1
Caterina
(Caterina, age 16)
Flying down the stairs well past midnight, I ignore the ladylike behavior Mother expects of me when I hear my brothers’ voices below. I’ve seen much less of them since the outbreak of this latest bloody conflict within the Trio.
Staggering into the solid mass of my oldest brother, Nico, I hug him tightly. He’s eight years older than me, tall, muscular and intimidating-looking with that jagged scar on his face. As agirl in our world, I’m to be protected, locked in my golden cage where our enemies can’t reach me, whereas Nico has been a Made Man for ten years.
Yet, the cruelty in his gray eyes always melts when he looks at me, something for which my father often rebukes both my brothers. Openly caring for someone is a grave weakness in his opinion. It never stops them from showing me the affection our parents avoid, another reason I love my brothers best.
“Cat,” Nico says gruffly, softening just enough to accept my clinging embrace. “What have you done to your hair?” His lips twist into a wry grin as he brushes back my spiky bangs.
Cutting my hair was an act of rebellion, not a well-thought-out one perhaps considering how it looks. “I copied something from a magazine. Mother was so angry. Do you like it?”
“No, it’s awful,” an amused voice drawls from behind me, my other brother Dante. More volatile than Nico, he’s already earned a frightening reputation at twenty. My bang-cutting rebellion is laughably childish compared to the hell he unleashes on the streets and in the fighting ring. “It’s late for kittens to still be awake. Busy reading more tales of knights and chivalry?”
I scowl at him (mostly, because he’s right) until I notice the blood on his shirt. “You are hurt!” I gasp, rushing to his side.
He shakes his head, preventing me from embracing him. “It’s not my blood nor Nico’s, but it covers you as well now.”
Horrified, I look down to see my white nightgown is stained red beneath my small breasts. Under the hall lights, I realize Nico’s black dress shirt is shiny and wet under his gun holster. I catch the coppery scent in the air and feel queasy. “Whose blood is it?” I whisper, swallowing hard.
“No one you’ll miss, Cat,” Nico replies darkly, making Dante laugh. Their words and laughter are harsh, but they are harsh men. The softness they show me is a mask they wear, hiding their true selves while I choose to wear my blindfold of make-believe. I can pretend my brothers are good men because they’re good to me, but I know what it means to be part of the mafia.
I cross my arms over my torso, wanting to hide the bloody stain as the door to Father’s office opens. “Nico, Dante,” he clips, his cold gray eyes settling on me. “I hear you’ve complicated our peace talks tonight.”
Is there talk of peace? The war between the three leading families of the Trio has raged for nearly a year. So much blood has been spilled. Father says it’s bad for business but shares few details with me or Mother. Outbursts and eavesdropping are how I learn whatever news I can. Curious Cat, my brothers sometimes call me. Mother often warns me it’s unwise.
“We don’t need peace with the De Lucas,” Dante spits. “Vicini needs us more than he needs Vegas.”
“The Trio is strong because together we rule the three largest territories in the U.S. In-fighting only makes things easier for our enemies to bring us down. Pacts and promises had already been made. If you had kept your head tonight-”
“I am to blame for tonight, Father, not Dante. If you are angry, be angry with me, but I won’t lament the loss of a De Luca,” Nico says in the same coolly measured tones as my father. “Cat, go back to bed now,” he adds, giving me a nudge toward the stairs.
I’m very curious about what happened but know better than to argue. So, the next words from my father’s mouth shock me to my core. “No. Caterina, you will join us for a moment.”
Icicles slide down from my skull to my toes as Father holds the door open for me to enter his lair where I’m rarely welcomed. No one, not even Mother who shares his bed, enters Father’s office without permission. My brothers follow me inside and, while they appear outwardly comfortable, I catch the concerned glance that passes between them before Nico pours himself a drink. Dante takes a seat on the leather sofa as my father stands at his desk, wearing his standard three-piece suit though it’s late. He’sarmed which is strange because he says a strong Capo shouldn’t appear afraid inside his home. I feel extremely conspicuous in my girlish nightgown with its splotch of blood even if these three men are my closest kin.
Our father has a short coughing spell, he’s smoked cigars for many years, and Nico pours him a drink as well. Once he’s collected himself, he speaks. “The Don is choosing to view tonight’s hotheadedness as a final skirmish in a long conflict. New York wants this peace and so do I. De Luca wants it, too. Or did until you killed his heir.”
My jaw drops. Nico killed Silvio, Jr.? I remember him from a few social gatherings. Many years older, he ignored me, naturally, though I’ve heard he was a vile monster like his father. He’d certainly looked like one. The De Luca Family are renowned for their brutality, even in our world.
“Sil, Jr. shouldn’t have pissed off Nico. No one is better with a blade,” Dante says, flashing a grin as if they’re speaking of a sports contest. He thrives on violence, something this war had given him plenty of.
“Why did you fight him?” our father asks, ignoring Dante.
“He showed up at our most popular club and brutalized one of the workers.”
“He beat a whore. So what? He was a guest in our city negotiating peace,” my father says, incredulous.
“He has a strange concept of negotiating peace when he tortures one of our girls to death. Inourcity, inourclub, Father. It was an insult. I confronted him, and I fought him. He deserved my wrath.”
My ears feel hot. My whole face does. They never speak this way in my presence. It’s clear my father feels no sympathy for the dead girl. I doubt Nico’s wrath had as much to do with the prostitute as it did with the lack of respect Sil, Jr. had shown. I still don’t understand why Father wants me here.
“So, now what? More war? Nico can’t un-kill him,” Dante says, still grinning like a madman.
“Now, we are forced to make concessions. Vicini demands it of us all.”
