Hunted by the Mafia Heir

AMELIA

Two knocks, a pause, then one more. In seven years inside the DeSanto mansion, nobody had ever used the family knock on my door.

I froze with a sweater halfway into my bag. Nobody in my life knocked like that.

"Who is it?"

"Room service." A voice outside the door giggled. "I brought the best breakfast in Rosavera. Cold toast and a very nice napkin."

I yanked the door open. My friend Maya stood in the corridor in her graduation gown, red curls bouncing, a paper plate in her hand.

"Did I do it right?" she asked. "I looked up the Mafia knock."

"You looked up the Mafia knock."

"On my phone. It said two, pause, one." She grinned. "Does it mean you are about to be shot?"

"It means family." I swallowed. "It means somebody is coming in."

"Oh." She lowered the plate. "I thought it was funnier."

"It is funny. A little." I tucked the sweater in. "Thank you for trying."

"You are welcome. Next time I will bring a gun."

"Please do not."

"A water pistol, then."

I tried to smile. "It is fine. I am used to it."

"You always say that."

"Because it is always true."

My phone buzzed on the desk. A message from my mother.

Luca will collect you at noon. Wear the blue dress. Aunt Lucinda will be at the table. Be quiet and be polite.

Maya read it over my shoulder. "Who is Aunt Lucinda?"

"Luca's aunt."

"Is she nice?"

"She is polite."

"That is worse." She frowned. "No congratulations?"

"No."

"No 'I am proud of you, Amelia'?"

"No."

"Be quiet and be polite." She snorted. "That is not a graduation message. That is a hostage note."

"She is only careful."

"Of what?"

"Everything."

I packed slowly. Two bags. A box of books. A shoebox of old postcards from the harbor, the only thing I had ever collected for myself. At the bottom of the drawer lay my first student card, with a picture of a fourteen-year-old who looked like she was waiting for a slap.

"Come outside," Maya begged. "One photo. I will wear a hat that says friend."

"You do not own a hat that says friend."

"I will buy one."

"After I finish."

"You are not finishing. You are disappearing. Text me every day."

"Maybe I am."

At noon, I dragged my bags down to the front lawn. Parents were crying and laughing. A girl in a gown threw her cap into the air, and her whole family cheered.

Then the noise changed. The laughter dropped into whispers.

"Who is that?"

"Luca DeSanto."

"The Mafia heir? Here, today?"

"Do not stare. Do not point."

"He is leaning on that black car like it is a throne."

"Wait, he is here for the girl with the bags?"

"Lucky girl. She lives in his house."

My heart pulled tight. I did not need to look. Smoke and sea salt and clean wool reached me across the grass.

Luca.

"Lucky?" a girl named Giulia said behind me. "Please. She is the drunk's daughter. Her mother married up. Does Luca keep her around like a stray?"

"Hello, Giulia."

"Everyone knows what her father was."

"Please just leave me alone."

"Or what?"

"Amelia."

His low voice made the lawn go silent. Luca crossed the grass in a dark suit, and the crowd parted for him. His dark gray eyes were cold. A small scar near his eyebrow made him look dangerous.

He did not shout. He only looked at Giulia.

"Giulia Ferro."

"Mr. DeSanto. I was only joking."

"Your father runs the loading dock at Pier Six, does he not?"

Her face went white. "Yes."

"Tell him Luca DeSanto says good morning."

"I will."

"Say it nicely."

"Good morning," Giulia whispered. "I mean, he says good morning. I mean you do." She stumbled backward. "Sorry, Amelia."

"Louder."

"I said sorry!"

"Better. Go."

She ran. My face burned.

"You did not have to do that."

"I know."

"Sofia's friends will tell her."

"I do not care what they tell her."

"You should care. She is your girlfriend."

"Give me the bags."

"They are heavy."

"I did not ask if they were heavy." He took them in one hand. "Car. Now."

I slid into the passenger seat. He loaded my things into the boot and got behind the wheel.

"Where is Rico?" I asked.

"I sent him ahead."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to drive you myself." He started the engine. "You did not eat."

"How do you know?"

"You never eat on days when you are afraid." He handed me a paper bag. "Warm focaccia. Rosemary."

"I am not afraid."

"Amelia."

"Thank you, Luca."

I took a bite. "Does Sofia make you happy?"

"She makes my father happy."

"That is not an answer."

"It is the only one I have." His jaw tightened. "Eat."

He drove along the harbor road, past fishing boats and pastel houses, and said nothing for a minute.

"What will you do after tonight?" he asked.

"Find work."

"Where?"

"I do not know yet. Somewhere nobody knows the name DeSanto."

His hands tightened on the wheel. "Nobody."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because here I am the girl who came with the housekeeper's cardigan."

"You are not that."

"Everyone says I am."

"Everyone is wrong." His voice was low. "Listen to me. In this city, if someone hurts one of ours, we find them. We always find them."

"I know."

"Do you? Say it."

"If someone hurts one of yours, you find them."

"Then you know that includes you."

My throat tightened. "I am not yours."

"You are in my house." He glanced at me. "That is close enough for the people who matter."

At a red light, he reached into his jacket. "I have something for you."

"Luca, you do not have to."

"I know." He placed a small black box in my hand. "Open it."

Inside lay a silver necklace. A tiny silver compass hung from the chain, its needle no bigger than an eyelash.

"A compass?"

"So you never get lost." He leaned closer and fastened the clasp at my neck. His fingers were warm and careful. "Hold still."

His thumb brushed the small scar near my wrist as he drew back, and he stopped.

"What is this?"

"A scar."

"From what?"

"A broken plate. My father threw it when I was eight."

His eyes went very dark. "You never told me."

"You never asked."

"I should have." His voice dropped. "My father planned a graduation party for you tonight."

"A party? For me?"

"Do not look so shocked."

"Nobody has ever celebrated me."

"Then tonight, everyone will." He almost smiled. "I will stay near you all evening."

"Even when Sofia is there?"

"Especially then."

I laughed, and it surprised us both.

The iron gates of the DeSanto mansion opened ahead of us. Armed men in dark suits stood along the white gravel drive. Luca's phone buzzed. The name on the screen said Sofia.

"I have to meet my father," he said. "Wait for me inside."

"I can manage."

"Amelia."

"Go. Please."

He went. I carried my bags through the side door into the cool marble hall and found a tall woman in a green silk dress waiting at the foot of the stairs. She had pale skin, dark blond hair, and sharp green eyes. A heavy gold ring glinted on her finger.

"Amelia, darling." Lucinda DeSanto did not smile with her eyes. "Welcome home. Do enjoy your last night under this roof."

My stomach dropped. "Mrs. DeSanto."

"Aunt Lucinda, darling. We are family."

"Are we?"

"For one more night." Her smile did not move. "Then you will be free."

"My last night?"

"Your mother told me." She tilted her head. "She tells me everything. Fear makes people so very talkative."

"Then you know she did not want to."

"Do I?" Lucinda arched a brow. "She did not argue."

"She is afraid."

"Of you?"

"Of losing everything she has."

"Oh, my dear." Lucinda reached out and tapped the little compass at my throat with one cold fingertip. "Nobody ever wants to."