Page 5 of Mafia Heiress
“You’re a dick. That was my sandwich.”
“They taste better when you make it,” he says, taking a huge bite and chewing with his mouth open like a cow.
“Tell me what’s up. You look like you sat on a cactus,” he continues.
“I don’t know if this was a good idea. It sounded awesome when I came up with it, but I’m not sure now. It was a little overwhelming if I’m being honest.”
He nods, shoving the whole sandwich half into his mouth before answering. “It’s weird as fuck. I mean you dating all those guys, but I get it. There’s love and then there’s power. You’re here for the power. It’s simple.”
“You make me sound like such a bitch.”
“You are.” I go to smack him again, but he dodges and chuckles, batting my hand away. “It’s not a bad thing, Jack. You’re fucking mean as shit and won’t let anyone take anything from you. Besides, like you said, Gambinos don’t go on Tinder. Although I caught Nicky swiping left on his phone the other day, that kid is looking for a beating from Dad.”
I lean back in the chair and rub my face. I’m starting to have reservations about that sandwich. My stomach churns with doubt and for the first time since this started, I don’t feel in control. I don’t like it.
“I’m going to bed. I’ll see ya tomorrow. And don’t worry so much. They’re gonna be up your ass,principessa. Who wouldn’t want to marry a Gambino?”
He leaves me to my empty plate and my thoughts on what to do next. We’re supposed to have brunch tomorrow at the house, but how can I face them again. I almost feel guilty, but fuck that. It was my right to put them in their place. No more pity party. The mafia heiress to the Gambino throne needs to play the part, and that I will.
* * *
It’sten o’clock and Nikki just left. My hair is blown out with a simple wave. Makeup done in peaches and browns. I have on a white shift dress with cap sleeves and red heels to make it interesting.
My mother decided it would be a good idea to have brunch in the screen room since it’s early summer and not too hot. I don’t argue when she plans a get-together. She’s ruthless in her planning and it’s best to go with the flow.
“They should be here any minute,” she calls from the kitchen.
Pans of bacon and eggs sit on the table, with a basket of freshly baked muffins and some bagels. A meat platter is next to it with stinky cheese and some olives. A loaf of semolina bread, breaded with sesame seeds, is laying on the cutting board. The smells make my stomach rumble.
“Morning, Ma. How are you?” I ask, placing a kiss on her cheek and looking into the pan she’s stirring before the stove. Creamy polenta makes waves as she uses the wooden spoon to move it around so it doesn’t burn.
“I’m good, gioia. Can you help Annette take out the platters? I set up the table before, but the food is just about finished.”
“Sure.” I kick off my heels and pick up the tray of eggs, moving through the kitchen to the side of the house. Annette is positioning the floral arrangement as I walk in.
“Morning, love. How did you sleep?” she asks, placing the last bud in the vase.
“Like shit. Couldn’t get last night out of my head.”
She hums in agreement as she makes room for the eggs. Her eyes meet mine as I go to turn away.
“You’re doing the right thing, baby. It’s safer this way. They’re all vetted and know the rules. I’ve been your nanny and housekeeper since you were four months old. I changed your ass more times than I can count. You’re a strong woman, Giacomina. Don’t let them think otherwise.”
She pats my shoulder as we go back into the kitchen to grab the rest of the food. She’s right. I don’t usually get twisted up about things like this. Matters of the heart have always been second to my love for my father and his empire. It’s how I was raised, in his image.
The bell rings and Annette goes to get the door. I hear their voices before they come around the stairs to enter the kitchen. I slip my heels back on and smooth out my dress. I’m more nervous than I was last night.
All of the men carry a gift in their hand. Vito walks in first and his eyes are as black and purple as the night. He looks like shit and I can’t help but grimace at the sight.
“What happened to your face?” my mother yells, taking the polenta off the burner to cool.
“Your daughter has a mean left jab,” he smiles like it’s a badge of honor to get punched by me.
“What did you do?” she asks, him not me.
“I might have gotten a little fresh with my words,” he murmurs and bows his head. He hands my mother a huge bouquet of flowers and me a simple single rose. “I apologize, Jack. Going forward I’ll know to not speak to you that way.”
My eyebrow raises at his confession. It doesn’t seem genuine, in fact it seems almost forced, as if someone told him to apologize.
