“Papà.” Mia bent her head in respect, not wanting to start out the meeting with a punch or a slap that would mean she would be more focused on the pain than on the real reason she had been summoned to the house. She spotted Dante standing by the window, and greeted him with a smile. “Hi Dante.”
Tall and slim, with a long, thin face and chiseled cheekbones, Dante carried the heavy burden of being heir to the family. Although he had not inherited their father’s vicious temper, or his ruthless streak, Dante never hesitated to do their father’s bidding, and never challenged him, even when Mia was forced to bear the brunt of their father’s rage. As a child, he had been a fun, teasing big brother, but he had changed when their father forced him into the life at the age of nine, sending him on errands for him and his men. After that, he had become detached and distant, and she still missed the Dante she used to know.
Dante gave her a curt nod, and Mia’s smile faded. “What’s wrong?”
“Madre di Cristo!” Her father snarled before Dante could answer. “You look like you’re dressed up for Halloween.” He took a deep breath and bellowed. “Gina! Get in here!”
Mia’s mother, who no doubt had been waiting by the door in case she was summoned, rushed inside, her face pale and drawn. “Is something wrong?”
“I told you to make sure she was properly dressed. Look at her. She’s an embarrassment to the family. How the fuck am I supposed to take her out looking like that?”
“Mi dispiace,” Mama stammered. “I thought you meant you wanted her in a dress, and she’s wearing one. I did offer to give her some of last season’s Chanel—”
“Shut the fuck up.” He rose from the chair, pushed up his sleeves. Mia’s skin prickled in warning, and her mother let out the softest whimper. After years of abuse, they all knew the signs, and they knew better than to run because running always made it worse.
Mia shot a look at Dante, noted the lack of tension in his shoulders, the disinterest in his face. He was taller than their father, younger, stronger, the first-born and only son. If she were Dante, she would protect her mother, protect them all. She would beat her father down and tell him never to touch her mother again.
Unbidden, an image of Nico came to mind, his broad, powerful shoulders and muscular arms, the way he had led her through the casino the other night, with his hand on her lower back, half guiding, half protecting her—the way he had protected her all those years ago. Nico would be able to put her father in his place with one well-placed blow. Not only that, he was a powerful Mafia capo; a formidable and ruthless man who took what he wanted, regardless of the consequences.
A man she did not fear, because she had seen the heart of him.
Mia had felt bold, reckless, and even brave when she threatened Nico in his office. Why couldn’t she feel like that with her father? Why couldn’t she be bold now?
“Don’t touch her.” Mia stepped back, placing herself between her father and mother.
Shock and disbelief clouded her father’s face, and then a fury like she’d never seen before twisted his expression. “Stupid girl. Get the fuck out of the way. Your mother knew exactly what I wanted. She chose to defy me. She will be punished so she learns not to do it again.”
“It was my choice to dress like this.” She stepped back, pushing her mother behind her. “If anyone should be punished it should be me.”
“Dio mio, I’ll be glad to get rid of you.” He closed the distance between them in two quick strides, and struck Mia’s face so hard, her head snapped to the side. Still reeling from the blow, she couldn’t stop him from striking her mother and then kicking her when she fell to the floor.
“Dante. Get my jacket and pick up your sister. We don’t have time to get her new clothes.” He stepped over Mia’s mother, and looked back over his shoulder. “Gina, the next time I use the words ‘properly dressed’ I want her dressed like you.”
“Of course, Battista.” Mama wiped the blood from the corner of her lip and pushed herself to sit, her legs folded under her on the plush, red carpet. “Mi dispiace. It won’t happen again.”
“Not for this one, it won’t.” He shot Mia a look of disgust as Dante steadied her with a firm hand on her elbow. After a few parting words to the Wolf, he stalked down the hallway, cutting a dark shadow through the light in his custom-made Italian suit.
“Where are we going?” Cheek throbbing, Mia followed her father down the hallway with Dante, Rev, and Alfio taking up the rear.
“Vincenzo’s Trattoria.”
Surprised that he would respond, Mia kept quiet as they exited the house. Rev climbed into the driver’s seat of the family limo, and Alfio settled in the passenger seat beside him. Mia’s father sat in the rear with Mia and Dante facing him.
“I want you to keep your mouth shut when we get there,” Mia’s father said as Rev pulled away from the curb. “I don’t want to hear any attitude. You disrespect me or embarrass our family in front of our guests; you’ll be one sorry girl when we get home. The clothes are bad enough.”
Mia’s skin prickled, and she looked over at Dante, but he stared out the window in stony silence. “Who are we meeting?”