Daughter of the Mafia's Consigliere

MARIANNE.

"Happy to see me?"

I snapped, narrowing my eyes at her. "More like shocked. What are you doing here, and how did you even find me?"

She clicked her tongue in a tutting manner. "You're my daughter; I always keep an eye on you."

"I made it very clear to you the last time we spoke that I didn't want to see you again!" I hissed, and she rolled her big, deep blue eyes.

"Oh, come on, don't be so dramatic. I'm your mother, Marianne, and it's been two years since I last saw you. I miss you," she cooed, and my eyes narrowed even further.

"I don't trust you. You want something; what is it? Tell me and leave."

She raised her hands in mock surrender. "Okay, you're right. I do want something. Hop in, and let's have lunch together."

I scoffed in incredulity. "Lunch? You want to have lunch together? Now, I'm really suspicious. Just tell me what it is; have you and Jean-Pierre finally broken up? Are you getting married again?"

"I'll have you know that Jean-Pierre and I are still together and going very strong," she said in a playful tone, and my brows raised slightly in surprise.

Jean-Pierre was her French boyfriend, ten years younger than her. I preferred to call him her sugar baby because she loved to spoil him by spending lavishly on him.

"Well, good for you. I'm actually surprised it's lasted this long. Is that all? Can I go now?" I muttered bitterly and turned to walk away, but she quickly stepped out of the car and held my arm.

"Wait, Marianne; that's not all. I'm serious about lunch. I won't take much of your time; I promise. One hour is all I need."

"One hour is too much," I stated.

"Thirty minutes, then," she bargained, and I threw my head back while letting out a deep sigh. "You won't leave unless I say yes, right?" I asked in annoyance, and she nodded.

"Yep, and if you do walk away, I'll just follow you home in my car."

I frowned; I didn't want her to know where I lived because I was certain she would start dropping by often, which I absolutely didn't want. I turned to her with a serious look on my face. "Fine, let's do lunch, but thirty minutes is all I'm giving you. Nothing more."

She smiled and clapped her hands in excitement.

"Yay, let's go then." She hopped back into the backseat of the sleek car, and I hesitated before joining her and shutting the door.

"Take us to a nice restaurant where we can enjoy a delicious lunch but with an intimate ambiance," she ordered her driver, and the man who looked to be in his mid-forties nodded.

"Yes, ma'am."

A few minutes later, we walked into an airy restaurant, and I let her choose a table. I sat opposite her instead of sitting beside her so I could look her straight in the eyes and catch all her facial expressions. A waiter quickly came over to us, and I arched a brow when she ordered a plate of pasta and the most expensive wine on their menu.

"What? You might be planning to stay for only thirty minutes, but not me," she uttered when she noticed the look I was giving her.

I rolled my eyes before turning to the waiter. "I'll just have a milkshake, thank you."

I turned back to her when the waiter left, "Start talking."

She leaned forward on her hands, her eyes slowly moving over my face.

"You're so beautiful, my darling. You took after me, and I absolutely love that." She complimented me, and I let out an impatient sigh.

She was wrong, though; I hadn't only gotten my beauty from her but from my father too. While I had inherited my slim curvy body, the color of my eyes, and the shape of my nose from her; I had also gotten my smooth olive skin, voluminous hair, and plump lips from my father's side.

"Though you're not as fair-skinned as I am. You got your father's skin tone," she added with a slight grimace.

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"Well, I'm glad you actually acknowledge that, and I like my skin very much," I shot back sarcastically, and she flashed me an apologetic smile.

"Don't worry about it, though; you're still gorgeous."

The waiter returned with her pasta, wine, and my milkshake, setting them down before us neatly and retreating just as quickly. I watched as she poured some wine into her glass before taking a sip. "Get to the point now, please. Why did you want to have lunch with me?" I pressed.

"So I could congratulate you on your upcoming wedding," she replied calmly, taking a forkful of pasta.

"What?" I burst out, "What the hell are you talking about? What wedding?"

"You're marrying into the D'Onofrio family," she muttered in a low voice, so no one else could overhear.

The mention of the name made me freeze in my seat. The D'Onofrio family? That was the last name of the bosses of the 'family' that my father had served all through his life. His service and undying loyalty to them were also the reason his life had been cut short at the age of 55.

Now, don't get confused by the term 'family'. It was just a mild word used to replace the more scary one; mafia. Yes, you read that right. The D'Onofrios were the heads of one of the most powerful Italian mafia syndicates, and my father had worked for them... as their consigliere.

Consigliere was the Italian word for counselor. His job consisted of giving legal advice to the main boss of the D'Onofrio family and also making impartial decisions for the good of the family. Being a consigliere was a pretty big deal because the main bosses tended to confide a lot in them. Consiglieres knew all the secrets of the family they served, which often made them the ideal target for rival families seeking to overthrow the family they considered a threat.

My father had unfortunately joined the list of consigliere who were killed for their loyalty to the 'family' they served. It was the harsh reality of how brutal the mafia world was, and also one of the reasons why I had moved away from home as soon as I was old enough to. I had wanted to leave everything about being the consigliere's daughter behind and start afresh.

I glared at my mother. "What the hell do you mean by that? Who is marrying me into the D'Onofrio family?"

"Who else? Your father, of course," she answered.

"My father is dead!" I hissed.

She laughed. "Oh darling, he may be dead, but he made sure to look out for you just in case when he was alive."

My brows furrowed deeply in confusion. "What are you trying to say? That my father somehow arranged for me to marry a D'Onofrio when he was alive?"

She clapped her hands. "There you go, you're such a smart girl!"

My whole world stopped at that moment as my eyes widened in shock. I couldn't believe it. My father had actually planned a marriage for me. A strong surge of anger filled me, and I clenched my palms into fists on the table.

"I knew it. You didn't seek me out for a mother-daughter reunion. You're here to convince me to marry whoever it is that my father had arranged. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint the both of you, but I would rather shave my head than willingly marry a member of that family!" I rasped hotly and rose to my feet, ready to walk out.

"Do you really think your father would do this without a good reason?" She inquired.

"I don't care!" I spat, but she rose to her feet sharply, and I glared straight at her.

"Believe it or not, he did it because he was looking out for you, for the both of us. Capo Di Tutti season is coming, and we both need the protection of the D'Onofrios. The only way we can get it is if you marry into the family and become the underboss's wife."

My anger diminished slightly, and was replaced with mild curiosity. "What the hell is Capo Di Tutti season?"

My mother laughed dryly. "See? You don't even know what the most dangerous period in the mafia world is, and yet you're acting so proud."

I scowled at her. "Just tell me what it is."

She walked around the table so she was now standing in front of me.

"Capo Di Tutti means the boss of all the bosses. It's the highest position in the mafia world. The person who becomes Capo Di Tutti gets to control how ALL the mafia groups in Italy operate, so you can imagine how sought after it is. The bosses of all the mafia groups would do absolutely anything to get that title. They would sell their souls for it, not to talk of wiping out families of people who serve or have served their rivals in order to cut down their numbers and gain the upper hand. People like OUR family, and since your father is dead, who do you think they're going to come for now?"

I remained quiet with wide eyes, already knowing the answer to the question. She assessed the look on my face and nodded.

"That's right, they're coming for you and me, Marianne."