7. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Isabella
“ M y darling, Isabella!”
My father opens his arms and welcomes me with his wolf-like grin. He hugs me, his grip tight enough to hurt, as always. He pulls me by the wrist into the group of mafiosos he forced with him to the opera.
“Isn’t she perfect? My daughter, the best singer in the damn country.”
A round of cheers erupts from his men, none of whom (including him) gives a shit about opera, or even singing, and least of all me.
“You raised a wonderful daughter, Don Leonardo.” Chimes in one of the many ass licking idiots.
My dad laps up the praise, as he always does when he bothers to turn up. He flashes another charming smile, his oval blue eyes judging who in the room he’d punish later for not sufficiently stroking his ego.
He leans into me, a single cheek dimpled with his smile, and whispers. “Fucking smile, Isabella. You’re here for the family.”
A shiver rolls down my spine. I force a smile while sending him daggers. He sees, and I know he’ll make me pay for it later.
“You have the perfect daughter, Don Leonardo.” My uncle, Felipe Totti, walks over with a genuine smile, and I relax a little. “I wish my Bianca would wear such beautiful dresses! She’s only ever in her athletics.”
“Athlesuire, dad. And I do wear dresses, just not as much as Iz.”
My cousin, Bianca, is next to her dad with her usual confidence. She winks at me - my partner in crime, as ever.
My dad keeps his charming demeanour, but I notice the subtle shift in his body language when Felipe and Bianca walk in. Felipe is my mother’s brother, and dad has never liked him. Felipe works as one of my dad’s capos, running the operation from further up the coast. He travels back and forth a lot, so I get to see him and Bianca pretty frequently.
“Perhaps if you took my advice, you’d be able to handle her better.”
Felipe throws his hands up in mock exasperation. “Ah, Leo, she’s a person, not a horse! I can’t be in control of everything.”
My dad drops the smile, and the room goes cold. Nervous laughs circle like hungry birds. He cocks his head at Felipe, “Don Leonardo,” he corrects.
My uncle licks his lips, memories of my father's ruthlessness flashing through every mind in the room.
“Apologies, Don Leonardo.”
The smile returns, and he wraps his arm around Felipe’s shoulder. “You’ll get her into a dress one day. Maybe when she shows you her Instagram, you’ll realise I’m right.” My dad erupts into a laugh, and all his men join in.
Bianca’s fist curls, and I know she has it in her to hit my dad, Don of the Italian mafia or not, but Felipe subtly places a calming hand on her to still her fire.
My dad might have power, money, and respect, but I’d kill to have a father like Felipe.
After a few more jokes at Felipe and Bianca’s expense, my dad smooths it over with some empty compliments and moves on to explaining how he took me to singing lessons as a kid because, of course, he deserves the credit for everything family related.
I slip over to Felipe and Bianca. “He didn't need to do that.”
Felipe scratches the tip of his balding head and finishes chewing down one of the pizza bites from the buffet. “I’ve been dealing with your father since the day he married my sister. No need to apologise.” He opens his mouth to continue, then his eyes light up. “I’m getting the rest of the pasta before the De Lucas get here and eat the whole buffet.”
I laugh while Bianca calls after him. “Not too much! You have to be healthy!” She shakes her head and then looks back at me. “Well done on your performance.”
“Thanks.” I glance around. “You ready?”
“Girl, I have been ready since the moment we walked in.” I smile at my partner in crime, stretch, and let the real performance begin.
I slip through the crowd of mafia men, flashing polite smiles and making little in-jokes as I go. I wonder how they’d treat me if my surname wasn’t De Rossi? Something tells me the hungry wolves in the backs of their eyes would take centre-stage.
“Dad, can Bianca and I go to a restaurant? We want to have a girls’ night to celebrate.”
My dad looks around, the smile never reaching his eyes. He opens his arms, forever the showman. “Of course, baby. Here, have some real fun.” He pulls out his wallet and hands me enough cash to have a small holiday.
“Thank you.” I smile and turn to go, when his hand shoots out and snatches my wrist.
His fingers dig into my skin, the masculine smell of his expensive aftershave pinning me to the spot. “Just remember, no boys.” I think after I reached sixteen, I stopped aging in his eyes and forever became an extension of his ego. When I was eighteen, one of his capo’s nephews sent me a dick-pic and bragged to his friends that he’d “bagged” the only off-limits girl this side of Righteous Cove. I never saw him again, and any time he’s brought up, my father acts like the kid never existed.
He lets go and starts another round of laughter. “Because I’d kill ‘em.” He manages through his own fit of laughter.
“Don’t worry, Don Leonardo. Your daughter would never. She’s the perfect girl.” One of his men adds, cutting my dad’s laugh short.
Who knew being perfect could feel so suffocating?
I thank him again, promise no ‘mystery men’, and then Bianca and I leave as quickly as we can.
“Skirt?”
“Check.”
“Piercings?”
“Check.”
“Lashes?”
“Check.”
“Headband?”
I finish applying my lipstick and flash a sarcastic look at Bianca.
“It’s on my head, B.”
“Just keeping you honest.” She says back with a smile.
Bianca drops into the chair next to me, snapping a pic of us in the mirror. We’re in an old dressing room in the theatre. I talked to Phil (who basically runs the place) and he said nobody uses the room because of a leak that caused some water damage years ago, and its awkward placement in the basement. That makes it the perfect place to keep everything that needs to be kept away from our family.
A single, oval mirror, surrounded by lights, broken and shining, stands on a desk at the back of the room next to two lockers where we keep our secret selves. Outfits, alcohol, mementos of blurred nights out our fathers would literally kill someone over if they knew the details of.
“So, we going to the usual tonight?” Asks Bianca absentmindedly.
I put my lipstick back in its place, pull off the floral headband, and adjust my curly hair. Yes hovers on the tip of my tongue, but then an itching curiosity changes my mind. It changes everything.
I see the figure in the private box. The tall man with his back turned to me, growling words in a Russian accent. The spark of a light and cruel shining eyes. He knew about The Blue Moon. He knew about me.
“Not tonight.”
“Oh?” Bianca’s expression perks up. “How come?”
“Dad gave me more than usual.”
“He was showing off.”
“I know.” I laugh. “Let’s make it a night to remember.”
“Okay, where, though?”
“The Tsarina.”
Bianca’s eyebrows shoot through the roof.
“The Bratva club? Are we trying to start a war?” She laughs.
I shrug, flashing a mischievous smile to persuade her.
“As long as we don’t flirt with any mysterious Russian men, nothing will happen. Besides…” I take in a sharp breath, my mind lingering on the tall man with the broad shoulders. I need to see his face. “Something happened after the show today that… let’s say curiosity has caught the cat.”
Bianca shakes her head with a smile.
“I don’t know, Iz. It’s not exactly safe. If my dad found out… If your dad found out! We don't want to end up like zia Maria."
A hint of anxiety creeps into Bianca's laugh. Aunt Maria was sent away to a "religious convent, " which is just the family way of saying "locked away in an asylum". She married a man from the rival Russo family because she loved him, and she didn't care about the rules we're meant to play by. Nine years after their marriage, my father crushed the Russo family out of existence. He sees sending her to rot in an asylum as an act of kindness because he spared her life. I think I'd rather die than be locked in isolation for the rest of my life. Now her name gets tossed around as a threat whenever a woman in the family steps out of line.
“We’re just two girls going on a night out. It’s nothing more than that.” I hop to my feet. “Come on, walk on the wild side.”
“When the family finds out about the real you, I think there might be a few heart attacks.”
“Better to leave an impression than be forgotten.”
“You sound like your dad.”
My mouth drops open in shock.
“B! Don’t say that.” We giggle, but the comment nestles itself in the back of my head. My dad is the last person I want to be like.
“You should call Percy, then. Let him know we’re not coming tonight.”
I'm already flipping through my phone as she speaks. The phone rings, and I chuckle to myself, imagining him clumsily stumbling over to answer the landline phone because he refuses to get a mobile. “Hi Percy… Not today… We’ve got something special on the agenda.”
I don’t know who he is. I don't even know what he looks like, but I know he’s a Bratva. He has to be. Whoever you are, I'll find you.