Page 35 of Mafia King of Lies

We are out of our chairs before we can even blink.

Whoever did this wants war.

Fine.

I will turn them to ash.

11

MARIA

Iwatch as the SUV makes its way off the tarmac, leaving me with Emily. The wind picks up and blows my hair into my face. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, trying to calm the storm raging inside me.

“Shall we go, Mrs. Davacalli?” the little sweet voice pierces my eardrums. I turn my head to the side and catch a pair of wide blue eyes. Her blonde hair whips around her face as the wind picks up. “All your bags have been placed in the car. Would you like to stop anywhere before we make it home?”

Home.

“Umm, no. We can go.” I look up and see the two burly men staring at me. Irritation immediately riddles my mind. “I get that he made you his lapdogs, but can you at least try not to breathe down my neck?”

The black-haired one, Tony, looks to his counterpart, then turns back to me. “We are instructed whatever is necessary for your safety. We will keep at least ten paces behind and ensure there are no active threats that can get close to you.”

His answer is so mechanical and rehearsed. But what gets to me is the lack of emotion that touches his features. He is stoic and… blank.

“I see. Well then,” I clutch my notepad to my chest. “Shall we?”

I get into the backseat of the SUV with Emily on the other end. I remain quiet, my body glued to the door. I watch the tall buildings move past as we drive down the pathways of the concrete jungle.

New York is a jungle of steel and glass, a sharp contrast to Florence’s sun-kissed vineyards and cobblestone streets. The scent of fresh basil and olive groves feels like a distant memory against the city’s constant hum of honking taxis and burnt coffee.

“I hear that you used to live in New York when you were younger.” Emily breaks the thick silence.

I turn to face her, and she has this megawatt smile on her face. I will be honest and say that it is a little unnerving how one person can be so… bright.

“Yes. But not in the city; we were just on the outskirts. I was closer to New Jersey than central Manhattan.”

“Did you ever miss it?”

“No.” My answer comes almost immediately. “I left this place when I was far too young, so I hold no real attachment to it. Italy is my home—the rolling hills, the blue water lakes, and the peace. There was no evident violence, and this world—the guns, the blood, the death—is far removed from it.”

The smile on Emily’s face falters a little. “Oh, I see. But I’m sure that now you are a married woman, you will enjoy it more than you did as a child.”

“I doubt it.” I turn back to the window and continue to stare as the world passes us by. I don’t want to be a bitch to Emily but I also can’t lie. “But maybe it will grow on me in time.”

Even as the words slip out, they feel empty, like echoes in a hollow space. But what choice do I have? If I don’t believe them, who will?

After about a thirty-minute drive, we finally make it to Matteo’s building. Along with his other nefarious deals, he also owns a construction company responsible for several skyscrapers. You would think that since he does honest work, he would drop the mafia overlord persona, but it’s engraved into his DNA. You can never separate the two.

When we make it to the top floor of the building, I can’t say I’m surprised at what I walk into—a full glass wall overlooking the city, an open floor plan, and an ultra-modern interior.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Davacalli,” Emily announces as I make my way into the penthouse.

The color scheme is no better than mine back home. White, black, and gray—monotone, one-dimensional, and dark. Much like the character of Matteo.

Tony walks in with my luggage and walks past me, heading to the stairs. Emily stands at the center of what must be the foyer. She holds back a shit-eating grin as she observes my reaction to the penthouse.

“It’s nice.” Those are the only words I offer. Her smile slips, and she blinks.

“Would you like a tour?”

---