Dark Mafia Heir: Chapter 3

Papa’s study is eerily quiet, as it usually is. The air is thick and smells like polished wood and old books. But, otherwise, everything else is properly organized, and the surfaces are spick and span. Just the way he likes it.

He is sitting across the desk, with his head bowed, and face buried deep in the pages of an encyclopedia. Deep down, I know he did not summon me to share knowledge.

Uncomfortably, I drag the frayed hem of my skirt and play with my fingers while he flips through yet another page, wondering when he’ll finally break the silence spell.

More pages rustle after a few more minutes before he clears his throat and closes the book with an unnecessarily loud thud. He brings his head up, and I see the white strands lined neatly between his chestnut-brown hair.

“Vivienne.”

I drag the hem of my skirt again, suddenly feeling the nerves wrack. He called me by my full name. Not Vivi or stubborn one. Just Vivienne. Knowing Papa, that means serious business.

A brow rises high in his head while he waits for a response.

“Yes, sir.”

“You turned twenty-one yesterday, did you not?”

The nerves are rattling now, causing sudden panic to spread through my entire being, because I know what this is… this moment between Papa and me.

I turned twenty-one and that means I have come of age. And like every other female child in this cursed mafia, I am ripe enough to perform our duty to our family.

“Did you not, Vivienne?”

Sometimes, in times like this, I hate how unnaturally calm Papa poses to be. I have seen him in action; angry and throwing all the things around him. But now, it is just him, in his Armani brown suit, with a faraway look he always had in his eyes when he talked to me, like he couldn’t stand looking at me.

“I did, Papa.”

“Good.” He smiles for a brief moment and caresses the edges of his encyclopedia. “Then, you know you have come of age to do greater things, yes?”

“Greater things for whom?” I blurt before I can stop myself. But since it’s out, I don’t bother stopping the flow.

He doesn’t answer my question, just shakes his head with that annoying smile, and drums his finger on the desk.

“Always the stubborn one, Vivienne. Soon enough, you’ll understand that this is the life you’ve been born into, and there is no escaping it.”

I want to scream at his smug face that I am well aware that I was born into a life of bondage, where everyone else gets to dictate what happens in my life, except me. But I don’t scream. If I do, he might smack me across the face with that big book, just to transmit all his knowledge into me. Instead, I keep quiet.

That’s always the best action with him, anyway. Allow him to say all he wants to, nod, and then leave.

After he doesn’t say another word, I know he’s done planting the seed. He’ll just schedule another meeting to water it, until the seed grows into a tree.

I nod, stand to my feet, and then leave.

“But he didn’t say anything.”

“He didn’t have to.” I cut a piece of buttered croissant and put it in my mouth. The butter melts in my mouth, but I don’t taste it. “The meaning was clearly there. He’s preparing my mind for the idea of marriage. Alyssa got sold off—married – to that weirdo, Milano, when she turned twenty-one.”

Harper laughs and takes a bit of her muffin. “Papa’s not going to sell you off—or marry you off to a weirdo.”

Rolling my eyes, I huff. Like father, like daughter, sort of. It was like they were joined at the hip. He’d always take it easy with her, and she’d always stand up for him.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t end up getting married against my wishes.”

She shrugs, and we continue eating in silence.

The café is warm, the scent of coffee and baked bread wrapping around me like a blanket. Harper, who’s seated across from me, stirs her cappuccino, her spoon clinking against the ceramic mug in a steady rhythm. She starts talking about something—probably something related to Papa—but my mind keeps drifting back to last night.

The moment before the gunshot.

Antonio.

I can still feel his lips against mine, the gentle but hard way he kissed, like he was pulling something out of me. There was something electric about it, something that lingered long after that unsmiling man drove us away from the chaos.

“You’re not listening, are you?” Harper’s voice snaps me back, and I blink at her, realizing my hand hangs mid-air with a piece of croissant partly bitten off.

My chest flutters, and I drop the buttered bread, gingerly dusting off my fingers.

“Sorry,” I mumble, glancing around before leaning in a little closer. “I was thinking about last night… the guy.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “The savior?

That was what we nicknamed him last night. I nod. “Him. Antonio.”

Just saying his name out loud gives me the shivers. Smiling, I touch my lips.

Harper shakes her head. She doesn’t agree. “Vi, come on. He looked dangerous.”

I didn’t expect her to but seeing her express it makes me want to keep my excitement to myself. “How? To me, he looked like every normal millennial man. He had good composure, great character, and⁠—”

“He pulled out a gun from thin air,” she interrupts with wide eyes.

“Correction: he pulled the gun out from between his belt. Not thin air. And so, what? Papa has a room full of guns and some other things we don’t even know.”

“That’s the more reason you should be careful. Any man that has a gun somewhere tucked between his clothes should not be trusted.”

It stings when she says that, and I don’t hesitate to release that bitterness. “But you trust Papa with your life.”

She stops stirring her cappuccino, and her shoulders sag. I don’t have to look at her to know she’s looking at me soberly. “Vi, you know what I mean.”

I don’t want us to dwell much on Papa, so I shrug, swirling the foam in my coffee with a half-smile. “I don’t know; there was something about him. But it’s not like I’ll see him again.”

“Don’t rule out the possibility of running into him again. The way he showed up yesterday, he could be out there, positioned to show up out of the blues again to come to your rescue. If he does, just remember that he looks like the kind that shows up, messes with your head, and then disappears.”

Her tone is sharp, protective. Most times, she’s always like this, trying to save me from bad decisions. I appreciate it, but sometimes, I just want to live a little.

I open my mouth to defend him—though I’m not even sure what I’d say—when I suddenly get this feeling. It creeps up my spine, like a shiver but colder, heavier. My eyes flick around the room, scanning the faces. The couple in the corner, the guy at the counter ordering a pastry, the barista cleaning up… everything looks normal, but that sense of being watched clings to me.

“Vi?” Harper notices my shift. “What’s wrong?”

I don’t answer right away, still looking, still feeling it. I might be paranoid, but…

“I don’t know,” I whisper, pulling my bag onto my shoulder. “Come on, I think we should go.”