’s endearment for my sister. ‘We’re going to be alright.’

Shaking with fear, Carlotta doesn’t answer.

Gunshots sound from behind the car, but I don’t raise my head to see what’s happening. I wait. There is a cacophony of shots and the thump of a body falling. Was it one of the pursuers, or one of the bodyguards?

I’m scared, but I have to know.

I lift my head just high enough to peek through the missing back window. Our bodyguards have taken a stance behind trees to the side of the road, drawing the fire of our pursuers away from the car.

There is a masked man lying in a pool of blood on the road. There are three additional masked men still standing. They are using their SUV as a shield. One starts running toward our car while his associates lay down covering fire toward my father’s men.

Regardless of the bullets hitting the trees all around them, our driver comes out enough to shoot the man headed toward us. He falls and remains unmoving. Then our driver takes a shot in the shoulder. My throat tightens with dread as I see the blood and the way his body is thrown backward.

He gets up again almost immediately though, keeping up a steady barrage of gunfire toward the remaining pursuers. Seconds later, he’s shot again and this time, he doesn’t get up.

The second bodyguard manages to hit another one of the masked men and that one falls to the side of the SUV. He tries to get back up, but can only pull himself into a sitting position against the SUV. The last masked man standing runs toward the back of their SUV and pops around it out of sight.

I want to scream a warning to our bodyguard, but we are trained not to do anything that could compromise the focus of the men trying to protect us. The bodyguard is scanning the area to both the front and the back of the SUV, like he knows the masked man could come at him from either direction.

Just as I decide the warning is worth it and shout, ‘At the back!’ as loud as I can, more gunfire erupts.

The bodyguard is shooting in the right direction, but the other man’s aim must be better because he goes down.

It feels like an hour has passed, but it’s probably less than five minutes. Both of our bodyguards are either dead or incapacitated. If we try to make a run for it, we’re as likely to get shot as not. I don’t think it’s worth it.

There’s only one of them left. I see that he’s moving toward the car, his stride confident. He thinks we’re sitting ducks in an unarmored vehicle. He doesn’t know about me though, that I have a gun and I know how to use it.

I’ve never shot at a person before, but I will do whatever I have to in order to protect my little sister.

‘Do not move,’ I tell her in a harsh whisper. ‘No matter what. Stay still.’

She doesn’t reply, but I have to trust Carlotta will do as I say and not bump me at an inopportune moment. I take the Glock in both hands, like Zio Giovi taught me. I’ll need to raise my head and shoulders above the backseat to take aim through the glassless window.

I have only seconds before the gunman reaches us and I know I will only get one chance. If I miss, the man will have a chance to shoot me and then there will be no one left to protect either of us.

Hoping my mom is watching over us, I rise up and take aim as I breathe in and fire the gun as I expel that breath. Not once, but over and over until I see the man fall backward with a shocked expression on his face.

I watch, but he doesn’t move. Nobody moves outside the car. Even the man propped up against the SUV appears passed out. Or dead.

I’m sure the bodyguards would have sent an emergency call to my father, but I still say, ‘Carlotta, call Papà.’

She doesn’t move or reply.

‘Carlotta,’ I say with more forcefulness, never taking my eyes of the men lying on the street.

It’s like my fingers are frozen on the gun, my gaze locked irrevocably on the scene of carnage outside.

‘What?’ she finally asks in a shaky voice.

‘Call Papà. I think I got the last one, but there might be more coming.’ They’d made their move on a stretch of road with trees on both sides and no houses.

That doesn’t mean no one heard the gunshots. The cops might have been called. That’s not my problem. Keeping my sister safe is. And there’s no way of knowing if the masked men have reinforcements on the way.

‘You shot one of them?’ Carlotta asks, sounding dazed.

‘Yes. Are you dialing Papà?’

‘I am.’

Then I hear the ring and realize my sister has her phone on speaker.

‘We’re on our way.’ My father says rather than answering. ‘Don’t worry, stellina, we’ll keep you safe.’

‘Catalina already did,’ Carlotta says.

‘Catalina?’ That’s not my father’s voice. It’s Don De Luca.

My father must have his phone on speaker as well.

I don’t know if the don is asking what Carlotta meant or for me to speak.

‘I think all of the gunmen are dead, but they might just be passed out,’ I say, deciding to answer. My voice sounds weird to my own ears. ‘The bodyguards are down, but I don’t know if they’re dead.’

Carlotta starts to cry. ‘Soru shot one of them.’

‘She shot one of our bodyguards?’ my father demands, his tone filled with anger.

‘No,’ my sister wails. ‘She shot one of the bad guys. She kept me safe. Why don’t I know how to shoot a gun?’

Carlotta is sobbing now and it’s hard to understand her, but my father’s reply proves that he does. ‘Because ladies don’t handle guns,’ he says with stark judgment toward me.

It’s such bullpuckey. There are women all over the world that compete in shooting tournaments, even actual ladies of the nobility. I know because I watch the competitions online. They’re fascinating. No one dies when those guns are fired. There is no blood.

I wish I could join them. I’m a very good shot.

I look at the man lying in the road that proves that and my heart skips a beat. What if I killed him?

‘It is a good thing one of your daughters knows how to handle a gun,’ Don De Luca says. ‘Or they both might be dead right now.’

My father doesn’t answer. I hear a vehicle speeding towards us from the direction of our home. I don’t want to turn away from the men in the street, but have to make sure it’s our father coming toward us. Only I can’t move.

‘We see you,’ my father says, for once diminishing my stress, rather than adding to it. ‘We are almost there.’

The sound of the approaching vehicle grows louder. Then the call drops and I hear not one, but multiple cars come to a stop, one after the other, their engines still running.

I hear doors open and soon after, men swarm past the car, checking on the fallen shooters. ‘This one’s alive,’ a man shouts after checking the pulse on the man leaning against the SUV.

‘Take him to the box,’ Don De Luca barks, the low gravel of his voice inciting a feeling of safety I do not examine.

Someone knocks gently on the window nearest Carlotta. ‘Stellina, open the door,’ my father calls coaxingly.

Still sobbing, Carlotta shakes her head. ‘What if there are more?’

‘I will take you home where you will be safe.’

‘I’ll never be safe,’ Carlotta says.

‘Madonna Carlotta, open this door,’ my father says in a voice he never uses with my sister.

The door opens. ‘Papà,’ Carlotta cries.

‘Come here, princess, Papà has you.’ Our father pulls Carlotta out of the car. I don’t see it, but I feel the movement behind me. ‘Catalina put that damn gun down before you shoot someone.’

I can’t let go of the gun. I can’t move at all.

Because I already shot someone, didn’t I? I don’t know if he’s dead. I’m waiting for someone to check his pulse. No one does.

‘For God’s sake. Bring her back to the house,’ my father orders someone.

‘Yes, sir,’ Marco, one of my father’s men, says. ‘Miss Jilani, come with me.’ After a couple of seconds, he adds. ‘Please.’

I hear a car pull away, tires rumbling over the gravel on the side of the road.

I don’t move.

‘Miss Jilani,’ Marco says, his tone strange.

‘You have to check,’ I say.

‘Check what?’ Marco asks.

‘His pulse. You have to see if he’s dead.’

‘Who?’ Marco asks. ‘Your father’s men? They are both headed toward the hospital.’

He doesn’t mean a regular hospital. That’s not how it works. The mafia has a private clinic here on Long Island and a fully functional hospital in the city. I wonder which one he means, but I don’t ask.

‘Him,’ I say, jerking the gun like a pointer toward the man I shot.

‘Move,’ I hear. Then the sound of shuffling.

‘You did well, Catalina.’ That’s not Papà’s voice. It is a voice that should not affect me, but it does.

Tension bleeds from my body and suddenly I’m able to turn my head.

Don De Luca crouches beside the open door, his expression unreadable. ‘You can let go of the gun now. You and your sister are safe.’

‘Is he dead?’ I ask.

He knows who I mean. I can see it in the don’s expression. Don De Luca’s lips thin, like he doesn’t want to answer, but he says, ‘Yes.’

‘I didn’t mean to kill him,’ I admit. ‘I had to stop him though.’

Will the don think I am weak? His men would not have hesitated to kill the masked man. But I am not a made man.

‘You did well,’ he says again.

‘I did?’

‘You did.’

My fingers, curled so tightly around the gun, relax.

‘That’s good, Catalina.’

The approval in his tone allows me to release my frozen hold on the gun. It falls, thunking against a large piece of glass that rests on the carpeted area behind the headrests.

A big warm hand curls around my upper arm. ‘Come here, Catalina.’

That touch breaks through the last of my paralysis and I turn to surge toward the don. He guides me out of the car. ‘Are you alright?’ he asks.

I stare up at him, unable to make my dry mouth form words, but I nod.

‘You have glass in your hair, can I brush it out?’

I nod again.

He does it with gentle movements. ‘We have to go. We don’t want to be here when the cops arrive.’

I force a word out, ‘Carlotta?’

‘Your father is taking care of her.’ There’s a strange quality to the don’s tone. I don’t know what it means.

‘We can’t leave, can we? I shot someone. The police will want my statement.’

‘There will be no statements.’

I look around and realize that the bodies are either gone or being carried toward the SUVs that arrived with my father and the don. The mafia Soldiers are efficient and fast. I realize that if the cops do come, there will be nothing for them to find.

I follow the don toward a black Porsche Cayenne with tinted windows. I know the make because my father was angry when the don bought it because it cost more than his Mercedes Maybach. It’s armored and has bullet proof tires. Papà insisted on getting them on his own SUV as soon as he learned the don had gotten them on his Cayenne.

My father is both competitive and vain. I notice his SUV is nowhere to be seen. He and Carlotta are already gone. He left me. It’s not unexpected, but it sucks. Even when my life has been threatened, my father can’t find a modicum of concern for his oldest daughter. Well, I guess he did tell Marcus to bring me back to the house.

I find myself sitting next to the don in the back of his SUV, his driver and a guard are in the front.

‘Where’s Marcus?’

‘In the SUV in front of us.’

I recognize it. It’s one of my father’s. Another SUV pulls out behind us.

It’s weird, the way the don is taking care of me. Does he feel responsible for me because I am his fiancée’s sister or because I’m his consigliere‘s daughter? I know it’s not personal. It can’t be. I’m nothing to him.

‘Don’t you have to stay, to take care of all that?’ I wave my hand toward the back, not turning to look at the receding scene behind us.

‘Aldo will handle it,’ he says.

‘Whose Aldo?’ I ask.

‘One of my men.’

‘Oh. You must trust him.’

‘I do.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Who taught you to shoot?’ he asks when I don’t say anything else.

‘My zio.’

‘He’s a smart man.’

I nod.

‘But he didn’t teach your sister to use a gun?’

‘He and Papà don’t always see eye to eye.’ Is that an explanation? I don’t know, but it is the truth.

‘I am glad in this instance that your uncle did not listen to my consigliere.’

Because Carlotta is okay. That makes sense. The approval in the don’s tone warms my insides, dissipating the chill of shock.

‘Will you teach your daughters to shoot?’ I ask, curious.

‘Sì. I will also make sure they always travel in an armored car as you and your sister will do going forward.’

I’m sure my father will not be happy about that. The only armored vehicle he has in his fleet is his personal SUV.

‘I will provide the car and bodyguards,’ Don De Luca says, like he knows what I’m thinking. ‘It is my prerogative as your sister’s fiancé.’

That isn’t going to make it any easier for my father to swallow. I don’t look forward to navigating his temper for the next couple of months.