She’s right, though. Sure, I’d fight to the fucking death to protect my family, but that’s instinct, not ruthlessness. The thought of killing a stranger in cold blood doesn’t do anything for me. The truth is, it scares the fuck out of me. My greatest fear of all is that when the time comes, I won’t have it in me to pull the trigger. I know how much a life is worth. I know what the loss of one life can do to a family.
I won’t have a choice, though. If Al Valenti says someone needs to die, and it’s my job to make it happen, then I make it happen or take their place. High school is over. I’m no longer a bigshot. I’m just a lowly soldier now. I don’t make the calls or the rules. My job is to take orders. So that’s what I’m going to have to do. My personal preferences and feelings have no part in this life.
So, I’ll forget I have them. I’ll tuck away my weaknesses until I forget they exist. Feelings are a weakness. Love is weakness. I warned my sister of that, but she didn’t listen. In the end, she chose love anyway, and love claimed her life. Nothing’s going to claim mine, not love or fear or hesitation. I know what I have to do. I have to walk into my initiation tomorrow like I already am the man Uncle Al wants me to be, not the fuck-up I am. I have to make sure that I’m so good at my job that the Valentis think they need me. Everyone knows what happens to members of the mafia who aren’t useful.
Tonight, I will ask my mother these questions. After this, I’ll never speak of them again. I will be Ma’s son tonight. I will still belong to this fucked up family with a dead sister, a mother who couldn’t be bothered to come to the funeral, a father who promised his first-born son to the mob, and three brothers I had to leave to their own devices. Tonight, I’m a Dolce, with all my failures and regrets hanging around my neck like a noose.
I know I’m lucky Uncle Al still wants me. Not everyone gets a second chance. Not everyone gets to start over a new man with a new family. And I’m not going to fuck this one up. Tomorrow I will close the door on this life and become a Valenti man, and I will devote my life to being the perfect mafia soldier.
Dutiful. Loyal. Heartless.
two
Eliza
A voice rumbles through the wall of excited, drunken giggles and squeals and chatter going on around me. “Miss?”
I ignore my bodyguard. God, he’s such a… I’m too drunk to think of the word.
Prude? Boomer? Buzz kill?
Tommy groans and grinds his dick against my ass, his hands tightening on my hips, his lips attached to my neck like a leech. I know better than to go down that road again… Which is exactly why I’m entertaining the idea.
My motto might as well be, “Smart enough to know better, still too cool to care.”
I didn’t even really like Tommy to begin with, but he was just dangerous enough to give me a little thrill, and that’s what I was after. The thrill wore off pretty quick when I realized he was dumb as a brick. He’s just a sack of muscles with a gun strapped to his hip. I was bored in a month.
But then Daddy said I had to break up with the idiot, and suddenly, Tommy Fatone didn’t look like a big, dumb, easy conquest. He looked like a goldfish in a bowl to a kitten, and that kitten was me.
“Hey, asshole,” Vince barks, grabbing Tommy by the shoulder and hauling him off me. “Mind hoovering someone else’s neck? Boss’ll have my head if she comes back with a mark on her.”
In any other business, he might be kidding. But his boss happens to be Anthony Pomponio, the head of one of the five New York mafia families, who also just so happens to be my father. So, in this case, losing his head is a literal danger. Especially if Daddy finds out who left the hickeys.
“We’re just hanging out,” Tommy protests. “I know we can’t do nothing.”
Didn’t stop him from trying when we were together, but whatever. All the boys know the mafia princesses have to be “pure,” and they’re all obsessed with trying to deflower us. Tommy would never admit that to someone higher on the food chain, though. He’s just a soldier, a grunt for my family. The only person worse suited for me would be a Valenti, the family mine has been at war with for a decade. And even I wouldn’t go there. I may be defiant, but I’m not dumb.
“Gohang outwith some other girl,” Vince says, elbowing past Tommy to hover over me at the bar.
Tommy gives my ass a squeeze, and I grin up at Vince while he glowers at Tommy like he’s deciding if that’s an offense worthy of the death penalty. I like Tommy that way. He’s daring.
But he doesn’t have a death wish, so he scurries off to find some other girl who will let him get a whole lot further than me.
In truth, it’s a relief to have an excuse to keep from taking that particular step. Sex is like this whole big scary thing I don’t even want to think about. You’d think I’d have done it with Tommy or any of the meaningless boyfriends who came before him just for curiosity’s sake. It’s an experience, and I’m all about experiences. But from what I’ve heard from my non-virgin friends, it sounds too complicated to deal with. I like my life. It’s simple. It’s fun. It’s safe.
Plus, if I ever have one too many drinks, there’s one not-so-little catch named Vince standing in the way of any experimentation. For my Sweet Sixteen, Daddy got me a Ferrari, a birthday bash that everyone worth knowing in the entire city attended, and a chastity belt named Vince. Vince is my third bodyguard—I got my first one, along with a pony, when I turned eight—and his sole purpose is to guard my vagina. His life literally depends on my hymen.
Because the mafia lives and dies by its prehistoric Italian traditions, Daddy’s job is to pick a suitable husband for me. My husband’s job is to kiss Daddy’s ass for allowing him the honor of marrying the daughter of a don. And my job is to bleed like a stuck pig on my wedding night.
I shiver at the thought.
But if I don’t, Vince’s head will roll, and that would be a shame. He’s sweet, despite the stick up his ass. I can’t really blame him for being the way he is. I don’t exactly make his job easy now that I’ve started hitting the party circuit. I’m not going to be responsible for his execution, though. I like the guy. He’s good at being a human chastity belt.
The bartender slides a round of shots across the bar, the ice glasses melting enough to make them glide in their own liquid like drunken ballerinas. This club just opened, so it’s still hot enough to be exclusive, with its notorious ice shot glasses, glass bar, and crystal chandeliers. I feel like I’m in Elsa’s ice castle, and I’m here for it.
I snatch up an ice shot glass filled with electric blue liquid and hold it aloft. “To tonight,” I scream into the noisy bar.
“I think you’ve had enough,” Vince says, glowering down at me.