Page 56 of Dirty Mafia Torment

My eyebrows rise. What the fuck?

With a vicious gleam, she stalks off.

I dig in, unperturbed, ignoring the laughter around me.

My warning about being a monster is genuine.

And now, more than ever, I’m looking forward to proving it.

CHAPTER NINE

FINA

“Seraphina.Hurry, or we’ll miss the bus.”

My mother’s aunt Teresa is already halfway down the gravel drive, short legs pumping, her well-earned grandmotherly figure moving with surprising speed.

She lives alone on a farm tucked deep in the Italian countryside, surrounded by animals, grapevines, and the kind of silence that feels more foreign than the place I now reside in. A broad, still silence, like the countryside’s holding its breath and waiting for me to finally exhale.

But I don’t have time to relax. I’m about to miss the bus to Rome. And my no-nonsense great-aunt isn’t about to wait for me to deal with the small problem blocking my exit from the front porch.

A rooster.

He flaps his wings, bobbing his head like he owns the place. His beady eyes lock onto mine. A fresh scar on my calf reminds me of last week’s ambush.

“Shoo,” I snap.

He stretches his neck and lets out a triumphant crow, chest puffed like a gladiator.

Lord, this is my life now, isn’t it? To be brought to my knees by a dang rooster.

Why are the males in my life so relentlessly aggressive?

Still, I’m free. Gloriously, miraculously free.

The moment I heard Carlo Accardo was dead, I danced around the living room like a drunk cheerleader, fist pumps, high kicks, with a joy I’d forgotten I could feel. While my father panicked, I celebrated with strawberries and cream and toasted my freedom like a woman reborn. Then I vanished, exactly as planned.

He has no idea I was ever in contact with my great-aunt—myprozia—or that I’m even here. She was my lifeline. My mother’s estranged aunt, from her mother’s side. We connected a few years ago, quietly, and I never lost touch.

My father barely remembers my mother existed. He certainly wouldn’t remember an eccentric aunt who never married, turned her back on the Life, and therefore holds no value in our world. A woman like that doesn’t even register to men like him.

Grottaferrata isn’t LA, not even close. But the village, known for its beautiful landscapes and wine—something I can fully get behind—is thirty minutes from Rome.

Big city excitement by day, quiet hills by night.

I gave everything up, yet somehow, against all odds, I’m riding a happy streak.

I’ve made friends.

I have a job I actually like and am good at. A job at risk because of this pint-sized feathered demon.

He crows again, full of attitude, daring me to step off the porch.

I retreat into the farmhouse, heading straight to the sleek, modern kitchen, and snatch two corn husks from last night’s dinner. I wash my hands, grab my vintage purse, and step back onto the porch.

He spots me from across the driveway and charges back.

If my friends back in LA could see me now…