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Amelia---Flashback

I have known from the time I was thirteen that one way or another, men would control my life.

I am the only child of the Conte Family Don. Was. I was the only child. He’s dead now. And here I am, picking up the pieces. Growing up, I was surrounded by men who’d kill for my father. I was raised by bloodshed and death.

I didn’t know what it meant to be a family that laughed together or ate meals at the same table. No, my upbringing was full of constantly looking over my shoulder and keeping secrets. To further add to the unconventional nature of my childhood, my father had told me that on my twenty-fifth birthday, I would marry to strengthen our family’s position—to ensure that the Outfit would have a leader.

I was thirteen when I was informed that my life would be reduced to a transaction, nothing more than a sale of the potential for heirs held between my hips. I would not marry for love. In fact, I likely would not meet my husband until I walked down that aisle. This was an undebatable fact that I was not allowed to speak against.

My father was progressive, but he still held close a few archaic ideals left behind from the traditional Mafia Outfits. Women don't lead, they don't dictate protocols, and they don't influence the direction of the Family. No, women are meant to be bred, kept on the side, and on their backs, according to made men.

Seen, fucked, silent.

Two days before my twenty-fifth birthday, my father’s right hand called me and informed me that he had passed. I had a choice—I could marry, effectively letting a stranger take the helm, or I could take the chair myself. As the sole child, I had a claim, despite being a woman.

I remember everything about that conversation. A piece of me wishes I could go back and choose differently; if I had known what would be required for me to step up to the helm, I may have chosen otherwise. I can still feel them, still feel the way my body begged for something I wouldn’t be given.

I walk in, taking note of the six men surrounding the wooden table. I had done my homework here, holidays spent eating meals my mother had made before she passed when I was six. The men at that table were not strangers; these were my father’s men, his trusted inner circle. They had sworn an oath to protect him and by extension, me. I had grown up around them, considered them uncles. I straighten my spine, knowing I cannot afford to show weakness—not here, not with them. My heels echo as I approach the empty chair at the head of the table. Papa. Gods, I missed him.

I move to pull the heavy chair out, softly sitting. Lifting my eyes to Santiago—my father’s right hand and the man who had called me three days prior—I spy a ring on the table, bearing an acorn adorned with three leaves. Papa’s sigil ring.

“I am sorry for your loss, Amelia,” he begins. “Your father was a good man and his absence is palpable.”

My jaw clenches. Papa wasn’t a good man, but he tried to be a good father. At least by Mafia standards. I don’t know how anyone who lives in this darkness can claim to be good, myself included.

I wait, hoping this doesn’t take too long. Parker is waiting for me at my house and I promised I wouldn’t be too late.

“Let’s call it what it is,” I say, wanting to move things along. “I told you I intend to take my father’s place as Don and here I am.” I pause, waiting for the outcry, but there isn’t any. I cross my legs.

There is a clearing of the throat from somewhere in the room just as a voice booms across the table from a dark corner. “I will say, it isn’t traditional for a woman to lead. Even if she has the lineage you have running through you. Even when she stands to bear an heir.”

A ominous weight hangs over the room as heavy boots move toward me, the stench of cigars now permeating my space. Rafe. Of course, the one man I had hoped wouldn’t be here. Our eyes lock and I refuse to cower.

“I was given a choice,” I start. “I choose to lead the Outfit, on my own and without a man beside me.”

“And lead you shall. There is, however, the matter of proving your loyalty.”

My loyalty. I had to prove my loyalty to a world in which I’d been born, a world which had dictated my every move from the time I could walk. I shook my head in disbelief.

?? “After all, you weren’t made, were you, Amelia?” He smirks, a sinister glint in his eyes.

I jolt, the warmth from my shower wrapping me like a cocoon. I shake the lingering emotions attached to the memory off, reach for my conditioner, and try to steady my hands as they move through my hair. It’s been happening more lately—the flashbacks. I may rule the underworld, but I refuse to allow the darkness to permeate the sunlight too.

I turn the water off, grabbing a towel as my phone rings. Wrapping the cloth around me, I check the name and answer.

“Hey, Duncan.” I grab a second towel, putting him on speaker as I dry my hair. Duncan Russo is my second in command, my Underboss. He’s the right hand to my Fox, the keeper of the Capos beneath me. He also happens to be married to Parker, my best friend. “What’s the update?”

“Shipments are on time, one barge is potentially arriving early at the Russian port. Sidorov is receiving that and has sent payment already.” He pauses and I wait for him to continue, knowing that what Duncan is about to say likely won’t make me happy. Nikolai Sidorov is but a fly on my radar at the moment. He’s been quiet and as long as I get my money for the weapons being delivered to his shipyard, I don’t care about him.

“Seamus O’Donnelly is getting antsy for a response regarding expanding his trade into the territory and I’ve told him that you will get back to him at some point. I’m not sure he appreciated that but you and I both know how I feel about the man.”

I walk from the bathroom to my closet, selecting a pair of black jeans for the day. “I’ll send a response this afternoon so he fucking leaves me alone. What about Medina? Last I knew, he was trying to pull something over on Matteo and I am not about that, Duncan.”

Alonzo Medina is a young Don and generally a pain in my ass. Green and desperate to prove himself, Medina has been trying to expand the reach of his Outfit past what the previous Don had established. He’d attempted to bring Matteo Denaro into the skin trade, failing to realize that Matteo’s mother had been a victim of that business; he dealt in drugs and abhorred anything regarding human trafficking. Out of the other leaders, I tolerate Matteo and Nikolai best.

“Matteo mentioned that he was concerned Medina was going to come for everyone’s territory because of ego.” I pull a button-down shirt over my shoulders, making quick work of the fastenings before grabbing my scuffed boots. Of course the fucker is going to try and overthrow the families; he is the most narcissistic person I’ve never met.

“There is one more thing I should tell you, Amelia.” I still, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Duncan never calls me Amelia; we are strictly against that when it is just us.

“Duncan?” My heart is pounding in my chest as my mind races.

“There have been rumblings among the men that a few of the soldiers are wanting to rise above their station. There are rumors of some deflecting to Medina.”

“And?” I run my fingers along my lips, contemplating my reaction.

“I’m having the Capos question the new soldiers.”

To deflect from the Conte Family, or any Family for that matter, was to submit to exile. The Mafia was a life sentence, an undying commitment that even death could not nullify.

“Medina is going to attack from within my own men, then.”

Duncan exhales, and it is then that I know I’ve found the bullseye. I grab my leather jacket, slip on my boots, and steel my spine.

“Duncan, I want a meeting.”

“Capos?”

I take him off speaker, returning the phone to my ear as I lock the door behind me and slip into my car.

“Everyone.”