Page 9 of Mafia King of Lies

“Please, sit.” Daniele gestures to the empty loveseat and steps away from the window. He walks toward the seat and waits for me to come to his side.

My mother leans in and whispers gently in my ear, “You got this, cara. Amore, I have some calls I need to make. I’ll be in the study.”

I drop her hand and make my way to my awaiting fiancé. My heels click against the wooden floor until I reach his side. I offer him a small smile and take my seat, and he swiftly follows. The air in the room is thick with tension and nerves. Matteo and my father watch us expectantly, as if waiting for something to happen between Daniele and me.

I don’t know what they want. I’m not going to jump the man’s bones in front of them.

“Dad,” Daniele cuts through the silence, “you both staring at her is making things a little awkward.”

“Oh.” Matteo clears his throat and glances at my father, who suddenly seems a little flustered. “Well, I think for now we can leave you two to get to know each other a little while we discuss what needs to happen in the coming days.”

“You’re dismissing us?” I try to keep the attitude out of my voice, but it’s hard when I can feel irritation simmering just beneath the surface.

“Yes,” my father quips. “We need to discuss other matters, but I think you two should get reacquainted after all these years. Show him to the gardens, Maria.”

The edge in his voice tells me everything I need to know—I shouldn’t push back. I nod and glance over at Daniele, who is already looking at me. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Let’s go.”

Before I even have a chance to rise, Daniele is already on his feet, offering me his hand. I stare up at him, surprised by how chivalrous he’s being, but I try not to let the expectation get the better of me. I place my hand in his and lead him out of the tea room, leaving our fathers to talk.

His large hand swallows mine, but his warmth radiates up my arm in small, electric tingles. It’s a subtle sensation—but it wobbles the very foundation I stand on.

Everything’s been set in motion. Now it’s just a matter of time before I do what’s expected of me—fulfill my duty to my family.

I only hope that through it all, I don’t lose the parts of my soul that still make me… me.

4

MATTEO

We sit in silence for a moment. Neither of us dares to speak in the thick of the tension. I have a hard time looking at the man after all that has transpired. Every time I stare into his eyes—just like with his daughter—I see Antonio’s eyes staring back at me.

Stay with me, Antonio. Don’t die.I press my bloodied hand over his stomach.

The memories of that night haunt me. I cannot escape them, and I fear they’ll stay with me for the rest of my life.

Marcello Faravelli sits across from me, his face hollowed by grief but his shoulders upright—a man holding himself together by sheer will. His hazel eyes, once sharp with command, are now dulled, haunted by the loss of his son.

I should look him in the eye. Instead, I stare at the whiskey in my glass, swirling the amber liquid in slow, deliberate circles. Anything to keep my thoughts from spiraling further.

“Daniele will take care of her,” I say, breaking the silence. My voice is low, steady. “He may not like this arrangement, but he’ll respect it—he’ll honor her and their vows. Maria will be safe with him.”

Marcello exhales, long and tired. “She doesn’t have a choice but to accept this. The death of my son has left my family vulnerable.”

His words echo in my head, only adding to the pressure of the guilt that surrounds me.

“I’ve always tried to shield her from this life,” he continues, his voice heavy with regret. “She’s not like Antonio. She’s… softer. She doesn’t have the stomach for what we do, Matteo. I moved us here so she could live a more normal life. But now…”

He trails off, his gaze dropping to the drink in his hands. He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. I know what he means. Maria doesn’t belong in this world—but the world has found her anyway.

“She’s stronger than you think,” I offer, my voice firmer than I feel. “She’ll adapt.”

Marcello’s laugh is dry, humorless. “That’s easy for you to say. It’s not your daughter being married off to secure an alliance.”

My grip tightens around my glass, and for a moment, I almost respond. Almost say something reckless—something that would unmask the guilt eating me alive. But I don’t.

Instead, I set my drink down, the glass clinking against the table. “This isn’t just for you, Marcello. It’s for both of our families. You’ve lost Antonio, but you still have Maria. If this alliance can protect her—can protect both our legacies—then it’s worth it.”

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