Page 7 of Dark Mafia Heir

He is sitting across the desk, with his head bowed, and face buried deep in the pages of an encyclopedia. Deep down, I know he did not summon me to share knowledge.

Uncomfortably, I drag the frayed hem of my skirt and play with my fingers while he flips through yet another page, wondering when he’ll finally break the silence spell.

More pages rustle after a few more minutes before he clears his throat and closes the book with an unnecessarily loud thud. He brings his head up, and I see the white strands lined neatly between his chestnut-brown hair.

“Vivienne.”

I drag the hem of my skirt again, suddenly feeling the nerves wrack. He called me by my full name. Not Vivi or stubborn one. Just Vivienne. Knowing Papa, that means serious business.

A brow rises high in his head while he waits for a response.

“Yes, sir.”

“You turned twenty-one yesterday, did you not?”

The nerves are rattling now, causing sudden panic to spread through my entire being, because I know what this is… this moment between Papa and me.

I turned twenty-one and that means I have come of age. And like every other female child in this cursed mafia, I am ripe enough to perform our duty to our family.

“Did you not, Vivienne?”

Sometimes, in times like this, I hate how unnaturally calm Papa poses to be. I have seen him in action; angry and throwing all the things around him. But now, it is just him, in his Armani brown suit, with a faraway look he always had in his eyes when he talked to me, like he couldn’t stand looking at me.

“I did, Papa.”

“Good.” He smiles for a brief moment and caresses the edges of his encyclopedia. “Then, you know you have come of age to do greater things, yes?”

“Greater things for whom?” I blurt before I can stop myself. But since it’s out, I don’t bother stopping the flow.

He doesn’t answer my question, just shakes his head with that annoying smile, and drums his finger on the desk.

“Always the stubborn one, Vivienne. Soon enough, you’ll understand that this is the life you’ve been born into, and there is no escaping it.”

I want to scream at his smug face that I am well aware that I was born into a life of bondage, where everyone else gets to dictate what happens in my life, except me. But I don’t scream. If I do, he might smack me across the face with that big book, just to transmit all his knowledge into me. Instead, I keep quiet.

That’s always the best action with him, anyway. Allow him to say all he wants to, nod, and then leave.

After he doesn’t say another word, I know he’s done planting the seed. He’ll just schedule another meeting to water it, until the seed grows into a tree.

I nod, stand to my feet, and then leave.

“But he didn’t say anything.”

“He didn’t have to.” I cut a piece of buttered croissant and put it in my mouth. The butter melts in my mouth, but I don’t taste it. “The meaning was clearly there. He’s preparing my mind for the idea of marriage. Alyssa got sold off—married– to that weirdo, Milano, when she turned twenty-one.”

Harper laughs and takes a bit of her muffin. “Papa’s not going to sell you off—or marry you off to a weirdo.”

Rolling my eyes, I huff. Like father, like daughter, sort of. It was like they were joined at the hip. He’d always take it easy with her, and she’d always stand up for him.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t end up getting married against my wishes.”

She shrugs, and we continue eating in silence.

The café is warm, the scent of coffee and baked bread wrapping around me like a blanket. Harper, who’s seated across from me, stirs her cappuccino, her spoon clinking against the ceramic mug in a steady rhythm. She starts talking about something—probably something related to Papa—but my mind keeps drifting back to last night.

The moment before the gunshot.

Antonio.

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