My Mommy Is the Mafia Queen

My father, Damian, was the Don of the East Coast. He ran both sides of the law—cops and criminals alike bowed to him—but he only ever bent his head for one person: my mother. He was missing his left ear. Rumor had it he'd lost it years ago, taking a bullet meant for her. The night I was born, all Five Families held their fire. Gunshots gave way to celebratory salutes. They were toasting the arrival of a little princess to their kingdom. The year I turned three, a woman with a body built for sin moved into the white villa across the lake. She scooped me up in her arms, guided my fingers to the phoenix tattoo on her wrist—an exact match to my father's—and giggled. "Some people are about to lose their place around here very soon, little bastard. Don't think you get to stay." "Once I move into the main house, you'd better be ready to be tossed out with the trash." I wrenched free and ran home. Because I knew—my mother hated anyone touching her things. I told her what that woman had said. She was polishing a silver pistol at the time. That night, fireworks lit up the sky above the villa across the lake, all through the small hours. The woman's screams came drifting on the wind, torn ragged. Mother pressed her cheek to my forehead, her voice languid. "Rory, did you enjoy Mommy's little C4 fireworks display?" ... Just before dawn, the deafening fireworks stopped. I pressed my face to the window and, through bleary eyes, saw Daddy walking out of that villa—now riddled with holes like a sieve. "It's Daddy! Daddy's home!" I bolted outside barefoot. Daddy hadn't been home in a month. I wanted to burrow into his arms and beg him to comfort Mommy, to stop her from being sad. But what met me wasn't a hug. It was a boot—Daddy's, driven forward with brutal force. "Get out of my way!" I flew through the air and slammed hard into the railing at my back. I lay sprawled on the floor, not daring to cry, staring up at him in disbelief. Before, he used to fuss for hours if I so much as scraped my knee. But this time he didn't even glance at me. He strode straight past, into the living room, where Mother sat on the sofa, sipping tea. She didn't so much as lift an eyelid at their entrance. *Crack.* A slap rang out—hard enough to snap her head sideways. Five red fingerprints bloomed on her cheek. Blood welled at the corner of her mouth. Daddy's eyes were bloodshot. He hissed through clenched teeth: "Seraphina Sinclair! Are you fucking out of your mind? Trying to blow us all to hell?" He yanked her up by the collar, dragging her off the sofa. "If anything happens to Sabrina, you're going in the ground with her!" Mother turned her head, tongue flicking against the split at her lip, and smiled. "I set off some fireworks, that's all. How was I supposed to know you were inside?" "Fireworks? You call *that* fireworks? That was fucking C4!" "She's pregnant!" Daddy's voice damn near lifted the roof. I curled up against Mother, terrified. She patted my back gently, the smile on her lips deepening. "An honest mistake. Look at you, all worked up." "Damian Vale. Don't bring that kind of trash in front of me and Rory. Next time, it won't be a villa I blow up." "You wouldn't dare!" Daddy's face was red. In one swift motion he ripped his pistol from his waistband and pressed the muzzle to Mother's forehead. A dead silence gripped the living room. Every armed man in the room held his breath, afraid to move. My heart was hammering so hard I thought it might tear straight through my chest. Mother, though—she didn't so much as flinch. She stepped *closer*, into the barrel, her gaze sharp as a knife's edge. "Pull the trigger." "Let's see how long the King of the East Coast lasts without Sinclair arms routes and Sinclair protection at his back." His hand was shaking. But he couldn't pull the trigger. I knew he wouldn't hurt her. His left ear was gone because of her. But I was afraid—afraid this time might be different. I scrambled to my feet, launched myself at him, and sank my teeth into his thigh as hard as I could. "You leave Mommy alone!" Daddy grunted in pain—and in that single second of distraction, Mother moved. She moved like lightning. A twist of the wrist, and the gun was in her hand, the muzzle jammed against his temple. Her face was ice. "Damian. If you don't want this marriage, get a divorce." His face turned an ugly shade of grey. He forced the words through his teeth. "Divorce? Over my dead body. Don't even fucking dream about it." He gave a signal, and his men filed out. "Bringing her home without your consent was my mistake. Take the parcel on the North Shore of Long Island as compensation—it's yours." "The villa's uninhabitable now. I'm bringing her back here in the morning. Once the child's born, I'll hand it to you to raise. Anything else, don't push me on." The door slammed behind him. He was gone. I threw myself into Mother's arms and burst into sobs. She held me, rubbing my back. "Rory. How would you like a new daddy?" ---

The next morning, Daddy brought that woman—Sabrina—home. Her head was wrapped in gauze, her face pale, and she was cradled in his arms like she might shatter. The moment she stepped into the courtyard, her gaze fixed on the ancient oak—and the swing beneath it, the one Mother and I loved. Daddy had built that swing himself. My name was carved into the wood. Her step faltered. A shudder ran through her. "Damian, I'm scared..." He was instantly all concern, bending down, voice soft, asking what was wrong. "When I was little, I fell off a swing. It hurt so much." Her hand drifted, as if by reflex, to her flat stomach in a gesture of instinctive fear. "Now the sight of a swing gives me palpitations. My stomach—it's uncomfortable already." Daddy kicked the swing viciously. "Tear this piece of junk down. It's bad luck just looking at it." "No!" I hurled myself in front of it, arms flung wide. "Daddy, that swing was your birthday present to me! Did you forget?!" His brows knotted. Impatience flickered across his face. Sabrina hurried to tug at his sleeve, all understanding. "Damian, don't. It's my problem, not hers." Then she crouched down and pinched my cheek. "Rory's the little princess. We couldn't possibly upset her." She angled her body so Daddy couldn't see, leaned in close, and dug her fingernails deep into my cheek. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "A little bastard like you—what makes you think you deserve to be a princess?" Her nails stung like fire. Her perfume made my head spin. I was about to cry when she gasped and toppled backward onto the ground. Daddy sprang forward and hauled her up, his face like thunder. "Apologize to your aunt!" Sabrina was doubled over, clutching her stomach, wincing prettily against his chest. "Damian, don't blame Rory. She didn't push me. I saw a psychic—she said Rory would grow up to bring harm to our child..." And then, still clutching her belly, she began to weep. Daddy walked straight to Mother, his expression cold as stone. "For Sabrina's sake, and the baby's, I'm sending Rory to the old estate for a while. The driver will take her shortly. When the child is safely born, she can come home." Mother didn't so much as glance at him. She walked over to me, her eyes going straight to the throbbing marks on my cheek, and smiled tenderly. "My daughter offended your precious little one? That's easily solved." "No baby, no curse. Right?" Daddy didn't understand what she was saying. Just then, the workers loosened the ropes, ready to take the swing down. Mother stopped them. "Wait." She took the thick coil of rope from the worker's hands and weighed it thoughtfully. Then she turned. Looked at Sabrina. Smiled. Sabrina hadn't even registered what was happening. Mother had already moved. She was terrifyingly fast. Before anyone could react, she had looped the rope around Sabrina's neck and slung the other end over the thick oak branch, knotting it tight. "*Ahhh!*" Sabrina shrieked as the rope wrenched her off her feet. She kicked wildly in the air, face going scarlet, eyes bulging, both hands clawing at the noose. "Damian—help—" Everyone in the courtyard was frozen in horror. Mother, meanwhile, leaned casually against the oak's trunk, lit a cigarette, and settled in to enjoy the show. "This tree's a hundred years old. You said the baby in your belly was so precious? Perfect. I'll help it come out for some fresh air a little early." Then she drew a silver-handled dagger from her waist. Just as the blade was about to bite into Sabrina's belly, Daddy hurled himself forward like a man possessed. "Seraphina! Stop!" ---

"Seraphina Sinclair, if you lay a single finger on her today, I swear to God I'll make you regret it." "Oh? I'd love to see how you plan to manage that." Mother flicked the tip of her dagger through the sash on Sabrina's dress. Daddy's eyes widened. He snapped his fingers. From every shadow around the courtyard, dozens of gun barrels emerged, all trained on Mother. Daddy snatched the dagger from her, hurled it aside, and turned to save the woman. Mother looked at the woman he was shielding in his arms, and gave a cold laugh. "Damian Vale. You're certain you want to play this game with me over some cheap piece of trash?" His face darkened further. He passed Sabrina off to one of his men, drew his own pistol, and pressed it to Mother's head. "Seraphina. I gave you your chance." Mother's eyes narrowed on him. "Did you? I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you." More figures melted out of the shadows—twice, three times as many as Daddy's men. Within seconds, Daddy and Sabrina and every one of Daddy's crew were pinned to the ground. Mother pulled me into her arms and pointed at Sabrina's right hand. Her voice was gentle. "Rory. Tell Mommy. Was it this hand that pinched your face?" I nodded. "Take it off." Daddy roared, "Seraphina! Don't you fucking dare!" A flash of steel. A severed hand went spinning through the air, thudded to the ground, and blood sprayed everywhere. Sabrina convulsed with pain, nearly passing out. Terrified, I buried my face in Mother's chest. She patted my back to soothe me. "Seraphina! You crazy bitch! I'll kill you!" Daddy's eyes were red, his body thrashing. Mother acted as if she hadn't heard a word. She picked up her dagger and walked toward Sabrina. "I could have sworn I also heard you call my Rory a little bastard." Sabrina, half-conscious with pain, could only shake her head desperately. Mother's wrist flicked. The blade sliced clean, left and right. Two long gashes opened across Sabrina's face. Blood poured out in dark ribbons. Then Mother twirled the dagger idly, letting the point drift down toward Sabrina's swollen belly. Daddy watched, helpless, screaming himself hoarse. "Enough! Seraphina! What the hell do you want?!" Finally, she turned to look at him. "What do I want? She wanted to send my daughter away. So I'll send her child away. Fair, isn't it?" "No! Sera, I'm *begging* you! Let her go, let the baby go!" "Begging me?" She laughed softly. "Damian. Is that how you beg?" His face went from white to ashen. Then he dropped—*thud*—hard, onto his knees. "I'll agree. We'll divorce. Just—please. Don't hurt her, don't hurt the baby." "Divorce? It's too late for that." "Actually, I've decided—widowhood might be a little more direct than divorce." Daddy's head snapped up. He stared at her in disbelief. "You've lost your mind!" "Yes. I have. I lost it the moment you people laid hands on Rory." His eyes locked onto her. He forced the threat out one syllable at a time. "Seraphina, don't push me. So what if the Sinclairs have your back? I have three arms warehouses. Enough firepower to level the entire East Coast. Even the Sinclairs would come out of that bloody." Every man in the courtyard flinched. Mother's lips curled in contempt. She pulled out her phone and dialed. "Before nightfall, Damian Vale's three arms warehouses are either mine, or they're gone from the face of the earth." ---