Page 27 of Mafia King
“I have no sons,” Emilio continues. “I have two girls. Good girls. And they will inherit everything I own.”
Damiano leans forward with his lower lip hanging like a piece of raw liver, because he knows what’s coming. Both of us do. We’re not stupid. At least, I’m not.
“Capo,” I say, partly because I don’t need confirmation that this man I respect feels as close to death as a grandma, “this is unnecessary.”
“Hey,bastardo.” Dami flicks my cheek, and I swat him away. “Let the man talk.”
“Shh” theconsiglierehisses.
“The doctor says you’re going to be fine,” I say. I don’t want to hear about his daughters and what they’ll inherit, because I know this powerful man isn’t going to demand I protect them and their husbands after his death, which I would gladly do. “Like new all over.”
Emilio ignores both of us. It’s taking all his energy to speak. “No woman can inherit what the oldest of my girls will.”
Not this. My young brain races ahead.Don’t do it. Just give me the crown. Don’t sell me for it.
“We got this…” Damiano murmurs. He wants it. Money without work. Power without respect. It’s all more important to him than the most important choice a man will make—his own wife.
“The first husband must be strong to wield it. He must be a man of character.” Emilio wheezes while I pray so fast I haven’t had time to inhale. “Damiano,” our boss says, and I breathe with relief. “I need you to protect—”
“You got it, boss.”
“—Santino.”
Now Dami stops breathing, because he gets it. I don’t.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “You can trust him. He won’t turn on me when he’s in charge.”
“Santino. Should I die, you will take my oldest living daughter in marriage before she’s twenty. And you, Damiano, will have the younger. Be good to her. She will test you.”
Nazario writes it down.
That’s when it clicks into place. Santino is taking the older one. That’s me. I’ve been promised in marriage to a ten-year-old. It’s finished. Life’s been mapped for me in front of witnesses.
Damiano’s face is drained of blood. If I asked him to, he’d deny I was promised to Emilio’s oldest daughter. He’d take her. But the consigliere isn’t calledIl Blocco—the lock—for nothing. He wrote it down and I’m finished.
“What about me then?” Damiano objects. “I just get the second? For what?”
I kick him, but he’s too insulted to get a bride without assets to pay attention.
“She’ll have…” Emilio takes a difficult breath. “Something. The house in Sciacca.” He waves to Nazario, who writes it down.
“That’s inSicily,” Dami says, now fully humiliating himself. It’s not even worth kicking him anymore. His best bet is to catch our boss when he’s healthy again and make a damned argument.
“Santino,” the consigliere barks. “Do you have any prior commitments to marriage?”
I don’t. I haven’t been promised. No bride’s been arranged for me. Unless I’m ready to run into the void and become an invisible exile, I cannot reject this order from the man who’s been a father to me, yet I cannot make the words to accept it.
“Santino DiLustro.” Corragio snaps his fingers at me. “There are people waiting. Speak.”
Emilio’s face is gray. His mouth is slack. But he will live another thirty years. He will see his daughters fall in love. They will marry good, strong men who will take their inheritance and I will be free.
Until then, I have no choice. I get on one knee at the side of the bed and take Emilio’s limp hand. The gold ring inset with a crown of diamonds is on the end of his finger, loose on the second knuckle, where the doctors allowed it.
“I will, Capo.” I kiss the ring.
Emilio closes his eyes. “Corragio, note what was said here.”
“Si, si,” the consigliore assures him, as if he hasn’t been noting it the whole time.
