C07
“You’d better pray that Lucia makes it through unharmed, or I’ll make you understand what it feels like to lose the person you care about the most!”
My dad’s voice was cold, cutting through the room like the edge of a blade. Frankie could only lower his head further, his shoulders trembling under the weight of those words. The once–confident right–hand man looked utterly broken, his face pale and drenched in cold sweat.
Without sparing him another glance, my dad climbed into the ambulance beside me. The paramedics worked swiftly around us, checking my vitals and applying pressure to stop the bleeding from my wounds.
“Lucia, stay with me,” my dad pleaded, his voice unsteady for the first time in my memory. He gripped my uninjured hand tightly, his calloused fingers trembling as if afraid I would slip away. “Don’t close your eyes. Please,
don’t close your eyes…”
I tried, but I was so tired. The world around me faded into a haze of blurred faces and muffled voices. My dad’s voice grew distant, a faint echo in the background. Despite his desperate calls, my eyelids grew heavier until I drifted
into unconsciousness.
In the depths of that darkness, I dreamed. It was a long, strange dream, a vivid collage of memories and emotions. I saw my family–my mom, my dad and Vincent.
Our family had always been a peculiar one. My dad was larger than life, a man who lived by his own rules, while my mom had always seemed distant, as if she existed in a world apart from us. Their relationship had always confused me. Did my mom ever truly love my dad? Or was it merely a consequence of my dad’s unyielding pursuit of the things he wanted?
I could still recall the stories–how my dad had met my mom, fallen for her at first sight and stopped at nothing to make her his. He didn’t understand rejection. He chased her relentlessly and once he caught her, he married her. They had me, but something never felt right. My mom never smiled at him, not even once.
If she didn’t love him, why did she endure the long months of pregnancy to bring me into the world? If she did love him, why did she always seem so cold and indifferent? Even as a child, I could sense the tension between them. When they finally divorced, I wasn’t surprised.
I was six when it happened. My dad had insisted they keep the divorce a secret to protect me. He didn’t want me treated differently at school. Looking back, I realized his decision might have been more about his lingering feelings for her than any concern for me.
But even after the divorce, he remained a towering figure in my life. Who would dare to bully the daughter of Giovanni Fontana? Despite his violent past, my dad always gave me his gentlest side. He never raised his voice at me, no matter how angry he was. Yet, as a child, I resented the world he lived in. I hated his violent ways and the constant danger that came with being his daughter. I demanded that he leave it all behind, or I wouldn’t see him
anymore.
Don’t Mess with A Mafia Princess
anymore.
To my surprise, he listened. He left the underworld, distributing his wealth and businesses among those who had been loyal to him. He started a new life in the legitimate world of business. One of those businesses was the restaurant where Vincent and I had gone to eat. I hadn’t known it at the time.
Frankie, my dad’s trusted right–hand man, had once carried me on his shoulders when I was little. Yet, when I returned from studying abroad, grown and changed, he didn’t even recognize me.
But none of that mattered now. What hurt the most wasn’t what Frankie did–it was Vincent’s. He was the one
who had dragged me into this nightmare.
Vincent… the boy who once braved a snowstorm to bring me cold medicine when I was sick. He nearly got buried alive that night and yet he didn’t care. How had that boy become the man who wanted me dead?
My best friend had warned me before, saying that what I felt for Vincent wasn’t real love. She said it was infatuation at best, a fleeting spark that wouldn’t last. But I didn’t listen. All I ever wanted was someone who would stay, someone who wouldn’t leave me the way my parents had left each other. I thought Vincent was that person. I
was wrong.
I had been planning to introduce him to my parents before the New Year. He didn’t have a house or a car–none of that mattered to me. I was willing to give him everything he lacked. I didn’t care about money or status, as long as
he treated me well. But even then, I had chosen the wrong person.
The dream faded and reality crept back in. I heard sobbing–muffled at first, then growing louder. The sound was annoying, pulling me from the depths of unconsciousness. Slowly, I forced my eyes open.
The first thing I saw was my mom’s face, tear–streaked and pale. The moment she saw me awake, she threw herself onto me, wrapping her arms around me tightly as if afraid I might disappear again. Her quiet sobbing turned
into loud, unrestrained wailing.
I sighed inwardly. If I had known waking up would make her cry harder, I might have stayed unconscious a little
longer.
As my senses returned, I became aware of the stiffness in my body. My hands and legs were encased in casts, immobilized by thick layers of plaster. The dull ache of my injuries lingered beneath the surface, but it was nothing compared to the relief of being alive.
“The surgery took an entire day,” my mom said, her voice hoarse from crying. “You were unconscious for two days. We thought… we thought we might lose you…”
a
I glanced at my dad, who stood silently at the side of the room. His usual sharp, commanding presence was gone. Dark circles hung under his eyes, nearly reaching his neck and his stubble was unkempt, giving him a haggard, worn–out appearance. His suit jacket was wrinkled and his tie hung loose around his neck. Anyone who didn’t know better might have thought he was the patient.
Even though he didn’t say a word, I could see the tension in his posture, the way he clenched and unclenched his fists as if trying to keep his emotions in check. My dad–the man who once seemed invincible–looked utterly
