Chapter 2 - Lillies

❦ Rosalind ❦

I lay awake the next morning, staring up at the ceiling of my childhood room that was painted in a coquettish pink sky.

Every time I pictured myself leaving the safety of the large bed and jumping headfirst into mafia boss mode, or thinking about the situation with Viktor Marino, my heart rate picked up, sweat coating my forehead, and my left hand twisting the prosthetic ring finger of my right.

I heard a shuffle as the door opened and closed. The smell of artificial lilies hit me, but I kept still and watched Claudia who entered holding a bouquet.

Claudia Amato, my family’s housekeeper in childhood, turned nanny after my mother’s death fifteen years ago. I vaguely remember her trying to fill the void, but she never could. Not until I was sent to live with my aunt Carina five years later. She had to be in her late fifties now, her black hair had ash roots.

Itching for the comfort of conversation instead of sitting with my bleak thoughts, I sat up in bed, facing her.

“Dio mio!” she startled, clutching her chest. “I didn’t know you were awake, Rosa Mia.”

I smiled. Claudia wobbled over and hugged me.

In her hug, I felt it all, her welcome, her condolences, everything she meant to say but didn’t have to. When she pulled away, both our eyes were teary.

“Be strong, Rosa Mia. Your father did everything to protect you. He didn’t want to leave you. But he has. Now fight for him.”

I sniffled, nodding.

“Alzati. There’s risotto in the kitchen. You need to eat. You can’t think if you don’t eat.”

After more prodding and complaints about my weight, I made my way into the kitchen through the living room in my short, silk nightdress and fuzzy kitten slippers.

I stopped short when I saw who was in the living room.

All eyes turned to me, and I nearly bolted.

But I knew this was where the act had to begin, if I didn’t start now, they’d never respect me.

Hyper-aware of my scant dressing, I rooted myself to the spot as Marcus DeVries, and the two men with him, rose from their seats.

“My apologies, Rosa…”

“Rosalind,” I cut in. I found solace in my full name. Rosa sounded like he knew me. He didn’t. He was seeing me for the first time in twelve years.

“Rosalind,” he corrected. “I should have known not to intrude so early, knowing you’d be living here.”

I could feel his internal battle as he fought to keep his eyes on mine and not lower to my chest. I squirmed, resisting the urge to twist my prosthetic for comfort.

“These are Dante Rinaldi and Leo Santoro,” Marcus continued after my stiff nod. “Leo is one of the few capos left after…” he paused, afraid to trigger me.

“After my father’s death,” I finished for him.

“And Dante, a Made Man. He’s been appointed your personal bodyguard, subject to approval by you, if you find him worthy.”

I graced each man with a glance and a nod. Neither of them approached, respecting my state of undress. But the one named Leo swept his gaze over me boldly. I stared him down.

“Nice to meet you both. We’ll have a more formal introduction after I’ve had my breakfast. You’re welcome to join me?” I offered, still resisting the urge to run.

Both men murmured their thanks and declined, bowing their heads slightly. I nodded once, then continued into the kitchen.

Once inside, I gripped the countertop, my breaths coming in huge, uneven gasps.

I ate alone, and thankfully, Claudia soon came in with a robe, sensing my discomfort with that old maternal instinct.

Then I bathed, dressed, and found Marcus alone. The other men had left.

“I once again apologize…” he started, but I cut him off.

“It’s fine. What did you mean, ‘one of the few capos left’?”

I knew the answer, but I still wanted to be sure. In the mafia, you didn’t just walk away, not even after the don’s death.

“Many men have abandoned the family, Rosalind. Before your father’s death, the businesses were already struggling. I have men after those who fled. They’ll be punished for the disrespect.”

I tuned out. One name pulsing in my mind.

“Who is Viktor Marino?”

Marcus visibly blanched. Then he quickly fixed his expression. But I’d already seen it. The name shook him, and with what I already knew, I didn’t blame him. I wondered if he knew about the contract my father had signed.

“The new don of the Marino family. Son of Darko Marino. He is the enemy.”

I raised a brow. I expected more than just an emotionally loaded label.

“He killed your papa.”

My blood ran cold.

“Do you have proof?” My finger twitched, the phantom one. I wanted to twist the prosthetic for comfort, but no… not now.

“No, but I’ve got men on it. He has a history. Killed his elder brother to rise in the ranks. And when that wasn’t fast enough, he killed his father, and yours.”

An uninvited image pushed forward. A scarred face twisted in rage, blood dripping from fingers, nostrils flaring in bloodlust. My heart thudded hard. My vision shifted as I took deep breaths.

In. Out. In. Out.

I owned a flower shop. I wasn’t built for this. No matter how I bluffed, how could I survive in this world?

Then another image, me losing my papa’s house, the house my mother died in. The house I was raised, and loved, in. The house that was left to me. I could never give it up.

And that, alongside the other properties and assets my father owned, was what this Viktor Marino no doubt wanted.

He wouldn’t get them.

“Set up a meeting with this… Viktor.”

His name tasted like bile. I swallowed the nausea.

“Let’s see what he’s really made of.”