Sins of the Father (The Valachi Family #1)

Prologue

Mia realized her family was different the day she found the gun. She’d been playing hide-and-seek in her father’s office, a place she wasn’t supposed to be. At first, she thought it was a toy, like the ones her cousin Gio played with, but heavier.

Too heavy.

Her small hands trembled as she picked it up, the cold metal foreign against her skin. A strange mix of curiosity and unease filled her.

“It’s a gun,” she whispered. Mia tilted her head, peering down the barrel like she’d seen on TV. “Why does Papa have one?”

“Mia! No!”

Donata’s scream shattered the quiet. Startled, Mia fumbled with the gun, her heart pounding. She whirled around. Her nanny’s usual composure was replaced by panic. Her face turned ashen as she rushed across the room, her steps frantic.

“Put that down immediately!”

“It’s just a toy, isn’t it?” Mia asked, wide-eyed, her voice small.

“No!” Donata’s voice cracked.

She lunged forward, snatching the weapon from Mia’s hands.

The gun hit the floor with a resounding thud that seemed to reverberate through the entire house.

Mia froze, her heart racing as Donata grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close.

The nanny’s arms wrapped around her tightly, as if shielding her from something unseen, her body trembling.

“You must never touch something like that again. Do you hear me?” Donata’s voice quivered, but her grip was firm, desperate.

“I—I didn’t mean to…” Mia stammered, confused and frightened by the sudden outburst.

Donata kneeled to look her in the eye, her expression both stern and terrified. “Promise me, Mia. Promise me you’ll stay out of this room.”

“Why?”

“This is not a place for little girls.”

Before Mia could ask what made the room forbidden to her, the heavy front door creaked open. Her father’s voice called from the foyer. “Donata?”

Mia grinned. She had missed her papa. Donata’s head snapped toward the sound, her expression shifting from fear to something harder for Mia to understand. Only a part of her recognized fear. Donata stood quickly, smoothing her apron, and ushered Mia out of the office. “Go to your room. Now.”

“But—”

“Now, Mia.”

Moments later, her father’s imposing frame filled the doorway. His dark eyes swept the room, taking in the scene: Donata’s trembling hands, the gun now safely on the desk, and Mia peeking out from behind the doorframe.

“What happened?” His voice was calm, but it carried a weight that made Donata flinch.

Mia’s heartbeat quickened, and she felt uncertain. Why did her papa seem so different?

“She—she found it,” Donata admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mia stepped forward, her voice shaky. “Papa, I didn’t know—”

Her father held up a hand, silencing her. “Mia. Come here.”

She hesitated, glancing at Donata, who gave her a small, encouraging nod. Slowly, Mia walked toward her father. He crouched, leveling his eyes with hers, his expression unreadable.

“Mia,” he said, his tone low and deliberate, “you must never go into my office again. Do you understand me?”

Her bottom lip quivered as she nodded. “But why?”

His gaze hardened, and that sick twist returned to her stomach, making her want to squirm. Her papa lightly touched her chin. “This room is not for you. It’s for my work. And my work is not something you need to know about. Ever.”

“But—”

“Mia, do not protest. You must obey my words on this.” His voice cut through her protest like a knife. “Do you understand?”

She nodded quickly, tears stinging her eyes. “Yes, Papa.”

For a moment, he studied her, his silence more intimidating than his words. Then he stood, smoothing his jacket.

“Go to your room,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Mia fled, her small feet padding against the hardwood floors as she ran upstairs. She paused at the top of the staircase, peeking down just in time to see her father step inside the office, leaving the door open behind him. Mia waited, canting her head to listen, hoping he did not shout at Donata.

“What did I say about keeping her out of here?” His voice was firm but not cruel.

“I—I tried. She was just playing,” Donata said softly.

Her father let out a breath, running a hand through his hair.

“I know, Donata. Just… be more careful next time, please. She is my only child, and I could not bear it if anything happened to her. She is already in this life because of me… I want her protected from it at all costs. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” her nanny replied.

Mia thought she sounded afraid. She slipped away to her room, her head spinning with questions she couldn’t yet shape into words. That was the day she began to understand—her father’s “work” wasn’t just business; it was something far darker.

She didn’t fully grasp the meaning of the gun or what it stood for, but Donata’s fear and her father’s hard voice left a mark. It wasn’t until weeks later, when the men came, that she truly understood just how different her family was.

The cars arrived just after midnight—sleek, black, and silent as they slid up to the curb like shadows given form. Mia watched from her bedroom window, her small fingers pressing against the cold glass as men in dark suits stepped out, their faces carved from stone.

She had seen visitors like this before. Her cousins, Maria and Gio, had mentioned them in passing—“Oh, just some of Papa’s friends”—with the same casual indifference they used when talking about the extra bodyguards that sometimes lingered outside their homes.

But something about tonight felt different.

The air in the house had thickened, like the moment before a storm broke.

Curiosity gnawed at Mia. She waited until the quiet murmurs from downstairs faded into her father’s study before slipping out of bed, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. She just wanted water, she told herself. That was all.

But as she passed the study, the low, tense voices stopped her cold.

The door was slightly ajar. That was strange. Her father never left it open during meetings. Heart pounding, she edged closer, pressing herself against the wall as she peered through the narrow gap. From her spot, she had a clear view of everyone inside.

Her father stood behind his desk, his broad frame rigid, his face unreadable. Two men she didn’t recognize loomed across from him, their expressions sharp as knives. One of them—taller, with a scar cutting through his eyebrow—leaned forward slightly, his voice a quiet threat.

“You think you can walk away from this, Bonino?”

Her father didn’t flinch. “I thought,” he said slowly, each word deliberate, “that we had an agreement.”

The second man—shorter, with cold, empty eyes—let out a humorless laugh. “Agreements change. Especially when secrets are involved.”

Mia’s stomach twisted. Secrets?

Her father’s hands flexed, his knuckles whitening where they gripped the edge of the desk. “The files stay with me until everything is transferred. That was the deal.”

The taller man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “And if we decide the deal isn’t good enough?”

For the first time, Mia saw something flicker across her father’s face—something dark and dangerous. “Then you’ll regret it.”

“Oh?”

The air in the room turned to ice.

“I’ll kill every last one of you,” her father said, his voice edged with ruthless certainty.

Mia’s breath hitched. She had never heard her father sound like that.

Except for that day when she played with the gun, he was always warm with her, his voice firm but kind.

Now he wanted to kill people. Mia knew what that meant from the movies she had secretly watched with her cousins.

Her lips quivered. Dread—and something she couldn’t yet name—unfolded in her chest. She shifted, and the floorboard creaked beneath her.

Her father’s gaze snapped toward the door, locking onto hers for a split second before he turned back to the men, his expression smoothing into cold indifference.

She didn’t wait to see if he’d call her out.

She ran up the stairs, heart hammering, her bare feet slipping on the polished wood.

Once she reached her bedroom, Mia rushed under her blankets, pulling them tight around her as if they could shield her from the truth settling like lead in her chest.

The men downstairs weren’t just visitors. The extra guards weren’t just help. Her family wasn’t just different.

They were dangerous.

For the first time, Mia understood—so was her father.

A couple of days later, Mia waited anxiously for her father to return home.

He was away on business, leaving Mia with Donata and a handful of guards who never seemed to last more than a shift.

Donata explained that her father’s paranoia didn’t allow for trust, and they often had several different men protecting them.

Mia yawned and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

She wanted to sleep, but her father had promised to bring her something special from his trip, and she had spent the whole day waiting, excited for his return.

“Come, little one, it is time for bed.”

“Just a little bit more,” Mia protested. “Papa will be here soon.”

“I’ll read you another story then, and we’ll see.”

Mia smiled and nestled into her bed, hugging her stuffed unicorn to her chest. Her eyelids drooped before Donata finished the story, and she was barely aware of being tucked in and hearing the soft click of the door as Donata slipped from the room.

A loud, sharp crash jolted Mia upright in bed. Before she could fully process it, she distinctly heard—Pop! Pop! Pop!

Mia’s stomach dropped.

“Donata?” she called, her voice trembling.

Donata flung open their adjoining door and froze, staring at her.

Mia shoved the coverlet from her body but stayed in bed.

Donata’s calm, familiar demeanor had vanished.

She crept to the door, cracked it open, and peeked out.

She turned back to Mia, her voice low and urgent. “Get in the hiding place. Now.”