Through Smoke and Steel: A Mafia Romance

❦ Rosalind ❦

“My condolences, Rosa.” Marcus DeVries, my father’s consigliere, had said, pressing a heavy palm to my back as I stood, frozen, staring down at my father’s body.

“That’s him,” I whispered, and the words stole the last of my strength. I sank forward, sobbing into Marcus’s coat.

He pulled me closer, but for some reason, his hold felt uncomfortable. I stepped back, shaking and sobbing into my fist, my vision blurring, burning hot.

The car ride home was stifling. Marcus didn’t say a word as he drove and I tried to dredge up memories of him from my childhood. All I recalled was a brooding man surrounded by a dark, suffocating air. Every man in the business carried a shadow, but his felt darker.

I was grateful when he pulled up to my father’s house. The lights blazed warmly and invitingly, as if waiting for its owner to walk through the door. I would be the bearer of bad news tonight.

I had pulled the door handle to leave, when Marcus stopped me with a loose grip on my thigh.

“If you need anything, Rosa, don’t hesitate to call,” he said, his dark eyes trying to appear comforting.

My skin crawled. I stared blankly at him. He had to be in his fifties, maybe sixties. I was only twenty, the only daughter of his now‑dead boss.

I gave a tight nod and left the car.

Later that night, in my childhood bathroom, I gripped a pair of scissors tightly.

My papa is dead. My mamma died fifteen years before him, and he never remarried.

Snip.

The last lock of hair slid down my shoulder, falling to the floor to join the shredded pieces of my father’s letter. A letter of apology, for signing a contract that I was to be married to Viktor Marino, the son of the man he had spent a lifetime fighting.

My head felt lighter, making me realize just how heavy my waist‑length hair had been. Years of carrying it had made me used to it, just like the years of grief I carried for my mamma, and now for my papa too. Losing my luscious, midnight‑black hair felt like a fair trade, making room for this new grief.

They said it was an investigation, but no one believed they’d find the killer. A lone passenger in the back seat had somehow managed to kill two of the most powerful mafia bosses in New York, Darko Marino and my father, George Marlow. What the hell were they doing in that car?

I stare at my reflection. Losing my hair helped, to an extent. I felt like a new person, which was a necessary change. I wouldn’t survive in my father’s world as a shy, reserved young girl.

I am his only daughter, shipped out of state when I was ten to protect me from the life he led. The mafia had taken his wife, he refused to let it take his child too.

I drew a shaky breath, remembering the signed contract I’d found hidden in the foam of his office chair.

Anger flared in my chest, my hands clenching the counter. Why send me to the best schools only to tie me to a man?

“You’re going to be educated and independent, Topolina.” He’d said, only to trap me by signing the damned contract.

Why write a letter when he could have said it to me in person? Did he know he was going to die? Or was it a deal made in desperation, with a man he despised, to save me from something worse?

The questions swirled until my head throbbed.

Whatever his reasons, I wasn't going to marry a stranger for the sake of “security.” Just graduated at twenty, my plans for a normal life would have to wait.

I had to secure my father’s legacy.

Even if the mafia didn’t want a woman at the lead, especially not one raised out of state, living off blood money she barely understood.

All I had were memories from childhood, overheard meetings, glimpses of how my father commanded respect and silenced disrespect with the soft pull of a trigger. It always worked. I’d heard the name Marino spat like a curse more times than I could count, yet he had bound me to it.

As long as I could shoot, bluff, and negotiate, I would be fine.

But first, I had to survive Viktor Marino.