Mafia Daddy’s Christmas Bride (The Naughty List: Mafia Edition #1)

Chapter 1

ROMAN

I adjust my tie as we climb the stone steps of the Vitale estate, growing more irritated by this unexpected summons from my boss, Don Marco Calabresi, who’s apparently meeting with Don Vitale. He knows I’m off right now.

"Daddy, how long will this take?" Angelica, my seven-year-old daughter, tugs at my coat, her small face pinched with disappointment.

"Not long, Angel. Just some quick business, then we'll go."

God, I hope I’m not lying, but I probably am. There's no such thing as "quick business" with Marco.

When the Don calls, you answer immediately and for however long he requires.

Angelica makes a face. "You promised we'd get our Christmas tree today. The big ones will all be gone."

I glance down at my daughter, her dark curls bouncing with each step, her bottom lip jutting out in that stubborn pout that reminds me so much of her mother.

Guilt twists in my chest.

"We'll find the perfect tree," I promise. "The biggest, fullest one on the lot."

"That's what you said last time." The disappointment in her voice cuts deep.

She's right. I've postponed our tree shopping twice now.

First for a shipment issue at the docks, and now this.

The Christmas countdown is ticking, and I'm failing her.

The massive oak doors of the Vitale mansion loom ahead.

Inside waits Marco, my oldest friend, my boss, the man who's been like a brother to me since we were kids.

The man whose orders I never question.

"What if we tell Uncle Marco we have important Christmas business?" she says, hope brightening her face.

Maybe in the regular world, that would be an option. Not in my world.

Loyalty to the family isn't optional. It never has been.

The Calabresis gave my father a life when he had nothing. They gave me purpose after losing Emilia, Angelica’s mother.

And while he’s fucking up this moment, Marco gives me room to be a father.

I ring the bell and the door swings open. Roberto, Don Dominic Vitale’s houseman, greets us with a formal nod.

"Mr. Ginetti, Miss Angelica. Don Vitale and Don Calabresi are in his study with the others.”

The others? Is La Corona, the council of Mafia leaders, meeting? Their next official meeting isn’t for several weeks.

Roberto’s eyes soften at my daughter. "Ms. Elena and her little ones are in the kitchen making Christmas cookies if the young miss would prefer that company."

Angelica's entire demeanor transforms instantly at hearing Dominic’s cousin, Elena, and her triplets are here.

The sullen pout vanishes, replaced by wide eyes and a gap-toothed grin.

"Cookies? Real Christmas ones with sprinkles?" She bounces on her toes, winter boots squeaking on the marble floor.

"With sprinkles, frosting, and everything else that will ensure a proper sugar rush," Roberto confirms with a conspiratorial wink.

I help Angelica out of her coat, my fingers working the small buttons.

The transition from enforcer to father happens without thought. The hardened hands that broke a man's jaw last night are now gently untangling a scarf from my daughter's curls.

Of course she doesn’t know what I do.

Will she be disappointed in me when she finds out?

"Can I go, Daddy? Please?" She's practically vibrating with excitement.

"Of course." I hang her little red coat on the rack. "But mind your manners with Elena. And don't eat too many—"

"Before dinner. I know!" She finishes my standard warning.

These are the moments that remind me of who I really am beneath everything else.

To the world outside these walls, I'm Roman Ginetti, the shadow behind Marco Calabresi, the name whispered in fear.

But here, now, I'm just a father fussing over a crooked bow in his daughter's hair.

The duality doesn't feel like a contradiction anymore. Both sides serve the same purpose, protecting what's mine.

I press a kiss to Angelica's forehead. "Go on, then. I'll come find you when I'm finished."

She darts down the hallway where one of Dominic’s staff has appeared to lead Angelica to the kitchen.

I watch until she disappears around the corner toward the kitchen, taking the lightness with her.

I follow Roberto through the familiar corridors of the Vitale estate, each step carrying me further from the father I was moments ago.

My posture straightens, jaw tightens.

Roman the dad fades and Roman the enforcer emerges.

"This way, Mr. Ginetti." Roberto leads me to Dominic’s office.

"Are all four families present?" I keep my voice level, professional.

Roberto nods once, his expression giving nothing away. "They've been assembled for nearly an hour."

That's concerning.

Whatever this is, it's serious enough to pull all four Dons away from their operations just as the Christmas season is ramping up.

We reach the heavy mahogany doors. Roberto knocks twice, waits for the muffled acknowledgment, then steps aside.

"They're expecting you," he says, then disappears back down the hallway.

I take a measured breath, squaring my shoulders before entering. The room falls silent as I step inside, all eyes turning toward me. I keep my expression neutral despite the curiosity burning inside me.

The four Dons of La Corona sit around the circular table.

Marco catches my eye briefly, his face revealing nothing.

Beside him, Dominic Vitale, youngest of the Dons at thirty-six, drums his fingers against the polished wood.

Don Antonio Monti checks his watch with irritation.

Don Leonardo Ferraza occupies the far seat, his complexion flushed, beads of sweat visible on his forehead despite the room's cool temperature. The old man looks like he's about to have a stroke.

I stand at attention, hands clasped behind my back, the perfect picture of respect while my mind races through possibilities.

A territory dispute? Betrayal within the ranks? Issues with the police?

"Roman." Marco finally acknowledges me with a slight nod. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

I incline my head slightly. "Of course, Don Calabresi."

I scan each face methodically, searching for clues. Whatever has Don Leonardo Ferraza this agitated must be significant.

"We have a problem." Marco’s piercing, dark eyes settle on Don Ferraza. "A serious one."

I wait to hear more.

“Isabella Ferraza has been meeting with a federal agent,” Don Vitale explains.

My face betrays nothing as I process what I'm hearing.

Isabella, Leonardo's daughter, is meeting with a federal agent.

The implication is that she’s passing information.

Betraying La Corona.

That’s not good. Not good at all.

I glance at Marco, meeting his gaze. We've known each other since childhood. I can read what's unspoken in his eyes.

I’m not here as underboss, but as executioner.

"My daughter didn't know what she was doing!" Don Ferraza slams his palm against the table. Desperation distorts his usually dignified features. "She was manipulated, fed lies—"

"Lies about what?" Don Monti asks.

Don Ferraza's shoulders sag. "The agent convinced her that the Calabresi family, specifically, was responsible for Sophia's death."

Sophia Ferraza. Isabella's mother.

Marco sneers. “Why the fuck would I have your wife killed, Leo?”

Why indeed.

“No reason, Marco. I know that, and it’s my opinion that matters, not Isabella’s.”

“Why the Feds?” Don Vitale asks.

Don Ferraza looks like a man who’s about at the end of his rope. “I don’t know. She wants answers about her mother’s death.”

“Any chance this Fed targeted her?” I ask.

All eyes turn to me.

“What do you mean?” Marco asks.

I shrug. “Isabella seems like a smart enough woman to know going to the Feds is stupid. But if she was looking for answers to her mother’s death, maybe—”

“Maybe they saw an opening.” Marco sits back and considers this, as do the others.

“It doesn’t change that she’s been talking to a Fed,” Don Monti says.

Don Ferraza’s face crumples. "She believes she's seeking justice for her mother."

Don Vitale clears his throat. His eyes are somber as he turns to Don Ferraza. "I'm truly sorry about this situation, Leonardo. Truly." His voice carries genuine sympathy. "Isabella is family. She's been like a cousin to me since we were children."

Don Ferraza nods gratefully, a flicker of hope crossing his features.

"But she's compromised all of us." Don Vitale’s tone hardens. "Every family at this table. Every business. Every man and woman under our protection. We can't have that. Not even from one of our own."

The hope in Don Ferraza’s eyes dies. His shoulders slump further, the proud Don suddenly looking every one of his fifty-eight years.

"She's my only child. My little girl."

I shift my weight, uncomfortable with the raw emotion.

In our business, sentimentality is dangerous. But I understand his pain.

If it were Angelica…

The thought stops me cold. I can't even complete it.

"The agent is the real problem," I say. "If he targeted her specifically, used her grief as a weapon."

Marco's eyes narrow at me. "Are you defending the informant, Roman?"

"No." I meet his gaze steadily. "I'm identifying the bigger threat. Cut off the handler, and we might salvage the situation."

"Or she could run straight to another agent with everything she knows," Don Monti counters.

"There's another way," Don Ferraza says. "A marriage."

That came out of left field. A marriage doesn’t stop Isabella from talking or taking back what she might have already shared.

"You can't be serious." Marco's laugh is sharp and cold. "You suggest we reward treason with a wedding?"

"Not a reward." Leonardo leans forward, suddenly animated. "A solution. She marries into the Calabresi family, to you, Marco. She becomes bound by blood. Her loyalty transfers. Her silence is guaranteed."

Thank God I’m good at poker, because of all the solutions Don Ferraza could suggest, that’s the craziest.

Marco has successfully avoided marriage for his forty-six years. I’d been with him on the non-marriage train until I met Emilia ten years ago.

When I lost her three years ago, I had a moment to think Marco’s stance on marriage was a good one.

You can’t get hurt if you don’t love.