CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3: Mirabella's POV

              Papa was dead. And I saw his murderer pull the trigger, I didn't even call for help or try to stop him. Maybe deep down, that was what I wanted, but it didn't make this any easier. I bent over the toilet seat as another wave of nausea hit me. 

I pressed my palms against the cool porcelain, feeling a tremor run through my body, a nausea that wasn't just physical but rooted in something darker, something I couldn't name.

I felt like I had a hand in his murder. The stranger, who was he? I had been shielded from this part of this life all my life because that's what the daughters do, sit pretty, have manners, get pawned off. Marco was talking to the stranger before he shot Papa. The memory replayed, distorted, in my mind: Marco’s tense jaw, the stranger’s cold stare, the click of the gun. 

I gasped as realization dawned upon me. Marco had a hand in this. I gathered myself from the floor and stalked out of my room, making a beeline for Papa’s office–Marco’s new office.

“Mira, you can't go in there,” Dominic said when I arrived at the front door. There were guards scattered all around, but the ones near the door straightened up.

“I need to see Marco, now,” I said.

“That will have to wait. Papa has just died. Marco has a ton of things to sort out before his burial,” he said, dismissing me as he turned to enter the office.

I tried to push past him into the room but two men grabbed me and held me in place. Their grip was firm, unyielding. 

“Behave yourself, Mirabella. You are no longer a child,” he scolded, irritated. Then turning to the guards, “Take her to her room and lock her in. I want the room under constant surveillance till Marco sees her.” He said and then walked into the office.

The men basically hauled me to my room and no amount of threats or cursing or kicking and screaming made them release me, I gave up soon enough. Not like I expected to take down two burly men all on my own. The cold metal of the door lock clicked behind me, sealing me in. I pressed my forehead to the door, trying to breathe through the rising panic. The walls felt like they were closing in.

They locked me in my room per instruction and when I didn't hear their humongous feet shuffling away, I knew they stationed themselves right in front of my door, I couldn't pick the lock. I was trapped.

After pacing for about an hour, I opened the windows and looked down. Trying to escape from here would be falling to my death, so I quickly shut down the idea. The courtyard below was a maze of stone and was guarded by armed men. No way out, at least, not yet.

“You fucking assholes. Tell my brothers that if they don't release me in the next 10 minutes, I will use a fucking scissor on myself,” I yelled with all the strength I could muster. About a second later, a pair of feet shuffled away. Good. I clenched my fists, feeling a surge of defiance. 

Some minutes later, the doors unlocked and Marco walked in, a deep scowl etched on his face. His eyes were dark, unreadable, yet I could see the exhaustion and worry lurking beneath. Aw, dear brother was worried that I'd kill myself.

“I'm not in the mood to deal with your attitude, Mirabella. And don't ever threaten me with suicide again,” he warned and I rolled my eyes, annoyance flaring in my chest.

“What were you doing?” I asked, instead. He looked like he wasn't going to answer at first, but he decided against it, a smart man. I could be very persistent and annoying.

“I was in a meeting with the leaders on our turf to decide who would be the next Don. Also making arrangements for Papa’s burial,” he said.

“And, who's Don?” I asked and he straightened himself.

“Don't tell me this was why I was interrupted,” he said as I walked towards the windows, right on my tail.

“I know you killed Papa,” I said, so quietly but the silence that followed was deafening. The words hung heavy in the air between us.

“What?” He said, disbelief and shock crossed his eyes for a second but it was gone as soon as it came. I truly believed that he had no human emotions, just cold calculation.

“What?” I repeated. “Do you think I'm a fool? The same man you were in deep conversation with pulled the fucking trigger on Papa,” I said.

“Don’t fucking curse at me,” he said, his tone sharp, but I knew he felt no remorse or guilt.

“Who is that man?” I countered, voice rising.

“None of your fucking business. You stay far away from what happened tonight, okay?” He said, coming to stand near me, his jaw clenched.

“Is he in this family? No that can't be, he has to be from another family. A stronger one, to have the balls to kill the Don of the Belluci family,” I mused loudly to myself.

“Mirabella!” He growled, voice low and dangerous. “You are to stay out of this, am I clear?”

I grinned deviously, “Of course dear brother. I won't tell a soul about what I've discovered…” I started and he nodded.

“...If,” I continued, he groaned.

“If what?” He asked, eyes narrowing.

“If you let me go to culinary school,” I said, casually, as if I were discussing the weather. There, I said it. Who said he was the only one that could benefit from Papa’s death?

“You know that's not possible. You're 21 now, you get married,” he said, his tone final, cutting through my hopes. 

“Well, you weren't supposed to become Don for the next 50 years or so but you pulled it off didn't you?” I threw back at him.

“You are getting married, Mirabella and that's final,” he said, turning to leave.

I tutted, “Well, that's too bad. I was hoping to keep this a secret for longer,” I said and he stopped in his tracks.

“The fuck did you just say?” He turned back and squinted his eyes, trying to intimidate me. Nope, not today. Not when I was fighting for my freedom, yes I wasn't planning on ever coming back. Besides, I knew he and Dominic would never hurt a hair on my head.

“What did it sound like?” I threw back at him. “All it would take is one rumour. One teensy little word of mouth at the right place and your reign will be over before you say Jack.”

He knew better than anyone that the first few years of a Don’s reign, nobody really trusted him until he proved himself—and a rumor about him killing the last Don would not bode well for him. Loyalty was the watchword in the family.

He chuckled darkly, “You have become quite manipulative, Mirabella.”

“So what's it going to be?” I asked, propping a hand on my hip.

“How long is this program for?” He asked. I didn't know it would be this easy. In all honesty, I would never betray any of my brothers.

“A year,” I lied. The diploma I wanted to get was actually six months, the other six months was to figure out how to get as far away from this place as I could.

“Done. I needed you to lay low for a while anyway,” he said, turning to leave again.

“I will need some money and an apartment in LA,” I stated. He sighed deeply, a ‘my patience is wearing thin’ sigh.

“Will that be all?” He asked.

“And a car. I also don't want anyone tailing me,” I added.

“Done,” he answered, his back still facing me.

“Give me your word, Marco,” I said.

“I give you my word,” he said, closing the door as he walked out. A smile broke out on my face. I was going to LA.

********

Two days later, I walked into Mama's study. She was embroidering something on a napkin, her hands trembling slightly, but her face was composed, almost resigned.

“Mama,” I called out and she looked up and smiled at me. It wasn't the brightest smile to ever exist but she looked happier, lighter and even glowed a little. Did she hate my papa that much? I guess she did.

“My sweet. Do you really have to leave?” She asked as I took a seat near her. I nodded. It was set in stone, I was to leave immediately after Papa’s burial the next week.

She smiled and nodded, “You don't give up do you?” she asked.

“Not ever. I get that from you,” I said. Her frail hands came up to rest on my face. Then she reached behind her and gave me a box.

“Mama?” I looked at her and then the box curiously. It was a rectangular box, small enough to fit in a regular handbag.

“If you ever need to go off the grid. There's some money, a new passport with a new identity and the address to one of my houses in Sicily. No one will ever be able to find you,” she said.

I opened the box and there were a couple thousand Euros, a new passport and ID, and an address scribbled on paper.

Tears filled my eyes, “How did you…,” I managed to choke out but she shushed me, her fingers collecting my tears.

“Like you said, you're just like me. The only difference is that you have the balls to fight for yourself. So do,” she kissed me lightly on the cheek and walked gingerly out of the room.