Hating Francesco Mancini [The Mancini Brothers #4]

For most of my life, I had been a passenger. I had floated through my years thus far, living and experiencing life, but not really belonging anywhere.

I had spent the last decade of my life in Manchester, England, at the same university that my mum attended before she moved to America to see what life was like on the other side of the sea. It succeeded in my intention of feeling closer to my mum whom I lost to cancer when I was a toddler and I could barely remember her growing up, but it had also succeeded in alienating me in a way that I couldn’t quite coherently explain.

I wondered if mum ever felt the same way.

The moment I got off the plane at JFK, grabbed my luggage and left the airport, I was greeted with the buzzling movement and traffic and New York, and it instantly felt like I was home even though I hadn’t returned in a decade.

I told dad that my flight gets in this evening because I wanted some time to myself. To get reacquainted with my hometown but most of all, I wanted to see if I could remember my way home. It sounded childish, but I hadn’t been home since I was eighteen, and it was a small accomplishment of sort to prove to myself that this place was still home. That I had made the right decision to return after being away for so long.

But the truth was, I knew I had made the right decision the moment I booked the single ticket back to JFK. Before, I was apprehensive and told myself that I would try it out for a couple months and if I didn’t enjoy it, I could simply move back to London where I had been living for the past six years but the moment I booked the ticket, I couldn’t understand why I hadn’t chosen to return sooner.

This had been the plan all along. To get a degree from the same university as my mum, and then return to work in the Mancini mafia as an accountant. I may have chosen to take a six-year detour, but I was finally home and in a few short weeks, I would be officially ready to start my life here.

Much to my delight, the address rolled off the tip of my tongue after I hailed down a cab, and I was even able to give redirections when the driver took a few wrong turns.

A short drive later, I was stood outside my childhood home. The apartment building that I had spent the first eighteen years in. The most convenient part of it was it was only a short five-minute walk from the infamous Mancini mafia house itself.

I didn’t bother waiting for the elevator just as I had done a million times before; never patient enough to wait around for it. Without even thinking, I skipped the steps until I reached the fourth floor, and then I walked down the hallway, stopping in front of the third door on the left.

Apartment 4C.

I hadn’t stepped foot in my childhood home in over ten years, but now that I was back, it was like nothing had changed. The same plush sofa sat in the same spot in the middle of the living room, looking a little worn and worse for wear. The dining table, other than some occasional light dusting, looked like it hadn’t been sat on since I sat down with dad that last morning before I caught my flight to Manchester. The photos of the three of us – me, dad, and mum; the latter all from before I was born and when I was nothing older than a terrible toddler – were all the same and in the same place, the corner of the rug was that same questionable burnt orange even though the rest of it was yellow, and there was still only one bar stood at the kitchen counter even though two of us used to live here.

This was my home. No matter how long I had been away or what was going on in my life, this place, my childhood apartment and my old room would still feel like home. Always.

It made sense to stay with dad for a few weeks at the beginning until I found a place of my own. Or should I say, a place of our own.

As if on cue, my phone went off and I didn’t need to glance at the caller ID to know who it was.

Kareem.

Just as he had promised, Kareem called me just as I got home. He knew what time my plane landed, and had no doubt estimated how long it would take to reach here from the airport, and then added on some buffer time in case of any delays.

It was such a Kareem thing to do. Very punctual. Very structural.

It was what I both loved and hated about my him.

“Hey, babe.” I smiled as I picked up the phone, grabbing my case and lugging it to the back of the apartment where my room was. Between the single bathroom in this place and the storage cupboard which dad kept his secret stash of weapons in. All of it was hidden behind a large wall of cleaning supplies, and no one would think twice if they were to open it and glance inside.

“Hi, babe.” Kareem greeted me warmly as he always did. “How are you? How was your flight?”

“The flight was good. I slept for most of it and when I was awake, I was just watching the TV. It felt like it passed in no time at all which I’m happy about. You know how impatient I am.”

“Yes, I do. I often remind you how your impatience is your worst quality. Though I am glad you enjoyed the flight. I would have preferred it if you took the first-class ticket I offered you.”

“You know I don’t like it when you try and pay for me all the time. And yes, you do always complain about how impatient I am..” I chuckled. “I’m sure not going to miss that.”

“Well, you don’t not have to miss it for long. I’ll be there in two weeks.” He reminded me, his tone sounding lighter. “Speaking of which, did you scope out the good parts of New York for us to live? I was thinking the Upper East side, but I want to hear your opinion.”

“Seeing as I’ve just gotten home, no, I haven’t had the chance to check out any apartments.” I laughed. “You never fail to make me laugh, Kareem. How do you expect me to do so much in such little time?”

“You know what I say about time management, my love.” He chuckled. “You really do need to get better at it, but don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll rub off on you once I get to New York and we finally move in together.”

With his job keeping him in Manchester and mine in London, Kareem and I had been in a long-distance relationship for the past six years. The entire time that we were together – starting from when we met in the fall of my third year of my degree – we had planned to both get jobs in Manchester and finally move in together, but we hadn’t been fortunate enough for it to work out that way.

Whatever Kareem attempted to say next was drowned out by the slamming of a door on my side.

“Dad?” I called out upon instinct, moving to glance out my room.

Dad has always been very tall and nearly always towered over everyone in the room at a staggering height of six-foot-six. Mum, on the other, judging from all the photos I had seen and the very little memories that I scarcely remembered, was very much on the opposite. Thankfully, I favoured neither and got somewhere in the middle at a modest five-foot-eight.

Appearance wise, I didn’t have much in common with my dad. His complexion was the on the darker side, deep and rich, and I favoured a few tones lighter – a deep caramel – like mum. The only thing I probably did have common with him was that we both left our hair natural.

“Zuri?” Dad blinked at me, surprise written all over his face as he took me in, frozen in the middle of taking off his jacket. “What are you doing here?”

“Not happy to see me?” I teased.

“Who is that?” Kareem asked.

“My old man.” The smile only grew on my face as dad covered the distance of the living room in a few short strides to pull me into his arms in a tight hug, uncaring of the fact that I was on the phone.

“Could you pass the phone to him please, my love? I’d love to get to know my father-in-law before we officially meet in person soon. You always speak so fondly of him.”

“Future father-in-law?” Dad mouthed to me, his shoulders shaking as he laughed quietly.

“Maybe next time.” I chuckled dismissively. “I want to catch up with dad now, so I’ll you later, Kareem, okay?”

Kareem barely had a moment to agree before I bid my goodbyes and hung up the phone. I carelessly threw my phone over my shoulder, aiming for the bed, and returned my dad’s tight hug. I had seen him every summer while I had been away when he came over to visit, but it felt like an eternity since I had been able to hug my old man like this. Without a care in the world, and not having to worry which one would be last before he had to catch his flight home.

“What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t getting in until tomorrow.” Dad squeezed me tighter.

“I wanted to surprise you.” I grinned as I pulled away from the hug but the moment I did, I immediately found myself wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my face into his chest just as I did when I was a child. Though I was shorter back then than I was today, so he used to hold me in the air for me to be able to reach that high.

“You’ve definitely surprised me.” He chuckled. “Who was that on your phone? Your secret boyfriend?”

“Kareem isn’t a secret.” I snorted. “I told you years ago that I was seeing him.”

Dad raised a dark brow. “You’ve also conveniently kept him away

“Kareem isn’t like us.” I sighed us, purposely flitting over the truth.

The truth was that Kareem couldn’t be further than dad and I if we tried.

On paper, Kareem and I had a lot in common. We had both grown up without female influence in our lives – both our mums passed away when we were mere children, me a toddler and him a little older at eight. The main reason we both attended Manchester University was due to family history there, though his spanned far more generations than mine.

But in reality, we couldn’t be more different if we tried.

Kareem came from a very well-off family. He was as good as gold, lived life by the rule book, and worked as an account for the council instead of some finance or tech company like I did.

If that wasn’t further from the mafia way of living, I didn’t know what was.

There was also the small fact that Kareem’s dad wasn’t the fondest of me. Even more so when he was indulged in the fact that I would be moving back to New York after a decade away, and his son had decided to join me before I could offer. In truth, I had been considering breaking things off with Kareem, but then he proposed, and I could do nothing but imagine the picture perfect life with him.

That mental façade lasted for a few weeks and now that I was back home in New York, back amongst the Mancini mafia even though I had yet to visit the clubhouse just yet, my mind was riddled with such conflicting thoughts once again.

The notion that I was stringing him along played heavy on my heart and mind.

A small part of me feared that Kareem loved me far greater than I did him, but I did care greatly for my fiancé. It would be impossible not to after six long years together.

“Have you been to the clubhouse yet?” Dad asked, throwing an arm over my shoulder as he guided me out of my room.

“Not yet.” I shook my head. “I can’t wait to see everyone again.”

“I know more than a few people who look forward to seeing you again. Particularly a certain someone.” I rolled my eyes at his teasing, knowing exactly who dad was talking about. “There are also a lot of new faces I’m sure you’ll be excited to meet?”

“Oh?” I made a questioning sound.

“Believe it or not, three of the Mancini’s have found themselves women.”

“Really?” I gaped, surprised. “Why was there no mention of this whenever I asked about everyone?”

“I thought you’d much prefer returning home and seeing it all for yourself.” Dad chuckled. “I always held onto the hope that you would return home, but I have to admit, I was starting to lose it with each passing year.”

I shot dad a sorry smile and leaned up on my tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“I’m back now. And I’m here to stay this time.”

“I’m glad to hear that!” He grinned.

“Now, tell me all the gossip. Which ones of the infamous Mancini brothers have snagged themselves girlfriends?”

“Dino is recently seeing someone new, but we can all tell it’s something very serious. Riz is engaged, and even the mafia boss has a girlfriend.”

“I don’t know what to be more shocked about.” I blinked, still overwhelmed with surprise as I tried to process the information. “Dino, I get. He was always so nice. But I don’t know what to be more shocked about. The big, bad mafia boss being settled down, or Riz shacking it up with someone even though we all knew him to be such a player.”

“Yes, a lot has changed over the past decade. But there’s also a lot of things that have remained the same.” Dad sent me a pointed look, confusing me.

“Any specifics?”

“You remember Franco, don’t you?” When I pursed my lips and refused to say anything, dad guffawed. “Of course, you do!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I blinked innocently at dad before grabbing his arm. “Come on. You can fill me in all the gossip on the way to the clubhouse.”

-

Layla Knight

25.08.2022