Page 14 of Niccolo (Mafia Kings #7)

Y ou might be asking, Where was your mother in all this?

She was around. She was a graphic designer and did a lot of short-term contract work from her home office.

I don’t think she liked it that much. She never tried to get a full-time job or start her own business. She seemed content to make just enough to supplement Papa’s modest earnings and spend the rest on things she wanted.

She also drank a lot. Mostly white wine. There was always a wine glass and a half-empty bottle near her computer.

As I mentioned, she hated chess, so she never sat in on any of our games at home.

If she ever went with us to a tournament – which was rare – it was so she could go shopping in another city.

She never went to the awards ceremonies after to see me get medals or trophies.

The most I ever got from her was, “That’s nice. ”

I never questioned my mother’s aloofness. I just assumed that was the way it was for everybody and that everything between my parents was fairly normal. And since I didn’t have any friends, I never saw what other mothers acted like.

Plus, I often heard married couples squabbling loudly in our apartment building. They were Italian, after all. Loud arguing was a given.

By contrast, Mama and Papa’s distant but placid relationship seemed fairly good.

I got a rude wake-up call when I was 18.

Before I was born, my mother had been one of my father’s students.

Not a chess student, mind you. She’d taken one of his Game Theory classes as an elective at university.

When I was younger, my mother told the story as though it were some sort of fairy tale – that my father was so handsome and intelligent, she couldn’t help but fall in love with him.

She neglected to tell me how frowned upon it was for a 34-year-old professor to have an affair with a 21-year-old student –

Especially one who was taking his class .

She also left out some other things.

I ended up going to the University of Turin by the skin of my teeth.

During high school, I’d neglected almost all of my studies in favor of chess. The only class I was good at was English – and that was out of necessity.

Most of my father’s books on chess were written in English, so I’d had to get good at the language to understand what I was reading.

Plus, Papa and I traveled to tournaments in other countries. The only language all the players had in common was English, so it made sense for me to become a fluent speaker.

In every other subject, my grades were mediocre.

However, one of the perks for employees of the University of Turin was that their children were basically guaranteed enrollment. Since my father was an adjunct professor, I was admitted despite my grades.

Once I started university, I lived at home and rode the bus to and from school with my father.

We didn’t have enough money for me to live in the dorms or get an apartment – but it never even occurred to me. I didn’t know anyone my own age I would have wanted to room with.

One day, my Intro to Italian Literature class was unexpectedly canceled because the teacher got sick, so I went to find Papa and see if he could leave early with me.

On my way to his office, I passed through the courtyard to the Language Department.

Imagine my surprise when I saw my 52-year-old father standing under a stone archway, partly hidden behind a row of shady trees –

Kissing a woman.

A very pretty woman…

Who looked to be not much older than me.

I stopped, shocked.

In an instant, the entire world buckled beneath my feet.

I felt shock.

Revulsion.

Outrage.

And – if I’m going to be honest –

Jealousy.

No, I didn’t have some creepy Oedipal or Electra Complex about my father.

But I felt incredibly envious that another girl my age had all his attention…

And he looked happy when he stopped kissing her.

In fact, he looked happier than I’d seen him in many, many years.

I wish I could say that I walked over and confronted him right then and there. That I screamed at him for what he was doing.

Not only cheating on my mother –

But with a woman not much older than his own daughter!

And a student at the university where he worked, no less!

Instead, I turned around and stumbled away in shock and horror…

And spent the next hour trying to collect my courage to confront him.

I arrived at his office at the time I would have normally shown up if my class wasn’t canceled.

He was sitting behind his desk, which was stacked with a thousand books and papers.

He looked up at me with a bored expression like he always did, then started to get out of his chair to accompany me to the bus.

“How did class go?” he said as he stood, which is what he always asked.

“I saw you with that girl,” I replied.

He froze in place.

Then he tried to play stupid. “What girl?”

“The one you were kissing,” I snapped.

For a brief second, he looked afraid –

And then a coldness settled into his expression.

“I wasn’t kissing anyone,” he said, trying to sound shocked at the accusation. “You must be mista– ”

“Don’t lie to me!” I shouted.

He quickly rushed past me and shut the door to his office.

“Keep your voice down,” he hissed.

“Then don’t lie.”

“…fine. Alright, yes, I’m seeing someone – ”

“SEEING someone,” I repeated in disgust and disbelief. “Is she a student of yours?”

“No – ”

“I said don’t LIE.”

His face took on an expression of contempt. “It’s none of your business, Sofia.”

“Maybe not, but Mama will probably think it’s hers.” I screwed up my courage and said, “If you don’t tell her, I will.”

“Go ahead,” he sneered.

I stood there, shocked at his defiance.

“Alright, I will,” I said.

I opened the door halfway –

Until his hand shot out and slammed it closed.

“Keep your nose out of it,” he whispered angrily as he loomed over me, his hand still pressed against the door.

For the first time in my life, I felt unsafe with my own father.

At many points in my life, I’d felt belittled by him…

Humiliated…

Insulted…

Ignored…

Condescended to…

But never physically in danger.

Until now.

“Let me out of here or I’ll scream,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

He stared me down, enraged –

But he eventually removed his hand.

I opened the door and quickly stepped into the hallway.

“She won’t react the way you think she will,” he called after me as I nearly ran down the hall.

“I guess we’re about to find out,” I shot back without looking over my shoulder.