Mafia Lords: On Their Knees Begging For Her Forgiveness

Chapter Three

Nearly Four Years Later...

“Mami, can I have a piece of candy?”

I looked through the car’s front mirror toward the reflection of my little angel sitting in the backseat with so much love in my eyes and replied with a faint smile, “No, sweetheart, not yet.”

Angelo pouted and stuck out his lower lip in a show of discontent, which only made my smile grow wider. This child came into this world despite all the challenges he faced inside my womb.

My heart clenched, and the smile faded from my face when I remembered how many times I tried to get rid of him during the first months of pregnancy.

When I received the test result on that rainy day, the shock I felt was greater than the pain of being abandoned by the family who raised me—and then discarded me so easily. The wound of abandonment hadn’t healed back then, and I didn’t want a responsibility heavier than what my fragile state of mind could carry.

Even though Mama Marseilla and Ricardo kept in touch with me constantly, I never told them about the pregnancy.

After five months, I stopped trying to abort. Then came a call—it was the first time I heard from Papa Gerald since the day I left, or rather, was kicked out of his mansion. He told me he wanted me to come back. That was my last call with the Haydens though.

I knew for sure they’d force me into a medical abortion the moment they found out about the pregnancy.

Killing coldly and blood smell was the air they breathed.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Not after I had felt my baby’s heartbeat and his little kicks. Not after I began to feel that I belonged, that I had blood ties, a real family.

The moment I heard my baby's heartbeat, I had changed. I decided to be strong for him. To save and protect him, even from the cruelest Mafia family in America and Italy.

I think deep down, my heart wanted to keep him from the beginning. It was only the thought that my child’s biological father was a rapist that made me hate the idea of his birth at first.

I looked into the mirror again, letting my eyes fill with the features of my little angel, who inherited nothing from me except my light brown hair color.

Today was his birthday, and we had prepared everything so he could celebrate with his friends at the kindergarten. I didn’t want my little one to feel alone on such a day, especially with the lack of family and relatives around.

“Mami,” Angelo said, his voice slightly tense as he walked beside me, his tiny hand tucked warmly in mine. I looked at him with my usual smile while holding the cake and the candy box in my other hand.

“Will Daddy come to my birthday party?”

The smile vanished from my face involuntarily. It wasn’t the first time Angelo had asked about his father. Ever since he started kindergarten, his questions about his dad had become more frequent.

I quickly regained my composure and stopped walking. “I’ve told you before, darling—your father has his own life. He doesn’t live in Italy.”

Angelo frowned and said thoughtfully, furrowing his eyebrows in a funny way, “But I think you’re wrong, Mami. There’s a man who comes every day to the kindergarten. He smiles at me. He looks like me.”

My heart raced. Even his words were illogical and impossible—he still stumbled over some words—but for some reason, I felt a tightness in my chest. I always felt like we were being watched, all the time. But I thought that was due to me being raised surrounded by guards and grew up watched.

Angelo let go of my hand and lit up when he saw the decorations on his classroom door, while I stood frozen.

“Wait for me…” I whispered and rushed after him.

When we entered, his teacher had already set up all the decorations, and the children were gathering in a circle around Angelo. I placed the cake and the candy box on the table, and my eyes were drawn to a large, elegantly wrapped gift box near the others. 'I hope his teacher didn’t splurge on such an expensive gift,' I thought to myself.

My phone rang with a text notification. I quickly picked it up, fearing it might be from the photographer Giovanni—I had told him it wouldn’t be more than two hours, since I had a shoot scheduled. But the moment I opened the message, the blood froze in my veins.

[I want to meet at Dolce Café. —Marco]

The words danced before my eyes, as if I had forgotten how to read. I couldn’t process them.

Marco?

Dolce Café was just two blocks from where I lived, and I had changed my number since my last contact with the Haydens, which was more than three years ago.

I read the message again and again. I didn’t know why I felt this irrational fear. The Haydens no longer had any power over me, and I had no ties to them.

“La signorina Rossetti, do you hear me?”

“Mila? Are you okay?” came the voice of Teresa, Angelo’s teacher, snapping me back to reality. I shook my head slightly to chase away the unexplainable emotions flooding me.

“Sorry, I zoned out a bit.”

“Is everything alright? You look really pale.”

I waved it off with a smile. “Let’s get started before work calls me. I told them I wouldn’t be more than two hours late.”

I had a product shoot scheduled for my i********: page, which now had 100 million followers. Yes—after the family who raised me threw me away and disowned me, I created a page under the alias “Serafina.” And here I am now, one of the world’s most famous influencers—yet behind a secret identity. The black cat mask is a constant in all my videos, along with a voice filter.

Now, amidst the singing and candle blowing, flashes of past birthdays filled my mind—back when I was surrounded by the Haydens and their supposed love for me. All that fake love. And with the first mistake I made, they cast me out like a plague.

I couldn’t shake off the shadow of sadness all day—even during the shoot. That message from Marco kept ringing in my ears like an alarm bell. Especially with only a week left before New Year’s celebrations. I felt an unexplainable homesickness for the holiday season inside the Hayden mansion.

Snow was not common in the streets of Venice, where I had been living for two years. Yet, the streets were very cold even though it buzzed with warmth and energy of love, filled with people preparing for New Year’s.

It was already dark when I parked the car outside the house. I decided to ignore Marco’s text.

Angelo rushed to the trunk, eager to open the presents he’d received today for his birthday. As soon as I opened the trunk, my eyes landed on the large, professionally wrapped box—its luxurious look and size made it stand out among the smaller ones.

“Wow, Mami! I’m excited to see what’s inside—I think it’s a car!” Angelo squealed with his usual lisp. I laughed at his clear joy and excitement.

“Let’s get inside quickly—you’ll see it then. It’s too cold out here,” I said, nudging him forward with my hands full of small boxes while he insisted on carrying the large gift box himself. It was nearly bigger than him, and he almost stumbled under its weight.

I frowned as I stared at the small, motorized car now parked in the middle of the living room. Its cost was obviously too high—I doubted Teresa could afford it.

I immediately took out my phone and called her. When I asked, she laughed and said, “I figured it might be a secret admirer. He insisted I not tell you anything unless you asked—after you’d taken the gift home.”

I swallowed hard, clutching my phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. It was the exact model Angelo had wanted for his birthday. I couldn’t find it—it was only available by special order.

“I can confirm your admirer is very handsome—tall, well-built… like a dream prince,” Teresa said with enthusiasm and clear admiration.

For some reason, Marco’s face flashed in my mind.

I quickly moved to the window overlooking the street, feeling watched. I pulled the curtain slightly aside. There it was—a luxury Lamborghini parked outside my building, its presence completely out of place in this humble neighborhood of practical cars. I squinted, trying to see who was inside. When the headlights flashed on and off several times, I knew. The driver was sending a message: Yes, I’m watching you. I took a step back, my heart pounding violently in my chest.

Oh my God. We really are being watched.

Then I remembered what Angelo said about a man watching him. I turned toward him as he played with his new car.

“Gilo, do you remember what you told me this morning? About the man who’s always there before I pick you up from school?”

He looked up at me but quickly returned to his toy.

I rushed to him and picked him up from the floor—despite his slight resistance, not wanting to leave the car—and carried him toward the window.

“Is that the car he comes in?”

I was already reaching for my phone, ready to call the police.

“What car? I don’t see anything!”

I lifted my gaze from the screen and looked through the window—nothing. I scanned the street. Nothing.

I was sure we were being watched. But by whom, and why?

Could it be that monster had found out about Angelo and came to cover up his crime?

I jumped at the sound of the doorbell.

I didn’t know why I felt scared to open it. But the continuous ringing pushed me to walk toward the door, debating whether or not to call the police. But what if it was just the delivery guy? Or a neighbor?

Damn. Why didn’t I install a peephole or a security camera?

With a shaky voice, I asked, “Who is it?”

“Food delivery.”

I exhaled in relief, my heartbeat slowing back to normal. I should have known it was him, I ordered pizza half an hour ago. I opened the door with my usual smile—but it quickly vanished the moment my eyes landed on the two men standing behind the delivery guy, leaning against the opposite wall.

Luca and Marco.