Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance (3 page)

I take a deep breath. “So, I guess your meeting went... well?” I say. Might as well get this over with, whatever it is he's trying to work up the courage to say to me.

He nods, taking the chance to walk up to the counter. I think it's so sweet, the way he is so nice to me. Everybody thinks he's this big, scary guy, but really he's puppy dog, at least to me.

Folding his hands on the counter he jerks his chin toward the Scion, a 155-year-old port wine that usually only comes out over the most dire contract negotiations.

“You want to taste?” he says to me, letting me know that whatever he’s got on his mind, it's really bad. Daddy doesn't approve of my drinking in the least. He certainly wouldn't be offering me anything stronger than a sweet chianti. Now I have to wonder if I'm dying or something.

Scowling, I turn around and get a couple of wide bowled glasses from the crystal shelves. I turn them up on the counter and uncork the bottle of wine, pouring a healthy splash into his and just a half ounce into mine, since I am such a good girl.

Taking the glass in his big hands, he holds it in the air. I tip the rim of my glass against his, making a small clinking sound before bringing it to my lips. Squinting at him suspiciously, I watch him take a deep breath before he downs the amber liquid in one gulp.

Exactly what the hell is going on here?

“Daddy, whatever it is, just tell me,” I say. He is starting to freak me out, to tell you the truth.

“Bunny, you understand that what I do is very important. For us. For the family.”

Oh Lord, he's giving me the speech about family responsibility.

“Did I ever tell you how your mother and I met?”

I gulp, feeling like he’s just taken an abrupt left turn. “Mama? You never… No I don't think you ever did.”

“I can't believe I never told you,” he says in a faraway voice. His eyes crinkle already as he seems to be remembering her. Thoughts of Mama always make him sort of sad so I don't know why we’re talking about this now. “I was just a young guy, you know? Still wet behind the ears and everything.”

Despite my curiosity about what he’s clearly avoiding telling me, I can't help but be excited to hear this story. I always imagine his younger life in some kind of sepia-toned newsreel style. I mean, he's not that old. This would've been like the 70s or something, but I always imagine it with flapper girls and fedoras.

“Well, your mother was a New York girl. Some uncle’s wife's sister's cousin’s kid or something like that. So when Nonno told me about her, you can imagine what I thought. Right?”

I shake my head. How am I supposed to know what he thought?

“Well, I thought she was going to be ugly. I mean, the only girls I'd ever seen from the New York side of the family looked like grown men by the time they were 18. I didn't expect much, is what I'm saying.”

Nodding slowly, I realize my mouth is dry. I should've poured myself a bigger drink.

“So when Nonno called me to the house and we set down, I basically thought my life was going to be over. But you know how it is, you gotta do what you gotta do.”

I narrow my eyes at him. This is starting to sound suspiciously like that speech he gave me last year when he told me he was marrying me off to one of those Russian guys.

“But when she walked in, I almost cried for joy. Hand to God. I almost cried, right there in front of everybody. She was the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my whole life. Hands down. The most beautiful, your mama.”

His eyes glisten with tears, and I move my hand to cover his in sympathy. I understand how much he misses her. You can see it all over his face. He's never been the same. I wish I had known her, but she died when I was just a baby, taken by a sudden aneurysm. One moment there, the next gone. Even though I never really knew her, the pain in his heart is so fierce it’s almost like the ghost of her. She’s still with us, in a way.

“So what I thought was a duty to the family, to your Nonno e Nonna, turned out to be the biggest blessing of my life. That's what love is. Having a woman to love is the biggest blessing in any man's life. A woman… Children…”

His voice trails off wistfully. I see his eyes go vacant as though he’s far away. Though I would like to be more sympathetic, I’m really hoping he will just tell me what’s on his mind and get on with it.

“Daddy, what are you trying to say?”

He shakes his head, lips pressed hard together. “Just that it's the most important thing in the world. It's the only thing worth fighting for, is your family. We’re nothing without our family.”

I nod. My head is starting to swim.

“These Russian guys, they're not so different from us, you know? They're just the same sometimes. Maybe they do things a little bit differently here and there. Maybe our business interests don't always align. But deep down, all men are the same, Marie. You should know that.”

Yeah, I'm starting to get that impression.

“I mean, I was so happy that you were willing to join with Dimi…”

“But he's gone, Daddy,” I interrupt. For once, he either doesn't seem to mind or doesn't seem to notice. He hates being interrupted, even though he could really go on and on sometimes. Waiting for Daddy to finish with his long stories is part of my family obligations, you could say.

That he crosses himself quickly and kisses his knuckle in respect. “May God rest his soul,” he mumbles.

“May God rest his soul,” I repeat numbly. I'm starting to get the picture, and the picture is terrible.

“I just wanted you to know that your mama was the best thing that ever happened to me… In my whole life…”

“But, Daddy, Dimi is gone. I know that I said that I could —”

“They have someone else now,” he says, his eyes going stony.

My breath hitches in my throat. I know I'm shaking my head, I can’t control it. When I heard about Dimi’s death I was sad for him, of course, but in a remote way. I'd never even met him. The men had decided that I would be the bride of somebody in the Russian organization without ever talking to me.

Daddy gave me a speech about family obligation, and Uncle Joey had just been killed in the middle of the street. We were all so sad about Joey, how could I say no? Daddy promised me that it would mean peace for everyone if I would make the sacrifice.

“But Dimi is
gone
,” I say again, as though repeating it is going to magically close this chapter.

“
Piccola
, there is always another guy. A new one has come to take Dimi's place, just like we knew there would be —”

"— you never told me this!” I begin to yell. I feel the air inside me inflate, and all I want to do is yell. It's an Italian thing.

“But,
piccola
, what did you think? You've already been promised…”

“I'm not a toy!” I blurt out, and he purses his lips at me in disapproval.

“You're
not
a toy. You're my daughter, and the most precious thing in the world to me. You know that I would never ask you to do something like this unless it was absolutely critical for our family. This is your duty, Marie. You will do this.”

“I won't! This is not 1956!”

He shrugs, his hands waving in the air with his palms up in his what-you-gonna-do gesture. “What's the difference? This is how we do it. A sweet, innocent girl like you is like a diamond.
More
valuable than a diamond. You are the only thing that could make our families unite. Do you understand that?”

Innocent
. He actually said it out loud, and I can’t believe it. He's trading my virginity like a baseball card to keep blood off his hands, keep blood off the streets. He's literally betting my vagina on peace. I just cannot even.

“Daddy, I'm not that innocent.”

He looks like I slapped him. His mouth falls open and he rocks back a little bit. “Marie!”

“No no! Not like that!” I object, though I don’t entirely know why. I feel like the state of my tender bits is really not daddy-daughter conversation, yet I’m compelled to defend my own honor. My hands fly up to show my surrender. “I didn't mean it like that! I'm just saying… It's a new world. Girls don't just get married off anymore! I shouldn't have to be, you know… Just put in the middle like this!”

“Marie Francesca Lauro, our world is our world. I don't care what those others do in
their
world. In
our
world,” he taps his fingertip over and over again on the granite countertop to make his point, “
in our world,
 girls do what they're told. You'll understand one day. I promise you. This is how it's done, how it's always been done.”

My mouth opens and closes helplessly. I don't even know what to say to him. Trying to talk him out of it would be absolutely fruitless, and I don't want to anger him.

Daddy is rigidly old-school. He really believes in this death before dishonor stuff. All the rules that the family hands down, they’re like blood oaths to him. He honestly believes that the Russians are going to do what he says if he just offers up his only daughter as a trade. Like I’m a milking cow or an old piece of jewelry or something.

I'm not sure if it makes me sad or furious. Actually it makes me both. Definitely both.

It's like I’m being torn between two totally different worlds. In one world I’m just a half-person whose only value is as a breeder and housekeeper. In the other, I’m a woman with $12,000 stashed away who could just disappear and start all over, maybe somewhere where they acknowledge that women can even vote these days.

And yet, I'm the one who is the 22-year-old virgin, right? I must believe it too. Everybody else I know lost their V card years ago, while I've been hanging onto mine like it’s an American Express Black Card or something. For emergency only, break glass to access.

Well, hold on, maybe there is one thing I can do on my own. If he's sending me off to some Russian monster as blood payment for peace, I can maybe at least have control over that. Maybe it's time to turn in my V card for a little bit of autonomy, hm?

“Daddy, I want to leave.”

He shakes his head at me furiously. “Marie, you're going to do what you're told!”

“
I know that!
” I yell back, and I can’t help but be pleased at the amount of volume I can push out when I really get going. Even if it means nothing, at least I know he hears my words. “I mean I want to leave
this place
 now.
The club
. Right now.”

“Oh,” he says uncertainly, faltering as he puts it together. “I thought you meant… Well, of course you didn't. You’re a good girl, Marie. Of course you may go.”

I snatch my handbag from under the counter and hook it over my shoulder. Then I fling open the front door and walk out into the brisk evening air. Daddy can lock up tonight. I just want to take a walk. I want to do something on my own two legs, with my own decision-making, while I still have the chance. Before every man around me starts telling me what to do forevermore.

“You're a good girl.” The words keep replaying in my head, over and over again as I walk on the street quickly as though I know where I'm going, even though I don't. I fling out my arm the next time I see a cab with the light on top. The taxi swerves toward me and I open the door, dropping my ass on the creaky leather backseat.

“Get me downtown,” I tell the driver when his eyes flicker up to the rear view mirror.

“Address?”

“Ummm, Violet Hotel,” I say quickly, naming the only Mafia-free bar I can think of in the entire city of Chicago.

It's a corporate hotel, kind of swanky. I should be able to drown myself in $20 martinis for a couple of hours before somebody comes looking for me. They always eventually come looking for me.

Such a good girl. Yeah, that's me. The virgin martyr of the Lauro family. Well, at least not virgin. Not after tonight. I've made up my mind, it’s time to toss this V card into the wind.

ROMAN

The best kills are up close and personal. I can do this from any distance, but I prefer to be close enough that my target knows what's happening. Not right away, not like I want to be chasing the guy down the middle of the street or anything. But close enough where there’s a split second where we really understand each other. He knows what’s going to happen, and I know that he knows. We connect.

But some guys are squirrely, where they think they're gonna run and then I end up having to run up behind them and follow them into a playground or some bullshit like that. That's not how I like to do things.

I like a nice, controlled situation. I make the effort to have things neat and tidy. No messes, no big dramatic scene. Just something understated like blowing out a candle.

It’s an art. For anybody who’s really looking, the elegance should be obvious. But naturally, nobody is looking. People can’t see what’s in front of them until it’s too late. People are simple. Stupid. Everybody thinks they’re a fucking genius and that's what makes them idiots.

So this greased up piece of garbage in front of me, I'm just going to tail him until I can get to where he sees me coming. When it's already too late. I can take it easy, wait for my moment. It's not like I'm going to lose him, even though there's a lot of people around. The sun is going down and we have all the time in the world.