Capitolo I

"It's either that or you get yourself killed while walking in Time Square." My father is a healthy man. For his age, he is still capable of fighting with any weapon and through hand combat. Also, he is still a master of ruining my life. "We're despised in the Mafia, Caty. It's the only way to pay our debts and clean up the Santelli name."

"I'd rather die while walking in Time Square, then." I crossed my arms and leaned back on the chair. My father let out a frustrating sigh and touched the bridge of his nose.

"Caty, you need to do this for us. For our bloodline. For your kids someday and their kids after that," he suggested, but I am fucking far away from agreeing.

"And who says about me having kids, father?" I raised an eyebrow. "Besides, I'd rather die a virgin—" not that I'm a virgin or anything "—and fight for our bloodline, then let an arrogant stranger fix what you and mother did," I hissed through gritted teeth. My father clenches his jaw, and I knew I hit a nerve. My father was one of the most patient among three Montefiore's Capos and considered one of the toughest. He's a silent man in the business, but the merciless of all.

Pasquale Montefiore is one of the kindest and most impulsive men in the Mafia industry. Kindest because he recruited my father as one of his Capos and impulsive because he didn't give a single thought about it.

My father was once an Underboss of his father—technically, second in command. He was the second eldest among five brothers, and it became his pride for being chosen. His eldest brother, Matteo Santelli, was a jealous and compulsive asshole. So when he discovered that his younger brother was being second in command, he got furious and went rogue behind his father's back—selling information to the enemy. When my father violated Rule 3, Matteo was very happy to take my father's place and their father, my grandfather, shunned my father out of his position and disowned him as his son.

"I do not, and won't ever, regret what happened between me and your madre, Caty," father said as his eyes went soft and his jaw relaxed.

My mother was a Russian Archduchess. The fifth eldest in Larionova, a Russian mafia composed of vigorous females. Rule 3 was to never fraternize with the enemy, so when my mother got pregnant with me, they both eloped and moved to America, deciding that it might be the safest place to be. My mother died of childbirth—because of me. I killed my mother. I was a murderer before I learned how to walk. I killed with my eyes closed. Since then, my father and I have permanently stayed in New York. Occasionally, he'd only visit Italy for business—mostly for meetings and transactions.

"If you do this, you can visit Italy as you please. You don't have to sleep with one eye open. No more bodyguards and nannies to watch your back." My father is a master manipulator, but I was a master of his games.

"I survived this kind of setup for more than twenty years, father." I countered. There were no bodyguards and nannies involved in our situation. At least not that I know of. Except for Mrs. Sanchez, the cook. "I don't get why I need to have a pretend marriage to a man I don't even know."

"Amore mio, Lucas De Marchi came from one of the purest and legendary bloodlines in the entire Italian Mafia."

"And you believe that if I marry this Lucas, we—you and I—should be stripped off from the most-hated list in Italian Mafia?" I asked briskly.

"Si, Caty." This time, he was the one who calmly leaned back on his black leather chair. "If the mob sees you with a notorious and loyal man like Lucas, they'd consider, at least you if not me, to be taken back to have a better life and a position you deserve."

"And what's in it for me?" I raised an eyebrow. "What if I don't want to return to this former life of yours?"

"Then you wasted your entire childhood." He's challenging me this time. He smirks his mocking smirk at me, knowing that I don’t back down from a challenge. And he only does it to his clients. "All those training, those shooting lessons and combat drills. All a waste."

I despised my training when I was a kid. I was bruised and wounded. I wasn't an ordinary kid. At age four, I memorized all types of guns and daggers. By six, I knew how to use them. By 10, I was almost as good as my father's associates and soldiers. By age eleven, I treasured the value of being stone cold. I was kidnapped by one of my father's loyal mates and tried to electrocute the information out of me. Three days after being strapped and shocked, I realized that I was just being tested by my own father. I didn't talk to him for five months after that.

"I'm sure they wouldn't be all wasted," I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Caterina, if your madre sees how you are right now, she will, as always, be pleased as I am," he creased his forehead and softened his eyes. "And also disappointed, if you refuse this offer." Son of a bitch! He knew I have a soft spot for Mama and he was only playing me like a cat playing with its food.

I took a deep sigh of surrender, but I kept my eyes cold. I wasn't letting my guard down. "What's in it for me, then?" I repeat my earlier question.

"Whatever you want, mi Caty." My father was already smirking this time. He knew I was to be playing his game. "Power, riches, fame. Revenge."

"I can get a divorce right after I fooled them all?" I blinked.

"You can even kill them all if you want to. As long as you make them believe you are worthy. It'll be easy if you can even fool Lucas. They'll never know what hit them." He chuckled. "So are you saying yes, my Caty?"

I grabbed the nearest pen at his desk. "Where do I fucking sign?" Father slides to me a white envelope. I opened it and I signed it with my name and decided to read it later before bed.

Signed: Caterina Mari Santelli