Boss of All Bosses

Aliyana

My Papa told me that sharing too much is as good as asking for an early grave. 

If what he says is true, has Ren always had a death wish? Or is my friend whom I have grown up with a master of lies. Has he told me what he thought I wanted to know instead of what really was the truth? It isn't the first time that question sticks in my head. 

I am afraid of the correct answer to that question. It might just be the tool I need to dig into Ren's head, and I know I won't like what I find. 

He touches Guilia’s nose when she scrunches it. 

My sister, like most of the women, knows nothing of the dealings of our men. I have never been one of them. The dealings of our men were something I knew way too much about. Knowing was never a choice, but something I stumbled upon at an early age. And like an addiction, I made it my business to know as much as I could. 

Sometimes our enemies were also our allies. Knowledge could be a powerful tool in the game of war and power. 

We talk about College, Diamond, and all our other friends. 

Ren’s charm is infectious, and his I don’t care attitude makes him Guilia’s focal point for the next 40 odd minutes. She loves hearing about our College stories.

Guilia didn’t see the need to apply for college when she finished school. And now, with her impending engagement to whomever Papa chose tonight, it’s far too late to change her mind. That choice will soon become the man who will own her.

When she was younger, Filippo refused Papa’s suggestion that she gets married when she turned 18. Those few months Filippo and Papa fought a lot. 

The disagreement between Filippo and Papa subsided when Guilia helped our Capo's wife, Nicole, while she was ill. 

Capo Marcello asked Guilia what she wanted in return. Guilia asked for time. Her one wish was that Papa not marry her off before I finished school. 

It was a year back when my Papa fulfilled the promise he agreed to. 

Guilia knows her time has come. And I think secretly she wants to get it done. At 23, she's considered a ripe age to marry.

Papa has kept Guilia on a very tight leash. She has responsibilities I would never have.

I wonder if my other sister, who was taken by my mother’s people, the Bratva would be like Guillia, trapped.

Or as a half-blood like me, have the freedom I do, one of choice even if that choice is limited.

Guilia hardly got to talk to men. She came across as naïve when she did. Especially with ones as handsome as Ren. 

I am not surprised that she dotes on every word Ren says. Nor am I shocked when her longing gaze stares at him without blinking either.  

These moments, I am glad I am not a full-blooded Italian woman born into a powerful family. I am the half-breed. 

Sometimes I question myself, if my father’s decision to send me away was based solely on my stepmother’s dislike toward me, or was it also the blood running through my veins.

Growing up, I hardly ever saw my family. I was in Chicago, attending school, trying to stay alive. When I was home during break, my Papa allowed me freedom my sisters never got. I always ended up spending it with Ren, Gabriel, Michel, and Mero. That list extended in the last few years to a few others.

Even now, Guilia and my younger sister, Serena spend most of their time with my stepmother taking up the house or attending Gala's and functions in New York. I hardly ever get to see them.

I feel sorry for my two sisters. They will never know the joys of walking with friends on Campus or attending Parties with football players. Small things which make life a bit better when you think back on it while living as a prisoner in your own home. 

A bit of happiness to store for those days you turn a blind eye to your husband's infidelity.

But I ache for my other sister more, the sacrificial lamb given to my mother’s people. 

The Bratva are dangerous even in the 5th State. They trained some of their women to be killers and do unspeakable things. The more I knew about them, the deeper that ache grew.

“Do you remember our first night in Chicago?” Ren asks me. 

“We snuck up to the rooftop and Michel got drunk on cheap vodka,” I laugh, shaking my head.

When I was younger, Papa sent me to school in Chicago after he witnessed my stepmother’s deep hate for me. I was the reminder of my mother’s existence and my father's lack of one.

Leaving my stepmother would have made Papa look weak, so Chicago was his solution.  

I knew Papa hit her, and I didn’t like it then or now.

But there are times when I secretly wish I could slice her throat myself.

I still begrudge her for all those years ago, when she pushed me down the stairs. It was a Friday evening, I was watching reruns of Friends and painting in my bedroom. 

Guilia was making popcorn when it happened. She found me at the bottom of the staircase. It was the one time I saw my sister lose it.

She dialed Papa, and he came home that evening in a bad mood. He carried me to my bed and called for our house maker, Katherine, to pack my bags. It was the next morning when I found out I was leaving for Chicago. The day my entire outlook on life changed. The day I changed.

“I remember you joining him.” Ren smiles as I groan from the memories.

It was a bad day. Papa explained to me the morning before I left, about the group of kids selected to go to Chicago as a peace offering between two Italian syndicates, the Russo and the Catelli family. 

It was the first time my father called me into his office for something besides a hug. He was letting me go.

What he failed to mention was that I was the only girl amongst four boys.

What I learned after that was the gossip Papa had to deal with. 

The questions that came from his decision followed his shadow for years. The implications it caused in our family was no small thing. But I knew why he did it, the alternative was worse. 

All he ever wanted was to protect me. Well, that is what he told me the morning I left. Didn’t mean it felt right at the time. 

I was only 11. Barely of age to take care of myself.