“Ciao Angelina, stessa cosa. Same thing?” asked Palo as I entered my favorite bakery. 

“Si grazie,” I said as I reached over the counter for my favorite chocolate cannoli. 

The bell dinged as I left the bakery and I was welcomed by the citrus-scented air of my hometown, Sorrento, Italy. I strolled down Corso Italia and waved at all the locals selling clothes or making pasta as I headed towards home. 

I have lived in Sorrento all my life, 17 whole years. I will never get used to the hilly roads that end abruptly at a cliff overlooking the Amalfi Coast, arguably the most beautiful sight in the world. The ocean glistens as the sun passes overhead everyday while across the water you can glance out at the island of Capri. Sunny beaches line the coast where tourists and locals all gather to swim and suntan. Streets catered to the millions of tourists that visit each year are bordered by souvenir shops and tasting spots for the town’s staple, Limoncello. The biggest part of town is Piazza Tasso. An intersection of streets containing the busiest bars, fanciest hotels, and best restaurants all circled around two statues, one of poet Torquato Tasso and one of Sant’Antonio Abate. All the locals know each other in this town, and well, everyone knows the Giotti family, my family. 

I reached the end of Via Luigi de Maio and started the climb up the long flight of stairs to my family home. 

I opened the door and a whoosh of my nonna’s cooking surrounded me and I’m reminded that it’s Sunday. Everyday is family day when you’re Italian, but Sunday’s mean family time at a whole new level, especially when you’re a Giotti. 

“Lina’s home! Lina’s home!” my little brother screamed as I set my bag down in the entryway. 

The whole family was here and it was only 10:30 am. My grandparents, my cousins, my second cousins, my brother, and my dad all came to greet me even though I left the house just an hour before. 

“My Lina!”my nonna cried as she ran to kiss me on the cheek as if she hadn’t seen me in years. 

“Ciao nonna,” I said as I scanned around the room smiling at the comforting faces of my loved ones, but I quickly realized that someone was missing. 

“Where’s Aunt Sofia?” I asked my father puzzlingly. 

My cousins were here, but their mom wasn’t. It was Sunday, she should be here. 

“Mangiamo, let’s eat.”my father responds, avoiding the question. He’s quite good at avoiding questions, due to his, well, profession. 

This Sunday felt different. Instead of the usual loud bickering and yelling at soccer on TV, there was a faint whispering around the table masked by the clattering of spoons twirling linguini onto forks. 

All of a sudden the back door swung open and I heard,

 “Gil dici, you tell him!” 

“Non tu! No you!” 

“Voi! You!” 

Two very large men with thick black hair and matching golden crosses hanging from their neck entered the kitchen and stopped suddenly. They gave a strained smile when they saw my father sitting at the head of the table. 

“Boss uh we need to uh …. talk to you,” one says. 

My father scanned the table while the whole family gave the nod of approval and he beckoned the men into the wine cellar to talk. 

It might seem weird that two strange men entered my house with no second glance, but this is, in fact, a rather common occurrence. 

The reasoning for this is rather hard to explain so I’m going to give you the condensed version so I can continue with my story. 

Many Italians are nurses, bakers, pasta makers, or tour guides. Well, the Giotti family takes the Italian image as a different meaning. For decades our family has run a practice of some sort. A rather selective practice running through the back streets of Sorrento. One where we’ve come into a lot of money when dealing with certain people. 

You see, my father is the leader of the Italian mafia. 

“Honey, you’re going to be late for school again,” my mom sighed as I came downstairs. 

I avoid her eyes, grab an apple off the counter and head for the door. 

“Angelina!” (My mom’s the only one who refuses to use my nickname) “I am your mother, you need to respect me!”

I ignore the words I’ve heard many times the past month, grab my One Direction water bottle from the cupboard, and fill it up as fast as I can. 

“Honey. We are family no matter what. New York is a big place, you need me. I need you, please just talk to me.”

“You didn’t seem to need me when you left in the first place.”

“Angelina, please just let me explain.”

“I have to go. I have PreCalc first period and that man hates when I’m late,” I said as the door began to close behind me, leaving my mother staring through the doorway, a pained look on her face. 

I don’t have a good relationship with my mom. I see that she’s trying but I just can’t forgive her for abandoning us all those years ago. Why me? What did my dad do? It couldn’t have been Gino’s fault, he was too young. So it must have been mine. I don’t care anymore. I turned out great. I’m here on a mission, one that does not involve reconciling with my mom. I have bigger problems. 

We continued eating in a rather awkward way, knowing that something was wrong, when I felt my cousin Maria kick me under the table. We made eye contact as she tipped her head at the slightest angle towards the back door. She got up and excused herself from the table. 

Five minutes passed and I gently cleared my throat. My grandparents looked at me with a side glance.

“I have to take care of something quickly. Cinque minuti al massimo, five minutes max,” I said, waiting for my grandparents to dismiss me. 

When you're in the mafia and you say “I have to take care of something,”your family knows to let you go, so naturally my grandparents nodded. 

I slipped out the back door and scanned the 10-acre yard that surrounds my family's home. I saw brown hair blowing in the wind behind a giant tree a few yards to my left. 

“What’s going on?” I asked as I approached Maria. 

“It finally happened, that’s why my mom isn’t here,” she responded with a stern face, one she never wears. 

“Wha… No, no no no!”

 I felt like I had been hit by a bus. 

The only thing that is good about living with my mom is New York City. I was so nervous at first, leaving Sorrento, but I love New York. It’s an Italian haven. 

New York City is always bustling with people. People talking loud on the phone, people with headphones in, people dressed in fancy work clothes, people dressed in rags. New York City is diverse. New faces, new backgrounds, different ethnicities and cultures surround you wherever you look. Bright lights everywhere, the loud noise of taxi horns beeping, people yelling, people selling every possible item on the street. Skyscrapers graze the sky while giant billboards advertise the latest Broadway hit. Pigeons scavenging for food on the streets while doormen for fancy hotels smile at you as you walk by. The smell of gourmet dishes mixed with hotdog street vendors waft behind you as you pass the luscious green trees that border Central Park. New York City is the place to discover yourself, change yourself, be yourself. Or in my case, mask your true identity and instead blend in with the city that never sleeps. 

I plaster a smile on my face as I turn the corner seeing the tall building that marks the entrance of my high school, Constance College Preparatory. Constance sits on the Upper East Side so naturally kids of that stereotype filter in: rich snobs. 

As I head up the stairs to the main entrance multiple cliques of people sit around gossiping about each other. 

“Omg did you see Madi’s hair today? It’s so greasy!”

“No way! Alanna is wearing a knock off Louis Vuitton belt. So tacky.” 

“I heard that Matt and Chloe hooked up in the bathroom at Chris’s party. Matt’s girlfriend is going to freak when she finds out.”

The only thing I hate more than high school is high school girls. The way they think they’re better than everyone else just because their dad buys them the new Dyson Wrap Airbrush and Gucci shoes. They really have nothing better to do than belittle everyone in the school. The movie Mean Girls is the definition of high school, especially when you’re the new girl. 

Because of my profession and the job I was sent to New York to complete, I have to lie about my background. Instead of being the girl from Italy who elongates her double constants because of her Italian lisp, I’m now the girl from California who loves the beach, In N Out, thrifting, and late night drives down Pacific Coast Highway. My Mafia training has prepared me to become any person with any sort of background at any given time. 

“Lina!”

My locker door slams shut to reveal the only person I can tolerate at this school, my best friend Shay. 

“Look at this dress I bought for the dance! Isn’t it just absolutely gorgeous?”

“Uh,” I stutter for only a moment as Shay shoves her phone in my face. 

Hesitating was a mistake since Shay talks so much you never have a chance to get a breath in.

“Oh my god you hate it. Is the emerald color too much? I knew I should have gone with red but I thought I really needed to make a statement since this is the biggest dance of the year so practically it’s the biggest day of my life. Plus if I want Jack to notice me I have to stand out but maybe the emerald will make me stand out too much!”

“No no no I love it! You will look stunning. I’m just confused. I didn't know there was a dance coming up.”

“Lina! You’re joking right? Have you not seen all the posters around school?” Shay gestures to a group of papers stapled to bulletin boards reading Constance College Prep 2022 Masquerade Ball. “Cmon Lina it’s going to be the best night ever!! And it’s coming up quickly so you better find a dress now. Ooo ooooo, who do you want to go to the dance with?” 

“I don’t know,” I shake my head. “There’s not really anyone that I like here.”

As if perfectly on cue, the basketball team comes rounding the corner of the hallway. When they walk it’s like the whole world slows down. The group of boys are all wearing sports jackets and cocky smiles on their faces as they wink, wave, and highfive every person they pass. They are Constance celebrities. 

As they get closer I feel my heart begin to pound and there he is, Asher Johnson laughing in the back of the group. His brown hair is cut in a 90s skater style, not long but the perfect length to run your fingers through. As he walks past Shay and I, he meets my gaze with his bright blue eyes and flashes a smile with his perfect white pearly teeth. I feel my face heat up.

“Oh Lina,”Shay links her arm through mine and pulls me back to reality, “You liar, you’re in love with Asher!”

“I am not!”

“Then why are you blushing?”

“Well love is a strong word. If he asked me to the dance would I say yes and sprint around the school in a crazed way because I would be so happy? Yes. Would I say I’m in love with him? That's a little far.” 

Shay laughs, “Oh Lina, I’m so glad your mom took that job in New York. What would I do without my best friend? We are going dress shopping after school and you are going to look so good that Asher is going to realize it’s true love on the spot.”

I shake my head and smile as the bell rings, if only she knew I thought, and we head towards math class. 

When I was younger, it was hard for me to understand my family’s profession. How do you explain to a six year old that your father is the ringleader of the biggest criminal society in the world? How does a six year old understand that she would in fact become part of that criminal society and take down powerful drug lords and oversee illicit deals all by herself? 

The night that I was old enough to understand, I was sat down and took part in an inauguration of some sort. An oath that I would participate and never back down. Later that night I laid in my bed contemplating what my life would look like moving forward. Who was I? Is this going to be my contribution to the world? Being a criminal? I remember hearing a knock at my door and my grandfather crept in.

“Mio nipote, my granddaughter. I know this must be confusing and overwhelming for you, but it’s going to be okay. Siamo una famiglia, we are a family and we are all here for you. You will do great things mio nipote.”

“Nonno, I’m scared.”

“Let me tell you a story about our family. My nonno told me this when I found out about the mafia and his nonno told him.” 

My grandfather began in his soft voice masked by his thick accent. He wrapped his arms around me and I closed my eyes, and fell into the story.

Hundreds of years ago, during an era when princesses and princes went to balls in giant castles under the light of the moon, a meeting was held in Sorrento. A group of wealthy men, dukes from towns all across Italy, came together to discuss the secret society that had been created years before. Coded telegraphs had been sent out to each of these men bearing news, news that would change the lives of each and every one of them, especially a man named Alfredo Giotti. 

While waiting for the meeting to begin, the men discussed everything from family, to food, to international affairs when suddenly a loud squeak came from the corner. Legend says that a little man with a goatee, no hair (unusual for the average Italian) and thick round glasses shuffled to the front of the room. The little man glanced around as daggers glared at him through both eyes of every man. 

Who was he?

Where was their leader?

Shaking, the man grabbed a folded piece of paper from his back pocket, cleared his throat, and began to read.

“Il capo è morto,” he said quietly. 

Clearing his throat once more, he repeated the statement louder for all to hear clearly, “Il capo é morto!”

Their leader was dead. Curse words started flying around the room as the men screamed in confusion. It is said that everyone started running towards the little man with threats of death until the chaos was interrupted by a gunshot. 

Everyone skidded to a stop and whipped towards the back corner of the room. 

There stood my great, great, great, (I don’t know how many greats) grandfather with a pistol aimed at the ceiling. 

“Silenziosa! Quiet!” he yelled. 

It’s not easy to quiet a room full of Italians, nevertheless angry Italians, but something about this man did it. Maybe it was his stare, or his firm tone, or the posture he held himself with. Whatever it was, he held the room’s attention. 

“The ringleader is dead, no one else has to die tonight,” he starts. “We as a community must band together during these unprecedented circumstances. We must regroup, we have come too far as a society to let this setback destroy us. The future of the Mafia is in our hands right now. Will we let all that we’ve built crumble or will we let it prosper? It’s up to you.” 

The room stayed silent for what felt like forever. No one moved, no one blinked. Until one man slowly kneeled to the floor. One by one everyone followed suit, even the man with the thick round glasses. 

The room had agreed. Alfredo Giotti was the new leader of the Italian Mafia. 

It was later told that an enemy from a bordering country had attacked the original leader over some misconstrued deal during his sleep. It seemed suspicious but no one thought to question the validity of it. 

Since then, leading has been passed down through generation upon generation in my family, rule belonging to the first born child. This system has been surprisingly foolproof. Everyone respects my family, it’s like we were placed on this Earth to lead. It’s our duty. No one has challenged this authority. 

And just like that, I woke up. It was morning. My grandfather was gone but I was smiling. I’m a Giotti. This is my purpose. I will continue the family legacy and I will be great. 

“Don’t forget! We are meeting in front of Bloomingdales in three hours,” Shay calls after me as I turn the corner of Lexington and 68th. 

I smile and put my headphones in. I walk at a pace that isn’t too fast that people will notice but a pace fast enough that I will get where I’m going without anyone catching up. I had a job to do today. I reach 5th Avenue by Central Park South and focus on the red carpet a few yards ahead of me. I dodge a few street vendors until I reach the stairs leading up to the Plaza Hotel. The doorman, Maurice waves me down.

“Angelina! What a pleasure.”

“Hey Maurice.”

Maurice is an older man with thinning gray hair and thin rimmed glasses. He’s a pudgy man but he’s always happy and he loves his job because he gets to talk to everyone. 

“What's the schedule for today?”

“Oh you know, the usual. I’m meeting up with Shay to go shopping for a dress for a dance at school.”

“Ah the big Masquerade Ball at Constance Prep, yes a lot of the after parties are held here. How exciting! But I wasn’t talking about that schedule,” He gives me a sly smile and winks.

I may not be in Italy anymore but that doesn’t mean there aren’t people like my family in the United States. Many Italian immigrants have come through Ellis Island in the past hundreds of years so there are bound to be members of the criminal ring stationed here. While Maurice might not be an official member of the mafia, he is an ally. Someone to watch over official business. My business. 

I glance around the square bordering the Plaza before I speak. 

“Well I ..”

“Shh, let's go inside,” He holds the door open and I enter the hotel. “I’ll meet you in the food court in 20 minutes.” Then he slips back outside to greet more guests. 

I walk past the front desk, smile at the concierge, and head straight down the same red hallway where Kevin McCalister passed Donald Trump in Home Alone 2. I get to the escalator that leads underground to the food court, one of my most favorite places in New York City. As I descend I begin to hear the voices of customers ordering their favorite foods at one of the pop-up restaurants while the sound of timers, ovens, blenders, and cash registers ring in the distance. I pass Cafe d’Avignon and wave to the barista.

“Coffee Lina?” she asks

“Not today, thank you.”

I continue past Sabi Sushi and Vive la Crepe until I turn the corner into Pizza Rollio. The cashier gives me a weird look as I head for the back of the stand but she doesn’t question me. I open the double doors that lead to the kitchen and head straight for the maintenance closet. There, hidden behind pots and pans, I find my black backpack filled with money underneath a pair of black leggings and a hoodie. I grab the backpack and check the time on my phone, 3:43. 

Where’s Maurice? I need to get going if I’m going to make it in time to meet Shay.

As if reading my mind the kitchen door swings open and in comes Maurcie munching on a chocolate croissant from the bakery across the floor.  

“Hey sorry I got hungry,” he chuckled to himself, “Now what’s the plan for today and why are you carrying a backpack full of money?”

I glanced quickly around the room even though we were the only ones in the kitchen, habit I guess, and I lowered my voice.

“I have a meeting.”

Maurice gave me a side glare and wiggled his eyebrows up and down as if the movement would coax the words out of me. 

“Well, someone came into the city yesterday.”

Maurice huffed, “You’re being very cryptic. Can you please just get to the point? You clearly don’t have all day and I want another chocolate croissant.”

“Fine fine, I got a note yesterday in my locker that a few soldiers are in the city. I guess they have some information for me and they told me to meet them in Central Park.”

“Let me get this straight,” Maurice had a puzzled look on his face, “Soldiers are in New York to give you information. That still doesn’t explain the backpack full of cash. If these soldiers worked for your dad you wouldn’t owe them anything… What are you hiding Lina?”

I paused for a moment and took a breath, “They don’t work for my dad, they work for the Stidda.”

“You’re joking right. You have got to be kidding me Lina!! The Stidda?? Are you out of your mind? Do you need to sit down? Do you want a chocolate croissant?”

“I know I know but we will meet in a public place and if they have information I really need it!” I give him a pleading look.

“Does your dad know you’re meeting with THE RIVALS OF THE MAFIA YOU KNOW THE ONE THAT YOUR DAD IS THE HEAD OF?” Maurice was screaming 

“Well not exactly… but this is something I have to do. I’ll keep it on the down low, no one needs to know. I just need to get a lead and they have it.”

Maurice sighed but nodded, “Please just be careful. Don’t do anything stupid and don’t get in over your head. Learn what you need and leave immediately.”

“I’ll be careful I promise,” I leaned in to give Maurice a hug, “I’ll text you after the deal is over to let you know I’m okay.”

I scooped up my bag, held my head high, and walked out of the kitchen leaving Maurice with a strained smile and a furrowed brow munching on the last bite of his croissant.

“Yes, I fear our worries have come true,'' said Maria shaking her head, “I should have seen this coming. How could I have been so stupid!”

“It’s not your fault.”

“He’s my father Lina, of course it’s my fault.” 

“Maria you were too close to him, how could you have known this was going to happen?”

“How could I not have known Lina! It was my duty to watch him! This is all my fault!” she screamed. 

We were silent for a moment and then suddenly my cousin dropped to the dirt, put her head in her hands, and started to cry.

“É tutta colpa mia. It’s all my fault,” she sobbed, taking deep breaths for air between every syllable. 

I’m not good at comforting people, it’s just not my thing. I get uncomfortable easily and seeing people cry makes me cringe. I guess it’s a blessing and a curse. When you’re in the mafia, overlooking emotions is a good thing, it makes the acts you're committing easier to follow through with. But, as a 17 year old, I need to learn how to relate to people, a skill I’m not very good at. But for Maria, and due to the severity of the situation, I knew I needed to try.

I plopped down on the ground and wrapped my arms around her. My cousins head nestled next to my shoulder let out a shutter and said,

“You’re dad’s going to kill me when he finds out, isn’t he?”

“Yeah maybe, but not if your dad kills us first.”

Clearly it was not the time for jokes because my comment made Maria begin to weep even harder. 

Suddenly the back door to the house swung open and my Aunt Sofia came striding towards us.

“Ragazzes, you need to come back inside immediately,” she said sternly. 

I yanked my cousin off the ground, grabbed her hand, and ran inside. As we walked into the family room, I could tell that everything was about to change. There must have been about a hundred people in the room, all quiet, and staring at my father. 

“Le ragazze si siedono, sit,” he said in his deep voice. 

I had seen my father angry many times, that’s a no brainer when you're Italian, but I had never seen him this serious before. Yes, he’s the leader of the mafia, but he’s a funny guy, always cracking jokes and always has a sly smile on his face. But not today.

“I’m afraid a dark time is upon us,” he started, “The worst fears of the Giotti family have come true. My brother has broken free, out of his bondage and I fear he is coming for us.”

Someone squealed while another woman fainted. This was truly the worst thing imaginable.

Central Park is one of my favorite places in the world, and I say that as a girl who has visited Lake Como, the Amalfi Coast, and every location where Mamma Mia was filmed in Greece. I don’t know what it is but something about the green meadows to the sprawling waters to the gardens, bridges, and the large, leafy, green trees that border every inch. I feel like I’m in a dream land when I enter through the gates, minus the pigeons and hot dog trash of course. I can sit on any bench I’d like to read a novel, sprawl out on one of the grassy knolls and have a picnic, spin round and round on the carousel, say hi to every animal in the Central Park Zoo, or ride a boat across one of the stunning lakes. The opportunities and activities are endless. On any other day I would be ecstatic to stroll around the luscious 840 acre park, but not today. Today might be a matter of life or death. 

I enter the south side of the Park across from the Plaza on 5th Avenue. I keep my head down, trying to look inconspicuous and hold my backpack close because even though Central Park feels like a safe haven, pickpockets are plentiful in every corner of the city. I pass by the usual tourist attractions, people taking pictures, stopping at an ice cream stand, and buying tickets for the 3D Sid the Sloth movie in the back of the zoo. 

Ding, my phone buzzes. I glance at it and a text from an unknown number reads,

“Meet us at the Belvedere Castle, hurry we won’t wait for long.”

My hands shook as I put my phone back in my pocket.

“Snap out of it Lina! You’re a Giotti, you can do this!” I scolded myself.

There was no need to be scared, I’ve done way more dangerous things then just a meetup in Central Park. A meetup with the rivals of the Mafia that I’m one day destined to lead. A meetup with rivals who have tried to kill my ancestors many times. A meetup with rivals who have no reason to be helping me but still reached out, totally not suspicious at all. 

Sooner than I would have hoped, the Belvedere Castle comes into view. The Belvedere means “Beautiful View” in Italian so naturally this was the best place to meet. I’ve always loved coming to the Belvedere, it’s a scenic place to sit down and do homework or contemplate taking down bad guys. In 1872, it was built with no windows or doors and was intended as an open-air lookout tower. With two balconies, it currently serves as the place to go to get panoramic views of some of Central Park's prettiest attractions: Delacorte Theater, The Great Lawn, and Turtle Pond. I am blinded by the sun half hidden by the castle's fantasy structure, the old stone blocks, a grand turret, and a flag. 

I begin to walk up the hill leading to the castle passing tourists. If only they knew what was about to go down, if only I knew. 

I didn’t exactly know where to meet the soldiers but I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be out in the open in front of the castle. It would be a pretty odd sight to see a young girl handing huge men a couple thousand dollars in cash that she was keeping in her backpack, so I walked inside. 

The interior of the castle is home to one of the Central Park Visitor Centers, gift shops, and of course multiple terraces for maximum viewing of the park. I scan the room looking for the soldiers but see no one I would expect. The only people inside are a young boy with his mother, an elderly couple, a loud family with English accents, and the cashier on her phone seeming uninterested in the people buying trinkets. 

“Where are they?” I think to myself, “There is no way I’m getting stood up.”

As if right on cue, my phone buzzes again.

“No sudden movements, hands out of your pockets.”

Before I had time to register what this meant, I hear the doors of the castle swing open and all of a sudden someone linked arms with me. 

“Lina! So good to see you, it's been forever!” 

I look up to see a scrawny man with dirty blonde hair smiling down at me. Despite being socially awkward around highschoolers, I know how to read social cues. 

“Play along and you won’t get hurt,” the man whispers through his phony ecstatic expression.

I gave the man a side hug and allowed him to guide me past the group of people in the gift shop, across the stony castle floors, and to an empty viewing terrace. Facing the park and away from me were three Stidda members. All had dark curly hair that looked like it hadn't been cut for a couple of weeks but gelled perfectly into place. Thick eyebrows that were borderline a unibrow but a slight gap between the two bushy strips of hair prevented that. Mud brown eyes and a sharp jawline that could cut you as easily as a knife, covered with stubble. If the men weren’t potentially trying to kill me, I for sure would have thought they were cute. 

“Angelina Giotti,” the scrawny man unhooked my arm, “What a pleasure,” he sneered.

I was confused because the scrawny man was the only one who was talking so clearly he was in charge but he was just so ….. small. His hair was stringy, his arms and legs were basically sticks, and he was so pale. Definitely not what I was expecting. 

“Alright, spill. What information do you have?”

“Ah ah ah Angelina Giotti, don’t get ahead of yourself, I believe you have something for us since we are going through so much trouble to ahem,” he coughed, “Help you.”

I nodded, keeping a stern face and started to take off the straps of my backpack. 

“Mani in alto! Hands up!” One of the men yelled while another pointed a gun directly at me. 

I stopped for a moment, and did the most basic “What never to do while you’re on a mission,” I showed fear. 

It was only for a moment but my eyes darted and I felt chills up my spine. The soldiers took this opportunity to seize my backpack from me and opened it up like excited children on Christmas. 

“Is it all there?” the scrawny man asked. 

One of the big men flipped through the money and I saw him mouthing numbers as if trying to calculate in his head. Despite the man he was, he was handsome. He attracted my gaze for just a moment. I noticed a small conch shell shaped scar on his temple and he had one earring in. He looked up to confirm the amount of money to the scrawny man and he met my eyes. I was drawn into the swirls of his pupils, picturing the cause of the scar, but the image was interrupted by his hand brushing his hair to cover the imperfection. He nodded to his boss. 

“It’s there, I swear.” I used this opportunity to snatch my empty backpack and place it back on and cross my arms. “I believe we had a deal, I bring you the money and you spill the information you have.”

“Yes yes yes, I guess a deal is a deal,” the scrawny man said hastily. 

Without thinking, all my questions poured out at once.

“So where is he? Is my uncle in the city? Is he trying to find me?” 

“Oh your uncles here all right,” the scrawny man sneered, “In fact he knows exactly where you are, he’s just waiting for the right moment to uh say hi.”

I was overcome with emotions. My uncle knew where I was? What is he waiting for? Why hasn’t he made a move yet? For the second time today, I was scared. 

“What do you mean at the right moment? For all the money I brought you, you can’t be this vague,” I pleaded.

“Oh you’re right, you deserve much more than that,” he replied.

Something about this sentence threw me off. The man’s eyes darted to the side and twitched a little. The corner of his lip began to turn into a small smile, not a comforting one though, one of pure evil. Without missing a beat, the man grabbed my hand. 

“Poor Angelina, you really thought we were going to help you? Your family has brought nothing but shame to all who carry Italian heritage. Your uncle is the only exception. He doesn’t see us as worthless, he sees us as leaders. And now, well he wants to see you.” 

 Before I had time to react to the words that were just spoken, the butt of the gun jammed into my temple and the world around me went dark. 

When I was a little girl, the first skill I learned wasn’t reading or writing, it was combat. My grandfather put a pocket knife into my hand at the age of three and I had learned how to jab and deflect in a mere six-months. I was a prodigy. By ten, I could fence against the world’s greatest fighters and by twelve, I could fight battles on horseback with my sword in hand. I love my sword, it’s a piece of me. My Uncle Leo gave it to me on my sixth birthday. I looked up to my uncle more than anyone. We had the same sense of humor, loved to watch tennis, and our favorite pasta was Cavatelli. Since my mother was gone and my father was often away on official business, I felt like I could always count on my Uncle Leo. That is, until he started acting strange. 

When I was fourteen, my father left on a trip to New Jersey to visit a group of Italian-Americans starting their own ring in Trenton. Even though I was quite mature for my age, my father still didn’t trust me to watch over my little brother by myself. (I mean I had already taken down three drug lords by myself, I think I can watch my brother for the weekend)

Anyway, my cousins came to stay for a few days. It started off great: pool parties, playing Just Dance till late into the night, and sneaking cookies into our rooms. But then it got dark. 

Saturday night my aunt got a phone call. It was one of her maids saying she found a broken window on their lower floor; she suspected someone had robbed them. 

“It’s okay mia moglie,” my uncle had said in his naturally soothing voice, “You go home and watch the house, I’ll stay here with Lina and Gino.”

So, my aunt and cousins left while my uncle was left to entertain us. 

Everything started off normal, we watched a movie while Uncle Leo made us pasta. Once our eyes couldn’t stay open anymore we rushed off to bed and I fell asleep unusually quickly.

 I awoke to a strange thumping noise coming from the hallway. I knew we had top notch security stationed at every exit so I didn’t really think anything of it. It had to have been the wind right? I turned to fall back asleep but my slumber was short-lived. 

A light shined into my eyes.

“Alzarsi! Get up!”

I couldn’t see anything but I felt a hand yanking me up. When my eyes adjusted to the brightness I let out a gasp. My knees buckled beneath me and my stomach felt like it had dropped eight stories.

In front of me stood my Uncle Leo with his hand clamped around my brother's mouth and a knife held to his neck. 

“Where are the papers? Dove sono loro?” my uncle screamed, “Give me the papers or Gino’s dead.”

I stood there for a moment taking in the scene. Was this a dream? What was going on? This can’t be real. My uncle would never hurt family. Was this some sort of sick prank? 

“WHERE ARE THE PAPERS!”

My uncle’s eyes were bloodshot and his veins were popping out of his forehead. He was sweating as he was struggling to contain my squirming little brother. Despite my brother’s valiant efforts, the knife was pressed closer and closer to his neck until he decided there was no use to struggle. Seeing my brother shake, seeing fear in the eyes of a Giotti was when I realized this wasn’t a dream. My instincts kicked in. The papers he wanted, I knew exactly what and where they were. 

I raised my hands in the air and motioned for him to follow me. We walked down the spiral staircase and into the library. I ran my fingers along every spine of almost every book; Pride and Prejudice, Little Women, Harry Potter. I stopped when I reached Invisible Cities and gently pulled. The bookshelf separated exactly like a spy movie. A dark hallway stood in front of us. I grabbed a torch from the wall and headed down the long path to the Mafia liar while my brother wimped behind me and my uncle sweat with dreams of power. 

After a long while of walking, while churning up ideas in my head, we finally came to two metal doors held shut by a massive bank vault handle. I blew out the light of my torch and began to do the same with the others lining the wall. 

“What are you doing!”my uncle screamed impatiently. 

“This is the only way to get inside. Do you want those stupid papers or not?”

He went silent, contemplating the words I just said.

“Fine but no funny business. Remember I’m the one with your brother and I’m the one with the knife. I’m way more skilled than you so don’t even try to attack me. It’ll end a lot worse for you than just obeying me.” 

I raised my hands in the air to show I had no intent of intervening and then continued the door-opening process. I blew out the remainder of the lit torches and then felt around the stony moss covered walls looking for a certain nook. Eventually my fingertips grazed over a piece of uneven stone. I froze in place for just a moment, my thoughts racing on how I was going to get out of this situation. 

“Will you hurry up! I’m losing my patience!”

Patience… time. That’s it. I had my plan. 

“Stand back,” is all I responded with.

I yanked the uneven brick and the bank vault handle spun uncontrollably fast until the metal door cranked open. A bright yellow light suddenly filled the room and we stepped into the threshold of our family’s safe space.

 My family’s home is an older style house. Peeling pink walls surround brown tables and chairs with photos of every family member placed in every open spot in the house. But the safe space is different. It’s modern and tech savvy. It’s like the lair in the Disney Channel show Lab Rats. An evil scientist's dream haven. 

“Angelina! Bring the papers to me now!” I was pulled back to reality by my uncle's demands. 

“Si zio.” 

I stared at a cupboard in the back of the room with a keypad locking the doors shut. I had never opened this cupboard before, and I didn’t actually know the password. But for my plan to work, my uncle couldn’t know this. I needed my brother to be conscious, he would know how to play along. As I made my way towards the cupboard I saw a metal stool in my path. 

“Perfect,” I mumbled under my breath.

I headed straight for the stool and, 

“OW!!!” 

I yelped and fell to the floor, rolling in pain.

“WHAT HAPPENED?” my uncle screamed in confusion. 

“I stubbed my toe, I think I broke it!”

“Oh come on! You’re being a big baby. As the Mafia leader's daughter, I thought you were trained better than this!”

“Please just help me up or I won’t be able to get you the papers,” I pleaded.

“Fine.” 

He tossed my brother to the floor, his big mistake.

“Grazie zio,” I said through gritted teeth as my uncle yanked me off the floor.

“Now!” as he struts towards the cupboard, “What’s the password?”

“Well um you see,” I start. 

As if right on cue, a guardian angel in the shape of my younger brother decides to help me out. 

“AHHHHHH!” my little brother screams as he quite literally leaps through the air towards my uncle. 

A metal rod makes contact with my uncle's knees and he yelps as he’s sent crashing to the floor. I run to my left and turn a small family portrait hanging on the wall to its backside, revealing a red button. I smack it and sirens begin to wail.

“NOO!” my uncle screams, realizing that he is soon to be defeated.

Suddenly a stampede of men come storming in to assess the situation: The Mafia leader’s daughter knelt near a wall, the Mafia leader’s son standing in the middle of the room with a metal pipe in hand, bloodied, and the Mafia leader’s brother-in-law squirming in pain on the ground. Definitely a sight to see. 

The men pointed their guns at my uncle.

“Non muoverti! Don’t move!” they yelled at him. 

“WHAT IS GOING ON!” a voice booms from the back of the room. 

I have never seen a group of men seperate so fast, my dad was like Moses and it was like he parted the Red Sea. 

“Papá!” My brother screams running to our fathers arms. 

“Gino, Angelina. Would someone care to explain what’s happening?” He asks in a surprisingly calm voice as he wraps his arms around my brother and rustles his hair. 

I step away to reveal my now unconscious uncle passed out on the floor. My father stood in place, like a statue and the world seemed to come to a stop. I wish I could read his thoughts, or maybe I’m happy I couldn’t. Eventually, my uncle started to stir. 

“Kids. Go upstairs and get some sleep,” my father instructed.

“But Papá, you need us to explain!”

“GO!” he yelled. 

My brother grabbed my hand and together we walked in silence through the long corridor, into the library, up the stairs, and parted ways once we got to my room. I flopped down on my bed. What had just happened? My room spun around me as my thoughts bounced off the skull of my brain. My uncle, one of my closest family members, had betrayed our family, he betrayed me. He wanted the papers; my fingers twirled around each other as my anxiety that I worked so hard to compress came out in full storm. He wanted the papers; I felt my body start to twitch. He wanted the papers; I held my knees close to my chest and started to rock back and forth. He wanted the papers; I dug my nails into the palm of my hands so hard they started to bleed. He wanted the papers; now I started to cry. I cried so hard, I felt like the whole Atlantic ocean washed out of my eyes. I cried until my body stopped shaking, until my eyes felt heavy, until I lost all energy and simply rolled over and fell into a deep slumber. 

The papers, well, they held secrets. Secrets my father wanted to keep underwraps. Secrets that his father before him, and his father, and his father keep secret as well. Those papers could cause the kingdom that we created to crumble. Those papers revealed the true intentions of my great great grandfather all those years ago. No one could ever know the truth or else a coup could be staged against us. My uncle wanted that to happen. He longed for power and that lust to be respected had been brewing in him for a long time. He finally saw an opportunity and tried to take it, because if his plan succeeded, my father would be dead, I would be dead, my uncle would be the leader and the hundreds of years of untested power would vanish in the blink of an eye. The way my uncle learned of those papers and what they entailed, I don’t know, and I never will. 

I woke up the next morning to the sound of my door creaking open. I opened my eyes and flinched at the sight of a man standing over me. 

“It’s only me,” a familiar voice says. It’s my father. “Lina,” he starts as he sits on the foot of my bed. 

“Father I..”

“Shh, it’s all taken care of. Your uncle won’t be bothering us anymore.”

I took a sharp breath and let out a little gasp. I asked the question and braced myself for the answer I wasn’t ready to hear.

“Is he dead?” 

My father sighed, and I felt my pulse quicken to about 1000 beats per minute. I dreaded his answer to my question, because even though my uncle betrayed us, I didn’t want him to die. A part of me still loved him, he was still the man that taught me how to fight all those years ago.

“No, Lina. He’s not dead. He is chained in a safe space somewhere far away. He won’t be around for a long time. But, yes he’s alive and he will stay alive, I won’t kill your mom's brother.”

This was the first time my father had mentioned my mom since she left. I guess when your mom’s brother tries to take down the rest of the family, she becomes a subject of conversation. 

“You mustn’t let this event bother you anymore Lina, you’re fourteen. You must show strength and courage to push you through this dark time. Please Lina, your brother will need to look up to you and you have jobs to complete. This blip cannot get in the way of your work. Do you hear me?” he said sternly. 

I met his gaze and nodded. My father was right, a Giotti doesn’t let personal feelings get in the way of work. I watched as my door shut once again and I was alone with nothing but my thoughts. I reached over to my nightstand and opened up the top drawer revealing a small pocket knife. I fumbled it over a few times in my hand, contemplating my next move, and stood up quickly. I walked to my bathroom sink, looked at myself in the mirror, and took a deep breath. I didn’t even wince as the blade went through my palm, the pain didn’t hurt, it felt good. I watched as blood dripped from my hand into the sink and then turned on the faucet. My uncle was washed out of me just as the water mixed with my blood like a splattered painting and disappeared into the abyss of pipes to who knows where. 

“Ughhh,” I groaned.

I slowly opened my eyes to take in the blurry scene surrounding me. My head pounded as the room came into focus. 

“Wha,” my sentence stopped as I took in the view: a small room with a singular window high upon a wall, a few paintings not yet hung laid up against each other in the corner, and a singular bookshelf stood prominently in the middle of the room. 

I tried to lift my hands but found them tied down with ropes to the arms of a chair, my ankles strapped as well. Suddenly, the reality of my situation hit me. My uncle, the soldiers, he’s coming for me, blacked out, kidnapped. I started to struggle. I twisted and turned, yanked and pulled, but nothing. I was stuck, awaiting my fate. 

“No Lina. This is not the end. Figure it out!” I told myself, the little parts of my father who was a thousand miles away echoed in my head.  

If I could only make it through the window. I scanned the room looking for something to cut me free from the bonds but there didn’t seem to be anything sharp.. Unless, the paintings. The paintings would have a backing to them to hang them up, if I could just get over there I could use an edge to whittle the rope. 

So I started to scoot, quietly scoot but quickly. My plan would be foiled if someone heard me, well I would probably be dead then. Luckily, in parts of my Mafia training, I had gotten good at shuffling without using my hands and feet. (Don’t question it, my father insisted that everyone knew this skill). I was getting close now, only about a couple more feet and I would be able to reach the paintings. Just a few more scoots, a few more.

BANG! 

The chair hit the floor. The leg got caught in a stupid divet. I lay on the ground face down and started to tremble. Someone certainly heard me. It would only be a matter of time before people stormed in and grabbed me. 

In that moment I made a decision. I had to act fast. I pushed my knees into my chest and pulled down. I started to crawl using nothing but my calves and forearms. Blood trickled down my legs and arms as they scraped on the wood floors, but I was determined. I was going to escape. 

One more inch. I got up as close to the first painting as possible and nudged it with my head. The canvas held a beautiful piece of artwork of an old hotel plastered upon a forest background with small figures standing on the balcony looking out into the distance. I nudged the painting once more and it fell on its front, revealing a little hook on the back. Just what I was looking for. I tried to raise my hand but winced as the rope rubbed against my raw skin. The hook clasped into the rope and I started an upwards downwards motion with my wrist. I couldn’t help but glance at the door every few seconds, knowing that someone could barge in at any moment. I had to move faster, faster, faster. The rope started to thin. Almost there, almost…..

The door swings open. I shut my eyes bracing for whatever is about to happen. I feel a hand on my shoulder yanking me up and the chair along as well. 

“Please, please, please don’t hurt me. I’m just a kid!” I begged. 

I tensed up waiting for a blow to knock me out again but instead, I found that I was able to wiggle my fingers. I slowly opened my eyes to see the man with the conch shell scar that I met earlier kneeling next to me. 

“What are you doing?” I asked

“Shhh!” Don’t talk!” he responded.

I remained quiet, my thoughts racing as the man took a knife to the rope to unravel me. Soon my wrists and ankles were both free. I took a deep breath, not understanding what was going on when the man reached out his giant hand to help me up. 

“I…”

He glares at me as he rushes over to the window and begins to burst the locks sealing me in. One lock, two, three, four. A high pitched siren squeals, practically bursting my ear drums. 

“Go!” he yells as he swings me over his shoulder to give me a boost up. “Run fast, I’ll meet you in the car.”

“But I don’t ….”

“GO!”

I know not to ask anymore questions so I hoist myself up over the windowsill but I make the mistake of looking down. Wind hits me as I stare at the four floor drop that stands before me. If I jump I’m sure to break my legs but if I don’t jump, I’ll be caught for good. 

The alarm sounding reminds me that I’m running out of time and to make matters even worse, I see the door handle start to rattle, someone was coming for me. 

“Cmon Lina! Figure this out!” I mumble under my breath. 

My mind races until it unlocks a memory of a rock climbing trip I took with my mom many years ago. My mom always wanted to climb the Grand Tetons but she wanted to train before so she took me to a small mountain not too far from home where we practiced. Your right foot finds a groove in the stone, then your left hand finds a ledge to boost up your left foot, then your right hand repeats the cycle. 

I look down at the stone and low and behold, a small groove reveals itself, perfect. The door bursts open but I’m already halfway down the wall by the time they realize I’m missing. When I’m about six feet above the ground I jump down and start to run. I run and run not even realizing where I am. I turn around to look back at a gray jail-like looking building surrounded by…nothing. All I see is grass, dead grass to be exact. 

Where am I? 

My thoughts and scenic view are interrupted by a large group of men pouring out of the building sprinting towards me. So naturally, I keep running. I’m not very tall and I’m not very fast so the men caught up quickly. Just as I feel a hand graze the back of my shirt, an engine revs louder than any car I’ve ever heard and everyone stops. Dust starts to pile up and I glance down to see that I’m standing on a dirt road.

HONK

A car zooms out of nowhere and swerves ever so slightly to not hit me. The passenger door swings open. 

“Get in!” my savior yells out. 

I don’t hesite, I just jump in to avoid getting snached by one of my kidnappers. The car races off as I hear gunshots roaring out after us. 

“Are you going to tell me WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!” I screamed over the loud engine. 

The man kept his eyes on the road ahead without saying a word.

“Or maybe your name? Or why you’re helping me?”

“Do you ever stop talking?” he asks in his thick accent.

“Well excuse me for trying to figure out where I am and how the hell I survived that. Oh and maybe the fact that we had a deal and you guys turned me over to my uncle to PROBABLY DIE!”

“Not my idea Miss Angelina.”

Miss Angelina, hm, well that was a new one. 

“I was friends with your father when I was boy. Our families were rivals. I liked the beliefs of your father better and now I work undercover.” 

The man’s few words hit me like a bus. He knew my father? He betrayed his own family to help mine? He risked his life for me? 

“Tell me about my uncle. How did he escape? Has he been watching me this whole time? What is his plan? Please, I need to know!”

“I don’t know. I never met him.”

“What do you mean you never met him? You know my father! You work undercover. This just doesn’t make sense!”

“I know your fathers family, not your mothers. I was young when I met your father. I looked up to him. He kept me out of his business for a while because of my family but he called me up when your uncle escaped. It was my time to prove myself. I’ve been watching you since you came to New York.” 

“I don’t need anyone to watch over me! I had everything handled!”

“No Miss Angelina. You didn’t. I might not know your uncle but I know the men working for him. They are dangerous.”

“I’m a trained member of the Mafia, I know what I’m doing!”

“Exactly, you’re trained. These men aren’t. They are rouge. They don’t stick to plans or have family codes. They are crazy.”

And with that we pulled up to my mom’s apartment.

“Andare, Go!” he insisted.

“Wait! I still have so many questions. How am I supposed to finish my job if my uncle knows where I am?”

“I have things handled. Go be a teenager for a while. The time will come Miss Angelina. But, you will need your mothers help if everything is to go as planned.”

I stopped with one foot out the door.

“My mother? No, I will not ask her anything. No I won’t!”

“Then you’re making a mistake and you’ll be letting down your family and the Giotti name will soon be wiped out completely. I think you should reconsider this petty anger you have against her, she’s your only hope.”

I stand still for a moment taking in the words he just said. My thoughts were disrupted by his hand shoving me out the door, slamming it behind me. The window rolls down.

“I’ll see you soon Miss Angelina. Please don’t do anything stupid.”

“Wait!” I call after him. “I don’t even know your name!” 

The engine revs once again.

“Luca.” he smirks, and he drives off.

I stand still, replaying the day's events in my mind over and over again. My uncle, Luca, my mom, the dangerous men. What have I gotten myself into? This mission is turning out to be a lot worse than I had ever imagined it could be.