Page 3 of Devil's Vows

Mine?

I sink down on my narrow cot and stare up at her, clutching my golden cross.

I was never encouraged to think there was more to my storythan just being aMafiosogirl stuck in the convent system, where I’d be ‘safe.’ A girl-child to use and sell to the highest bidder. But now?—

“They’re coming for you. Your real blood brothers. From America,” Mother Lucia says, the tremor in her voice echoing the ripples through my body. “Your six princes. They’re finally coming to fetch you.”

2

GABI

Brothers?

But I’m an only child?

I stare at her, dumbstruck. Through the gaps in the roof tiles, children’s laughter drifts over. They’re being called inside. Soon, it’s going to be time for Vespers. All the rituals I love to hate and couldn’t participate in while stuck in limbo—at last something to thank God for. Mother Lucia was still figuring out our next steps, preparing a new identity for me, finding a new convent for us to go to. Chiara, on her side, had promised to come for me as soon as she could, but now?—

Thiswasn’t the plan.

I need to disappear. This is the only way forward for me.

I home in to where she’s clutchingThePrincess and Six Princesstight, hiding the title’s beautiful gold embossing I’d done by hand. Those princes, they exist supposedly. Then where the hell were they all this time? “Is this true?”

“Yes. One more night,cara. We need to keep you safe one more night, and then Dominic Scalera is fetching you. Your brother, the third of six. He’s here, and he’s coming for you in the morning, but I’ll vet him first. We need to stick to the plan.Nobody can know you’re here. Life has to go on as normal. Nothing we do can give away?—”

She doesn’t need to explain. In convents, eyes are everywhere, and they look, consume, digest, and then shit out details to people who should never know a thing in the first place. This is why we’ve been on the run for years because usually, by six to eight months at a new place, rumors start to drift along the cloisters and corridors of the convent:Mafioso. Daughter. Randazzo.

And I’d sense Randazzo on the hunt, sniffing around where we’d moved to. His fixation on me meant unwanted eyes on the convent—a religious sanctuary where evil should be ousted and a much safer place if I would leave. What a laugh. I’ve learned even the holiest of ground harbors evil as if it’s a beloved lapdog.

This cat and mouse game has gone on long enough, with Randazzo and the deal he made with that tattooed Russian I plan to never see again. For a man who wasn’t even my real father, Randazzo had my life in a chokehold.

Now I have a brother fetching me. To take me to America. Is that even far enough? It doesn’t get farther than that. How can anyone protect anyone from the Mafia? Unless…unlessthey are Mafia themselves. Princes of darkness, cut from the same cloth as me.

“It’s been my life’s work, keeping you safe,” Mother Lucia murmurs. “I knew they’d come, but I always thought it would be sooner.”

Exactly my point. Where have they been all this time, when we could have been spared all this running? It’s a stretch to imagine they were also living in a tower. Or kept hostage by a vile dragon. A laugh wants to bubble up. They aremen, whoever they are… Wait, the princes have names in my book: Matteo, Alessandro, Dominic, Stephano, Luca, Benedict—all good Catholic names. Dominic is the third.

Surely, that’s pure coincidence.

Can’t be.

It’s hardly evidence.

“How do we even know he’s my real brother?”

“Because of the letters. The photos.”

“And that’s akin to DNA?” I can’t help the bitterness in my tone.

Mother Lucia leans in, pushing my fairy tale back into my hand. “Read the letters. We will know when we see him. And I will let you go. I must. You’ll finally be safe,cara.” She chokes up. “You will finally be safe.” She leans in to hug me so tightly, I can hardly breathe. “Vespers. I can’t be late. Don’t worry, everything will go smoothly.”

Then she’s gone. I don’t hear her retreating footsteps, the keys that lock me in. I stare down at the letters and photos in my hand—reality. In my other hand, I hold fiction, a silly fairy tale I illustrated, clinging to some childish dream. Now also reality. I can’t buy into it.

I take the first letter and start reading, trying to find the bridge linking the two.

With every sentence, with every new letter, the truth strikes harder. These were my real mom’s words, in her handwriting, with slanted upward slopes that echo mine, and elegant curves flowing with an artist’s touch. A few letters back, I learned she loved to paint oil landscapes and watercolors. It was as if I found this puzzle piece of myself lost for decades. My realmamma. Bianca Randazzo.

A cold fever washes through my body as I drop the letter and reach for my Bible. The one Randazzo gave to me and I held on to because it’s too beautiful to destroy. I flip to the first pages and my breathing stalls.To Bianca,signedEmilio Randazzo.