Page 1 of Mafia King's Secret Baby

1

CATERINA

“It’s not a death sentence,Caterina. It’s a wedding.”

I grit my teeth. My brother Marco, six years older than me and my self-appointed life ruiner, is sitting behind his huge desk with his hands folded like he’s some kind of supervillain.

To be fair.

He kind of is.

At least, he is to me right now.

“Marco,” I say slowly, my breath hissing through my teeth. “It’s not just a wedding. You know full well that the Rossi family murdered our parents. Do you really think that history isn’t going to repeat itself, especially given the circumstances?”

The circumstances, of course, are too similar to ignore. It was six years ago that our parents died in a tragic accident on the way back from an engagement party.

Myengagement party.

To the same man that Marco is asking me to marry again.

He huffs out a breath and steeples his fingers, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Caterina, this is the only way. I can’t keep the business afloat without the contracts that the Rossi’s bring in. If we can’t keep the business afloat, we can’t?—”

“Find out what happened to Mom and Dad,” I interrupt him. “I know, Marco.”

We stare at each other across the desk.

Marco is the oldest of the four of us. Unfortunately, he’s not my only brother. There are two more, Dino and Sal, born close enough that anyone who can count would be a little suspicious, and then me.

The baby.

A title that Marco, at least, has taken seriously.

Sal, who is closest to me in age, at least treats me like a human being. I haven’t seen him in months; Marco has him on some kind of overseas connection for us since he speaks the best Italian.

Marco is also fluent, of course, and Dino can get by.

I can order ice cream and ask to see the beach, and that’s about it. Mostly I just make vowel sounds and look angry if people are using Italian around me, and it seems to work pretty effectively. Then again, I’ve never been to Italy, so I could be wrong.

But it hasn’t failed me yet.

Marco blinks at me. “Caterina.”

“Marco,” I respond. It’s not fair that he doesn’t have a longer name I can make him angry about. He knows that I hate being called Caterina, but he insists that Cat is too American.

As though we haven’t been American for at least four generations.

I fold my arms. “Do you really think thatheis going to honor this stupid contract anyway?”

“He has to.” Marco’s face grows dark and shadowed as the specter of who we’re referring to enters the conversation.

Him.Elio Rossi.

Marco’s former childhood friend.

My one-time future husband.

And our current biggest enemy.