Chapter 3

Kat POV

I was drowning. 

The water flooded my lungs as I tried to scream, my clothing dragging me down into the dark depths as shadows hovered above the water. Bright lights flashed across my vision like fireworks as my lungs burned, and then it all went black.

“Wake up, Kat, it’s just a nightmare.” I felt a hand press against my mouth and my arms flew out to ward off my attacker. “Stop screaming before you wake up the others!”

Giulia’s face was barely visible in the dark room, her warm brown eyes filled with sisterly concern.

I nodded my head and she removed her hand, brushing my hair from my face just like a real big sister would do. 

“Was it the same nightmare again?” she whispered, careful not to wake up the four children who slept on mattresses on the floor.

“Yeah,” I whispered back, shivering as the cool night air cut through my pyjamas which were drenched with my own sweat. 

Giulia tugged the thin blanket up under my chin, looking after me just as she had done ever since that first night. The night she had found me wandering around the streets of Rome, no memory of who I was or why I was dressed in just a tattered nightdress. 

“It's fine, I've got to get up now anyway,” I sighed and pulled myself from the bed, my eyes flicking to the clock on the table showing midnight. “Have you just come home?”

Giulia nodded with a slight smile on her face, telling me all I needed to know. She'd definitely been to see her secret boyfriend, Fabio. 

“Mother will have your head if she finds that you've been fraternising with the enemy,” I whispered, slipping into my work clothes. “He's a Castello!” 

Giulia's smile faltered and she crossed her arms over her chest. “He's just one of the soldiers. It's not like I'm dating the Capo!” 

I bit down on my lower lip, preventing myself from commenting further on the relationship which could very likely get the only person I loved killed by the Castello family. The Castellos and the Milanos were rival families, and because we worked for Mother - aka Sofia Milano - we were considered to be part of the Milano family too. 

If there was one thing that I learned about mafia families it was that loyalty is everything. And Giulia dating a Castello would either see her beaten and put out on the streets, or killed for being a traitor. It was a definite no go zone, but apparently love had made her blind.

“You need to be more careful,” I muttered as I tugged on my boots, ignoring the feel of the piece of necklace I had hidden there. 

I had been too scared to tell Mother that I had been distracted from my assignment by the Viking Castello and his intoxicating kiss. So instead, I had lied and told her that the Castello had woken up before I could get to the necklace. Running for my life and abandoning the necklace seemed like a much less heinous crime. 

Not sparing Giulia another glance, I slipped quietly from the room and left her and the children to their own devices.

I strode down the hallway to the kitchen where I knew I would find Mother, the scent of the cigarette smoke making it pretty damned easy to find her. Just as I thought, she was sitting at the gigantic kitchen table sharpening her knives, her cigarette hanging from her lips, her satin dressing down wrapped tightly around her, and her dyed black hair arranged in curlers on the top of her head. 

“Mother,” I said as I entered the room. 

“Good grief, child!” she exclaimed, slamming the knife she held down onto the table and pressing her hand to her chest. “Do you want me to have a heart attack? You’re as silent as a fucking ghost.” 

“Sorry Mother,” I replied, struggling to keep the smile off my lips. 

She snorted and picked up her knife again, using the blade to tap the chair beside her. I understood her wordless command, sitting beside her. 

“You failed me, child. You have put me in a difficult position with my cousin, and I now need you to do something to make up for your failure.” 

I turned my head to her, awaiting the orders I knew would eventually come. She loved taking her time when she gave assignments, as if she enjoyed knowing that she lorded over us. Without her, we would all be living in a ditch somewhere. And while most capidecina (better known as lieutenants in the mafia) were men and had soldiers beneath them, Mother had ignored tradition and had created her own branch within the family, and was honoured in the exact same way. 

“How long have you been working for the family, child?” she asked, changing the subject completely. 

“Almost four years, Mother,” I replied without hesitation. 

She nodded thoughtfully as she turned the knife around and used it to clean underneath her nails, the cigarette dangling loosely between her thin lips. 

I waited patiently, even though I would really have rather grabbed the robust woman by her shoulders and shaken her until she coughed up what she wanted to say. She continued to fiddle with her knife and I started counting the flowers spread across the outdated wallpaper on the opposite wall - anything to keep me from showing my frustration with the woman. 

“There is a fundraiser at the Capatoline Mueseums on Saturday evening. Do not make any plans,” she said casually.  

My eyes shot back to her. “That's a high society event.”

“Yes it is,” she responded dryly, and I went back to counting flowers. 

“Your failure cost my cousin a lot of money - money that I will need to make up to him. I'd like this resolved before my cousin returns from Sicily,” Mother emphasised the word “cousin” every time she said the word, as if I didn't realise that she was emphasising the fact that she was related to the Boss of the Milano family.

She looked me up and down briefly, shaking her head. “You'll never get through the main doors looking like that,  though.”

The middle aged woman stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the kitchen tiles. She disappeared through the doors to her private chambers, leaving me alone with her knives. Her many, many knives.

I eyed the knife Mother had been playing with and wondered if it was the knife she had killed her husband with. Or, at least, that was how the stories went. Apparently, Mother was sick of him being late for dinner, so she slit his throat and then ate her dinner beside his corpse. 

But that was just a rumour. 

“I don’t seem to have anything that will fit you,” she grunted, glaring at my slender body. “You’re going to have to make enough this week to buy your own dress for the event.” 

Great. Just great.