Vittoria

32. Hello

Zarina and I are just about done shopping when my phone rings. It's Papa calling.

"Tesoro, tu e Zarina dovreste iniziare a tornare indietro adesso. Anch'io sono quasi a casa," his voice comes through the phone, filled with warmth and urgency.

Sweetheart, you and Zarina should start heading back now. I'm almost home too.

"Sì, signore, partiremo subito," I reply promptly, knowing it's time to make our way back. Zarina looks at me, sensing the seriousness in my voice.

Yes, sir, we'll leave right away.

"Arrivederci," Papa says before ending the call, his reassuring tone lingering in my mind as Zarina and I gather our bags and head towards the exit.

Goodbye.

Outside, we are met by Papa's insufferable driver. He is loyal, but his constant presence reminds me of the suffocating grip my father's title has on my life. Zarina and I exchange glances, silently communicating our shared frustration with the lack of freedom that comes with my family's status.

The ride home is as dull as ever, the driver's stern face barely changing as he navigates through traffic. Zarina tries to lighten the mood by discussing the cute clothes we just bought, but the heavy atmosphere of Papa's world hangs over us like a shadow.

Finally, we arrive home. I quickly stop by Romano and Emilio's room. The twins are playing with their toy cars on the floor, their laughter filling the air.

"Hey, little troublemakers," I say with a smile, kneeling down beside them. "Mind if I join?"

Romano looks up with a mischievous grin. "Tori! Race cars!"

I grab a toy car and join their game, pushing the cars around with them. Emilio giggles as his car zooms past mine. For a moment, I forget about the responsibilities and expectations that come with being a part of our family.

After a brief playtime, I kiss them both on the forehead. "I'll see you two later. Behave for Mama, okay?"

They nod eagerly, already engrossed in their game again. I head to my room to change into training gear, mentally preparing myself for the intense session with Papa. It's a crucial part of my life, one that demands discipline and focus. As I tie my hair back and slip into my training attire, I prepare myself for the session ahead.

---

Training with Papa is like navigating a labyrinth of discipline and survival. The air is thick with the scent of old leather and gun oil, a potent reminder of the world I'm being groomed to inhabit.

"Focus, Tori," his voice rumbles, authoritative and unwavering. "Anticipate every move, every scenario."

I nod, steeling myself for the grueling drills that await. Our session begins with hand-to-hand combat, the sound of our strikes reverberating off the cold, stone walls. Each block and counter is a test of reflexes and strategy, a delicate balance between aggression and restraint.

"Again," he commands, his eyes sharp with expectation.

We repeat the sequences tirelessly, my muscles burning with exertion, until the techniques become second nature, ingrained in muscle memory. Sweat beads on my brow, mixing with the determination that fuels me forward.

Next comes marksmanship, where the weight of the gun in my hand feels like a solemn responsibility. The acrid smell of gunpowder fills the air as I aim for targets with unwavering focus, his instructions guiding each shot.

"You must control your breath, Tori," he reminds me, his tone both mentor and critic. "Your aim will follow."

I adjust my stance, steadying myself as I squeeze the trigger, each shot hitting its mark with growing confidence.

Finally, we delve into strategy, where he imparts the wisdom of the streets—the rules and alliances that govern our clandestine world. His words are like threads weaving together a tapestry of power and influence, lessons learned through decades of navigating the shadows.

"Never underestimate your opponent," he cautions, his gaze piercing. "In our world, the smallest detail can decide your fate."

As hours pass, the basement transforms into a crucible of determination and resilience, shaping me into a weapon honed not just for survival, but for dominance in a world where weakness is a luxury I can't afford.

"You're improving, Tori," my father finally remarks, a rare hint of pride in his gruff voice. "But there is always more to learn."

I nod, acknowledging both the progress made and the daunting path still ahead. Each session is a stark reminder that in this life, preparation isn't just a choice—it's the key to survival in a world where the stakes are high and the rules unforgiving.

Once the day's training has drained me, I escape to my room, my sanctuary. Shedding the tough warrior facade is a delicate dance between who I am and who my father wants me to be.

After wiping off the sweat and grime, Zarina breezes into my room. She's always full of mischief, her eyes shining with excitement. "Tori," she whispers, "let's sneak out. The city's calling, and we can't miss out."

I hesitate, torn between my father's rules and the thrill of adventure with Zarina. Her daring gaze challenges me. With a nod and a small smile, I change into clothes that will hide me in the city's shadows. Maybe tonight, away from Papa's watchful eyes, I'll learn things books can't teach.

We slip out under cover of darkness, giggling as we pass the guards. The world beyond my father's control feels exhilarating. Zarina leads me to a lively jazz club in Greenwich Village. Music and laughter fill the air, mixing with the aroma of street food. It's all so new and exciting.

Then I see him—Charlo, standing by the bar. He's different from the boys I know, with his easy smile and tousled hair. Our eyes meet, and something inside me flips. Zarina nudges me toward him with a mischievous grin.

"Go on, Tori. Have some fun," she whispers, disappearing into the crowd.

Charlo introduces himself, his accent charmingly foreign. We talk for hours under the neon lights, sharing stories and dreams. With him, I feel understood in a way I've never felt before. We start meeting every night, and he becomes my secret escape from my father's world.

But secrets have consequences.