Mafia Princess

Chapter 7: You are a baby

Jane's POV

“Rule five,” Alexander said, cutting a piece of his steak. “Dessert is mandatory. Dad says a family that eats sweets together stays together.”

“That’s not a real saying,” I said before I could stop myself.

“It is in this house,” Sandro said. He wasn’t smiling. But his voice was… less ice. “Marta. Cheesecake.”

Marta appeared with a slice that was huge. Mango. My favorite. How did they know?

I looked at Jake. He grinned. “Told you.”

I took a bite. It was better than Aling Nena’s. I hated that it was better.

“Good?” Zachary asked from across the table.

I nodded, mouth full. Realized that was rude. Swallowed. “Yes. Thank you.”

He nodded once. Like I’d passed a test.

“Jane,” Sandro said. I looked up. “Tomorrow, 10am. My office. We talk.”

My stomach dropped. “About what?”

“About why you were hidden,” he said. “About your mother. About what it means to be a Wilson.”

“Dad,” Alexander started.

“She’s here now,” Sandro cut him off. “She’s the only daughter I have. She learns.”

"Only daughter". His words sat in my chest. Heavy.

“Okay,” I said. Because what else could I say?

“Okay,” Sandro repeated. He stood. Everyone stood. “Sleep. Viktor starts at 5.”

“Who’s Viktor?” I asked.

“Head of security,” Zachary answered. “He’ll train you.”

“Train me for what?”

“To not die,” Zachary said. Simple. Flat.

I gripped my fork harder. “Oh.”

Dinner was over.

––––

Back in my room, I sat on the bed. It was too soft. I missed the wooden floor of our house. I missed Ben snoring through the wall.

There was a knock. Soft.

“Come in,” I said.

The door opened. Zachary. He didn’t come in. Just stood in the doorway.

“You didn’t finish your cheesecake,” he said.

“I was full,” I said.

“You need to eat,” he said. “You’re…” He stopped. I looked at my feet. They didn’t touch the ground. “Small.”

“I’m not—” I started.

“I know,” he said. “But Dad sees what he sees. If you don’t eat, he’ll think I’m not doing my job.”

“What’s your job?” I asked.

He looked at me. Really looked. “Keeping you alive.”

“Oh,” I said.

He held out a small container. Mango cheesecake. “Eat this. Then sleep. Lock your door.”

I took it. Our fingers didn’t touch. But it was close. “Thank you, Zachary.”

“Zack,” he said. “You can call me Zack.”

“Okay. Zack.” I tested it. It felt weird. Nice. “Thank you, Zack.”

He nodded. “Night, Jane.”

“Night.”

He shut the door. I heard the soft click of the lock.

I ate the cheesecake. It was cold. Still good.

Then I took Peanut out of my pocket. He was squished.

“I’m the only girl,” I whispered to him. “And the scary one with the scar gave me his jacket.”

Peanut didn’t answer. But I felt better anyway.

I locked the door. I put the panic button under my pillow. I turned off the lamp.

And lay there.

1 minute.

5 minutes.

10 minutes.

The room was too quiet. No Ben snoring. No Liza muttering in her sleep about math tests. No Nanay’s 4amfootsteps Just AC and my own breathing and the city humming 48 floors down.

My chest felt tight. Like when I was little and had a fever and Nanay couldn’t be there.

I shared a bed with Ate Liza my whole life. If she wasn’t there, I didn’t sleep. If it was too quiet, I didn’t sleep. If it was too big, I didn’t sleep.

This room was all three.

At 12:47am, I gave up. I grabbed Peanut and the rosary and Zachary’s jacket. I opened my door.

The hallway was dark. Silent. Cameras in the corners. Little red dots blinking. Watching me.

I remembered: Zach’s room was two doors down. Left of mine. Alexander told me earlier when we walked past. “Zack. Jake. You. In that order. Dad wants you close.”

I walked. Barefoot. The floor was cold.

I stopped at his door. Raised my hand. Put it down. This was stupid. He was 18. I was 15. I was in his jacket. With a teddy bear.

"He’ll think you’re a baby."

"You are a baby", a voice in my head said. "You’re in a mafia house and you can’t sleep without your Ate."

I knocked. Soft. Once.

Nothing.

I knocked again. A little harder.

The door opened fast. Like he was already awake.

Zachary was in gray sweatpants and a black shirt. No shoes. Hair messy. Eyes alert. Not sleepy. He took one look at me, barefoot, hugging his jacket, Peanut’s ear sticking out of the pocket and his face did something complicated.