Don't Mess with A Mafia Princess

My mom was forced into a relationship with my dad and had me as a result. Their marriage was never one of love and unable to endure his domineering ways, she eventually divorced him. Even as a child, I could sense the tension in our home—the constant arguments, the shadow of my dad's criminal world looming over us. When my parents split, I had the chance to choose and I chose my mom. I couldn't stand my dad's constant violence, nor the ever-present danger of his criminal activity.

Once, during one of my rare visits to his estate, my dad had teared up in front of me, his normally steely eyes softening as he swore on his life that he would give it all up—for me. He begged me to stay, to trust that he could change. But I left anyway and years passed without contact. Now, standing here in this grim situation, the bitter irony of his broken promise hit me hard. His men were still up to their old habits and now they'd gone as far as kidnapping me.

If I hadn't been studying abroad for so long, or if I weren't so nearsighted, maybe I would have recognized Frankie and his goons sooner. The realization stung, leaving me both stunned and furious.

"Frankie, have you lost your mind? How dare you kidnap me?" I snapped, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and rage.

At my outburst, one of the thugs paused, clearly taken aback, before storming toward me. Without warning, he slapped me hard across the face, the force making my head whip to the side. Pain exploded across my cheek and tears welled up in my eyes.

"You must have a death wish! How dare you call the boss by his name?" the thug growled, his hand already balled into a fist, ready to strike again.

Frankie quickly stepped in, shoving the thug back. "Hold on," he said, his expression dark and wary as he turned toward me. "How do you know my name?"

For a moment, I thought he had recognized me. I took a chance and shouted, "Because I'm Giovanni's daughter! Let me go right now, or my dad will make you pay when he finds out!"

The moment those words left my mouth, Frankie's wary expression shifted into something far more dangerous—ridicule. He let out a harsh laugh, his eyes gleaming with disbelief.

"You? Claiming to be the don's daughter? You've got to be joking!"

Frustrated, I clenched my fists, ignoring the stinging pain in my cheek. "I really am Giovanni's daughter, Luciana!" I insisted, my voice rising in desperation.

Frankie's sneer deepened as he grabbed me roughly by the collar, yanking me closer until our faces were inches apart. His breath smelled faintly of tobacco and something sour, making my stomach churn.

"Your credit card here is issued to one Luciana Vitale. You're no family," he spat, his voice dripping with contempt.

I hastily explained, "I was Luciana Fontana! Now I go by Luciana Vitale because I took my mom's surname after the divorce! If you don't believe me, look at my phone's wallpaper. It's a picture of me and my dad!"

My heart pounded as I spoke. Frankie had been my dad's right-hand man back then. There was no way he didn't know my mom's name.

But to my horror, his sneer only grew colder. Without hesitation, he grabbed a heavy wooden club lying nearby and swung it hard against my shin. Pain shot through my leg, sharp and unbearable and I gasped, nearly collapsing from the impact.

"The boss and the missus have always loved each other," Frankie hissed through clenched teeth. "How could they divorce? If you spread such lies again, I'll tear your mouth off!"

I stared at him in shock, barely able to register the searing pain in my leg. Then it hit me—my dad had kept the divorce a secret. He didn't want anyone badmouthing my mom, didn't want to give his enemies a reason to gloat. But that decision was now coming back to haunt me.

Just then, a lackey handed my phone to Frankie. My pulse quickened, a flicker of hope igniting inside me. If he saw the wallpaper, he'd have to recognize me. He couldn't deny the evidence staring him in the face.

Frankie studied the phone intently, his eyes narrowing as he compared the photo to me. For a long moment, he didn't say anything and I dared to hope. But then he spat at me in disgust, his lip curling in contempt.

"Unbelievable. You've been toying with me this whole time! You think I'd believe a photoshopped picture of you with the boss?"

I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off. "The real Lucia was plump," he said with a sneer. "You, with your Instagram face, dare to pretend to be her?"

Raising the club again, Frankie prepared to strike. Terror froze me in place. It was true—I used to be fat. But after high school, my mom had enrolled me in a strict weight-loss program. I lost fifty pounds, learned how to apply makeup properly and polished my appearance.

Hearing people praise me for slimming down and looking beautiful had once filled me with pride. Now, that same transformation had turned into a cruel joke. I couldn't help but laugh bitterly at the irony, the sound trembling as it left my lips.

Just as Frankie was about to bring the club down again, a heavily made-up woman with bold red lipstick and thick eyeliner stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm. "Boss, what if this little wench is the boss's mistress? If you hurt her and the boss gets angry, what then?" she suggested with a sly smile, her voice laced with caution.

Before she could say more, Frankie shot her a murderous glare. "Are you out of your mind too? The boss and the missus love each other. There's no way he'd keep a mistress!"

He turned back to me, his eyes blazing with fury. "Now, even if she pays the bill, she's not leaving!" he growled. "I can't stand homewreckers like her!"