Chapter 2

Two months later

Mia

The priest preached that death was a part of life. While I supposed that was true for everyone, it was never as true as it was for those of us born and raised in the famiglia. As the only daughter to the capo, I’d been immersed in it all my life. The reality that life would end was an ingrained truth that surrounded each and every one of us day and night.

One day, death would come for those we loved as well as those we loathed. I was no different. One day it would come for me.

The night both my brothers arrived at Rocco’s and my door, I sensed the presence of death, a heavy dark cloud descending around us. It was as if the gates of hell were personified in my eldest brother’s stare. At that moment, I didn’t know, nor could I fathom, the changes that had occurred in the Luciano famiglia. I just knew that seeing Dario and Dante unexpectedly upon my doorstep filled me with trepidation. It was the knowledge that long ago, my eldest brother had taken over many of our father’s duties—being the grim reaper was only one of them.

“Mia, let us in,” Dario said. “We have news we need to talk to you about.”

For a moment, I froze in place. If I refused them entry, would I also silence their news? That hesitation was barely a blip on the radar of time. I wasn’t even certain my brothers noticed. I was in no position to stop their entrance nor their news.

Dario’s dark stare swirled with emotions he’d never show. He couldn’t, not as a male or as next in line to become capo and run our famiglia.

I took a step back, bidding Dario and Dante entrance.

My brothers and I had never been especially close. The seven- and five-year age differences were probably a factor. Our father’s strict belief in the distinction between male and female roles was another. By the time I was old enough to be interested in the lives of my brothers, Dario was a teenager and a made man and Dante was on his way. They had little to no interest in their childish sister.

Dario’s impending news filled the space between us in a dense fog.

“Rocco?” My husband’s name was barely audible as I forced it from my lips.

They both nodded.

Tears filled my eyes, and my knees grew weak as I surrendered to the news.

My husband was gone.

The news was a blow to my world. Even being the capo’s daughter, my identity was intertwined with my husband’s.

Dario reached for my arm and led me to a sofa in the front room.

I’d been concerned when Rocco hadn’t returned home last night. However, his absences weren’t unusual. He oversaw the whores at Emerald Club, the famiglia’s private club. Sometimes his work would keep him at the club at all hours. Recently, he’d taken a trip to New York, one that I didn’t know about until he returned. Rarely was I ever told the particulars of his business, only that it was always in service to my father.

Even screwing the club whores.

“How? Who?” I tried to block out images of my husband’s demise.

Had he suffered as I’d suffered throughout this marriage?

I was eighteen years old when my father had given me the news. I was to marry Rocco Moretti, the son of Father’s trusted consigliere, Tommaso Moretti. My feelings or emotions were never considered as Father and Tommaso plotted to continue their dynasty. To suggest that love was a factor in our ten-year marriage would be the furthest from the truth.

Rocco was a cold and calculating man who refused to accept responsibility for our lack of children. A child would have secured his role in the Luciano famiglia even after my father’s demise. Yet throughout the last decade, Rocco never accomplished a higher rank than that of a trusted soldier. His dream of grandeur was continually thwarted by my brothers, Dario and Dante. Even his marriage to Vincent Luciano’s daughter couldn’t elevate him to the status of Vincent’s sons.

Dario, my eldest brother now seated to my side, spent most of the last decade defying our father’s wishes. Each time that Rocco thought Dario’s disobedience would raise Rocco’s stature, he was wrong.

We were nearly five years into our marriage when Rocco began taking his disappointment out on me. I hid the bruises well with makeup, sunglasses, and long sleeves. Only my cousin Giorgia was aware of the hell I lived. My mother would have sympathized but never would have spoken to Father about it. I’d long ago suspected that my parents’ relationship had the same issues.

Dario sat taller. His lips pressed into a straight line.

“The Russians?” I asked. The war between the famiglia and bratva continually simmered below the surface, never easing or growing cold. I opened my eyes wide, staring at Dario. “The cartel.” It wasn’t a question. Rocco loathed the alliance Dario had formed with the Roríguez cartel. My husband’s disgust extended over to Dario’s wife, Catalina, the daughter of one of Roríguez’s top lieutenants.

“I killed Rocco,” Dario stated without remorse.

I jumped from the sofa. “You?”

Dante came forward. “Mia, hear him out.”

Dario stood, this time keeping his distance. “For you and your reputation, the extent of Rocco’s crimes against the famiglia will not be made public. Know that he was involved in an attempted coup. He took from me and tried to take more. As capo, I cannot tolerate dissension.”

My eyes opened wide. “Capo? You’re capo? What about Father?”

“Gone.”

My stomach lurched, doubling me over. Gathering my strength, I stood again, my gaze going from Dario to Dante and back. “Did you—?” Kill our father…I couldn’t form the question.

Killing the capo was against the omertá. If Dario had murdered Father, he couldn’t be capo. Did Dante?

“Alesia shot him last night,” Dante explained.

Alesia—our father’s mistress.

Dario went on, “Dante and I spoke with Father only minutes before. When we arrived, Alesia was screaming. Our dear father was in the process of beating and raping her.”

I sucked in a breath.

“After Dante and I left, she used his gun. The KCPD has already taken her statement and ours.” Dario shook his head. “Domestic violence is a sickness within the famiglia I would like to eradicate.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, tears cascaded down my cheeks as I let Dario’s words sink in.

My husband was dead.

My father was dead.

My father—the man who made me marry Rocco could no longer rule my life.

The epiphany hit me. My tears weren’t for what I’d lost but for what I’d gained.

Inhaling, I lifted my chin. “I’m free.”

“You will always be a part of the famiglia. Now, it’s time for you to mourn.”

A scoff passed over my lips. “In public, I’ll do as you say.” My smile grew. “In private, know that I’m rejoicing in my freedom.”

Dario inhaled. “Mia, you’re only twenty-nine. You’re childless.”

“I’ve been to every doctor. It was Rocco, not me.” As soon as the words left my lips, I regretted saying them, especially to the man who now controlled my future. “Dario, please don’t marry me off to some soldier. I’ve done as Father wanted. For ten years.” My volume rose. “Ten years. I’ve paid the price of my heritage. Let me live.”

He looked around my living room with judgment in his gaze. This townhouse was nothing close to the grandeur of his apartment or even Dante’s. Our living arrangements were meant to reflect Rocco’s standing. In other words, we lived as soldiers did. Our status was only elevated by association.

“After the funeral, you will move back into the mansion with Mom.”

The mansion up in the Ozarks and away from Kansas City. That was also away from my friends and family.

“I can live on my own.”

Dante shook his head. “Not in this shitty place.”

“You’re still a Luciano.” Dario said. “You deserve better. And as a single woman, you need to be protected. The mansion is best.”

Protected.

That was code for controlled.

Dario lifted his hand, silencing any attempt at a response. “Tell me, sister, do you support me as capo?”

It was a trick question. If I said yes, I was subjecting myself to Dario’s rule. If I said no, I was committing myself to go the way of Rocco and Father. Dario was basically asking if I wanted to live. I suspected I wasn’t the only member of the famiglia to be asked this question.

I nodded and stood straighter. “Capo dei Capi.” I bowed my head before looking up at his accepting gaze.

I’d choose life.

And after my mourning period, I would finally get to live.

Five months later~

Stepping onto my balcony in the cool winter air, I wrapped my robe tightly around me. The cement chilled my bare feet, making my flesh pebble with goose bumps. In the silence of the early morning, I took in the view. Each day was better than the last. Winter was about to give way to spring. Redbud trees were bringing a hint of color to the leafless gray ones. In another month, in every direction, flowering trees would be popping with blooms, blanketing the mountains in a rainbow of hues. This was my fifth month living with my mother. To be honest, her home was large enough to go days without seeing one another. However, her wish was that we spend each evening dining together.

It wasn’t too much to ask, and I appreciated that after the first few weeks, she’d lessened her requirements for formal attire. There was no reason to dress up. As two women in mourning, our visitors were few. Dario’s guards made sure of that.

We also weren’t privy to all the famiglia news, yet I had my secret source: Giorgia. Antonio, her husband, swore his loyalty to Dario and the famiglia. He would have done the same to Father and Tommaso if they had prevailed. That didn’t mean that Giorgia’s husband was a threat to Dario’s new organization.

In my opinion it meant that like many of the other soldiers, he lacked the fortitude to rule. The soldiers were dangerous and deadly while also followers and subordinates. They didn’t have the brutal leadership qualities Father and Dario shared. If I were to be honest with myself, Rocco had also been without those qualities. When it came to the famiglia, Rocco learned from his father. Tommaso was ruthless to the world. Yet in the privacy of my father’s company, he never failed to grovel. Father liked that about him and others.

Dario didn’t.

Tommaso saved his own life with his pledge of loyalty, yet he couldn’t retain his status. Dante was now Dario’s confidant—his consigliere. I had to give my brothers credit—both of them. Through Giorgia’s updates, it sounded as if the alliance with the Roríguez cartel was working. Not only did the Luciano famiglia have more quantity and quality product, but the allegiance also gave our famiglia the resources to slow the bratva’s efforts to infiltrate our territory.

My mourning would be over in another month, the acceptable amount of time for a childless widow. As the capo’s wife, Mother’s would last longer—an entire year of wearing black.

That was the extent of her bereavement—a black wardrobe.

In the privacy of her home, we’d worked to move on with our lives. The sad reality was that neither of us were exactly brokenhearted. We were also sheltered in the middle of nowhere. That didn’t mean I didn’t have plans.

I did.

I’d looked into attending college. Yes, I was older than many of the freshman students, yet my plans weren’t for socialization but for education. Dario’s wife had a degree. There was no reason to deny me one.

Mom’s biggest ire was that Father’s whore, as Mom referred to Alesia, was still living in Father’s luxury Kansas City apartment with the protection of the famiglia. She even had the audacity to attend Father’s funeral, wearing black.

Despite Mom’s rants, Dario refused to budge on his decision. He’d given Alesia his word, and he wasn’t going to falter. After a life of submission to her husband, Mom faced the reality that she was now under her son’s rule.

Wearing my robe, I made my way down to the dining room. Breakfast didn’t have mandatory attendance like dinner. Nevertheless, I was growing accustomed to a bit of conversation with my morning coffee.

Sunshine poured through the dining room windows. Mom sat at the head of the table, the seat she’d claimed after Father’s death, with a plate of uneaten food and her cup of coffee. She peered up at me from behind the pages of the Kansas City Gazette and sighed.

“Good morning,” I said as I took my seat and Rosa poured coffee into my cup.

“Breakfast, Mrs. Moretti?”

I scanned Mom’s untouched meal. The eggs looked like rubber and the bacon was cold. “Fruit and an English muffin.”

Rosa nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Dario and Catalina are coming to dinner tonight,” Mom said, folding the newspaper and setting it down to the side of her plate.

“To what do we owe the honor?” Sarcasm wasn’t disguised in my question.

“He said he wants to show her springtime in the Ozarks.”

I rolled my eyes. “I can’t believe their marriage is still working.”

“Before their wedding night, I wouldn’t have given it six months.”

Lifting the rim of my cup to my lips, I blocked out my mother’s soliloquy, the story about Dario and Catalina’s sheets. I’d heard it too many times to count. Each time she retells it, I can’t help thinking of my own wedding night. It was the only wedding night I knew was not embellished. The memories made my stomach turn.

Once Mom was done, I turned to her and scrunched my nose. “Don’t you think Catalina’s sister was right? We have some savage traditions.”

“They aren’t savage.”

“Did the old bats come into your bedroom after you and Father were married?”

Mom lifted her coffee cup. “Of course. It’s tradition.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“I don’t recall.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Mia,” Mom exclaimed.

“It’s true. We all hate it, and yet we make each new bride go through it. Surely, Dante will be marrying soon.” Rosa entered with my breakfast. Once she was gone, I lowered my voice. “I just hope he marries an Italian. Dario and Catalina can bear the weight of this alliance.”

“I spoke with Dario last night. There is to be another wedding.”

My forehead furrowed as I lifted my eyebrows. “Dante. Let me guess…” I tried to think of unwed women from the famiglia. Now that he was Dario’s consigliere, he would want more than a soldier’s daughter. “Is it someone from the Chicago or New York famiglias?”

Mom pressed her lips together as small lines formed around them. “Apparently, the negotiations have been in the works for the last three months.”

“I’m surprised Dante will wait that long if he has his mind set.” I lifted my English muffin to my lips, taking a bite of the buttery goodness.

“Mia, it’s you.”

My throat forgot to swallow. I had the sensation of falling, as though the floor had just been taken out from under me. “No,” I sputtered, finally swallowing the muffin. “No. I’ve done my part. I married Rocco.” I wasn’t a prized virgin nor the daughter of the capo any longer. “I won’t be forced to marry another soldier.”

I could admit that I’d enjoyed living in Mother’s mansion with her servants. This was the life I’d been raised to expect. Another soldier would mean I was back to living in a townhouse or worse, some small house in a rundown area of Kansas City.

“Mom, please,” I pleaded, “talk to Dario.”

She shook her head. “Your brother doesn’t listen to me.”

“I’ll call Dante.”

“You can try that.”

“Catalina,” I said, a grain of hope springing to life. “He listens to her.”

“Do you think she’ll recognize that your sudden interest in being her sister-in-law is to benefit from her position with your brother?”

Mom was right. I should have tried sooner to be close to her. “I’ve been in mourning and isolated in the mountains, surrounded by trees and guards.”

“They’ll be here late this afternoon. I don’t think you’re going to change Dario’s mind.”

“Who is it? Who does he want to marry me to?” I verbalized my fears. “I’m not a virgin. Who wants an older wife?” Surely not a man in line to work his way up in the famiglia. My thoughts went to recently widowed men. Oh God, would it be someone old, someone as old as my father?

Mom shook her head. “I’m not going to say. I’ve voiced my objection. The rest is up to Dario.”

“Your objection.” I pushed away my breakfast. “You’re not in favor?”

“I can’t imagine anything worse.”

Anything worse.

“What does that mean?”

Mom inhaled as she stood. “We have few choices in our world. Yet we do have the choice to live or die.”

The sunny day faded into the darkness of Mother’s words. As I walked back up to my suite, my thoughts were in a downward spiral. There were stories of women who killed themselves to get out of loveless, abusive marriages. It was the way of the famiglia…

In alive.

Out dead.

Could I do that? Could I take my own life?

It depended upon Dario’s announcement.

Would I have a life worth living?