Mafia Prize

Chapter 5

5

W hen the game is over, I’m five million euros richer, most of it won from Andrei. I should be ecstatic; I’m not. Last year, I wanted to win so I could escape from my family. This year, I’ve realized that escape is impossible.

My sister Elisa is in love with Manuel Biraghi and wants to marry him. The Biraghi are one of the founding families of the Spina Sacra, the mafia outfit that controls Puglia. The family is old-fashioned and dogmatic. Everything is about honor. The way Sandro Biraghi, Manuel’s father, sees it, Aldo Caruso betrayed an ally, and the stain of his actions falls onto us. He will never allow the marriage to happen, not unless I sweeten the pot.

For the kind of money it requires to secure Elisa’s happiness, I’m going to have to marry Dominic Norcia. It’s only a matter of time.

The room slowly empties out until there’s only Andrei and I left. He breaks the silence first. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve had better years,” I say lightly.

“Do you miss your father?”

Nobody’s asked me this question. Not a single person. If they talk about him to me, they always hint that I should be glad he’s dead.

Aldo Caruso was erratic. Mercurial. He never saw my talent and my skills. To him, a daughter was property, useful only for the alliances her marriage would bring. But as deeply flawed as he was, he was also my father. There are days when grief overtakes me, and there is only sadness. I can’t talk about it to Elisa—she hated him and had her reasons. I can’t talk to Renzo—he spends all day bemoaning the mess my father left us with. And Davide is too young. The men I play poker with might understand my complicated feelings, but while they are my friends within Casanova, they are also my rivals in the outside world. We don’t have the kind of relationship where we share our feelings.

“I do.” Tears well up in my eyes, and I brush them away angrily. I can’t cry in front of Andrei. I won’t. “It makes no sense. He was a terrible father and a terrible human being. There’s no reason I should grieve him.” I wrap my arms around myself in a hug. “I should hate him, not mourn him.”

“Come here.” He tugs me onto his lap and pulls me into his embrace. I rest my head on his shoulder and soak in his strength. “The heart is not always logical,” he says quietly. “It doesn’t understand the word ‘should.’ It wants what it wants.” He strokes my hair. “You’ve had to bear an unbearable burden all year, lisichka. What can I do to make it easier?”

One word from Andrei Sidorov, and my problems will go away. He’s got more money than God. Connections, power, prestige—he’s got it all.

And once again, I have nothing to trade.

“I’m fine.” I get to my feet, wiping my face clean of emotion. “Thank you for offering, but I’m already in your debt. Your information about Spina Sacra’s entry into the arms trade was very useful.”

“I’ve told you before,” he says, his dark eyes holding mine. “You owe me nothing.”

This time next year, I’ll either be married or engaged. Tonight is the last time I’ll be free to sleep with Andrei Sidorov.

And I want to. I want him so much.

All year, I’ve thought about Andrei. About the way he tied me down, made me come, and then fucked my mouth. I’ve masturbated to that memory more times than I can count. I only have to close my eyes and I’m transported to that private room, to the moment Andrei Sidorov stood next to me and whispered his warning into my ear. “Be sure,” he said, a dangerous promise in every syllable. “Be very, very sure.”

I’m not sure of very many things in my life right now, but my desire for him? That’s never been in doubt.

“If I remember right, that wasn’t what you said.” I remove the pins from my hair and let the strands fall free. “Your precise words were, ‘There are many things I want from you.’”

“But none of them are owed.”

“What if I want those things too?”

He takes a deep breath. “Renzo Caruso loathes me,” he says. “He tried to encroach into Sidorov territory, and I stopped it.”

“I know.” I begged Uncle Renzo not to test Andrei. He wouldn’t listen. It was a painfully expensive mistake, one that wiped out a year of olive oil profits. “Nothing has changed. All I have to offer is one night.”

I wait, heart racing, for him to respond. He doesn’t move for a very long time, and I start to wonder if I’ve misread the signs. Andrei’s been photographed with many beautiful women this year. Maybe he’s involved with one of them. Maybe he’s even engaged. Maybe this was a mistake.

Then he gets to his feet and holds out his hand to me. “One night with you is better than a lifetime with anyone else, Mirabella,” he says. “Shall we go find a private room?”