Reaper of the Wicked | A Mafia Romance

XXXVI|| The Mistress

Paola pours me a glass and then pours herself one. She brushes her hands over her pants and sits gracefully on the couch. She gestures for me to sit next to her and smiles. "I'm surprised you texted me," she says.

"I can't text my sister?" I ask. She shrugs and brings the champagne glass to her lips. She takes a large gulp. "You never do." There's a note of sadness in her voice. My lips don't move. I have no idea how to respond. I'd never thought Paola cared enough about that.

I finally speak, breaking the awkward tension, "How are the... kids?" I say. I cringe at the last word. Paola doesn't have biological kids and her youngest step-kid had already moved out by the time she married their father. Paola looks into the empty champagne glass wistfully. "Fine.. They're all fine. At least that's what Giovanni says. Well, Rosa's not doing too well ever since-" Her words trail off.

She stares out of the large living room windows. Her life must be very lonely. "Why don't you visit us more, you live so close," I say. Paola barks out a laugh. "I only go back to that haunted fucking house for those stupid fucking dinners. "

I laugh. I can't help it. Swear words always sound funny in Paola's proper way of speaking. "Haunted?" I say sceptically. She raises a brow at me as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Do you know how many people were killed in that house?"

I shake my head, shame claws at the lining of my stomach. I probably killed half those people.

Paola searches my face. She laughs at my guilty expression. She shakes her head and stands up walking to the kitchen. She comes back with two tall glasses of water. I take a sip. Not water... vodka. She smiles at me. "We've inherited our mother's vice." she says before taking a sip.

"I couldn't have inherited anything from Marta." I say.

A silence stretches between us. The bastard child. That's my burden to bear.

"Marta is your mother in all the important ways. I never liked that Leopoldo used that to ostracise you. He was so worried he wouldn't have a son.. y'know." She takes another sip. "If Enzo wasn't born I swear he would've passed down the dynasty to you."

I take a large gulp of my own drink. I can tell that the conversation is getting deep and I don't want to have to feel anything for it.

"Your mom-"

I stiffen. The reaction is so sharp it draws Paola out of her monologuing. Her attention is square on me. I take another gulp of my drink.

"She was a maid wasn't she. Leopoldo raped and killed her." My attempt to remain emotionless fails. My bottom lip wobbles in a particularly pathetic display. She shakes her head and slides closer to me, her hands envelope mine. "She was Bella and I's nanny." She says reverently. "From when I was born until I was 8." I look up at Paola, my eyes wide. She knew my mom. Not only that but she loved her. My mom raised her.

Her voice shakes. "She was an artist. She would draw these cute little doodles on my notes and slip them in my lunchbox. And she was catholic. VERY catholic."

I laugh.

"She wanted a family, to quit her job and be taken care of. And then Leopoldo became infatuated with her. Obsessed. I was young so I didn't realise the extent. I remember walking in on him watching her through a camera. Marta had already been drinking at this point so I don't know if she noticed but... no, he didn't rape her. She fell in love with him. And he promised that he would take care of her, that he would divorce Marta for her and the four of us could be a family. When she got pregnant she was so... happy. She would have loved you so much.. she did... she loved you so much." Paola says. Tears fall from her eyes.

I lean in. "Paola, what happened to her? If Leopoldo loved her-"

Paola shook her head sharply. "Leopoldo is incapable of love. I think he saw the pregnancy as some sort of betrayal and his infatuation dissipated. The doctor said you would be a boy. He wanted a boy so he kept her locked in her room for the duration of her pregnancy and then had her killed after she gave birth." Her words are detached and clinical.

A fire burns within me so deep and primal. "He promised he'd take care of her and he... killed her."

Paola nods and stares off into the distance.

"F-fuck him." my voice cracks. But it's all I can conjure. That's all I can say.

"Fuck him." she repeats.

I let the silence lapse between us. Paola lets'g go of my hands and sits back on the couch. She nurses her drink. "Honestly, Paola I always thought you worshipped Leopoldo. That you were happy with this life."

Paola laughs. "I am.. content. But I'm not delusional. We all play our roles in order to stay safe and sane," she pauses "and I want to make her proud."

She means my mom. "She's proud of you. I'm proud of you." I say. Her face softens. She pats me awkwardly on the arm. I bark out a laugh. I guess we're not at the hugging stage yet.

"Paola," I say "What if we could fuck Leopoldo over?" I say.

She takes a sip of her drink. Then tilts her head. "I'm listening."