Queen of Hearts

Prologue

ROSIE

I’ve always liked to play with fire, and that’s why I refused to live on the side-lines of my father’s world. I embraced the darkness he invited into our lives, watching, waiting, learning the tricks of the trade, all while getting my nails manicured and pretending publicly that I was just another Family daughter. After all, Family daughters were pampered princesses, coddled by our men, wrapped up safely in silk and jewels. Put on display like trophies. Good wives and good daughters were markers of great men, a reflection on how powerful and capable they were. My father however understood that sometimes a beautiful face was also a liability, and he encouraged my extra-curricular interests. In fact, it was him who bought me my first firearm. From there my interests grew, as I imagined not needing a man the way my mother did my father. I wanted to be more than a decorative ornament, bartered for power and used for leverage. I wanted more. My father secretly approved, my mother not so much but the patriarch ruled in our household: his word was law.

I saw my first dead body when I was eight and killed my first traitor when I was thirteen. I still remember how it felt to cut into the man’s flesh like I was carving into raw meat, my knife sliding in, crimson blossoming against the pale tones of his skin. Even if his face has faded over the years, his screams still echo in my mind sometimes, when I’m alone with my thoughts and lost in memories of gore and punishment.

My father had called it a gift for becoming a woman. I should have recognized how far gone I was then, but there was no one to keep me anchored. He encouraged my interests, even finding me experts to work with, allowing me to shadow his men on easier jobs before asking me to demonstrate what I’d learned. Like any child, I’d been proud of myself, pleased with how I could bring down a fully grown man with nothing more than a few drops of a homemade poison or eliminate a woman with the blade hidden in my heel, ending her life before anyone even realized there was an issue. Hiding my kills had been easy for my father, he always claimed credit and in doing so he kept me safe, gave me the armor I needed to protect myself from the others. We both failed to notice that I was losing myself to the bloodshed and violence like it was the air I needed to breathe. It was a larger part of me than either of us could have imagined. Rosalyn Gambino was more than just a Mafia princess in my father’s mind, one day she was going to be Queen.

“Are you ready Rosie?” my father asks, his gentle voice revealing a side that is reserved solely for my mother and I. Vincent Gambino oozes power in his suit, dark hair slicked back, and a cheeky glint in his dark chocolate eyes. He was a wolf with a charming smile.

I smooth out imaginary creases on my soft cream gown and nod. I’d been preparing for this evening for years, and my parents had always been open about what they expected from me.

My mother kisses my forehead, and I’m enveloped in the soft scent of roses as she holds me. She’s regal in her green velvet dress, dark red lipstick and her thick blonde hair perfectly coiffed. She’s every inch an Italian beauty despite her coloring, her curves and beauty envied by the other wives and girlfriends. They whispered about her when they thought she wasn’t listening, talking about her ‘mixed-blood’ because my grandmother had been a model from Wales, in the US for work when she met my Italian grandfather. There was no denying our heritage, not when we were both blonde with blue eyes in a world of deep rich browns, russet tones and chestnut hues. She’s been another princess, like me, born with a mark already on her back and a knife at her throat. She wore her status like a crown, standing tall and proud beside my father like the perfect wife she was.

Tonight is a special occasion for The Family. Not only is it my eighteenth birthday party, but it’s also the night my father aligns our family with the Asaro family. Their son, Julian, is two years older than me and currently studying law in college, following in his father’s footsteps. The Asaro family owns most of the shipping businesses along with a few transport companies here in Newtown, and my father is desperate to align with them in any way possible. Even if it means bartering with his only child.

If the two families combined, we could rival the power of the current Don, Frank Belcastro, a vindictive son of a bitch who is currently the head of what we call ‘The Family’. Frank was a greedy, hungry, beast of a man who had no concept of morality or loyalty. He took what he wanted, when he wanted. My father killed because they had disrespected or wronged him, he never took a life carelessly. Frank killed because he liked the color red, he wanted to bathe in the ruby liquid like some kind of deranged vampire, as if it gave him more power. Not that Felix Asaro was rumored to be much better. The wives often talked about Lina Asaro, and how she covered her bruises with scarves and sunglasses as if that would make them vanish. Her husband was often unfaithful as well as nasty, if the whispers were founded in truth. Out of sight, out of mind was an accepted mentality amongst some of the women and I refused to live like that. That’s why I learned, it’s why I waited.

I understand what has to happen for The Family to be rid of Frank, and I know what my role is even though I always thought I was worth more than just my name and my body. My wants are negated in this matter, I’m simply to smile and win over Julian Asaro. When that is done, then it will be my time to reign. I feel like it should be easy, but there’s an unease in my stomach that won’t settle. My father might be about to use me like a pretty pawn, and I might be going along with his wishes, but once I was married, my life would be on my terms.

So why does it feel like there’s a knot, getting tighter and tighter with every step we take towards the reception room? I was ready for this. I am eighteen, a woman now. A strong, deadly woman. I had nothing to fear, not when I was Rosie Gambino. But I still couldn’t shake that sliver of unease.

Holding out his arm for me to take, my father leans down and whispers, “Do you have your garter?”

He isn’t referring to a piece of lingerie, he’s talking about the discrete gold band he gifted me earlier in the day with a diamond-encrusted stiletto blade that’s now pressed against the outside of my thigh. My mother had rolled her eyes as I’d gushed over the weapon, knowing that it was useless to protest, while my father had chuckled. It’s both beautiful and deadly, much like me he had said as I opened the box. This Family isn’t quite like others, but I don’t know any other kind. Nodding, I pull him tighter against me in a half hug before we head downstairs ready to greet our guests for the evening.

The party is being hosted in our family mansion on the outskirts of Newton. It’s a large Georgian style building, with acres of land surrounding us on all sides, the backyard leading out into the woods with a small stream. My mother designed the interior, and each room has her stamp on it, from the cherrywood floors to the intricate chandeliers. The house had been in her family for generations, and when she married my father at the tender age of eighteen, my grandparents had gifted it to them as a wedding present. It always made me feel like some sort of regency princess, rather than an angel of death as my father sometimes jokingly called me. It was a home filled with love and laughter, as long as you didn’t look too closely, because that’s when you noticed the blood-spattered carpets. Family life was ingrained into our daily life, like violence and bloodshed were normal.

Smiling, I nod towards several of the men who served alongside my father, their faces as recognizable to me as my own since I’d grown up with them coming and going from our house. A few of them even trained me, worked with me under my father’s supervision, of course. They were like family, and not just because they were part of The Family. My father is quickly drawn into conversation to my left and vanishes into the crowd gathered here tonight, while my mother makes her way through the double doors to my right to where some of the wives have set up camp in our drawing room, their champagne glasses being dutifully refilled by the staff on site this evening.

I move through the rooms, swaying softly to the music the orchestra plays until I spot my grandmother near the kitchen. I make light conversation with her for a while and accept her gift of a beautiful new hair pin, before I make another circuit around the room, stopping as well-wishers congratulate me and admire my gown. My nonna Maria, my father’s mother, is a grumpy old woman who prefers her own company, despite how hard my mother goes out of her way to try and include her in all our family events. I was surprised she’d decided to attend this evening, since she never seemed to particularly like me or my mother. The pin she gifted me was beautiful, an antique piece with a ruby flower adorning the end and two smaller stones dangling off a silver chain. Maybe there was something about becoming a woman that softened the old bat towards me.

“Belissima, Rosie!” Alessio, my father’s oldest friend says as he spots me in the crowd and pulls me in for a hug. He spins me, making my dress twirl around my legs as I turn before I laugh and stop, facing him. His dark eyes burn into mine as he takes my hands in his, quickly inspecting my fingers before gently letting them fall back to my sides. “Playing with the silver nitrate again, bambina?”

I shrug, avoiding answering his question since my father didn’t want me to showcase my skills. But this was Alessio, the man who’d helped me learn about toxic plants and which chemical compounds could kill a man almost instantly. Family politics was still a little beyond me, since father said I was too trusting, so it was best to keep my distance where I could and simply steer clear of anything that could incriminate me.

“A little ammonia will take care of that,” he offers as the corners of my mouth tug up into a grin. He lifts an eyebrow knowingly before grinning in return.