Page 7 of Stroke of Luck

“Sky, you need to eat the colors of the rainbow, not just brown food…”

I drop the serving fork as I gasp and clutch my chest as if my heart is breaking. I’m too young to have a heart attack… aren’t I?

“Firefly, what’s the matter? Are you hurt somewhere?” Paolo asks, starting to rise from his seat.

“No I’m fine, I think I just remembered something and it startled me is all,” I say, motioning for him to sit back down.

Remo frowns and grumbles under his breath. “Women, so dramatic.”

As much as I want to argue, I don’t. I’m more focused on what I’ve remembered. Who would have said something like that to me? Mother has given up long ago trying to change my eating habits, leaving it to the revolving door of nannies to manage me. She’s never been cut out to be a mother, but Father had always dreamed of having a child, and out of the two he deserved one. Even though we would butt heads about things, we could always reach a point to either agree to disagree or compromise. But Mother never wanted to work that hard for anything in her life, let alone me.

“So it seems that Miss Leto here believes that she knows Enzo from high school,” Paolo comments as he pops a piece of chicken into his mouth.

“What?! That’s surprising… although you don’t talk much about your life before you were inducted into the family,” Giorgi muses.

“Once you join the La Famiglia, that is your life. Nothing else matters. You shed all that you have been before,” Remo states as he focuses on his plate.

Othello hums his agreement as he leans back in his seat. “True, especially for someone like Enzo, who was not connected to us already. We met by chance, and once I was given Chicago to run after my father’s passing, I brought him into the fold.”

Hearing this makes me bristle. Did Enzo just write me off because he joined the mafia? I knew this life wasn’t something he could get out of once he was in, but why couldn’t he tell me something?

“So you’re ignoring me because I’m part of your past life? How childish can you be?! Apparently we weren’t as good of friends as I thought if you could leave me without even saying goodbye,” I snap slamming my fork down on the table. “I bet these guys have friends outside the mafia—people have lives.”

“Ah, I hate to correct you when you’re all fired up, but no—we don’t have lives outside La Famiglia. We have underlings, business associates, and bed warmers, but none of us would associate outside the circle. You never know who you can trust these days,” Giorgi explains.

“Then what the fuck am I?” I demand, glaring at the men before me.

Othello leans forward to take his glass of wine before he answers. “You, baby girl, are deeper into the mafia life than you know. Your grandfather was best friends and business partners with my grandfather.” He pauses to see the effect of his words. “It would seem that you didn’t know about your family’s dark secret.”

It would seem the punches just keep coming. I’m all about peace and love, but I have no problem drawing the line and throwing hands when the time comes. This situation is moments away from me punching someone, I’m just not sure who it will be.

“This is the life my mother always planned for me?” I laugh harshly. “The woman who talks about dealing with the right people and how hard we worked for our station in life? Perception is everything and reality is a cruel bitch.”

I pause for a moment, then look up at Enzo as I connect a few dots. “You knew, didn’t you? That my family had ties to the mafia.”

“No, actually. I didn’t,” Enzo says, surprising me. “Your grandmother is the matriarch, it would seem, and your father does her bidding. My guess is your father was asked by your grandfather to support his friend’s son while he was still living, and now deals with Othello. It’s as Remo says—you were part of my past, and I had to shed all of that to prove my loyalty to this family. Now I’m the right hand to the mafia boss of Chicago, which proves I made the right choice.”

I’m not sure why it hurts so much to hear him say it finally, but it does. Sharp, white-hot pain like a dagger being shoved into my heart radiates through me. He had been more than a friend to me, but I knew he wasn’t sure where his interests lied at that point in his life. It didn’t matter if he hadn’t picked me for a romantic relationship, I loved him for who he was…is. Even though I can’t remember all the time that’s passed since he left, I know he’d still been in my heart as my first love, if you will, and now I have closure.

He has Paolo, and they seem to be a perfect fit. He has the position he strove for. I might have just held him back.

Truly not having anything to say to him, I give him a nod and go back to my dinner. The rest of the meal is filled with small talk that I don’t bother to follow as I drink my wine and take in the simple beauty of the room. Along one wall is built-in, lit up shelving that displays various artwork and sculptures, all of it from different periods but all done by Italian artists.

“If we are all finished, we can adjourn to the living room,” Othello directs, rising from his chair like the king he thinks he is. “Unless you are no longer interested in finding out more about your lost time, Miss Leto?”

Slumping into the chair, I scowl at him. “Can we please stop with the whole ‘Miss Leto’ thing? Seriously, it’s ridiculous, and I am nothing like my mother or the snooty women you are used to dealing with.”

“Yes, you are far more crass and stubborn than those I keep around. They are not the most attractive traits in a woman,” Othello comments.

I laugh as I stand, walking right up to him and peering up at his face. “Just give it time, it’ll grow on you.” I wink before turning to head out of the room with a grin on my face.

Take that, you dick.

“Firefly, I have a feeling having you around is going to make things so much more interesting. The night is young, and we have much to cover, like how much Italian do you really speak?” Paolo inquires as he wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“Why would you ask that?”

“Ah yes, you don’t remember how we first met,” Paolo sighs as he seats me in one of the armchairs. “Allow me to fill in those blanks. I was out for a smoke, minding my own business, when you, in all your drunken glory, utterly ignored me to make a phone call. It was to your parents, something about them needing to tell you something, but that went over like a bull in a china shop. Once you hung up the phone with them, you climbed up on the bench that I was sitting on, and the litany of curse words that came out of your mouth in both English and Italian was a sight to behold. We had a lovely conversation afterwards, when I finally made my presence known to you. Then, due to some unfortunate events, you fell into the Chicago River and hit your head… I would also like to point out that I was the one that saved your fine ass from certain death!”