2. Mia
2
MIA
T he steady beep of the heart monitor fills the room, a grim reminder of Papa’s fading life. I sit by his bedside, my fingers intertwined with his once-strong hand, now frail and cold.
Even in his weakened state, Don Nico Marino commands respect. His salt-and-pepper hair is neatly combed, and his sharp features, though gaunt from his battle with cancer, still hold traces of the handsome man he once was.
I glance around the room at my sisters, each lost in their own thoughts. Sofia, the eldest, stands tall and proud near the foot of the bed. Her dark hair is pulled back in a severe bun, her tailored suit a stark reminder of the power she now wields alongside her husband, Dom.
She’s the picture of a Mafia princess, ready to step into Papa’s shoes at a moment’s notice.
Bianca sits in a plush armchair, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. Her husband, Rork, stands behind her, his large hand resting protectively on her shoulder. He’s an imposing figure with his blond hair and the jagged scar that slashes down his eye and cheek.
Despite his gruff exterior, I’ve seen how gentle he is with Bianca and their baby daughter, Cara.
Chiara leans against the wall, her arms wrapped tightly around her swollen midsection. Her husband, Dante, stands close by, his presence a silent comfort. Their love was the most surprising (not if you ask Sofia and Bianca—they’ll say it was obvious) but their love is fierce and undeniable.
And then there’s Mama, the love of Papa’s life. She sits on the other side of the bed, her elegant features etched with worry and grief. Her hand never leaves Papa’s, her thumb tracing gentle circles on his skin.
As for me, I’m the baby of the family, not yet eighteen and utterly unprepared for the weight of loss that’s about to crash down upon us.
Papa’s eyes flutter open, and he looks around the room, a weak smile tugging at his lips. “My family,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “All here.”
Sofia steps forward, her composure wavering for just a moment. “We’re here, Papa. All of us.”
Papa nods, his gaze drifting to each of us in turn. “Sofia, my firstborn. You’ve made me so proud. You and Dominico… you’ll lead our family well.”
Sofia nods, tears glistening in her eyes. “We will, Papa. I promise.”
Papa’s gaze moves to Bianca. “My fierce girl. You’ve found your match in Rork O’Malley, and I’ve never been prouder. Take care of each other and that beautiful granddaughter of mine.”
Bianca chokes back a sob, nodding as Rork squeezes her shoulder.
“Chiara,” Papa continues, his voice growing weaker. “My artist. My dreamer. You and Dante… your love gives me hope for our family’s future. I will watch over your baby.”
Chiara moves closer to the bed, Dante’s arm wrapped protectively around her waist. “We love you, Papa,” she whispers.
Finally, Papa’s eyes land on me, and my heart clenches. “Mia,” he says, his voice filled with a mix of love and concern. “My little bookworm. I’m sorry I won’t be there to walk you down the aisle.”
I squeeze his hand, fighting back tears. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “It’s okay, Papa. I’ll be fine.”
But Papa shakes his head, his brow furrowing with worry. “I had hoped to find you a suitable match, to see you settled and safe before…” He trails off, his gaze shifting to Sofia and Dom. “Promise me you’ll look after her. Make sure she marries a good man, someone who will protect her and cherish her.”
Sofia nods solemnly. “We promise, Papa. We’ll take care of Mia.”
Rork steps forward, his voice gruff. “Nico, you have my word. We’ll make sure Mia is protected.”
Dante nods in agreement. “She’ll want for nothing, sir. We’ll see to it.”
Papa seems to relax slightly at their words, but his eyes are still filled with concern as they meet mine again. I want to reassure him, to take away his worry, but the words stick in my throat.
“And Anna,” Papa says, turning to Mama with such love in his eyes that it makes my heart ache. “My love, my life. I’m sorry to leave you.”
Mama leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Shh, my darling. We’ve had a beautiful life together. Rest now.”
Papa nods, his eyes growing heavy. “Take care of each other,” he murmurs. “Remember… family is everything.”
We all watch, hearts in our throats, as Papa’s eyes slowly close. For a moment, the only sound in the room is the steady beep of the heart monitor. Then, without warning, the beep turns into a long, continuous tone.
The room erupts into chaos. Mama lets out a heart-wrenching wail, collapsing onto Papa’s chest. Sofia rushes to her side, her own composure finally cracking as she wraps her arms around our mother. Bianca bursts into tears, turning to bury her face in Rork’s chest. Chiara sinks to her knees, her body racked with sobs as Dante kneels beside her, holding her close.
As for me, I sit frozen, my hand still clutching Papa’s. I can’t cry. I can’t move . I can’t even breathe. The loss is too big, too overwhelming.
Papa, the center of our world, the man who taught me to read, who listened to my dreams and encouraged me to reach for the stars, is gone.
The next few hours pass in a blur. Doctors and nurses come and go. Phones ring incessantly as news of Don Marino’s passing spreads through our network. Sofia and Dom slip into their new roles seamlessly, handling calls and giving orders with an efficiency that would have made Papa proud.
Through it all, I remain by Papa’s side, unable to let go of his rapidly cooling hand. It’s Rork who finally approaches me, his deep voice surprisingly gentle.
“Come on, little one,” he says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “It’s time to let him go.”
I look up at him, surprised to see the grief etched in his scarred face. Papa and Rork have always hated each other, and even with Rork’s marriage to Bianca, they were still icy to each other.
Slowly, I nod, allowing him to help me to my feet. As I release Papa’s hand, laying it gently on the bed, a wave of emotion finally crashes over me. I turn and bury my face in Rork’s chest, my body shaking with silent sobs.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his strong arms wrapping around me. “Let it out.”
I don’t know how long I cry, but when I finally pull away, I see that the room has emptied. Only my sisters and their husbands remain, along with Mama, who sits in a chair by the window, staring blankly into the distance.
Sofia approaches me, her eyes red but her voice steady. “Mia,” she says softly, “we need to start making arrangements. Is there anything specific you’d like for the funeral?”
The question catches me off guard. How can we be thinking about a funeral already? But I force myself to focus, remembering how Papa always stressed the importance of honoring our traditions, even in times of grief.
“His favorite book,” I say, my voice hoarse from crying. “The one of Italian poetry he used to read to us. Could we… could we include that somehow?”
Sofia nods, a sad smile touching her lips. “Of course. That’s perfect, Mia.”
I find myself drifting to the window as my sisters and their husbands begin to discuss the arrangements. The sun is setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. It’s beautiful, and the sight of it sends a fresh wave of grief through me.
How can the world still be so beautiful when Papa is gone?
I press my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes as I remember Papa’s last words. His concern for me, his wish to see me settled and safe. A determination begins to grow within me, pushing through the fog of grief.
I may not be able to bring Papa back, but I can fulfill his final wish. By the time I turn eighteen, in just a month’s time, I’ll find a suitable match. I’ll marry a good man, someone who will make Papa proud.
It’s the least I can do to honor his memory.
Opening my eyes, I look out at the setting sun once more. “I promise, Papa,” I whisper. “I’ll make you proud.”
As I turn back to my family, I see them all watching me with concern. I straighten my shoulders, doing my best to project the confidence I’ve seen in Sofia and Bianca.
“What can I do to help?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
Sofia looks surprised for a moment, then nods approvingly. “We need to start notifying the extended family and our allies. Can you help Chiara with that?”
I nod, grateful for the task. As I move to join Chiara, I feel a new resolve settling over me. I am Mia Marino, daughter of Don Nico Marino.
And I will honor my father’s memory in every way I can.
The next few days pass in a whirlwind of activity. The funeral is a grand affair, befitting a man of Papa’s stature. Hundreds attend, from family members to business associates to political figures. Through it all, I stand tall beside my sisters, greeting mourners and accepting condolences with a grace I didn’t know I possessed.
As the dust settles and we begin to adjust to our new reality, I find myself spending more and more time in Papa’s study. I pore over his books, his papers, trying to understand the world he lived in.
The world that Sofia and Dom now navigate with such skill.
It’s in one of these late-night reading sessions that Sofia finds me, a week before my eighteenth birthday.
“Mia?” she says, startling me from my concentration. “What are you doing up so late?”
I look up from the ledger I’ve been studying, blinking in the dim light. “Just… trying to understand,” I say softly.
Sofia comes to sit beside me, her eyes softening as she takes in the stacks of books and papers surrounding me. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” she says gently. “Papa never wanted you involved in this side of things.”
I shake my head, closing the ledger. “I know. But I want to understand. And…” I hesitate, then press on. “I want to fulfill Papa’s last wish. I want to find a suitable match by my birthday.”
Sofia’s dark eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Mia, that’s in a few weeks. You don’t have to rush into anything.”
“I’m not rushing,” I insist. “I’ve been thinking about this ever since… ever since that day. It’s what Papa wanted. And it’s what I want too.”
Sofia studies me for a long moment, her blue eyes probing, then nods slowly. “Alright. If you’re sure. We'll arrange something for your birthday. A gathering where you can meet potential suitors.”
I nod, relief washing over me. “Thank you, Sof.”
She reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear in a gesture so like Papa’s that it makes my heart ache. “Just promise me you won’t settle for anyone less than you deserve. Papa wanted you safe and happy, not just married.”
“I promise,” I say, meaning it with all my heart.
As Sofia leaves the study, I turn back to the window, looking out at the night sky. The stars shine brightly, and I can almost hear Papa’s voice, telling me stories about the constellations.
“I’ll make you proud, Papa,” I whisper to the stars. “I promise.”