My Boyfriend Sold Me to the Mafia. They Didn't Know I Was the Don's Niece.

The night before Christmas Eve, my boyfriend of three years invited me to go home with him for dinner. We barely made it to New York. I didn't even get to see the Christmas tree before he drugged me. "Simona, if I can't come up with collateral, they're going to cut out my kidney. I've got nowhere left to turn. You're all I've got." "Don't worry, I really do love you. Once we get through this, we'll get married. I won't hold any of this against you." "Just this once. I promise, babe." Half-conscious, I was taken to a place I knew very well. Mafia territory. First of all, unless I was badly mistaken, this was my uncle's estate. The Arna compound. Second, my uncle had a deep, almost obsessive attachment to his older sister. Other than my mother, no woman had ever held his attention. Third, years ago, my father made the mistake of calling my mother a nuisance when she wanted grapes during her first month of pregnancy. My uncle had him deported before the week was out. And now someone wanted to hand me over. Me. His sister's only living blood. Hard to say whether they'd die standing up or lying down. Tough call. Chapter 1 The dose wasn't heavy. It was that strange, in-between state where you can't move but aren't fully out. Anthony and his parents kept talking. My brain felt like it was wrapped in gauze. I couldn't make out a word. I met Anthony in college. He was always attentive, with that bold American warmth that was completely different from what I'd grown up with. We got along well. Three years of smooth, steady relationship. Before Christmas, he'd asked me, sincere as anything, to spend the holiday with his family and get a feel for New York. Given how well things had been going, I figured meeting his parents was a natural next step. I even brought a pile of handmade Italian gifts and a bottle of aged wine from the estate. Anthony's mother smiled brighter and warmer than the Sicilian sun itself. So even though I'd been taught since I was little never to eat anything a stranger hands you, I accepted out of politeness. And sure enough, I got a lesson for it. "Monica, I didn't mean for it to go like this." Anthony pressed his hands together like he was praying. "I love you. I'm just the unluckiest guy alive. Don't blame me, babe." "I've always wanted to marry you, you know that. I just needed the money. I was doing it for our future. I got screwed over." Marry me? For me? Gambling himself into a hole, drowning in debt, and pawning me off was for me too, I suppose. I wanted to open my mouth and tear into him. But my brain couldn't make my lips move. "Don't look at me like that, sweetheart. For our love. Can't you sacrifice just this once for me?" "The guy's from Sicily too. Play your cards right and we might even get a house out of it. Honestly, this is a blessing." His eyes were full of hunger. The desperation of a man who saw his debts erased and a free apartment in the same breath. The blue of his eyes had turned to something oily and dark. He'd become a demon wearing a human face. The car tore through the streets of Fifth Avenue in the dead of night. The Christmas spirit outside covered up everything wrong inside this vehicle. Until the car slowed and pulled into the destination, and every frame of the scenery became more and more familiar. My heart slammed against my ribs. Then came a rush of grim satisfaction. This place. This castle. These hyacinths all over the grounds. No way. Before going inside, Anthony finally let me smell something that brought a little strength back into my legs. They called out to the guards at the estate gates. Every mafia estate abroad has its own detail of soldiers standing watch. After all, these places double as operational outposts. A Don's estate is both a family residence and a branch of the organization's overseas reach. And this, almost certainly, was my uncle's compound. Don Giovanni's Arna estate. The New York arm of the family. "Sir, regarding the debt repayment, we've come up with a new arrangement. Would it be possible to let the underboss know?" Anthony pushed me in front of the two guards as he spoke. "This Christmas surprise? Don Giovanni is absolutely going to be interested." While he talked, he had his parents shine a light on my face. Even in the dark, every feature was perfectly visible. "Doesn't she look exactly like the woman Don Giovanni loved most?" "She even grew up in Sicily. Trained in classical ballet. She'll definitely catch his eye." Every word made my stomach lurch. The two guards exchanged a look, then decided to go report. They turned and led us inside. "Thank you. Once this works out, I'll make sure to return the favor." I was dragged into the first-floor reception hall. But I suspected the sedative had something else mixed in, because even though my legs could move now, the gauze over my brain hadn't lifted at all. The moment the guards left, Anthony took the clothes his mother handed him. A short black dress and a sequined camisole. "Be a good girl. Let's get you changed, babe." He dragged me away and ripped off my white dress. He even had his mother pin down my legs while they forced me into this nightclub outfit. I looked at them. I screamed with everything my throat had. I cursed with everything my lips could form. Not a single sound came out. "Behave. Trust me, you don't want to find out what the mafia does to people who cause problems." Then she showed me a few videos. Bodies hanging from the ceiling. People being fed to the ocean. Her eyes were full of smug satisfaction, like this would be enough to scare me into compliance. All I gave her back was every ounce of spit I could muster. Chapter 2 "What's your problem?" Anthony slapped me across the face. He held back a little, probably because he still needed to present me in one piece. But it was the first time in my life anyone had ever hit me. The humiliation mixed with the injustice, and my chest felt like it was on fire. "Don't wanna play along? Fine, then lose the dignity too!" He yanked off the camisole they'd just put on me and used my own shawl to leave me standing there in nothing but my bra. Anthony's mother kicked me for good measure. "Acting all pure and innocent? You've been sleeping with Anthony for how long now?" "Can't even do this one little thing for your own boyfriend? Selfish brat." "Stop kicking her. If you leave marks, she won't look right when we hand her over." Anthony pulled his mother back, then grabbed my chin. "Monica, last time I'm asking. Are you going to cooperate or not?" I smiled at him to lower his guard. The next second, I slapped him across the face with everything I had. That pushed Anthony over the edge. But it didn't matter. He'd already pushed me past mine. "You little... you hit me?" He grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled hard enough to tear at my scalp. "So you won't do it the easy way. Fine. I'll make you beg." He ripped the blue sapphire necklace from my throat. That necklace was made from my mother's ashes. It had been with me since the day she was buried. Anthony knew the story. I'd told him after we became official. "Monica, what do you think happens if I drop this in the toilet?" "Something you love so much you put it in a velvet box before you even shower. Imagine it getting flushed." He held the necklace up, inching it closer to the toilet bowl. "No!" The sheer force of emotion finally broke through the drug. My first word since entering the estate. But that was all I could manage. My throat seized up, burning from the strain. Seeing me like that only made Anthony dangle the necklace lower. "Oh, trying to fight off the drugs now? Cute. And stupid." "Your mom raised you by herself, right? Must've been rough. And you can't even bend a little to save the last thing she left you." "Once it goes down, there's no getting it back." He tilted his chin up, gloating. The fear and helplessness inside me hit a breaking point. My mother was a gentle, quiet woman. She never lectured. But when it came to Anthony, she always had this edge. This quiet distrust. I used to think it was bias. Now I was living the proof. I reached desperately for the toilet, thinking I could still grab the necklace. Then I heard it. A small clink. I shoved both hands as deep as they'd go. The mockery on Anthony's face only got heavier. But he was a man who only cared about results. No amount of mockery stopped him from crouching down the next second and pulling me up himself. "Once my debts are cleared, I'll still marry you. We'll go back to the way things were." I closed my eyes. Tears fell before I could stop them. "That's more like it." Anthony's mother nodded in approval. "Go wash her face. She can't meet anyone looking like that." Anthony shoved my face under the faucet. The foam swallowed every breath. "I'll do it myself," I tried to struggle. "Shut up!" He pushed me in front of the sink. "Your makeup's ruined. You look like a ghost." He grabbed my hair and held my face under the tap. Cold water hit me so hard I couldn't stop shaking. Makeup ran everywhere. The bathroom door banged. Anthony's father's voice came through. "Anthony, hurry up! Don Giovanni's people are here!" Anthony froze, then glared at me. "Lucky you." He dragged me out and shoved me back onto the reception hall carpet. The door opened. Several men in black suits walked in. The one in front was early thirties, scar across his face, eyes cold as a dead winter. "Giovanni's on his way down." Scarface scanned me once. "She cleaned up?" "All set, all set!" Anthony's father scrambled to smile. "What do you think, sir? The resemblance, right?" The man they called the underboss stepped closer, crouched down, and studied my face. My heart was pounding. Was this Lane? The new underboss my uncle had mentioned? My uncle only brought him up once. Said the guy was fresh, useful but unpredictable. Capable, but short on principles. Chapter 3 The underboss stared at my face in silence for half a minute. I knew things had taken a bad turn. The mafia in New York operated under constant pressure. People flipped. Underbosses got swapped out frequently. Lane was new. There was a real chance he had no idea who I was. I was done for. He pressed a finger against my lips, nothing decent in his eyes. He held my face and rubbed his thumb across my cheek. His expression shifted from assessment to something twisted. "Yeah. She really does look like her." "Spitting image of the photo." Every muscle in my body locked. I forced out what I could. "Are you the underboss for the New York side? I'm..." Crack. Another slap. Harder than Anthony's. My head snapped sideways. Blood seeped from the corner of my mouth. "Who told you who I am?" He grabbed my hair and forced me to look at him. "A debt offering trying to drop names? You think you're in my league?" "No, I really am..." "Shut up." His hand closed around my throat. "One more word and I rip your tongue out." The choking hit. I clawed at his hand. It was useless. Anthony and his parents stood off to the side, not daring to breathe, smiling like they were watching a show. "Giovanni's upstairs in a meeting. Just wait a bit." Lane let go of me and stood up. "This one's mouthy though." He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, took a drag, and flicked the ash onto my face. "Looking like the woman Don Giovanni loved is your good fortune. But don't think that face makes you untouchable." He grabbed my chin. "He hates it when people use the people he cares about to play games. You better know your place." I coughed violently, tears and snot streaming down my face. "I'm telling the truth... I'm Giovanni's niece... please believe me..." "Still running your mouth!" Lane exploded. His boot connected with my shin. I crumpled, curling inward. It felt like my organs shifted. "Giovanni doesn't have any siblings. Where the hell would a niece come from?" Anthony sneered. "She'll say anything to climb the ladder, huh?" He snapped his fingers at his people. "Bring the bottle." Someone handed over a bottle of vodka. Lane twisted off the cap, grabbed my chin, and started pouring it down my throat. I thrashed. I'm severely allergic to alcohol. He didn't care. A few more slaps knocked me half-conscious again. The liquor scorched my throat. I choked, face burning red, vodka running down my chin and neck and soaking into my clothes. "Drink. Finish it!" Lane's face was savage. "When Don Giovanni gets here, if you spit any of this up, I'll throw you to the boys downstairs and let every one of them have a turn." By the time he let go, more than half the bottle was gone. I was on all fours, dry-heaving, throat raw and on fire. My vocal cords felt shredded. I couldn't form a full word. Anthony was getting nervous. "Sir, will the Don really be here soon? If she can't talk..." "Even better if she can't talk." Lane glanced at him. "Saves us the nonsense." He crouched down again and grabbed my right hand. "Pretty fingers." I looked at him in terror. "Shame." He grinned, and then he twisted. CRACK. "AAAH!" My scream ripped through the entire reception hall. My index finger bent at an angle that didn't belong on a human hand. The pain shot through me so hard my vision went black. "That's just one." Lane's voice was casual. "You act up again, I'll snap all ten." I was convulsing with pain, tears and mucus smeared across my face. A tall figure walked in. Black overcoat. Sharp, cold features. The kind of presence that said stay away from a mile out. My uncle. Don Giovanni. "I've told you before. Don't bring just anyone in here." Giovanni's voice was ice. "Clean this up." He turned to leave. No! Don't go! I threw everything I had into getting up, but my legs gave out and I hit the floor again. My throat wouldn't make a sound. My uncle's footsteps didn't slow. In pure desperation, I tore the bracelet from my wrist. The one my mother left me. With my left hand, the only one that still worked, I hurled it at Giovanni's feet. Metal struck marble. The sound rang out, sharp and clear. The man's feet stopped. He looked down. His gaze moved from the bracelet on the floor to my face, covered in tears and bruises. His pupils contracted. Hard.