My mafia Daddy

2. CRASH COURSE INTO FATE ________________

XANDER POV

•

Some memories rot if you don’t revisit them. Nina Black is one of them. Underground whispered that my men killed her in that motel. It was muttered in corners, swore as if it was my punishment, a possession turned tragedy. Idiots. I didn’t shoot her. Or my men. I would never hurt her. Nina was the first person who made the world feel… interruptible. She wasn’t soft, she was bright. Fire-bright. Sharp without intending to be. Yes, I was obsessed. Anyone watching would have seen that, but obsession is just another word for intent. And I planned to build a life with her. Until the motel became a storm of bullets, screaming, and blood-slick tiles… She was shot by her own father George, in the chaos of the crossfire. That’s one of the few secrets I kept buried, even from my closest men. Not out of mercy, don’t mistake me for sentimental, but because truth hurts more when you drag it out at exactly the right moment.

•

Yes, I should’ve killed him then, but I didn't, cause obsession mixed with grief does strange things to men like me. Years later, he came to me himself, lungs failing, dying slowly, dragging each breath like it weighed a ton.

“I don’t want hospitals, diapers and beeping machines. I want a sniper’s exit. Clean. Dignified. Like a leader.”

So I gave it to him. One shot. No suffering. No performance. Just the kind of ending our world respects. In exchange, he gave me something back… he helped me hunt down the real murderer of my father. A truth his son Marcus could never swallow. Enemies make the best conspirators when grief is the language spoken. Before he died, George even left me a recording, a confession for Marcus, sealed and waiting for the moment it would hurt most. He believed Marcus would find peace in the truth, but I knew Marcus wasn't built for peace and I was never built for mercy.

•

Present slides back into place as old ghosts leave their fingerprints on my ribs… My phone vibrates. Emiliano. I swipe the call open.

„Ti sei preso cura di quel vecchio?“ [Did you take care of that old man?] I ask, voice lazy, amused. He wanted it and I always keep my promises. I always pay my debts.

„Sì, capo. Facile. Nessuna sicurezza. L'ha reso troppo semplice, quasi come se lo volesse lui.“ [Yes, boss. Easy. No security. He made it too simple, almost like he wanted it.] I laugh, low, humourless. He knows I had a deal with that man, but not what it was about. He doesn't need to know the details of the past, at least not yet.

„L'arroganza uccide più velocemente dei proiettili.” [Arrogance kills faster than bullets.] I say. He laughs with me. He’s like a brother to me, though I’d never speak it aloud.

„Prima di tornare a casa, farai visita a un avvocato, il signor Green.” [Before you fly back, you’re visiting a lawyer. Mr Green.] He groans, he hates the States.

„Hnh. Perché? Vuoi che respiri ancora quest'aria?“ [Hnh. Why? You want me to breathe this air any longer?] He says annoyed, but I know he knows better than to not listen to me…

„Mettete un microfono nel suo ufficio. Tra tre giorni leggerà il testamento del vecchio. Voglio sentire ogni parola.“ [Plant a microphone in his office. He’s reading the old man's will in three days. I want to hear every word.] I say coldly with the past still haunting my mind.

„Inteso.“ [Understood.] He replies, voice sharpening into obedience.

„Qualunque altra cosa?“ [Anything else?]

„In realtà sì. Abbassa quel tono fastidioso e ascolta. Marcus mi darà la colpa della morte di suo padre, e anche se non sarà lontano dalla verità, stiamo attenti. Un cane ferito può ancora mordere. Idiota o no... non sottovalutare nessuno, o sarai tu quello che sanguina.“ [Actually, yes. Cut that annoying tone and listen. Marcus will blame me for his father’s death, and even though he won’t be far from the truth, we stay careful. A hurt dog can still bite. i***t or not…underestimate no one, or you’ll be the one bleeding.] Something my father used to say, and he was right.

„Certo, capo. Grazie per il discorso motivazionale.“ [Of course, boss. Thanks for the motivational speech.] He chuckles.

„Vaffanculo.“ [f***k off.] I snap lightly.

„Resteremo in contatto.“ [We’ll stay in touch.] I hang up and the line goes silent, leaving only the ghosts again.

•

3 DAYS LATER

16th June

•

Marcus and Blake just entered the building.

Emiliano’s text pops up on my screen. Good. Let’s see what secrets you buried, old man. I switch on the live audio feed, settle back, and pour myself a tall glass of whiskey, neat. Mr Green’s voice crackles through the speaker, polite and oily.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. It’s an honour to see you again. Truly. I’m sorry for your loss. Your father was… a force. A friend.”

I laugh aloud. A long, sharp bark of amusement.

„A force?” I mutter.

„Yeah. Shame half his head wasn’t strong enough to stay attached.” I take a slow drink as the boring parade begins. Numbers, accounts and useless property Marcus will burn through anyway. Then, Marcus’s voice cuts in, low. Tense.

“Nothing for Nina?”

My brows lift. Mr Green clears his throat. I can hear the shift, this is where it gets interesting.

“No, Mr Black. And… I believe your father wanted you to understand why.”

Pages shuffle. Air tightens.

“There’s a final message. For your ears only. I have to ask your son to step outside.”

Footsteps. Door clicks. Showtime.

“Mr Black, your father hoped this would give you clarity. Closure.”

Green begins, voice weighted,

“Just say it.”

Marcus snaps and then the first bomb drops.

“Your sister Nina… passed away fourteen years ago.”

A silence so sharp it cuts the air.

“No. That’s a lie. She’s not dead.”

“There’s more!”

Green says, voice wavering. Marcus is probably gripping him by the collar. I lean forward. Now we’re at the meat.

“Fourteen years ago your sister was killed in a shootout. She was protecting a young woman. A girl, really. The girl died from childbirth complications. Massive blood loss.”

My stomach coils.

“The child survived, Mr Black.”

“A daughter. Your daughter. Her name… was registered as Ninath Black.”

I stand up so fast my chair scrapes the floor. What the f**k? Was that baby Marcus’s? Impossible. Insane. Perfect. Silence on the mic. I can feel Marcus’s world drop out from under him.

“She’s… what?”

“Your daughter.”

Green continues, voice barely above a whisper.

“Your sister kept the girl’s pregnancy secret. Your father was contacted afterwards. He couldn’t bring himself to raise the child. Instead, he placed her in an orphanage. He never told a soul.”

Marcus breathes murder.

“What orphanage?”

“It isn’t named in this version. Your father intentionally kept it buried.”

And then the second bomb.

“And that isn’t all.”

“Of course not…”

“Your father learned that Nina had been in a relationship during that final summer. A boy she loved. He separated them. She ran away with your pregnant girlfriend to protect her.”

A beat. Marcus snarls.

“Because the boy was…”

“f*****g Xander?!”

Green’s voice cracks.

“Yes. She was romantically involved with Xander La Cenacio.”

Oh, Nina. You still scorch the world fourteen years after dying.

“Your father saw it as betrayal. He believed Xander was dangerous. Obsessed. That was why he tried to eliminate him.”

“Which led to the gunfight…” I echo under my breath.

“In a motel. While your daughter was being born.”

I pour another tall glass, hands steady, mind spiralling. I was not prepared for this s**t and I prepare for everything. Green’s voice softens.

“Mr Black… he wasn’t an easy man. But he acted as he thought he had to. Perhaps not rightly, but—”

“Don’t.”

Marcus’s voice is a razor.

“Don’t defend him.”

A door slams like a gunshot. And the line goes dead. I sit there, whiskey untouched now. Old man… You bastard. You hid more than I ever expected. I'm in deep thought when my phone starts buzzing. Emiliano. Of course, he’s calling. He heard everything. I don’t answer. I let it ring. Because there’s only one thought in my skull, pulsing like a war drum:

“I must get to that girl before Marcus does.”

Not want, or need…not even should. I have to! People like me usually don’t need anything. No women. No money. No approval. But, right now? This is instinct sharpened into obsession. My Nina died for that child. The only thing she shielded with her last breath. Whatever that girl is now, whoever she became? She’s mine to claim. Mine to protect. Mine to possess. Not as leverage. Not as a pawn… Something else. Something I’m not willing to, or able to name yet. So, I exhale sharply and call Emiliano back. He answers immediately, voice tight.

„Ehi, capo... come stai?“ [Hey, boss… how are you holding up?] I don’t bother with niceties.

„Trovatela!“ [Find her.] Silence. Then his breath hitches.

„Consideralo fatto.“ [Consider it done.]

„Fai tutto il necessario. Marcus non può arrivare prima a lei.“ [Do whatever it takes. Marcus cannot get to her first.] My voice drops, a command that could kill a man where he stands.

„Se è orfana, ci saranno dei registri. Rintracciateli. Hackerate l'agenzia. Corrompete chiunque sia necessario. Voglio la sua posizione entro domattina.“ [If she’s an orphan, records will exist. Trace them. Hack the agency. Bribe whoever you have to. I want her location by the morning.]

„Sì, capo.“ [Yes, boss.]

„Parto per New York tra un'ora.“ [I'm leaving for New York in an hour.] I say. As I lower the phone to hang up, I catch his voice one more time:

„La troverò.“ [I’ll find her.] Good. He knows what happens if he fails.

•

9 HOURS LATER, PRIVATE JET TERMINAL, NEW YORK

•

The moment I step off the plane, Emiliano’s already there. His straight posture, hands behind his back, fake smile plastered on like a man trying not to s**t himself is passing me off.

„Hey, boss, welcome to America! How was your flight?” He attempts. I fix him with a dead stare.

„Non fare domande stupide.“ [Don’t ask stupid questions.] He clears his throat and falls into step behind me. I barely hear him. My mind is stuck on her.

What does she look like? Does she resemble Nina? Does she have Nina’s fire, or Marcus’s cold edges? Is she… untouched by our world? Or already hardened by it?

I don’t know. And the not-knowing is eating me alive.

•

LA CENACIO MANSION, OUTSKIRTS OF NEW YORK

•

I step into a space that should feel like home. It doesn’t. Not tonight. I walk straight to the bar, pour a tall glass of gin, and down it in one long swallow. The burn doesn’t even register. My pulse is louder. Obsession tastes metallic. Sharp. Electric. I need to see her. I have to know what fate carved out of the child Nina died protecting.

„Chiamami appena la trovi.“ [Call me the second you find her.] I say without turning.

„Si, Capo.“ [Yes, Boss.] Emiliano answers. Always obedient.

•

What can I do to not go crazy from the anticipation? I shut myself inside my office, drowning in paperwork, power plays, and unfinished business. All of it is meaningless and static compared to the one single thread looping through my skull… Ninath. Marcus’s blood and my loose end, my claim. Tonight is the last night she lives a normal life. Tomorrow? The hunt begins…

•

Sleep? Never came. Maybe an hour, maybe none and it didn’t matter. By six, I’m already on the gym floor, fists hammering into the heavy bag until my knuckles throb beneath the wraps. Two hours of beating something that can’t bleed, then a cold shower that doesn’t cool anything. When I walk into the dining room, the table’s already set. Peggy, my New York housemaid, places my coffee down before I even sit. Emiliano’s already waiting, bright-eyed and annoyingly energised.

„Buongiorno, capo. Come hai dormito?“ [Morning, boss. How’d you sleep?] I stare at him.

„Che cazzo pensi, Emiliano? Ti aspetti "come un bambino"?“ [What the f**k do you think, Emiliano? You expecting ‘like a baby’?] He grins wider. That grin. That I-know-something grin. I narrow my eyes as I serve myself eggs and bacon.

„Sputalo fuori.“ [Spit it out.] His smile stretches, victorious.

„Matteo l'ha trovata, capo!“ [Matteo found her, boss!] He tosses a thick file onto the table…photos, documents, everything. My pulse kicks once. Hard.

„Orfanotrofio di Saint Amara, Long Island. Solo ragazze. Nome registrato come Ninath Black.“ [Saint Amara Orphanage, Long Island. Girls only. Name registered as Ninath Black.] I take a slow breath, mask everything behind calm. Emiliano keeps talking.

„Abbiamo cancellato i suoi dati dal sistema statale prima ancora che New York si accorgesse di lei. Marcus non ha niente. Abbiamo coperto ogni pista.“ [We wiped her data from the state system before New York even noticed her. Marcus has nothing. We've covered every lead.] Good. Very good.

„E un'altra cosa che ti renderà la giornata...“ [And another thing that’ll make your day…] His chest puffs a little.

„Sono già in contatto con l'agenzia di adozione e l'orfanotrofio. Se tutto procede senza intoppi, tra due giorni andrai lì come Marcus Black. Firmerai i documenti e la riporterai a casa.“ [I’m already in communication with the adoption agency and the orphanage. If everything continues smoothly, you’ll be going there as Marcus Black in two days. Signing the papers. Bringing her home.] He’s practically glowing with pride.

„Domani mattina incontrerò l'agente incaricato delle adozioni. Una tangente, una firma, una spintarella e l'intera procedura diventerà solo scartoffie.“ [Tomorrow morning, I meet the adoption agent. A bribe, a signature, a nudge and the whole process becomes nothing more than paperwork.] I lean back in my chair, genuinely impressed. For a moment.

„Emiliano, questa è una cosa che a un uomo piace sentirsi dire a colazione.“ [Emiliano, this is something a man likes to hear with his breakfast.] I say, wiping my hands on the napkin. His grin widens further.

„Ti sei meritato questo elogio. Ogni giorno mi ricordi perché sei il mio braccio destro. Sono orgoglioso di te.“ [You earned this praise. Every day you remind me why you’re my right-hand. I’m proud of you.] The compliment hits him harder than a gunshot. He damn near beams.

„Qualsiasi cosa per te, capo. La tua parola è tutto per me.“ [Anything for you, boss. Your word means everything to me.] I nod once, satisfied, and pick up the file. Her file. Her life. Her picture is sealed somewhere in these pages, waiting for me to open it.

„Sarò nel mio ufficio.“ [I’ll be in my office.] I say as calmly as I’m able to, but inside I’m boiling with anticipation.

„Si, Capo.” [Yes, boss.] As I walk away, the weight of the file in my hand feels heavier than steel. I’m going to see her face today. I’m going to know the girl Nina died to protect. The girl Marcus will soon be hunting. And when I find her… She’ll be mine long before he even arrives at the gates.