𝔄𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔩𝔞 𝔇𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔞 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔢

Chapter 17~Mafia Fashion Show

Donatella POV:

Dinner with the “family” was always a circus, but tonight felt like the main event under a big, gaudy tent. The table looked like it belonged in a palace—long, heavy wood, gilded chairs, some fancy candelabras flickering with candles that smelled like they’d cost a month’s rent. You’d think with all the mafia money behind it, there’d be some decent lighting, but no—everyone squinted as if the shadows were hiding secrets (or maybe just because the chandelier was ancient and dim).

Leonardo was his usual stone statue self, sitting rigidly at one end like the grim reaper was about to drop by for a chat. His eyes stayed glued to his plate, and the only movement was his jaw chewing methodically. He looked like the kind of guy who could stare you down into confessing your darkest secrets with a single glance. Meanwhile, Dante was the exact opposite—buzzing around like a busy bee, making sure everyone had food piled high on their plates. He reminded me of that one obsessive friend who insists on topping off your drink every two minutes. “You want more bread? More pasta? More meat? I got you.”

Then there was Luca, still bubbling like a shaken soda can, cracking jokes that only he thought were hilarious. He was the kind of guy who laughed at his own punchlines and made you question if you should laugh just to be polite or run for the hills. “Come on, Zoey! You gotta try this!” he said, shoving a ridiculous-looking vegetable toward me. I gave him the kind of look that screamed I’m allergic to your enthusiasm, but he just grinned like a madman.

Gino, as usual, was the human embodiment of the phrase strong, silent type. He barely spoke, and when he did, it was usually just a grunt or a nod. Tonight he looked like he was contemplating the meaning of life—or maybe just deciding whether to get dessert. I could never quite tell with him.

Then there was Enzo. Oh, Enzo. He was giving me that glare into your soul look again, like he was trying to burn me into the table with his eyes. Honestly, I didn’t care. If looks could kill, we’d both be long dead. I shot him a glare right back that said keep it up, and you’ll regret it. It was a battle of wills, and honestly, I wasn’t even sure why I cared, but whatever.

At the head of the table, like the captain of this dysfunctional ship, sat Armando. I wasn’t about to call him “Papa,” not in a million years. He had that old-school Don vibe—calm, commanding, like he could make you disappear with a flick of his pinky. He cleared his throat, and suddenly the whole room got quiet, even Luca stopped mid-guffaw. I was mildly impressed.

“Everyone,” Armando began, voice deep and steady, “tomorrow, you and Amir are coming shopping with me. Get whatever clothes you want. We’re making sure you fit in here properly.” His eyes scanned the table, then rested on me with that quiet intensity that made my stomach flip.

I almost choked on my water. Clothes? Shopping? I wasn’t about to argue, but inside I was thinking, Great, now I have to pretend to care about fashion and not just roll out of bed in whatever ragged shirt I find first.

Dante immediately started listing off places I had to check out. “There’s the boutique down on Fifth—real exclusive. Then, the tailor who does custom suits for half the city’s elite. And don’t forget the sneaker shop—I hear they have limited edition kicks.”

Luca bounced in his seat. “Oh, oh, and there’s this vintage store with crazy rare stuff! You’ll love it, Donatella! They have leather jackets from the ‘80s. You have to get one!”

Enzo just scowled, like the whole idea was a personal insult to his manhood. Gino stayed silent, but I caught the slightest smirk when Luca got overly excited.

Armando’s eyes narrowed slightly at the conversation but said nothing. “I want you both prepared. This is more than just clothes. It’s about making sure you’re ready to live here, and that means fitting in. School, social functions… this place.” His hand swept across the room like he was describing a kingdom.

I forced myself to smile, biting back a sarcastic Oh, joy. Shopping was my nightmare. I could practically feel my wallet screaming already, even though I didn’t have to pay a dime.

Amir leaned in and whispered, “Maybe we can sneak out and grab a burger afterward?”

I snorted. “Yeah, right. Like they’d let us roam free. But I’m totally stealing one of Luca’s jackets.”

“Please do,” Amir whispered back, “and then we’ll see who’s the best-dressed assassin.”

The rest of the table started buzzing again—talking about where we’d go first, what styles I should try, what colors were “in.” I sat there, already planning how to survive this ordeal with minimal emotional damage and maximum sarcasm.

I glanced over at Enzo, still glaring, and decided No one is gonna ruin my day. Not even you, Asshole.

Armando finished with a serious tone: “Remember, this is just the beginning. You’re part of this now. Let’s act like it.”

I swallowed the urge to roll my eyes and just muttered under my breath, “Yeah, part of the mafia fashion show.”