Page 3 of Runaway in the Mafia (The shadows of Cosa Nostra Chronicles #3)

She sighed. “You become more and more like your father every day.”

And there it was. I couldn’t go one fucking day without hearing how fucking much I was like my damn womanising father.

If I could manage to forget it for even a second, I had her to remind me of it.

Mostly she did it with looks coated with disappointment and fear.

It was my lucky day today. She had to add words to seal the dread in my heart.

I forced myself to relax the hand clenched around my glass and brought it to my lips. The whiskey burned me like acid going down a wounded stomach.

“Is there a reason you’re here? Other than to remind me of how I resemble your beloved husband?

” I had a talent. Something that was solely for my mother and sisters.

I could hide the bitterness inside me and coat it with sweetness.

So they could never see the darkness inside of me.

Because if she ever did, she wouldn’t be here talking to me.

She’d run back to my home, lock the doors and stay inside.

This monster was most certainly the son of his father.

Her gaze was worried. “Don’t be like this, figlio mio.”

There was a tightness to my shoulder and a dark edge to my black heart. And a thin line between lunatic rage and socially acceptable calm. I was afraid I might cross it. More today than on any other day. “What do you want, Mamma?”

“Why don’t you come home for dinner tonight?”

“Busy.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“Also busy.”

“The day after, then?”

I didn’t answer. Silence ticked.

She sighed, and her lips thinned. “What do you even eat, Vitale? Your cooker still has the plastic it arrived in. Can I at least cook some meals for you?”

“No need.”

“There is every need.” Her voice rose with agitation. I didn’t answer her. An unspoken history passed between us. “Can I at least send someone to cook for you?”

A heavy sigh left me. I didn’t know why she insisted on trying to mother a monster who was everything her husband was. Did she want to fucking burn twice? “You know I don’t like anyone in my home.”

“This isn’t your home. Your home is with us. You are the don. You should live in your birth home like tradition demands.”

The paperweight on the edge of my table caught my attention. Leaning across, I caged it in my hands. It was cold and heavy, just like how I felt on any given day. “There are so many things that tradition demands, Mamma. I will be forgiven, don’t you think, if I skip a few?”

She ignored my answer just like any good Sicilian Mamma and latched on to something else. “This Carmela is blind as a bat. She can hardly walk straight, let alone see.”

That’s the exact reason why I have her come. But I didn’t tell her that. “She cleans just fine.” I ignored the pointed look she gave the dust coating my desk. It’s fucking black. You see everything on black. Except for sins. Those stay hidden.

“I just wish you’d visit more. With Daria in New York, the house is running empty. If you would marry...”

No.

She let out a sigh at my glare. “Whatever. Children these days, they never listen to their Mamma anymore.”

Anger bubbled beneath my skin. She should have set the example and listened to me. When I begged her to leave her womanising husband. I had lost count of the number of times I’d implored her to.

“Will you at least have your meetings at home?”

I relented. Because I wanted her off my back. My space. “I’m coming over next week.”

A tinge of guilt coasted through my veins when her face brightened. It wasn’t her fault. It was him. Even when he was gone, he fucking messed me up. But I couldn’t tell her that.

“You’ll have your meetings home again?” she asked hopefully. “The library is just fine,” she added hurriedly. “You don’t have to have them in Papa’s office.” She said it softly, but the unvoiced words hung heavy in the air.

“Just a few meetings, Mamma. Then I’ll move them to here.” Even though I hated people in my sanctuary, it would have to be done. Better than that shit place. No one visited me in my office in the city, anyway.

“If that’s what you want.” She sighed heavily. “Don’t just walk in and out then. At least see your sister. Lia misses you, too.”

I nodded, ready to be left alone.

She wrung her hands and looked at me. I didn’t know what she expected from me. A cosy lunch to discuss her fucking husband? “Alright then. I’ll let you be.” Finally.

She made her way to the door but stopped halfway there, past my desk. “Oh, I forgot to tell you I have a ward.”

I dropped the paperweight and looked up at her. “A ward?”

“Yes, isn’t that what you call them? Someone who is under my care?”

“Which one of my cousins are you going to mother now?”

She frowned. “Not a cousin. A girl I’m helping out.”

For fuck’s sake. She thought I didn’t know about her weekly visits to the women’s shelter she’d helped build.

But there wasn’t much that I didn’t know.

I let her do it because her steps were lighter when she left that place than when she entered, and God knew my Mamma deserved some happiness in her life.

If helping runaway girls made her happy, so be it.

But bringing one of those girls into her home was a whole new level of stupidity.

She was bringing an outsider into Cosa Nostra.

“Is she one of us ?”

“No.” Her jaw tightened with determination. “She’s special.”

As in not coated in criminal blood as we were?

I sighed. I was sick of being the bad guy. “Mamma, you know that’s not going to happen. She’s an outsider and…”

Her shoulders stiffened, and her eyes shone with determination. “She’s not. She’s my ward and don’t...” she held up her hand at me, “try to change my mind. She’s here to stay. The only reason I’m telling you is to warn you.”

I frowned. “Warn me?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “To stay away from her.”

My jaw ticked. Well, this was low, even for my mother. “What the fuck do you think I will do with some runaway girl?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. Just keep your testosterone away from that girl. She’s gone through enough.”

I didn’t think I had ever had my mother warn me off someone. For all her shadowed words about me being exactly what Carlo was, this was the first time she’d outright told me she believed I’d fuck any girl I found in our home. My molars ground. You had to leave it to your Mamma to speak the truth.

She must have seen the pain in my eyes that I tried to conceal. Her voice softened. “It’s not only you. I have warned your cousins, too.”

“Yeah? Don’t forget Carlo’s womanising brothers, then,” I snarled. Papa was not a word I associated with Carlo.

“Them, too.”

“What’s so special about this girl?” A spark of curiosity ignited. What’s got Mamma ignoring her good sense and bringing this girl home?

“Everything. She’s not the type to be around made men.”

“What type is she then?”

“Not your type.”