Broken by Sin: A Dark Mafia Romance

“She’s a lucky girl, you know.” Don Bruno tilts his head like a predatory bird.

“I’m aware.”

“I’ve always spoiled her. She doesn’t know how lucky she is. There are families like ours all over the country and very few of them treat their daughters like I treated her.”

I grimace and nod, and wonder what kind of logic that is. All those other families treat their daughters like trash—so he should get to treat his like garbage too? Someone should thank him for not abusing his daughter since apparently it makes him a fucking saint.

“She appreciates it, Don Bruno.”

“Please, call me Domiano. You’re part of the family now.”

“All right, Domiano.” I sit down on the chair across from him. “Are you happy with how the wedding went?”

“Very. Do you know how hard it is to get important people to show up to an event with no notice? But I managed to do it.” He flexes his fingers and grins. “That’s my power in this city.”

“It’s impressive.”

He shrugs and takes a drink. “It’s nothing. It’s what we are.”

“You’ve come far, Domiano. You built the Bruno Famiglia into something impressive.”

“Ah, you’re flattering me now, but no need. You’re my son-in-law. You don’t have to kiss my ass.” He grins and I feel a shiver of loathing run down my spine. “You know, Nico, we rarely ever talk about you. What was your life like before we found you?”

“I was in the foster care system.” I don’t elaborate on that. He doesn’t need the details of my misery, and besides, he’d already know if he weren’t such an egocentric piece of shit.

“Since what age?”

“Around ten. I lost my parents before that in a fire.”

“You lost them both in a fire?” His eyebrows raise and he whistles. “That must’ve been difficult. I lost my old man young though my dear mother lived into her late eighties. You would’ve liked her. What did your father do for a living?”

“He was an accountant.” The words spill out before I can stop him. Don Bruno nods to himself and doesn’t seem to notice anything, but sweat pools under my arms and a strange buzzing sound drills into my ears.

Why am I talking about my parents with this monster? He murdered them in cold blood and took away any happiness I had in my life. I don’t want to say another word to this bastard, but it’s like a sick compulsion pushes me onward.

“An accountant. That’s a good job.” He swirls his glass, looking bored, like the details of his new son-in-law’s life are unimportant.

I feel dizzy suddenly like the building tilts sideways. The fireplace is too hot and sweat drizzles down my arms and back, and my mouth is so dry it’s like swallowing burnt grass. I sip my drink but it does nothing to take the edge away.

“We had a good life,” I say and stare at myself from a distance, like I’m sitting on the ceiling and watching my mouth move, and I want to scream at myself, stop it, stop it, stop it!!! But I keep going, because I can’t stop, because the compulsion from deep inside my guts comes bubbling out through my mouth and I want to spill my sick all over this man. I want him to know me, to know what I lost in the most vicious way imaginable.

“What happened?”

“We had a house near the lake. My mother was a sweet woman. We’d go for long walks and throw stones across the water. She taught me how to skip them, but I haven’t skipped any since she died.”

Don Bruno rumbles like a tired cat. “I had a special relationship with my mother as well. It’s important to be close to your family.”

I nod slowly and stare into his eyes. “I’ll never forget the night they died. My father was trapped downstairs and I heard him shouting over the roar of the flames. My mother pushed me to an upstairs window and made me jump out, but she didn’t come behind me. The smoke was so heavy it billowed like black clouds and I smelled like ash for weeks afterwards. I never saw them again.”

Don Bruno sighs. “What a terrible story. I am sorry for you and your family. What did you say your family name was again? You’d think I’d know, considering you just married my daughter, but I was thinking we’d maybe look into you taking our name. But at any rate, you were saying?”

“Farese. My father’s name was Arturo Farese, and my mother was Gemma Farese. The worst part is, I don’t even know where they’re buried.”

Don Bruno’s lips pull down into a deep frown as he stares at me across the vast distance between us.

It feels like miles and millions of years, when it’s only barely six feet. He stares and stares, studying my face, and I know I went too far—I never should’ve said their names—but I couldn’t help myself.