Page 1 of Broken Mafia Prince
1
GIULIA
Giulia—4 years old
The sun is low and golden, making everything all shiny, like the whole world got dipped in glitter. Our SUV rolls down the Pacific Coast Highway, with big, scary cliffs on one side and the sparkly ocean on the other.
I know where we are because Mama always tells me how to say and spell the names of places we visit. I like learning new things. Mama says I have the mind of an adventurer, which I think means I’m really smart.
We’re going home from our weekend trip, and the car is all warm and cozy, like when you crawl under a blanket fresh from the dryer. The road in front of us looks like it goes on forever and ever. Maybe even to space.
“Valentina, you’re singing off-key!” I whine, poking my twin sister in the arm. She gasps like I just told her she smells bad, then we both start laughing and singing even louder.
It’s a silly song, but it’s ours, and it makes me feel all warm and happy inside, just like the sunshine outside.
“This song kinda sucks,” Val says, scrunching up her face like she just ate something gross. She’s all wrapped up in hergiant princess pony blanket—the one that’s so big it swallows her whole. She never goes anywhere without it.
I don’t have one. Because big kids don’t need blankets. Obviously.
Val’s been saying “sucks” a lot ever since she heard a man on TV say it. She thinks it makes her sound like a grown-up, but it’s really just the funniest thing ever. Mama says we shouldn’t say it, but Val does anyway and winks at me like we have a secret.
“No, it doesn’t,” I insist, crossing my arms. “Mama likes it.” I shake my head and stick out my tongue at Val to show just how wrong she is.
Mama plays it every Saturday morning on her iPod while I dance around the kitchen and Val bakes. Well…triesto bake—my tummy still hurts just thinking about her brownies from last Sunday.
Papa calls it anoldiesong, but I don’t care. I like standing close to Mama, sharing her earpiece while we mix the batter. I sneak a taste sometimes, dipping my pinkie in when she’s not looking. Mama’s batter is the best thing ever.
That is, until Valentina adds hersecret ingredientand ruins it.
Only God knows what she puts in there. And I’m pretty sure I don’t want to find out.
Val rolls her eyes at me like I’ve just said the dumbest thing in the world. “Mama’s old. Ofcourseshe likes it.”
Up front, Mama gasps and spins around in her seat so fast I think she might break her neck. Papa coughs into his fist, but I can tell he’s laughing. My jaw drops as I wait for Mama’s reaction.
“Who says I’m old?” Mama asks, narrowing her eyes.
Without thinking, I point right at my twin. She’s always the good one, and I’m the one who gets in trouble. It’s only fair.
I don’t know why everyone says I should be more like Val. My twin is a total crybaby who refuses to goanywherewithout a big, pink bow in her hair. It’s covered in shiny stones that could probably blind a person.
“You think I’m old?” Mama’s mouth droops at the corners, and Valentina shakes her head so fast her pigtails go flying.
“No,” she replies. “You’re prettier than all our friends’ mommies. And your hair is beautiful.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Papa laughs, navigating the car at the bend.
I press my face to the window while Mama explains the new vocabulary to us. I don’t tell Mama that I hear some of our uncles using more flowery words.
They aren’t really our family, even though we call them uncles, but they’re always coming in and out of our house and giving us chocolate. I enjoy the treats.
“Giulia, darling, why don’t you have your seatbelt on?” Mama asks.
“Because I can’t turn around in my seat if I have it on,” I say, trying to defend myself.
“Put your seatbelt on.” She narrows her eyes at me. “And don’t you dare pout at me, young lady, you know better than to be so careless. Why can’t you be more like your sister?”
My bottom lip sticks out, and I stubbornly turn my face away. There it is again, the comparison.
