Page 106 of Privilege

They took it away.

And her, too.

They took her from Renzo, too.

That pissed her off far more.

“You know,” the man droned on from the front again.

Why was he still talking?

“No, I don’t know, and I don’t care to know,” Lucia grumbled.

Jesus, just let me stew in peace.

It wasn’t hard.

The enforcer just chuckled. “Well, I’m going to tell you anyway, principessa.”

She used to love when people in her family called her a princess. It never held bad connotations, and instead, offered her a great deal of respect from everyone. She was a Marcello princess. One of a few—the youngest, and the most spoiled. Maybe that was because she was her parents’ baby, or even for the simple fact she was the last principessa della mafia of her generation.

Who knew what it was, but it extended her great privilege.

Funny.

Now that privilege just felt like it was weighing her down.

“I will tell you,” the enforcer continued on, “that in this life, it is far easier and you will get a great deal more by falling in line like the rest of us. Stepping out of line does nothing good for you, and gets you nowhere.”

Lucia said nothing.

She’d stayed in line her whole life.

No more.

• • •

Lucia had to give the enforcer credit. He kept a mostly respectable distance behind her as he directed her into a familiar business. He still loomed there, sure, but at least he wasn’t invading her personal space or talking again. All points in his favor for the moment.

Usually, Lucia loved this restaurant. Her father had owned it for longer than she had been alive, honestly. A lot of memories had been made at this place. Typically, she would be comforted by the dark stained, shiny wood and the chrome lighting overhead. Nostalgia would fill her to the brim each and every time she stepped foot in the place, reminding her of chasing after her father as a little girl, and playing with her older siblings during family dinners.

Not today, though.

Today, she felt none of that.

Peering back at the man behind her, Lucia asked, “Can I have my phone back now? We’re here.”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

Fuck.

What was she—thirteen?

More frustrated than ever, Lucia tried to tamper her desire to blow up on anyone and anything close to her as she neared the private dining area. The same space her family dined in for years. More meetings happened here than anyone cared to admit. As her father rid himself of businesses over the years—liquidating assets he no longer had any interest in maintaining—this restaurant never changed hands. It was always his.

Coming up to the doorway, Lucia could already hear a group of familiar voices inside. Her uncles laughing about something, followed by the feminine tones of their wives agreeing. And her mother and father.

Lucia dragged in a hard breath, and willed her anger to at least lighten up a bit. If she went in there angry, who knew what might happen? Nothing good, she suspected.