Page 19 of The Mafia Heir's Obsession

Whoever this fat, old Irish-Italian man is, he’s pathetic. I think I might want to kill him, too. Dad went on and on about his connections to an Italian family that only has power because of its past reputation, but I tuned it all out.

“Lucia, pay attention.”

I lift an eyebrow at Mom. “Whatever. I don’t care.”

“Look, Lucie, your sister took off. And she’s not responding to our messages or calls. The people we’ve sent to find her have come up empty. She doesn’t want to be found. She’sgone.” Anger flares. Now I’m interested. Mom’s never angry. Nothing shifts her facade of serenity. “And your father needs you to play ball. It’s important to us and it should be to you. So pick a dress.”

“I don’t want to get married. I was promised that. As longas I behaved, I was promised no arranged anything. So was Viviana.”

Mom presses her lips together and stalks off with a champagne glass in one hand as she savagely paws through the gowns.

I get it, she isn’t into off-the-rack buying, even in an exclusive Manhattan place like this. We’re on Fifth Avenue, and all these dresses cost more than a car. Frilly and expensive as heck.

“Your sister’s the firstborn. She gets a lot more privileges than you, precisely because we knew it could come to this. One day.”

Viv got to go to college, a very private, very expensive one. I didn’t. And I thought as long as I stayed in my lane, kept my rule breaking to a minimum—easy enough because my parents only cared if we ever did something to bring them shame—I’d get out of my home as soon as the candles were out on my twenty-fifth birthday cake.

And Viviana… she was so damn close, she mostly forgot about her being the prize for a man if Dad deemed it so. Next year, she could have just said no.

Although if she did, I’d be in this exact position.

“I know, Mom. But I’m the one who’s supposed to be able to get out.”

“In four years? Maybe. If Viviana had married Marcello Buttani like everyone thought.”

Her big boyfriend. Son of a crime lord. The two families would have ruled New York, crushed competition, and taken other territories. But they fought, she dumped him, and broke her own heart when he married the daughter of a richer but less powerful family.

Oh, the drama.

Then again, at least she wasn’t out being fingered by strangers after almost being shot.

“This one,” Mom says, holding out a gown. “Try it on.”

I take the dress, and the assistant helps me into it. The thing’s silk and lace with a big, ridiculous skirt. It’s the kind of fairy-tale dress I hate, but like I said, what the hell ever.

When I stomp out of the dressing room, Mom has that softened, Valium-tinged look. Either that or too much champagne, possibly both. She’s impossibly old school with her coping drugs of choice.

But still she smiles. “That’ll do. I already picked out your engagement dress. It’s a masked dance, apparently.”

A shiver of desire rolls through me.

When Frank’s fingers drove me into the most mind-bending oblivion I’d ever known, I was wearing a mask. When he thrust his?—

I stop to breathe and as the shop girl boxes the dress, Mom celebrates with more champagne.

After that, we go shopping for more things. I’m not a big shopper. But Mom loves it and wants me to have everything I need to make me as happy and agreeable as possible. She buys me shoes, handbags, some other dresses for my new life, and then comes the last straw.

Lingerie.

“Mother,” I spit out, “I have underwear.”

“You’re getting married. You need wedding night clothes for when he…” She swallows. “Trust me, pretty and sexy helps. And I’ll leave you some Valium.”

“Mom, I know what sex is.”

Her eyes bug out.

“Sex ed at school, Mother.”

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