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Tori

Angelo Rizzo; 34. Vittoria – Tori Romano; 23.

“Mark my words,” Giorgio says. “By the end of the year, I’ll be one of the bosses.”

I almost let out a snort. Listening to my stepbrother go on and on about how important he is in the Cosa Nostra is ridiculous.

He wishes.

Giorgio is…well, he’s a narcissistic asshole. There’s no other way to put it. Everyone knows there are only five bosses in the Cosa Nostra – Rizzo, Torrisi, Vitale, La Rosa, and Falco. The five families run New York, and no one dares go against them.

Giorgio is all talk, and one day, it will get him killed.

A girl can hope.

Instantly, I’m hit with a wave of guilt for wishing my stepbrother dead.

Forgive me, Father.

Since my father and stepmother died in a car accident seven years ago, Giorgio took over Papà’s place in the Cosa Nostra. It went straight to Giorgio’s head, and he’s become downright unbearable to live with.

My aunt on Mamma’s side of the family asked Giorgio to let me live with them, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Sadly, my mamma died of pneumonia when I was three years old, and my aunt, uncle, and cousin are the only family I have left.

I was only sixteen, but Giorgio’s word was law in our family, so no one dared go against him. Now I’m twenty-three and still stuck with the bastard.

I suspect he’s only holding onto me to get my share of the inheritance that will pay out when I turn twenty-five.

He’s already blown through more than half of his share, wasting it on gambling, alcohol, and women.

Giorgio was the perfect stepson to my father. Papà even adopted Giorgio as his own, so I can’t blame Papà for leaving him in charge of our finances. Even I was shocked when I learned what a vile person Giorgio really is.

Cettina, Giorgio’s mother, and Papà got married two years after Mamma died. I was five, and Giorgio was thirteen, so we grew up as brother and sister.

But overnight, he changed into a different person. One that’s violent, selfish, and greedy.

I don’t know what I’ll do when I turn twenty-five in two years, but Giorgio won’t get a dime from me. I’m hoping I can cash in my inheritance and run to somewhere he won’t be able to find me.

Clearing my throat, I murmur, “Excuse me. I’m going to the restroom.”

Giorgio’s eyes are on a beautiful woman who just came in, and he doesn’t pay me any attention as I get up from my chair.

Walking to the back of the restaurant, I glance around the establishment. The place is packed, and even though I’ve grown up around these people, they all feel like strangers.

Every Friday we have lunch at Piccola Sicilia. The restaurant belongs to Angelo Rizzo, and I’ve only seen him a few times. It’s never long enough to get a good look at him.

Not that I want to. The five heads of the Cosa Nostra terrify the living crap out of me. They’re known for being brutal when it comes to business.

Growing up in the Cosa Nostra, I’ve learned to fear the five families like the rest of the Sicilians who call New York their home.

Even Giorgio is shit scared of them. He talks big in front of me, but when he has to speak to one of Angelo Rizzo’s men, he’s pathetically humble.

Whenever he’s forced to eat a slice of humble pie, I’m the one who suffers. The last time Big Ricky scolded Giorgio for being late for work, Giorgio broke two of my ribs.

He seldom leaves marks on my face because he loves to parade me in front of the single men in the Cosa Nostra. I know he plans to marry me off to one of them, but he’s holding out for my inheritance.

The only solace I can find in the crappy situation is that Giorgio can’t force me to marry him. We live in a tight-knit Sicilian community who would disapprove if he tried to marry me. After all, we were raised as brother and sister. It’s my only saving grace and also the reason he hasn’t looked at me in a sexual way. To Giorgio, the only thing that matters is getting his grubby hands on my inheritance.

I slip into the restroom, and after relieving myself, I wash my hands and touch up my lipstick. My eyes flit over the light peach summer dress I’m wearing, making sure the fabric isn’t stuck in my underwear. It happened to Aida when we were fourteen, and I almost died of second-hand embarrassment for my cousin. Since then, I always check my clothes to ensure nothing is out of place.

My gaze locks on my reflection in the mirror, and I lift my chin.

Just two more years of this hell, then you can run away and create a new life for yourself.

As I step out of the restroom to return to the table, an office door opens to my right. Not thinking, I glance in the direction of the sound, and instantly, I’m doused in ice.