Page 20 of Broken Mafia Prince
“And the tattoo? The one on thefiglio di puttanawho was driving the truck?” Papa asks, voice threaded with desperate fury.
My eyes widen in shock as the realization of what they’re discussing hits me. I assumed that Papa was trying to forget the other half of our family and wipe all traces of them from his memory, but it appears he’s still actively trying to uncover the mystery of that day. I press closer to the door.
There’s a pause. “You were right about it belonging to the Echelon Syndicate. But the question is, what do they stand to gain by doing this?”
I hear something crash. “I don’t care about finding motives. What I care about is raining hell on these bastards’ heads!” he hisses. “The man I shot had that tattoo. The design is too unique for it to be a casual coincidence. The Echelon Syndicate took my family from me.”
The tremble starts from my legs and spreads up to the rest of my body. Papa’s words echo in my head like a taunt, and I want to push the door open, rush in, and remind him that I’m his family, and he hasn’t lost me.
By the time I push the hurt from his words and start listening again, I realize that I’ve missed some part of the discussion. They’ve moved on from the Echelon Syndicate, and Papa is cursing someone out.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that criminal Edoardo was behind this. It’s the sort of underhanded move he enjoys making,” he spits, voice laced with malice.
One of the men clears his throat. “The Gagliardis are Chicago royalty. Pointing fingers at them without evidence wouldn’t be in your best interest.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“On the side of whoever won’t get a bullet to their heads first,” the man drawls. “You haven’t had any interaction with the Gagliardis in years. Why would they suddenly decide that they have unfinished business with you? It doesn’t make sense, Enrico.”
“Somebastardoplotted and took everything from me.” Papa’s voice is suddenly as cold as ice, and it makes me shiver. “That doesn’t make any sense, either. Just find me the body first. I’ll get to the bottom of this if it’s the last thing I do.”
“Not everything,” I whisper to the door. “What about me?”
I wonder if he’s always just loved them more than me, or if seeing me is a cruel reminder of everything he’s lost. Neither of the options is comforting. My stomach feels achy, like when I’ve eaten something bad, and I stumble away from the door, unable to stay there one more second and listen to him act like I’m lying somewhere at the bottom of that cliff, too.
Tears sting my eyes, and I wrap my flour-covered arms around myself, feeling lonelier than ever. Back in California, I would’ve crawled into Mama’s closet and snuggled into one of her big, soft sweaters. But here, there’s nothing left of her.
Then I remember the letter.
I couldn’t read it before, so I just kept it.
I rush to my room and lock the door, just in case Papa comes in. He never really does, but I’m not taking any chances.
The letter is the only thing I brought when Papa told me to pack a backpack fast one morning at breakfast. I hid it under a loose floorboard. I have to push my bed a little to find it, and my hands shake as I do.
I pull out the cereal box that contains the letter and then climb into my bed, reading Mama’s neat cursive.
Dearest Papa,
By the time this letter reaches you, I will be long gone. I only hope you’ve not been searching too long or worrying that something horrible has happened to me. I haven’t been kidnapped or stolen away. I left of my own free will, and I hope one day you’ll be able to understand and forgive me.
What I have with Enrico is rare, and you may think that I’m making a mistake, but I believe Enrico when he says that a love like this doesn’t come twice in one’s lifetime, and so I refuse to miss out on it because you don’t think it’s right.
How can something that feels this good be wrong, Papa?
Enrico says there’s a world out there with endless possibilities for us, and I want to see it. You gave me a life, but he wants to give me the world.
Don’t bother looking for me, because you won’t find me, and even if you do, I won’t come back voluntarily.
Give Mama all my love. Tell her that I’m sorry I couldn’t be the perfect little princess she wants me to be. I hope that someday, you’ll be able to forgive me and be a part of my future.
Until then, ciao.
Your daughter,
Eleanora.
I tracemy thumb over Mama’s handwriting, trying to feel closer to her. It’s just words on paper, but it has to be enough for me. I trace my eyes over the letter again, feeling like some pieces of the puzzle are finally coming together.
