Claiming His Mafia Princess

Chapter 1

Chapter One

DALILA

I miss my mother on days like this — on the days when we are all together and I am the only women amongst the men of my family. There’s a hollow sensation that creeps in over the holidays, an echo in my heart that no one but her could fill.

I am not alone, not at all. I am surrounded by the men who raised me. My father and my four older brothers.

Love, laughter, and noise resonate through the halls of my father’s mansion.

Not one of them is a good man, but they have been good brothers. They’re also a bunch of assholes who won’t allow me to have any fun.

My friends are all out at holiday parties this week. I am not — I am here at home where they can make sure nothing happens to me. Dalila has to be the perfect good girl. She isn’t allowed friends, or fun, or boys, or kisses — I am not even allowed a damn dog in case it bites me. As though all dogs just automatically bite.

I roll my eyes whenever I think about how over protective they all are. They don’t hear me out when I try to explain to them it feels suffocating. I know they are trying to keep me safe, but what they are actually doing is stopping me from experiencing anything in life.

T he decorations I spent all day putting up give everything a festive glow. A golden light makes the house feel warm even though it’s fucking freezing outside. Mother Nature is angry this holiday season, and she has been throwing a tantrum for days now. Snow, iced roads and freezing temperatures. It’s snow-magedon out there and the weatherman said we are in for at least another week of this madness. The boys have taken over the house, because driving in this shit is dangerous, and I think they’re enjoying the free food too much to leave.

“Mas,” I can hear my father calling my eldest brother from his office, “I need you in here.” God alone knows why he is in there working. It’s the holidays. Normal people are shopping, wrapping gifts and spending quality time together. Not my family — the mob doesn’t have holidays. Mas’ heavy footfalls can be heard as he stomps down the hallway - anything but jolly.

“What?” He roars, and I wonder how he gets away with talking to my father that way. If any of my other siblings tried it, they’d get a backhand. “I am busy.”

Busy shoveling food down his throat and tossing back brandy like its soda.

“Tuomo.” There’s the summons for the next brother — I count silently to myself while I lean against the kitchen counter, waiting for the timer on the oven. It’ll be three more seconds until he calls the next one, and in three minutes he’ll have all four of them in there. The door will slam, and I’ll be left alone in the kitchen.

Three — two — “Rufino.”

I knew it.

Celso groans from where he is digging in the fridge behind me. He also knows it is coming. He might be the baby-brother, but they will be dragging him in there with them. My father is in a shitty mood. He has been grumbling all day long. Like a thunder cloud inside the house.

He is almost as miserable as the storm raging outside.

“You know they’re going to call you. Why don’t you just go?” I ask Celso, who is shoving leftover pasta from lunch in his mouth.

“I’m hoping they’ll just get all caught up and forget I am not there. Dad is in one of those moods, so is Mas.” He swallows his food then goes on, “Apparently Tuomo was caught behaving badly with some chick half his age.”

Sounds no different to any other day. Tuomo has no shame. He will chase anything with boobs. They don’t even have to be nice boobs. I shake my head, but I am not surprised.

“At least it isn’t one of your friends this time.” Celso chuckles. “And they didn’t notice you snuck out last night because they were too busy with his lady-drama.” Celso winces as his name is screamed out. I smile as he stands, getting ready to leave the kitchen in obedient response to my father’s voice.

I did sneak out; I do it often. I just thought I was better at hiding it.

Celso will use this as leverage to get me to do stuff for him — he’s a devious little shit.

“Guess they realized you were missing.” I say, his comment about my friends has annoyed me. My brothers have this knack of wrecking my friendships by fucking my friends — now we have ground rules. They cannot date my friends. It was my father who actually made the rules after my senior year turned into a bloodbath of bitch fights and bullies.

“Ugh.” He groans, putting his food down, he trudges out of the kitchen. I’m alone again, staring at the pile of groceries I ordered for the holiday meals I am going to be cooking.

That’s what sisters do — they cook. Since none of my brothers have wives yet, I am the cook. My family is traditional in a lot of ways and one of them is that women belong in the kitchen.

I can’t wait for one of them to get married, so there’s another woman around to share my load. Housework gets old really fast when they are all here. I prefer it when it is just me and my father. But over Christmas, that is wishful thinking. They ‘work’ from home this time of year. Given how ‘dirty’ their fucking business is, that isn’t always pleasant.

I pull my long blonde hair up into a messy bun, wanting it out of the way. I grin, knowing my father hates that I dye it blonde. He wants my natural heritage to show through in my dark hair. I want to be fun and carefree and blonde screams both.

Tonight is poker night, and my father is hosting — the place will be crawling with monsters, murderers, criminals and all of the very bottom of the barrel of humanity. They will bet their own mothers in these games. Nothing is sacred to them. Nothing except Cosa Nostra. That comes first. Even though they all hate one another, they are all Cosa, and they are loyal to a cause that’ll get them killed eventually.

Men are so fucking dumb.

Do you want to know the reason women don’t run the mafia?

Because it’s stupid, that’s why.

The rules, and the secrets — the part where everyone kills everyone isn’t even the stupidest part. I want to kill people all the time.

The stupidest part is the lack of reasoning behind the way they blindly follow rules that are older than my very-dead-grandfathers-father. It’s all his fault we’re in this shit show. He joined Cosa and now it’s our inheritance. Because once you are in Cosa Nostra, you don’t get out.

These buffoons often say I am lucky I am a girl, all I have to do is marry the right man and have babies — Yeah. So lucky.

T he poker players arrive, one dark blacked out car after another, all the foolish idiots driving in this weather just to come here and clash their egos against the other men.

They dare not miss a poker game.

I have been told to stay out of sight and mind my own business tonight, as always, when they conduct business at home.

Because that’s what these ‘games’ are. Business.

I’m watching from the window upstairs when I see father walking out of the house and getting into a waiting car. He’s brave, leaving my brothers in charge with all the heathens here — there is no one to stop them from being stupid now.

I enjoy watching the guests as they come in, all different types of monsters and men. The younger ones are flashy and loud, the older wiser ones are more subtle.

The false smiles, power-play handshakes and occasional genuine man-hugs.

My cousins arrive, already drunk and falling over their feet. They really need to be managed. I heard my father moaning about them over dinner last week.

I’m about to walk away, thinking everyone had arrived, when I see another car stop, and Nevio climbs out. He’s in his signature long dark coat. The collar popped up and his hat pulled down low to cover the large red birthmark on his face.

The boys used to mock him relentlessly when they were kids. Now he is one of the scariest men in the mafia. He even looks like a monster — otherworldly, almost as if he’s not even real at all. He looks up, and his eyes lock on me for a moment before he smiles and disappears through the front door. I wouldn’t want to meet Nevio in a dark alley, or anywhere alone, for that matter. I shudder at the thought of being trapped alone with him in the dark. I’m terrified of the dark, but it would be worse to have him there with me.

The raucous noise downstairs hasn’t let up, even though it’s well after midnight — my father hasn’t returned either. I’m tempted to trip a fuse, so they’ll have to leave, but I am afraid of the dark and even more afraid of being in the dark with that many members of the mafia.

Instead, I pull on my headphones and turn Taylor Swift louder than them. I move with the music while reorganizing my bookcase. Then, when there is a lull in background noise, I decide to take a shower and put on some comfy pjs. I’d kill for some hot chocolate, but I was told to stay upstairs.

I’m not very good at doing what I am told — in fact, I am terrible at it. Sick of waiting for their party to end, I sneak down the back staircase and into the kitchen. Quickly warming milk and making myself a cup of hot chocolate, I try to be as fast as I can. Almost escaping unnoticed, I have my mug and a packet of cookies in hand when I turn around and walk full force into Nevio. Of all the people I didn’t want to bump into - why did it have to be him?

“Shit.” I utter, spilling the boiling hot drink all over my hand. That’ll leave a damn mark. “Sorry.” I mutter and check that I didn’t mess on him. I try sidestep to pass him.

“Hello Dalila,” he greets me, his gruff deep voice as scary as his face, “should you be down here? — Alone?” He asks with a sinister undertone in his question.

“It’s my house.” I sass at him. He smiles and I take the opportunity to get away. Ducking past, escaping him and this awkward situation, taking the stairs two at a time, I can feel his eyes still on me until I round the corner.

My heart is racing, and my appetite is gone by the time I collapse onto my king sized bed. I have never heard Nevio talk before — or even seen him talk. Celso says he’s mute. I can now say for sure he is selectively mute.

I heard him talk.

He said my name like it was honey dripping off his tongue.