Love and War. (BWWM)

Prolongue

In the labyrinthine streets of Brooklyn, where shadows whispered tales of power and betrayal, my name echoed-a Da Luca, heir to a legacy etched in the blood-soaked tapestry of the Mafia. From the outside, my life might seem like a meticulously choreographed dance of elegance and privilege, but beneath the veneer of opulence, a tempest raged.

In a quiet moment, amidst the dimly lit rooms of our mansion, I found myself transported back to a time when innocence still lingered. I was a curious 9-year-old, my mother's laughter and my father's stern yet loving gaze shaping the world around me.

After a typical Mafia dinner, where deals were struck in hushed tones over the clinking of fine china, my parents guided me to bed. They called me their "Little Dove," a nickname coined in moments of tenderness that betrayed the harsh reality of our existence.

As they tucked me in, my small voice echoed in the room, breaking the tranquil atmosphere. "Daddy," I asked, my eyes wide with innocence, "why do you have so many important people over for dinner?"

His eyes softened, and he sat at the edge of my bed. "Well, Little Dove, Daddy has a job that involves making sure everyone is safe and taken care of."

"But what's your job, Daddy?" I persisted, my curiosity unwavering.

He chuckled, a deep, reassuring sound. "You're too young to understand fully, sweetheart. But one day, when you're older, I'll explain everything. For now, focus on being a good little girl and enjoying your dreams."

I gazed up at him, wide-eyed. "Will you always keep us safe?"

He smiled, a promise etched in his gaze. "Always, Little Dove. You and Mommy are my world."

With a final kiss on my forehead, he left the room, leaving me to drift into sleep, my mind filled with dreams and questions that waited to be unraveled as I grew older.

Yet, that night, innocence shattered like glass. In the quiet hours, the echoes of gunfire and anguished screams pierced the hallowed halls. In my sleep, I heard the symphony of tragedy unfolding below.

When I awoke, the world had changed. My mother, the source of warmth and laughter, lay lifeless. My father, the patriarch of our legacy, was on the floor, wounded but alive. The illusion of security fractured, leaving behind the stark reality of a life governed by shadows.

And so, in the heart of Brooklyn, where love and war coexisted like a fragile dance, the saga of Corinne Da Luca unfolded-a narrative woven from the threads of childhood innocence, shattered dreams, and a legacy that persisted in the face of unspeakable loss. In the hushed atmosphere of the funeral, where grief hung heavy in the air like a suffocating fog, I clutched my father's hand. The somber tones of mourning played out around us, but confusion carved lines into my 9-year-old forehead. Why was Mommy gone? And why was Daddy so angry?

As we stood by the casket, my father's stern gaze remained fixed on the horizon. The echoes of whispered condolences reached my ears, but understanding eluded me.

"Daddy, why was Mommy taken away?" I ventured, my voice a fragile thread in the quiet mourning.

His jaw tightened, a storm brewing in his eyes. "Little Dove, it's complicated. There are things you'll understand when you're older."

"But Daddy," I persisted, my confusion unabated, "why are you so angry?"

He sighed, a heavy exhale that carried the weight of unspoken burdens. "I'm angry because, in our world, Little Dove, sometimes we lose things we can never get back."

As we waited, my father's grip on my hand tightened. He turned to a man standing nearby, his presence strong and reassuring. "Corinne, this is Vinnie. He's going to take care of you when Daddy can't be there."

Vinnie's somber nod mirrored the gravity of the occasion. My young mind struggled to grasp the concept. "Take care of me?" I questioned, confusion etched on my face.

My father crouched down, meeting my gaze. "Yes, sweetheart. Vinnie is like a guardian angel. When Daddy is far away, he'll make sure you're safe. He's a bodyguard."

Understanding dawned as I nodded solemnly. "Like in the movies?"

Daddy chuckled, a fleeting moment of warmth in the midst of sorrow. "Yes, just like in the movies. Now, be a good girl for Daddy and Vinnie, okay?"

With that, the trio formed in a mournful tableau-the grieving father, the bewildered daughter, and the silent guardian. In the heart of Brooklyn, where love and war coexisted, the seeds of understandings

As we returned home, the weight of grief clung to every corner of our mansion. Daddy tucked me into bed, his solemn expression revealing the gravity of the changes that awaited us. The air was heavy with unspoken truths, and the term "family" took on a different meaning.

"Daddy, are Vinnie and the others our family too?" I inquired, my eyes searching his for reassurance.

He nodded, a bittersweet smile touching his lips. "Yes, Little Dove. In our world, family extends beyond blood. They're like family, and you'll learn to trust and rely on them."

"But Daddy, why does everything have to change?" I asked, a tremor of uncertainty in my voice.

He sighed, his gaze distant yet filled with a paternal love that transcended the complexities of our reality. "Little Dove, sometimes life takes unexpected turns. We adapt, and we stay strong for each other."

As he spoke, I couldn't shake the feeling that the walls of our once secure world were shifting. Daddy continued, his words carrying a weight that settled into the marrow of my understanding.

"Corinne, from now on, things might be different. We have to be careful, and you must remember who our enemies are."

"Enemies?" I questioned, my innocent gaze meeting his.

He nodded gravely. "Yes, sweetheart. There are people who might want to hurt us. We call them enemies, and we stay away from them."

"Can enemies ever be good?" I asked, my mind grappling with the concept.

Daddy's response was swift and unwavering. "No, Little Dove. In our world, enemies are always bad."

I thought of the characters in my books, wondering if the enemies in our world were like the ones on the pages. Daddy's nod confirmed my suspicions.

"Like in my stories," I whispered, more to myself than to him.

"Correct, sweetheart," he said, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on my forehead. "Now, sleep tight. Tomorrow is a new day."

As he left the room, closing the door behind him, the echoes of his words lingered. In the heart of Brooklyn, where love and war coexisted, a 9-year-old girl drifted into dreams, her understanding of the world forever altered by the weight of a legacy she had yet to fully comprehend.

The story continued, weaving through the years, until it reached the present day-a tapestry of love, loss, and the enduring strength of a family forged in the crucible of a life governed by shadows and secrets.