“Not in a good mood” was family code to mean he’d already taken out some of his frustrations on Mama, which was probably why her foundation was so thick and her arms were covered with a sweater. Mia’s mother knew all the tricks for hiding bruises. It was part of being a good wife. Although her marriage had not been arranged, Mia’s mother quickly found out she had been taken in by suavity and charm. Her husband had married her solely for her looks and connections, and the love he professed to have died on the day she said “I do.”
Still, she had done her duty like the good Mafia princess she had been raised to be. She had given her husband the required son—and two unnecessary daughters—found and decorated a house to befit his status as a mob boss, raised their three children, and ensured she was always well groomed and impeccably dressed—the perfect accessory for her husband’s arm at Mafia functions. She dutifully kept her mouth shut when he spent time with his mistresses, and in return enjoyed the benefits of his status as a Mafia don. It was a cold, empty existence and one Mia wanted no part of.
“I’m wearing a dress so he doesn’t beat me,” Mia said bluntly. “Unless he decides he now wants me in pink or Chanel when I come to visit, that’s as far as I’ll go. I wouldn’t even come home if it wasn’t for you and Kat.” Or the fact her father would send his soldiers to hunt her down simply because he wouldn’t tolerate disobedience in any form.
Her mother’s lips tightened. “You need to accept who you are and the responsibilities that come with being a woman in a Mafia family. We have our place, and your life will be much easier if you just accept it and—”
“Don’t.” Mia cut her off. She had never been able to understand how her mother could want the life she led for her daughters. How could she not want them to be free to make their own choices?
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt, darling.”
“Then you should have stopped him every time he hit me, or when he broke my arm and beat me so badly I had to spend five days in the hospital pretending I’d been mugged.” Her voice rose in pitch with the distress she always felt when she thought about that night. “You should have been there the night he killed Danny and left this mark on my throat.” She touched the scar on her neck. “But you weren’t. And the only reason he didn’t kill me that night is because Nico Toscani saved me and lost his father as result.”
She drew in a shuddering breath and brushed past her mother to head up the grand staircase as the memories flooded back.
Papà had been so angry when she burst into Luigi’s restaurant that night, desperate to save Danny even though she knew there was no chance. And yet the blows he had dealt her when she pleaded for Danny’s life in front of Don Toscani and his son were nothing compared to what he did to her to ensure her silence after Danny died—a silence to shield Dante from the deed he was commanded to do. Nico hadn’t been able to save her as her father marked her with his blade. He had been on his knees, cradling the body of his dying father who had tried to save Nico from her father’s wrath.
“Your father wants to see you when Dante arrives,” her mother called up. “There’s been a change of plans for dinner. Tell Kat it will just be her and I tonight. You and Dante are going out with your father.”
Mia hesitated, tempted to ask why her father would want to waste an evening having dinner with her and Dante. He had never spent time with her without the rest of the family present except when he was beating on her for some perceived breach of the rules. But did she really want to know? Nothing to do with her father was good, so why ruin these few precious moments she got to spend with her sister worrying about something that she’d find out about soon enough.
“Kat?” She walked down the wide, carpeted hallway and pushed open Kat’s bedroom door, only to be enveloped in a sea of pink. Kat was everything a Mafia daughter was expected to be, and, as a result, she had escaped their father’s abuse growing up. But even if Kat hadn’t embraced her girliness with the same passion with which Mia despised it, not even their father would have hurt her. Slim and fragile, with dark hair and wide, hazel eyes, Kat had a kind nature, a soft voice and a sweet, gentle disposition. She was the peacemaker in the family, empathetic to the point she would curl up and cry whenever Mia suffered her father’s anger. Mia never understood why he directed all his abuse at her, but she willingly endured his punishments if it meant Kat would be spared.
“Mia.” Kat jumped off the bed and threw her arms around her big sister. With Mia working in the city, and Kat busy with school and activities out in the suburbs, they communicated mostly online, but whenever they did meet, Mia realized just how much she missed her little sister, and how guilty she felt leaving her in the house alone. Dante had moved out long ago, and as Papà ‘s underboss, he helped manage the Toscani family capos as well as run his own crew.
“You cut your hair.” Mia ran her fingers through Kat’s thick, straight hair, now hanging just below her shoulders. “I like it.”
“I did it for my eighteenth birthday, but Papà hated it.” Kat sighed. “He said men like women with long hair, not women who dress and act like boys. I had to promise not to cut it again.”
Mia’s hand froze in place. “He didn’t—”