The Mafia King’s Doll

Tori

My body aches as I walk into the quiet cathedral. I glance at the empty pews and adjust a couple of hymnals that were just shoved into the holders.

I set down the dish of pasta alla Norma I brought for Father Parisi on one of the benches so my hands are free. Moving to the front, I remove the old flower arrangement from the stand next to the pulpit and carry the wilting bouquet to the kitchen.

I place the wilting bouquet on a counter and quickly grab a trash bag where it’s kept beneath the sink.

Letting out a sigh, I take everything apart so I can dispose of the flowers before making sure the kitchen is clean.

It’s something I do every Tuesday, so Father Parisi doesn’t have to worry about it. Then again, he’d probably leave the flowers right where they are until Rosa brings a fresh arrangement.

After throwing out the flowers, I return to the pews and pick up the pasta dish before heading to Father Parisi’s office.

Gingerly, I rub over the tender spot on my hip where Giorgio kicked me last night.

Refusing to let the thoughts darken one of the few mornings I get away from the house, I let the silence in the cathedral wash over me. I always feel calm when I come here, and today is no different.

Reaching the office, I quickly knock on the door before entering the room. “Morning, Father.”

His head lifts from the paperwork he’s looking at, and a smile forms on his face. “Morning, Tori.”

I meet with Father Parisi every Tuesday to discuss the flower arrangements and what I’ll bake for the parishioners to enjoy after Sunday Mass. The Parish pays for everything, so I don’t have to ask Giorgio for money.

I’m also paid a small fee for my effort that goes toward my feminine products and toiletries.

Taking a seat in front of his desk, I place the pasta dish down on the corner so it’s not in his way.

The cooked meal earns me a grateful smile from my priest. “Thank you. With you and Rosa always bringing me food, I don’t have to worry about it.”

“You’re welcome. I love cooking.” I pull the shopping list from my handbag. “I thought it would be nice to have cannolis at the next service.”

Father Parisi waves a hand. “You’re in charge, so whatever you want to bake is good with me. How much will you need?”

I show him the list and the total I’ll need to buy all the ingredients, and while he takes the cash out of a small box, I ask, “Should I order roses for the next flower arrangement?”

He makes a grumbling sound. “Whatever you feel like.”

Even though he always accepts my ideas, I run them by him out of respect.

As Father Parisi hands me the cash, his eyes lock on me. His eyebrows draw together, and while he sits down again, he asks, “Are you getting enough rest? You look tired.”

I let out a chuckle and shake my head. “Wow, it’s the second time I heard that in the last few days. I’ll put in more effort with my appearance.”

Feeling self-conscious, I pull the lightweight cardigan I’m wearing tighter around myself. Even though it’s hot outside, I have to wear something with long sleeves to hide the bruises on my arms. My summer dresses are also a no-go, so I’m stuck wearing jeans to cover my legs.

Father Parisi tilts his head, concern etched into the lines on his face. “That’s not what I meant. Is everything okay at home?”

Not wanting to talk about my dire circumstances, I nod as I climb to my feet. “I better get the order for the flower arrangement to Rosa.”

Shaking his head because I didn’t answer him, he mutters, “I’m here whenever you want to talk.”

I force a smile to my face as I whisper, “I know. I just don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“I won’t pressure you.” Letting out a sigh, his eyes lower to the paperwork on his desk. “See you on Sunday, Tori.”This is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Have a good week,” I murmur before slipping out of the office.

I love Tuesday and Sunday mornings because it’s the only time I’m guaranteed not to be around Giorgio.

Honestly, he’s been an absolute nightmare since the incident at Piccola Sicilia. I’ve done my best to stay out of his way, but I’m shouted at every time he gets home. The beatings are also happening more and more regularly.

It feels as if the violence is escalating, and the worry keeps me up at night.

As I walk the couple of miles between the cathedral and Rosa’s flower shop, my thoughts turn to the Parish’s money in my handbag. It might be enough for a train ticket, but just thinking about stealing it has me making the sign of the cross.

Forgive me for my impure thoughts, Father.

The sun beats down on my head, and soon, I feel uncomfortable from the heat.

Suddenly, a black SUV pulls up beside me, and I give the vehicle a cautious look as I pick up my pace.

When I hear a door open, I glance over my shoulder, and seeing Angelo, I come to a dead stop on the sidewalk.

Oh, God. I’m seeing way too much of the man.

Without greeting me, he asks in a demanding tone, “Where are you going?”

I point down the street. “To Rosa’s flower shop.”

“Get in,” he orders, gesturing to the backseat with a nod of his head.

Ugh.

I let out a heavy breath as I walk to the SUV, and with apprehension tightening my stomach into a hard ball, I slide into the backseat.

Angelo climbs in beside me, which has me moving closer to the other door so there’s more space between us.

My heartbeat speeds up, and a shiver rushes up my spine.

I know I should be grateful to be out of the scorching summer heat, but the last place I want to be is stuck in a car with one of the Cosa Nostra’s leaders.

“It’s too hot to walk,” he mutters. Giving me a side glance, he grumbles, “Why are you dressed so warm?”

I wrap my arms around my middle and squeeze my body against the door as I lie, “It was cool when I left the house.”

Forgive me, Father.

Without an order from Angelo, Big Ricky drives toward Rosa’s store. A heavy silence fills the air, and I’m so freaking conscious of the dangerous man beside me I can’t stop my body from trembling.

I also can’t help but notice how attractive he is, and it makes a weird sensation flutter through my abdomen.

Angelo doesn’t try to start a conversation with me, and when Big Ricky stops the vehicle in front of the store, I let out a relieved breath.

Forcing a thankful smile to my lips, I glance at Angelo. “Thank you for the ride.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the document he’s reading and just nods.

Opening the door, I murmur, “Bye.” I quickly climb out of the SUV, and shutting the door behind me, I rush around the back of the vehicle and dart into the airconditioned store.

“Mother of God, Tori. Is that Mr. Rizzo’s car?” Rosa asks, her eyes wide on the vehicle still parked outside her store.

“Yes.” I shrug and try to play it off as nothing. “He just gave me a ride because it’s so hot outside.”

She lifts an eyebrow at me. “That man does nothing for free. Be careful of him.”

Nodding, I follow her to the back, where she spends most of her time making bouquets.

“Can we have roses for the Parish this week?” I ask while trying to do my best to ignore the fact that Angelo Rizzo is giving me way too much attention.

“Roses are expensive, but I can add baby’s breath and daisies.”

“That would be great.” I glance at all the buckets holding various fresh flowers. “I made pasta alla Norma for Father Parisi,” I inform her so we don’t accidentally prepare the same dish for him.

“Okay. I’ll make maccu for him later this week.”

Soup? In this heat?

Thankfully, Rosa doesn’t notice the surprise on my face because she’s busy cutting stems shorter.

“What are you baking for Mass?” she asks.

“Cannolis. It’s been a while since we had them for coffee hour.” “Make extra in case there are more people again.”

Nodding, I say, “I will.” Taking a step toward the front section of the store, I add, “I should get going. I want to be home before lunch.”

Rosa holds a pink carnation out to me. “Yes, get out of this heat.” Taking the flower, I offer her a friendly smile. “See you on Sunday.” Leaving Rosa to her work, I notice the SUV is still parked out front. Oh no!

I hesitate for a moment, but knowing I can’t hide here all day, I let out a groan as I leave the store.

The moment I step onto the sidewalk, the backdoor of the vehicle is shoved open.

God, help me.

When I cautiously glance inside, Angelo mutters, “Get in.”

Father, did I do something to upset you? It’s really starting to feel like you have forsaken me.

“Ah…why?” I ask, fear making my voice quiver.

Angelo’s eyes flick to me, annoyance tightening his handsome features. “It’s fucking hot, Vittoria. Get in.”

I feel like whining like a puppy as I carry out his order, and when I shut the door, Big Ricky asks, “Where to, Miss Romano?”

“Ahh…the grocery store just down the road.” I glance between the back of Big Ricky’s head and Angelo, who’s back to giving the document in his hand all his attention.

This is so freaking weird.

Between the volatile situation at home and having to deal with seeing Angelo Rizzo way more than I’d like, the tension in my body is reaching breaking point.