★★Mariella's POV★★



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The whole day I spent lounging around the property, taking it easy. Mellow, my fluffy companion, is curled up on the couch, lazily watching me as I get ready for tonight's dinner event—an intimate gathering my father is hosting for close family.

I stand in front of the mirror, giving myself one last once-over. My black silk dress hugs my waist before flowing effortlessly down to my ankles. It's simple, elegant, and far more comfortable than most of the formalwear I'm used to. I paired it with a modest pair of low heels, deciding to spare myself the agony of towering stilettos tonight. The dress has thin, delicate straps that sit perfectly on my shoulders, with a tasteful V-cut that emphasizes just enough of "the girls" to look classy but alluring.

My hair cascades down in soft curls, framing my face, while my smoky, dark eye makeup adds a touch of drama. My lips are painted in a sultry dark shade, completing the look. I step back from the mirror, tilting my head to admire my reflection.

"Damn, you look good," I murmur to myself with a sly grin. I give my reflection a wink. "Hey, hottie."

Mellow doesn't even stir, her tiny snores filling the room. I chuckle, grabbing my purse before glancing back at her. "You're no fun," I tease, leaving the door slightly ajar in case she decides to explore while I'm gone.

As I head out, the sound of laughter and chatter fills the air. Everyone's already gathered downstairs in the dining room. Why am I always late? To avoid the judging looks and sarcastic comments about my timing, I decide to take the back route. Instead of heading straight for the dining room, I turn down the hall toward the employee hangout area, where there's a shortcut through the kitchen.

The clicking of my heels against the marble floors echoes softly as I walk. But before I can round the corner, I suddenly collide with what feels like a brick wall. I stumble slightly but manage to catch myself. I look up, already annoyed—and of course, it's Gio.

His broad shoulders and cocky grin are impossible to miss. He glances down at my dress before locking eyes with me, his smug smile widening. "You know," he says smoothly, "when you bump into someone, you usually say, 'Excuse me,' or maybe even, 'Are you alright?'"

I scoff, crossing my arms. "Well, since you're the one standing in my way, shouldn't you be the one apologizing? Stronzo. (asshole)"

He raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "Or maybe," he says mockingly, "we just call it even, huh? You bumped into me, I bumped into you. No hard feelings."

I roll my eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't get stuck. "Right. Because you always make things simple." I glance around, exasperated, before stepping closer to him.

"Fine. Let's settle this." I smirk and lean in slightly, dropping my voice just enough. "Excuse me... for thinking you had the common sense to move out of the way. Silly me."

His grin falters for a split second before he recovers, giving me a slow, exaggerated nod. "You're a real charmer, Bambina. As always."

I take a step back, offering a sweet, sarcastic smile. I turn on my heel and continue down the hall, my dress swishing elegantly around my legs. I can feel his gaze on me the entire way, but I don't give him the satisfaction of looking back. I push open the kitchen door and slip through, finally making my way to the dining room with my head held high.

As I walk into the kitchen, the rich and tantalizing aroma of Italian cuisine fills my nose. The air is warm, scented with freshly baked bread, garlic sizzling in olive oil, and the sweet, earthy tang of tomatoes simmering in a pot. My eyes sweep over the bustling scene before me. Maids and cooks are hard at work, rolling out dough for pasta, ladling thick sauces, and plating delicate tiramisu. A large tray of golden, crispy arancini balls sits on the counter, while another table holds freshly sliced prosciutto and an assortment of cheeses.

The kitchen staff glances up as I enter, offering me warm smiles. I return the gesture, nodding to a few familiar faces. Lucia, one of the longtime maids, emerges from behind me, carefully balancing a tray of plates. Her eyes light up when she sees me.

"Mariella, you look so beautiful tonight," she says, her voice kind and genuine as her gaze lingers on my dress.

I smile at her, brushing a curl out of my face. "Lucia, thank you! You're too sweet."

She sets the tray down on the marble island and turns to face me, her expression softening as she tilts her head. "You look just like Signora De Angelis," she says, her voice tinged with nostalgia.

Her words hit me like a gentle wave, and I pause, feeling a tug at my heart. I give her a genuine smile and reach out, taking her hands in mine. "Yes," I say softly, my voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside me. "My mama was a beautiful lady."

Lucia squeezes my hands lightly, her eyes glistening with unspoken understanding. I release her hands with a polite nod, my tone warm but firm. "Excuse me," I say, and I turn to make my way toward the dining table.

The dining room is alive with chatter, laughter, and the faint clinking of glasses. At the head of the long, polished table sits my father, a commanding presence as always. He's speaking with a few relatives whose faces I vaguely recognize but whose names I've long since forgotten. To his right are Santino and Enzo, engrossed in some animated conversation, their hands gesturing wildly as they speak.

I weave my way through the room, past aunts and uncles I barely see, until I reach my usual seat—right next to my father. As I approach, he looks up, his sharp eyes softening when they land on me. His lips curve into a warm smile, one that he reserves only for his family. It's a rare sight, and I can't help but return the gesture, feeling a flicker of pride as I take my seat beside him.

He looks back at the table, his face calm and composed, and raises a single hand. With that subtle signal, the servers emerge from the kitchen, moving gracefully and in perfect synchronization. They glide around the table, placing small plates of bruschetta al pomodoro in front of each guest. The aroma of fresh tomatoes, basil, garlic, and toasted bread fills the air, mingling with the warmth of the room.

He sits back down and turns his gaze to me, his dark eyes softening as they meet mine. I can see the shift in his expression—his brows knitting together, concern creeping in.

Everything feels like home. Like how it once was before the world turned cruel. The warmth of family, the scent of rich tomato sauce simmering on the stove, the clatter of plates and silverware as laughter spilled across the dining table. The echo of my mother's voice, humming a tune as she stirred the pot, her presence wrapping around us like a soft embrace.

For a moment, it's as if nothing has changed—as if she's still here, as if we're all whole. The love, the chaos, the unshakable bond that made us who we are. It's overwhelming, the ache of nostalgia mixing with the comfort of familiarity.

"Bellezza?" His voice is low, tender. "Why are you crying?"

I blink, realizing too late that the warmth in my chest has turned into tears spilling down my cheeks. Embarrassed, I quickly wipe them away with the back of my hand and sniff. "I'm fine, Papa," I say with a weak smile, trying to reassure him. "They're just... happy tears."

He studies me for a moment, his sharp intuition never missing a thing. But when I smile a little wider, trying to steady myself, he gives me a sharp, approving nod. It's his way of telling me that he believes me, at least for now.

The rest of the dinner is a blur of warmth and laughter. Plates of food come and go—pasta al forno, ossobuco, and finally, a rich tiramisu for dessert. My father's voice carries over the table, deep and commanding, sharing stories and jokes that have everyone smiling. Saninto and Enzo argue lightly over something trivial, their banter filling the air like music. And for a brief moment, as I look around at the faces of my family, I feel something I haven't felt in a long time—peace.

As the evening unfolded, the garden became a picturesque setting bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun. Light jazzy music drifted through the air, mingling with the soft hum of conversation as family and guests mingled. The guards, ever-vigilant, patrolled the perimeter, their presence a constant reminder of the world we lived in. Of course, Gio was stationed just behind me, his posture rigid, hands clasped behind his back as his sharp eyes scanned the area.

I strolled leisurely along the garden path, a glass of wine in one hand and my phone in the other, texting Luna about the gossip and drama unfolding back at home. She couldn't make it tonight because of her new position with the Blue Angels. She was busy attending events and rubbing elbows with pilots and officials. Still, I wasn't too upset—she'd promised to visit me next weekend.

As I typed away, laughing softly at her messages, my father's familiar voice sounded from behind me. Both Gio and I instinctively turned toward him. Gio straightened, his face turning serious. "Capo," he greeted respectfully with a nod.

My father returned Gio's nod with a smile before shifting his attention to me. "Mariella," he said warmly.

I stepped toward him, tilting my head curiously. "Yes, Papa?"

"Can I have a word with you in my office, please?" His voice was calm, but there was a weight behind his words that piqued my curiosity. He extended his arm for me to take.

I nodded, still confused but knowing better than to question him in front of everyone. "Of course," I replied. Turning back toward Gio, I swiftly chugged the rest of my wine, much to his visible dismay. His brows furrowed as he watched me down the glass, his face a mixture of concern and annoyance.

I promise I'm not an alcoholic...I think.

"Here," I said sharply, shoving the empty glass into his hand. I couldn't help but mock his overly serious expression with an exaggerated frown.

He smirked in response, holding the glass with ease. "Charming," he muttered under his breath, but I ignored him as I turned back to my father.

Charming, my ass.

Slipping my arm into his, I let him guide me toward the house. The quiet shuffle of our footsteps along the garden path was accompanied by the fading sounds of the music and laughter behind us. Whatever awaited me in his office, I knew it was important. My father never called me aside lightly.

As my father led me to his office, the familiar, grandiose room unfolded before me. The walls were lined with dark mahogany bookshelves, each packed with old tomes and binders of confidential information. His desk, a massive, intricately carved piece of art, sat in the center of the room. Behind it, the floor-to-ceiling windows framed a stunning view of the estate's gardens, which glimmered under the moonlight. The flickering glow of distant lanterns and the faint silhouette of the mountains in the distance made the scenery almost magical.

He gestured for me to take a seat in one of the plush leather chairs across from his desk. As I sat down, Gio quietly stationed himself by the door, ever-watchful and ready. My father settled into his chair, pulling out a cigar from the desk drawer. He clipped the end, lit it with a gold lighter, and took a slow puff, letting the smoke curl in the air before leaning forward.

"Mariella, I have a proposal for you," he began, his tone calm but deliberate.

I tilted my head, studying his face for any hints of what he was about to say. Intrigued, I leaned back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. "I'm all ears, Papa," I said, bracing myself for whatever was coming.

This is gonna be interesting.

He cleared his throat, his gaze steady. "There's a drug cartel group that owes us payment. They're overdue, and you know how I feel about late payments," he said, his lips curving into a slight smile.

I chuckled, nodding. "Yes, Papa. I know. You're not exactly forgiving when it comes to money."

He took another puff of his cigar, exhaling the smoke in a controlled stream. "Exactly. And since I've trained you to handle yourself from a young age, I want you to handle this for me. Go down there, collect whatever payment they can muster, and deliver a message—one that ensures no future client forgets what happens when they think they can toy with the De Angelis family." His eyes locked with mine, waiting for my response.

Yes! Finally.

I'm itching to do something. Especially getting my pretty hands dirty.

I straightened my back, my fingers drumming lightly on the desk as a slow smile spread across my lips. It wasn't just any smile—it was my signature, unnerving grin, the one that had earned me a reputation.

I call it, my Pennywise smile.

"Deal, Papa," I said confidently, my voice dripping with excitement. "I'll make sure everyone in Europe gets your message." I tapped my fingers against the desk rhythmically before adding, "But..."

His brows lifted slightly as I dragged his attention to me. "Giovanni doesn't come," I said, pouting like a child. "I don't need a chaperone, Papa."

He sighed, rubbing his temple as though he could already feel the headache forming. "Mariella..."

"Papa, please," I insisted, leaning forward. "I work better when I'm alone. You know that."

Its true.

I can't have him to breathing down my neck, when I'm dragging my knifes down a guys throat.

He rubbed his face, clearly debating my request. His hesitation hung heavy in the air, but I refused to back down. I even threw in my best puppy-dog eyes, knowing how much they annoyed him but also knowing they worked.

Come on, come on.

Just say the three letters, one syllable, and rhymes with 'line.'

Finally, he let out a deep breath and muttered, "Fine."

I almost jumped out of my chair in triumph but stopped short when he added, "But you wear a tracker."

Did he just- No.

Noooo!

His words hit me like a slap. I froze, staring at him in disbelief. "Papa, what?!" I exclaimed, standing up abruptly. I began pacing around the office, my heels clicking against the polished wood floor. "I can't operate like that! I'm not a dog!"

"No, bellezza, of course not," he said gently, stepping closer to stop my frantic pacing. "But you're my only daughter, and I can't risk anything happening to you again."

The mention of "again" hit a nerve. He was referring to my mother. His fear was understandable, but still, a tracker?

I stopped pacing and met his eyes, holding his hands to reassure him. "Fine," I relented with a sigh, knowing I couldn't win this fight. "But I'm not wearing some bulky ankle bracelet like I'm on house arrest."

He chuckled, clearly prepared for my objection. Walking back to his desk, he opened a drawer and pulled out a small red box. Handing it to me, he said, "Open it."

Curious, I took the box and flipped it open to reveal a delicate gold heart pendant necklace. It sparkled under the light, its intricate design making it look like a priceless heirloom.

"Oh my god," I whispered, my voice filled with genuine awe. I looked up at him, smiling. "It's beautiful, Papa."

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to put it on me.

I nodded, pulling my hair aside to help him. He clipped the necklace around my neck, the cool metal settling against my skin. I turned around and twirled playfully. "Well? Is it pretty?"

He smiled warmly. "Più che carina, (More than pretty)" he replied.

I chuckled and hugged him tightly. "Thank you, Papa."

He rested his chin on my head, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Get a good night's sleep. You've got a big day tomorrow."

I kissed his cheek and whispered, "Dolce sogno, Papà. (Sweet dream, Dad)"

As I walk past Gio, stationed like a statue at the door, I can feel his eyes following me. I keep my pace steady, not giving him the satisfaction of a glance. Just as I'm about to close the door to my bedroom, he smirks and says, 'Good night, princess.' Without missing a beat, I slam the door right in his face, the sound of it echoing in the hallway. His smirk's wiped clean off, but I don't care.

He can stew in it.

Once inside, I tossed my shoes aside and stepped out onto the balcony, breathing in the cool night air. The stars twinkled above, and for a moment, I felt at peace.

Tomorrow, the real work would begin.

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Well, how we feeling??

Any theories?

*Favorite book?*

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡

*This is the dress she wore*