Mafia Lords: On Their Knees Begging For Her Forgiveness

Chapter Four

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room—no, out of the entire house—the moment the door closed behind the delivery guy, who practically ran off, escaping the deadly glares from both Luca and Marco.

Instinctively, I took a step toward Angelo, placed my trembling hand on his head, and said, “Why don’t you go try out your new toys in your room while Mommy talks with her friends for a little bit?”

Angelo lifted his gaze from his toys for the first time, frowned slightly, then pointed toward Marco and said, “That’s the one I told you about, Mommy. Is he my dad?”

“No. Now go to your room, and don’t come out until I ask you to.”

My voice came out sharp, sharper than Angelo had ever heard from me. He flinched.

“Did you like the car I got you?” Marco crouched down to Angelo’s level. “How about we go to your room, and I show you how to play with it?”

I understood what Marco was trying to do—he wanted to give Luca a chance to speak with me alone. But I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be left alone with him. Not Luca. Never.

Still, when Angelo looked at me, I smiled reassuringly, silently encouraging him to let Marco show him how to play.

I’ll not show them any trace of weakness. Not again.

An infuriating silence fell over the room the moment Angelo and Marco stepped inside the other room.

Despite the tension and my impatience to know why they were here, I didn’t say a single word. I refused to show any interest whatsoever.

Luca’s gaze burned into my eyes, but I refused to look away. I wouldn’t be the one to break eye contact. They needed to know—I wasn’t the same girl anymore. I wasn’t weak.

A cloud of cigarette smoke drifted between us, yet our eyes stayed locked in a silent conversation. One I refused to interpret. A blame I refused to accept. A coldness I refused to feel.

Since when did Luca start smoking?

Eventually, he was the one who broke both the silence and the stare, turning toward the window as he muttered, “You disgust me.”

“Then leave! You're not welcome here,” I replied coolly and walked straight to the door, flinging it open wide.

He narrowed his eyes as he walked toward the door, a sarcastic smirk playing on his lips. With his towering frame, he stood in front of me and slammed the door shut with the heel of his sneaker, yanking my hair back with one hand, eyes devouring my face as he growled, “If it weren’t for my father’s dying wish to see you, you wouldn’t see me here today, you w***e.”

Without thinking, I spat in his face. A single traitorous tear escaped my eye.

He wiped his face with calmness I hadn’t expected, then winked coldly and said, “Perfect. That’s exactly what w***es do, spit.”

I couldn’t hold myself back anymore. I raised my hand to slap him, but he caught my wrist tightly and barked, “I don’t have time for your nonsense, piccolo gatto, kitty. Pack your things, we’re flying to the United States in four hours.”

I hated the nickname—piccolo gatto—it reminded me of the past, so I screamed at him, “Get out of my face! I’m not going anywhere with you!”

He let go of my hair and replied with chilling indifference, “And I don’t have the desire to take you anywhere. Believe me. My Mila, the little Mila I loved, sanctified, died three years, nine months, and two days ago.”

Then he looked me up and down and added, “You’re just a shadow, one that looks nothing like her.”

This man… he used to be my whole world. The warm chest I clung to since I was four years old. Even though he was ten years older—fourteen at the time—he was like my guardian angel.

I used to sneak into his bed in the middle of the night until I turned twelve. That was when Papa Gerald scolded me and said if I did it again, he’d send Luca away.

I loved the warmth from his body. I remember how he’d wrap me in his blanket like I was a little pet. That comforting heat from his skin…

Sometimes we’d wake up in the middle of the night and he’d cook just for me because I said I was hungry. He played every game I loved. He even watched cartoons like Cinderella with me.

I loved him so deeply that I once told Mama Marcilia I wanted to marry him. But she said Luca wasn’t right for me. I was furious. A few months later, Papa Gerald sent him away to manage his business overseas. He never came back since then.

But now… it seems things have changed. He’s back.

I swallowed and said firmly, “Yes… there’s nothing left of her.”

He stared into my eyes with his dark lashes and black pupils—no, deeper—into my soul. A look filled with sorrow. Maybe even pity.

“Mommy, Uncle Marco said we’re going to the United States! And we’re going to live in a huge mansion!”

Angelo’s voice rang with joy across the living room as he walked back in, breaking the suffocating silence.

I rolled my eyes with a sigh, then shot a hard glare toward Marco, who was leaning carelessly against Angelo’s bedroom door frame.

“No, baby. We’re not going. Angelo, we already made our plans here with Mr. Jones, remember? We’re going to celebrate with his kids,” I said, trying to sound cheerful, reminding him of our plans and ignoring the deadly stares burning into my back.

Angelo thought for a second, then said, “I like playing with his kids… but I don’t like him. He always tries to kiss you when he visits, and he tells everyone you’re his fiancée.”

That was not the response I wanted to hear.

“Don’t worry, kid. I promise he won’t do that again,” Marco said, still not taking his eyes off Luca.

“If you do anything to him, I swear you’ll pay for it!” I threatened, trying to make my point. As much as I hated Peter Jones’s behavior, he was a widower and a father of two. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to him because of me.

“How interesting,” Luca added.

I looked at them in disbelief. “Don’t even think about it! I won’t have gangster business in my home. Get out. Both of you.” Deliberately, trying to insult them.

Luca bit his lower lip and said, “He raised you. He saved you from a life in shelters and on the streets—you would’ve ended up there if he hadn’t taken you in and honored your father’s will. The least you can do is fulfill his final wish.”

I knew they could take me out of the country anytime, anywhere, if they wanted to. The Haydens mafia’s reach, —La Cosa Nostra— and power had grown even here in Italy. Italy is their roots.

However, it seemed like they wanted me to go willingly. Maybe that’s what Papa Gerald wanted.

“Three days. That’s all. And I won’t stay a second longer.”

I'll just go to clear my conscience. After all, he was the man who raised me. Besides, I need to uncover the secrets they're hiding about my real parents—my biological mother.

Dark cloud passed through my eyes as I thought that I may find the man who raped me four years ago and take rvenge of him.