I didn't exactly choose to be stolen at four years old.
But the French underworld isn't big on consent.
One minute I was Donatella Acardi, Mafia royalty. The next? Just another stolen kid bleeding in someone else's basement.
That's where I met Ami...
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Donatella POV:
The living room was chaos incarnate. Clothes were everywhere, weapons being checked, snacks being stuffed into carry-ons like we were going on some jacked-up sleepover instead of flying to fucking Italy to infiltrate the French Mafia using the world's dumbest genius plan. Amir sat on the arm of the couch, chewing on a damn toothpick like some 80s movie reject, spinning a knife in his free hand with that smug little glint in his eyes.
“So what are we gonna do now?” he asked.
I glanced up from my duffel bag, already annoyed. He had that tone. I knew it was coming.
“Are we just gonna fly to Italy and go to their house and you say, ‘Hey, I’m your long-lost daughter you haven’t seen in 13 years and I need to stay here for a while’?” he added, raising his pitch like a drunk squirrel trying to mimic me.
I blinked. “That was the worst sarcastic sentence I’ve ever heard you say. Especially trying to sound like me. What the hell was that voice? Do I sound like a constipated chipmunk to you?”
He grinned. “Little bit.”
I elbowed him in the ribs, hard enough to get a satisfying ‘ow!’ out of him.
“No, you dimwit. Plus, I don’t even talk like that.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Keep talking and I’m shoving your ass out the plane mid-flight.”
He held up both hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. What’s your genius plan then, boss?”
I zipped my bag with a snap, standing tall like the walking menace I was. “We’re gonna get arrested.”
Amir’s face blanked.
“Yeah, and that’s better than my plan?” He scoffed, arching a brow like I’d lost my damn mind.
“It is, dickhead. Now shut the hell up and listen.”
I started pacing like the feral strategist I was. “Once we get arrested, we tell them we’re minors with no family. They’ll do a blood test to find out who we are. Boom—match with my biologicals. Then the family gets notified. Then they come pick us up. Then… shabam. We’re in.”
He just stared at me like I told him unicorns were real and they worked part-time at Starbucks.
“What?” I said defensively. “I read a lot of Wattpad. It could work.”
Amir dragged a hand down his face. “You’re gonna get us killed.”
“No, you’re gonna get us killed with that terrible voice impression. I’m just trying to get us in.”
He leaned back with a sigh. “Fine. But how do you want to get arrested? Can’t just walk into a station and say ‘please tase me, officer.’”
“I mean, we could.”
“You would.”
“I’d make it hot too.”
“Jesus Christ, Dona.”
I smirked and tossed him a duffel. “But first, let’s get arrested with style.”
He tapped his chin. “How about we graffiti the police department?”
I scrunched my nose. “Too easy. Too fast. I want some chaos with my criminal record, thanks.”
He hummed. “Oh! I got it.”
I turned to him, instantly alert. “Don’t just stand there like a malfunctioning toaster. Spit it out.”
“Oh yeah, sorry,” he said sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “I was thinking… that run-down street racing circuit those old farts throw every weekend. Cops always show up. All we have to do is show out, make a mess, piss off the locals. Easy arrests, and you get your adrenaline rush.”
I grinned slow and wicked. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Street race. Cops. Smoke. Screams. Sirens. Art.” I pointed at him. “Pack your shit. Grab your blades. Take the guns we don’t mind losing.”
He nodded, darting off to get ready, and I followed, both of us moving like it was second nature.
Later, we were aboard the private jet, boots kicked up, knife in hand, flipping it lazily through the air as I stared out the window at the clouds. Amir was across from me, headphones in, writing god-knows-what in that black book he always carried. Probably another list of reasons why I was insane. I didn’t care.
I leaned my head back, eyes half-lidded.
“You know,” Amir said suddenly, pulling out an earbud, “this is still the dumbest plan we’ve ever done.”
I cracked a smile. “Probably. But it’s gonna work. And it’s gonna be fun. And we’re gonna get arrested looking hot as fuck.”
“You’re unhinged.”
“I’m your unhinged.”
He scoffed, but he was smiling.
And as the jet hummed steadily through the clouds, bound for Italy, I was already planning my big, chaotic entrance. Because once we touched down, it was game time.
Time to be Donatella Acardi. No more Angela Della Morte. No more world-class assassin. Just a street kid with a past, a fake arrest record, and a secret plan to infiltrate the most dangerous mafia on the continent.
I was coming for them.
They just didn’t know it.
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