Chapter 9: Convenient Mafia Wife: Chapter 9

New York City, New York Five Families SEVERU Dinner is excellent and Francesco’s family are good hosts, but my mind is occupied with the problem of who is passing mafia information on to the Irish.

Although she never made a lasting impression on me when we have met in the past, my intended is as beautiful as her reputation claims. Demure, with good manners, she does not put herself forward in the conversation. I hope this bodes well for the future.

I have no time for a spoiled wife who will expect to have my constant attention. Despite her beauty, she is not inspiring, but I don’t expect her to be the love of my life. I almost smile at the ridiculousness of the thought.

I care for my family and would die to protect them. Though I would rather kill. But love? That is for other people. Not the don. While my future wife can expect the same protection as my family, I have no intention of giving her anything else.

A don cannot afford weakness.

Miceli and the older sister seem to be arguing about something. I tune into their conversation and am surprised. Miceli favors bitcoin for money laundering. He’s calling it investments, naturally. We don’t talk real business with women present. Catalina thinks the market is too volatile.

The way they bicker back and forth amuses me. I notice, Francesco doesn’t look entertained however.

He glares at his daughter. ‘That is quite enough. Discussing topics beyond your comprehension, much less arguing a point of view you cannot possibly understand is not how I expect a daughter of mine to behave.’

It’s a harsh reprimand, but Catalina doesn’t look cowed. Her face shows no expression at all, but her hazel eyes darken so they appear green.

She sits with her back straight, her head held high and gives her father a steady look. ‘As you say, Papà.’

The words are right. Even the brief dropping of her gaze is exactly what is expected and yet there is something in her tone, the set of her shoulders, something that denies victory to her father.

Miceli frowns at Francesco and then admits grudgingly, ‘Catalina makes the same argument Domenico does.’

Which is why we don’t use bitcoin to launder our money. Miceli is underboss, but Domenico is capo with responsibility for all our online money laundering operations. We don’t override our capo’s decisions without strong motivation. And if it’s strong enough to counter their orders, the capo is in serious trouble.

‘Is he the investment director for Oscuro Enterprises?’ Catalina asks.

‘Madonna Catalina!’ her father barks. ‘Our business is none of your concern.’

‘As you say, Papà.’ This time Catalina’s tone is perfectly neutral, with no subtle undertones, but her shoulders do not slouch. Her head does not bow. ‘Is there a topic you prefer I discuss?’

‘I would prefer you keep your mouth shut.’

I know Francesco is a chauvinist. Hell, the world of the mafia is filled with chauvinism, or so my sister informs me. But I do not like the way he is speaking to his oldest daughter. Neither does my brother, if his clenched jaw is any indication.

And Giulia is glaring daggers at my consigliere.

‘Come now, Francesco, I am sure you don’t mean that,’ my mother says, surprising me. We do not interfere in the family affairs of others. ‘I am enjoying visiting with both of your daughters.’

‘You are too kindhearted,’ Francesco replies.

My mother’s mouth tightens but I doubt my consigliere notices the tiny sign of Mamma’s displeasure. Sensing I may have missed something about the dynamic of my consigliere’s family, I scan the other guests at the table.

Candilora shoots a look of clear gratitude toward my mother. Her husband is eating, but the grip on his fork is tight. Carlotta looks oblivious to the tension at the table, her lovely features showing no concern. My brother gives me a look and I know what it means.

He has never liked that I kept Francesco as my consigliere after our father’s death. He considers the man too hidebound. However, it would be a disservice to my father’s memory to replace the man. The idea of appointing a second, or even a third consigliere has merit though. Some dons have a counsel of three.

‘Come, Lina, you can help me put the finishing touches on desert.’ Candilora stands and puts her hand out to her niece.

Catalina nods and stands, her expression stoic. She does not take her aunt’s hand, but she does follow the older woman from the room.

‘Carlotta will play the piano for us after dinner,’ Francesco says, his voice warm with approval. ‘She is quite an accomplished musician.’

‘Not as accomplished as soru,’ Carlotta says sweetly, smiling innocently at her father.

Francesco ignores his daughter’s claim and asks Miceli what he thinks of the Yankees this season. I do not understand my brother’s fascination with baseball. It is a hella boring sport. At least football has a chance for some bloodshed.

‘Perhaps your sister will accompany you tonight,’ my mother says to Carlotta.

‘Papà doesn’t usually ask her to play.’

‘You will both play,’ I say. It is not a question. I don’t ask. I tell.

My mother gives me a startled look, but nods. ‘I think that would be lovely.’

‘You are in for a treat.’ Giovi has been mostly silent throughout dinner. ‘My nieces are both very talented.’ He smiles benevolently at Carlotta.

She returns his smile sweetly, her undeniably beautiful features made even more so by the expression. I do not know why my mind insists on remembering the stoic expression her sister has worn throughout most of the evening.

And why it is thoughts of the older woman that make my dick hard.

CATALINA Don De Luca has decreed that both Carlotta and I will play the piano after dinner. Papà is furious, but he’s doing his best to hide it. He wants to show off the daughter he loves. His little beauty.

Playing the piano is consuming and personal for me. I prefer to do it without an audience. I do not dare demur though. For one thing, even I know you do not tell the don no. And for another, the only thing that will make my father angrier right now is for me to embarrass him by refusing to play at the don’s command.

I think Carlotta must have instigated this, but I do not know if it is because she doesn’t want to play alone, or because she wants to highlight my worth. It is something she has done since we were little. She’s very subtle about it and I’m not sure anyone else in the family notices, but I do.

It is one of the reasons I adore my younger sister so much. She has always seen my value, no matter what kind of cutting remarks our father makes about me. He cannot diminish me in her eyes. Zio and Zia are the same, though they usually reserve their approving comments for when papà is not around.

Carlotta and I take our places side by side on the piano bench. She starts playing Clair de Lune and after the second note, I join her. We have been playing this way since she first learned the instrument. We play three songs like that, finishing with Bella Ciao, the lively notes garnering both vocal praise and applause from our listeners.

We turn to face our dinner companions and I notice that even the don’s lips are tilted up infinitesimally on one side of his mouth. It’s not a smile like Zio Giovi’s, but it does funny things to my heart. And my traitorous vagina.

Carlotta smiles shyly and blushes. I duck my head, uncomfortable with being the center of attention even though I share the spotlight with her.

‘Now, you play a song for us by yourself, stellina.’ My father’s tone is jovial, but there is no doubt in my mind he expects to be obeyed.

I stand from the piano bench and join my aunt and uncle on one of the sofas placed in the music room for just this purpose. There are three arranged in a c shape, the opening toward the piano. The don, his mother and his sister sit on the one facing the piano. My father and Miceli sit on the sofa across from where I am.

I keep my attention on my sister, having no desire to meet my father’s gaze or that of the don, or his family, for that matter. I desperately want to retreat to my room, my emotional reserves used up. I am not used to being around people besides my family and have gotten adept at avoiding my father. Spending so many hours in his company is draining.

Continuing with the theme of Italian folk songs, Carlotta plays a cheerful rendition of Tarantella Napoletana. When she is finished, there is more applause and smiles.

‘Your turn,’ my uncle says to me.

I stiffen. I don’t want to play alone in front of the audience.

‘I’m sure Catalina is too tired to indulge you, Giovi,’ my father says repressively. ‘The don and his family are here to get to know Carlotta.’

It’s as blatant of a claim to what this visit is for as my father could make. No one denies it, least of all the don himself. He is looking at Carlotta with approval.

My heart falls. A tiny part of me was still hoping that all this talk of marriage and engagements was just that. Talk. That Don De Luca was not interested in my nineteen-year-old sister. It was a ridiculous hope.

He is the most powerful mafia don in the country, who else would he choose for his bride than the most beautiful mafia princess? The don isn’t going to settle for just any woman. He will take for a wife only a woman that will make others envious. Just as his father did before him.

At least Carlotta is not already promised to another like Signora De Luca had been all those years ago. Aria De Luca was supposed to become Aria Jilani. It was considered a good match. My father was the oldest son of a capo. Everyone expected him to become capo one day, but instead he was promoted to the role of consigliere at a very young age.

I wonder if Severu De Luca is aware my father’s appointment to such a prestigious position was part of the bride swapping bargain between his father and my own?

My father gave up his claim to Aria and accepted my mother as his substitute bride. Mamma came with an impeccable pedigree and advantageous connections, but she was not the elegant and charming beauty that Aria was. Mamma was short, curvy and worst of all, according to my father, painfully shy.

Despite his pretense to the contrary, my father never got over losing the woman he’d been promised, and he’d made my mother pay for it every day of their marriage.

A touch on my arm makes me jump. It is my aunt, and her expression is filled with concern. ‘Is your father right, are you too tired to play?’

I look around me and realize everyone’s attention is on me.

‘Of course, she is,’ my father states with authority. ‘You know Catalina lacks stamina.’

‘Oh, if you are not up to it, that is quite all right,’ Signora De Luca says.

And I realize two things. One, I missed part of the conversation while I was lost in memories and two, apparently the don’s mother has added her request to my uncle’s for me to play a solo.

The look of smug triumph in my father’s eyes spurs me on as nothing else could and I stand. ‘I am happy to play for you.’ I speak directly to the don’s mother.

Then I turn and go back to the piano while Carlotta takes my place on the sofa with our aunt and uncle.

I hear a quickly indrawn breath when I start playing and am sure it is my father. He knows this song choice for the act of rebellion it is. La Campanella had been my mother’s favorite piece and was one of the last songs she taught me to play before her death.

Losing myself in the music, I forget about getting back at my father. I forget my audience. I simply play and feel the peace I knew as a little girl sitting on this very piano bench beside my mother.

As my fingers still on the piano keys, I want nothing more than to slump into myself. I am more than drained, I am hollowed out. But I keep my spine straight and my shoulders back. I will not let my father win. I show him no weakness.

The applause barely registers as I stand. ‘I will have coffee brought into the living room,’ I say, prepared to make a quick exit to the kitchen.

The don stands. His mother and siblings follow suit.

‘No coffee for us.’ Don De Luca catches my father’s gaze with his hard eyes. ‘I will call you tomorrow to discuss the particulars of the engagement.’

Does anyone else see the way my sister’s eyes narrow?

She deserves so much better than this. She deserves a proper proposal, even if this is a mafia arranged marriage.

Signora De Luca shakes her head. ‘That’s my son, ever practical.’

I would have said abysmally insensitive, but nobody asked me.

‘We’ll meet for lunch tomorrow to start planning the wedding,’ she says to my sister. ‘I would like you both to join us.’

This time she meets Zia Lora’s eyes and then my own. We both nod, but I notice my sister says nothing. Everyone takes her acquiescence for granted and that worries me.

Carlotta is used to getting her own way. She’s never run right up against the wall of our father’s intransigence. Rock, meet hard place.

One of them is going to shatter and I don’t think it’s going to be the consigliere, no matter how indulgent he usually is toward my sister.