My father begged me, offering me his empire—something that would never have worked. A woman as the head of a powerful organisation, such as my father’s, would never have been allowed oraccepted. So I became a shadow. And I came for them in the darkness.
First in Sicily. Then in Europe. And later in the Americas.
Now, I own families, organisations, people, routes, and assets.
I own them.
I rule them.
I use them, so no man will ever go unpunished.
3
SOPHIE
PLAYLIST: DOWN ON YOUR KNEES – FLORA CASH
“Go,” I say. “Seriously, I will survive. I’m right there around the corner, eating the entire menu where they have the street food.”
“I don’t have a good feeling,” says Luisa. “Don’t you really wanna join? I can make it brief.”
“You never have a good feeling about anything. What shall happen? Nothing bad ever happens.”
“It does to me,” she says and is not entirely wrong. When something happens, it’s always Luisa. She’s the one who got beaten up once by a group of men. Who got run over by a car. and nearly died. Who had this aggressive man stalk her—overall, she seems to attract everything that could possibly go wrong.
“You need to see life more positively, Lu. It’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you expect bad, bad will happen. Do it like me, I am certain everything will be fine, so things will be fine. Seriously, I am just around the corner.”
“Meh,” says Luisa. “I am rather prepared. But fine. I’ll be back in an hour, don’t go anywhere.”
I laugh. I wouldn’t go anywhere without her, even if I wanted to. I have the orientation of a rotten tomato, even with maps on the phone. I watch Luisa walk towards the museum, and I turn to head to the street-food restaurant I looked up for some authentic Italianfood. I had no breakfast because I wanted to eat it all: Pizza. Pasta. And dessert—Dolci. What a beautiful name for the treats.
I walk in the direction of the restaurant.
“The other way,” Luisa says, and groans.
I look at the maps on my phone.
“Oops,” I say, and I know Luisa rolls her eyes.
“I have it now!” I call back to her before I walk around the corner into the small cobblestone alley leading to the restaurant. I enjoy the tiny alleyways here in Rome, and I am utterly amazed at how people drive through them.
A pigeon flies past my head with its distinctive pigeon-like flapping, and I twitch, jump out of the way as panic spreads through me. I hate these birds. They’re called rats of the air in Germany, and I find that very fitting.
What I didn’t see was the woman walking behind me, whom I jumped into.
“Oh shit,” I say, jumping back. “Sorry—Scusa!” I add. I know a bit of Italian, but I can only pull off the basic words. I learned French and Spanish—and Italian is, in many cases, understandable to me—but speaking it is an entirely different matter.
“No worries,” says the woman, in perfect English. I am flabbergasted by her appearance. She is tall, with intense dark eyes and a wonderful smile, yet she has a distance in her. Her eyes stare at me, but I am distracted by her body. Someone that hot should be forbidden. Every woman would swap her for it, and I flush.
“I was scared of the pigeon—“ I start rambling. “Hate them, they give me anxiety. Anyway, I didn’t see you. I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
Damnit, shut your mouth,I curse myself.
“As I said, no worries,” she says, her head slightly tilted. “Are you visiting?” she asks.
“Yes, we’re here for a few days,” I say, “My friend and I are taking a gap year, she’s at a museum, and I am about to grab some food—”For heaven’s sake, stop talking.
“Where are you from?” she asks.
