Married to the mafia King

Book 2

Bianca

Fuck the mafia.

I live in Florence, Italy, and they’ve been a part of my life as far back as I can remember.

A shadowy threat around every corner since I was a child.This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

You see, my father’s a gambler and he’s bad at it.

Which means he borrows money he can’t repay… and then loses it on stupid bets.

I want to hate him for it for all the pain he’s put me and my mother through

But he’s my dad.

And he’s a sweetheart when he’s not making us miserable.

It’s an addiction for him, the same as if he were an alcoholic or a drug addict. A sickness.

He’s tried to stop he really has. He’s gone to those meetings, the ones like Alcoholics Anonymous, for years.

But every so often, he relapses.

I know he’s deeply ashamed when he messes up…

Because it always ends up hurting me and my mother.

So I don’t hate him.

I’m ANGRY at him a lot… but I don’t hate him.

Guess who I do hate?

The assholes who keep loaning him money for his stupid bets…

And then come knocking on the door when he can’t pay them off.

See, my father works for the judicial system in Florence.

He’s not a judge or a lawyer just a low-level worker in the bureaucracy.

Officially, anyway.

But he’s also a ‘go-between’ for the Cosa Nostra the ones who really run Florence behind the scenes.

My father is the one who deals with the judges and prosecutors who are on the take.

He’s the one who makes sure the District Attorney’s office knows when they’re supposed to throw a case…

And he lets the judges know when they’re supposed to give unfair advantages to the defense.

My father not only delivers the money, he also looks for new recruits.

He knows all the gossip and where all the bodies are buried.

He knows who’s gotten divorced recently and needs money…

He knows who has a drug problem…

He knows who has a mistress with expensive tastes…

And he knows who has a problem that the mafia could make go away. All it would require would be a little ‘favor.’

He’s the man the mafia relies on to make their corruption work.

I know this makes my father sound like a monster…

But he’s not.

He hates what he does for them.

He’s tried to get out time and again…

But like I said, he’s an addict.

The gangsters know that, and they take advantage of it.

That’s how the whole system works.

Yes, half of the judges and lawyers on the take are greedy bastards

But the other half are people who are in despair. Who make bad mistakes. Who start down self-destructive paths. Who dig holes for themselves that they can’t get out of.

They’re desperate.

Desperate people are vulnerable.

And the mafia is always there to lend a helping hand… for a ‘favor.’

But once you shake hands with the devil…

He owns you.

I know, because they own my father.

They use both a carrot and a stick.

The carrot is the money they lend him to gamble. They feed his addiction, like a casino that gives a customer an endless line of credit.

The stick is when they threaten him… and worse.

Over the years, he’s had his legs broken twice.

They snapped his right arm three times.

They’ve broken his fingers more often than he can remember.

They kept breaking his bones…

Until they broke him.

The mafia got him under their thumb decades ago.

Now it’s not just the debts they hold over his head but threats against me and my mother.

So Papa always does what they tell him to…

And he despairs.

He’ll try to stay away from gambling, and he’ll do great for months at a time…

But then he’ll give in just a little to the demons inside him and place a bet…

Then another… and another…

And just like that, the Cosa Nostra’s grip on him tightens.

He despises himself for it.

He’s a broken and defeated man.

And that’s why I hate the mafia.

I always have. I always will.

Which is why it kills me…

Absolutely destroys me…

…that I fell in love with a mafioso.

I go to the Istituto Marangoni in Florence for fashion design.

I love clothes. I love beauty and elegance, yes…

But even more than that, I love the idea that you can actually wear art because clothes are a statement of who you are and how you see the world.

I’ve dreamed of working for a fashion house since I was little.

Gucci… Balenciaga… Versace… Dolce and Gabbana…

But I want to inject a little ‘punk rock’ into it.

I want to make it less about money and status and more about creating something amazing that anyone can wear and feel beautiful.

If I’m being honest, I’d love to create my own brand someday. To be a designer in my own right.

But that’s a ways off.

I’m 22, and I can only go to school part-time.

It’s expensive. Not only do I have to pay for the tuition on my own, plus my rent and food and everything else…

But every so often, I have to help Mama out when Papa does something stupid and gets himself in a jam.

One of those things happened just the other day…

And it changed the course of my entire life.

It was a Friday afternoon. I’d finished up classes for the day, and I had a dozen things I had to do over the weekend:

A whole bunch of sketches for my design class…

A photoshoot for my roommate Emma, who’s in the same fashion program as me…

Not to mention my waitressing job. I had an eight-hour shift on Sunday.

But I hadn’t seen my parents in over a week. I wanted to check in on them, so I took the bus to their apartment on the outskirts of the city.

Florence is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. At least the old part of the city is the section built in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance.

There are also modern neighborhoods that sprang up like mushrooms after World War II.

Some of them are nice…

And some of them are ugly and depressing.

My parents have an apartment in the ugly and depressing part.

They could have afforded a lot nicer place if my dad hadn’t lost so much money to gambling over the years…