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 second we finally escaped the chaos downstairs, I exhaled like I’d just run a marathon through a warzone. Honestly? I’d take the warzone.
“Please tell me we’re not sharing a hallway with them,” Amir muttered behind me, dragging both of our duffel bags up the winding stairs.
“Worse,” I said, pushing open the thick, oak door to my room. “We’re probably sharing air molecules.”
He groaned dramatically and immediately stepped into my room instead of the one Armando had supposedly assigned to him just across the hall.
Not that I minded.
I dropped onto the bed with a huff. It was huge—like, “you could do Olympic flips on this thing” huge. White sheets, plush pillows, silk duvet. Way too fancy for someone who still drank Capri Suns out of spite.
Amir tossed the bags in the corner and slammed the door shut with more emotion than necessary, then locked it.
“Privacy,” he said, raising his brows like we just secured a national secret.
“Sanity,” I added, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at the wall for no reason other than rage venting.
He flopped onto the bed beside me, upside down, legs dangling off the edge like a lanky starfish. “So... you ready to talk to Dimitri? Or should we unpack first? Eat? Fight God?”
I pulled my phone out of my hoodie pocket and held it up like a tarot card. “Only one option gives us answers.”
He groaned. “Please don’t put that on speaker.”
“You know I’m putting it on speaker.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
I hit the contact marked “Psychotic Siberian Gremlin” and let it ring.
Once.
Twice.
“You’re alive,” Dimitri’s voice drawled, amused and always on the edge of sarcasm.
“Barely,” I said, laying back on the mattress and staring up at the chandelier that looked like it could crush me in my sleep. “You forgot to warn me that the castle was crawling with chaos goblins.”
“Ah, the brothers,” Dimitri said smoothly. “Charming little menaces, no?”
“Nicolo called me chiquitita. Enzo glared at me like I murdered his cat. Luca tried to hug Amir. And Gino? Gino stared into my soul and I think I owe him part of it now.”
“I’m gonna need an exorcism,” Amir added.
“You get used to them,” Dimitri said. “Eventually.”
“I don’t want to get used to them,” I grumbled. “I want to steal all their criminal titles, set their stupid castle on fire, and walk away in slow motion.”
“That’s the spirit.”
I could hear Dimitri’s keyboard clicking in the background. He was probably tracking satellites or hacking the Pentagon or playing Tetris on hard mode. You never really knew with him.
“So,” he said. “Did Armando give you anything useful yet?”
“Not yet. We literally just got here. He’s still in ‘family reunion’ mode.”
“He also said Welcome home, princesa,” Amir added. “I think I blacked out.”
“He what?” Dimitri laughed.
“Yeah, and the other brothers started calling me old Spanish pet names like it was a damn novella,” I said. “I remember some of them... vaguely. Before... you know.”
Before were were taken.
Before I was taken.
The air shifted a little. Not heavy. Just quiet.
Dimitri didn’t say anything for a second. Then, casually: “That’s a good sign.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How?”
“Means they still remember you. Still feel like you’re one of them. That’ll make getting what we need easier. You’re not starting from scratch.”
Amir looked at me sideways. “We’re not gonna have to pretend to be too friendly, right? Because Enzo looks like he eats souls for breakfast.”
“No. Just enough to dig in.”
“I’ve seen better odds,” Amir muttered.
I sat up, legs crossed, phone propped against my knee. “So far, here’s what we’ve got: The triplets each have their own secret thing going on—Nicolo’s Veloce, Gino’s the Paralyzer, and Enzo’s an assassin. None of the adults seem to know. I don’t think even Armando knows.”
“Confirmed. I already tapped into some of their encrypted comms last week. Found files on Gino’s underground fights and Nicolo’s street race bets. Enzo’s harder to trace—he covers his tracks better. Smart bastard.”
“I still don’t like him,” I muttered.
“That makes two of us,” Amir said.
“That makes everyone but his mother,” Dimitri snorted.
“I don’t think mother liked him either,” I said.
“So,” Dimitri cut in, more serious now. “Step one: Keep gathering intel. Step two: Find out who’s controlling their operations—these guys might be good at hiding, but someone’s funding all their side hustles. And step three...”
“Steal all their titles like the criminal Barbie I am.”
“But, remember what you're really here for. Don't inflate ur ego too big.”
I roll my eyes, adjusting my position. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Just tryin to let a girl have at least a bit of fun while being trapped inside this hellhole."
Amir raised a hand like we were in a damn classroom. “When do we blow something up?”
“Give it a week,” I said. “Castle’s big. Gotta pick the right wing.”
“You two are exhausting,” Dimitri muttered affectionately. “Update me again after dinner. If anyone tries to stab you, record it. I want the footage.”
“Will do, boss,” I said, saluting the phone before hanging up.
I tossed it onto the bed and leaned back with a groan.
Amir rolled over. “So... what now?”
“Now?” I grinned. “Now we unpack, find the kitchen, eat someone else’s food... and prepare for social combat.”
“And maybe sabotage Enzo’s shampoo with glitter?”
“Oh absolutely.”
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