Chapter 1
All I wanted was peace and quiet, but it appeared that was an impossible ask when you were the daughter of a mafia mob boss.
It was also impossible when half the football team came into the library to do anything but study.
I rolled my eyes for what felt like the millionth time in the past half an hour–I was surprised that my eyeballs hadn’t rolled out of their sockets by this point. You would think that the only reason jocks would come into the library would be able to study quietly, but apparently not because ever since they had been here, they had been talking, laughing and making noise non-stop–almost as if they believed that this was their locker room.
Finals were two months away and I was only a sophomore so they didn’t count as much as they did next year–I was majoring in economics and minoring in business–but I was determined to do well. As the daughter of a mafia boss, I was used to getting everything handed to me on a gold plate, and that drove me to really work for those things that weren’t in my papa’s control. Like my grades in school.
All my friends said it was too early to start revising for finals, but I really wanted to do well.
And the jocks were making that nearly impossible!
Before my frustration could get the best of me, my phone buzzed with a text.
Rocky: Time to wrap it up, Nella
Rocky: Your papa wants you home
I glanced up at my bodyguard who was sitting across the room. His eyes were trained on his phone, though I knew he was very aware of his surroundings. He was one of the best in the business for a reason and a royal pain in my ass.
Antonella: I’m not finished studying
Rocky: Tough luck
Antonella: I’m not finished
Rocky: Didn’t you hear me?
Rocky: Your papa wants you home
Antonella: I’m going to finish studying, then I’m going to grab dinner with my friends
Rocky: I don’t think so
Rocky: I’ll give you another half an hour to finish studying, Nella
Rocky: Make every minute count
I rolled my eyes and turned my phone over on the table, ignoring it when it buzzed with another text from Rocky. I caught his jaw clenching from the corner of my eye, but I ignored him. He already knew of my dinner plans with my friends this evening but wanted to be difficult. As always.
Rocky Amato was very good at his job and took it very seriously, but he was also a major pain in my ass. He had been my bodyguard for three years now, and the longest bodyguard I had ever had. Papa loved him for his dedication to the job, and I hated him for that exact reason. It wouldn’t be so bad if Rocky eased off sometimes, but that guy was wound so tight I often wondered if he walked around with a permanent stick up his ass.
I had tried to get Papa to change him several times but with no luck. Papa loved him, so I was stuck with him for the unforeseeable future.
The football team were gracious enough to grant me five minutes of peace and quiet before they started up again.
I tried my best to ignore them. To push past the noise and focus on studying. I promise I did, but there was only so much bullshit one person could take.
I could tell Rocky was on edge and alert the moment I shot up from my seat, but I couldn’t care less about him right now. There were several signs both inside and outside the library that demanded quiet and stated this was a noise-free zone, and if the cocky football team couldn’t respect that, then they needed a stern talking to.
And I was just the person for the job.
Their laughter died down when I stepped in front of them with my arms crossed in front of my chest, but even their whispers were loud. And of course, sat in the centre of it all was none other than my least favourite football player and Offensive Lineman: Cesare Mancini.
Not only was he an insufferable jock that walked around like he owned the place, but he was also a Mancini. As in, a Mancini of the Mancini Mafia.
I was a Romano and he was a Mancini. That made us enemies.
We were both shocked to discover that we were attending the same college last year, especially considering the bad blood between our families. Things between the families had been bad then, but they were worse now after everything that had happened with the Bianchis and the Bortolottis. I knew my Papa was worried about the sheer power the Mancinis had, and more recently, I worried about what this would mean for us.
There must have been a pact or treaty between us and them otherwise Papa would have never let me attend despite my best efforts, and I’m sure Cesare would have done a lot more than make a ton of noise in the library with his jock friends.
“You should take a picture, Bambina. It’ll last longer,” Cesare chuckled, and his friends laughed like it was the funniest thing they had ever heard before.
How lame.
I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “Don’t call me that,” I snapped. “And I’m not here to stare at you, Mancini.” I spat his name because it tasted dirty in my mouth. “I’m here to remind you and your friends that you’re in the library.”
Cesare laughed and exchanged humoured looks with his friends.
“We know where we are, Romano,” he chuckled again.
“Then you need to act like it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You and your friends are making so much noise in the library. You’re making it impossible to study so please, keep the noise down, will you?”
I shot him a mean glare and turned out, planning to finish off the chapter I was reading before I finished for the day, but Cesare called after me.
“You’re a bit of a goody-two-shoes, aren’t you, Bambina?”
I gritted my teeth and swivelled around on the balls of my feet.
“I told you not to call me that,” I said, my words forceful.
Something flickered in Cesare’s deep green eyes, and I watched as he rose to his feet. Like the typical jock, he towered well over me at a few inches over six foot–tall in general, but especially tall compared to my average five-foot-six. His skin was paler than my olive complexion, and his forest-green eyes contrasted with my deep blues. His hair leaned more toward bronze than brown, and mine had more of a red tinge in it than I ever admitted. On paper, coming from traditional Italian families, we were probably more similar than we believed but looking at us, we couldn’t be more different if we tried.
And the differences went further than the traditional jock vs nerd.
Our differences were deep-rooted–generational–and it appeared that his friends had picked up on it because they grew silent as they watched our silent exchange.
“Goody-two-shoes, or Bambina?” Cesare asked, stepping forward until the tips of his sneakers were flush against mine.
“You know which one,” I scowled.
“Would you prefer it if I called you a good girl?”
“Don’t test me, Mancini.”
“Or what, Romano?” He shot back, feeding off his friends’ reactions as they laughed at our exchange.
“Okay,” Rocky intercepted and moved to stand in front of me, pushing me back before I could get into Cesare’s face for being a cocky, disrespectful asshole. “That’s enough of that. She’s in a mood today, Mancini. Ignore her. It’s best we all forget about what happened here right now and move on. Pretend like it never happened and move on. There’s no need to make things messy over a petty argument.”
My jaw clenched and I channelled all the willpower I had possessed to not push Rocky out of the way. I know he was playing the peacemaker to keep things neutral between the families, but he didn’t need to make me sound like a rabid animal that couldn’t speak for itself.
Cesare nodded, acting as if he was taking heed to Rocky’s words but his eyes remained locked on mine as he stared over my bodyguard’s shoulder. The longer we held eyes, the bigger his smirk became, pissing me off more than I already was.
Did I mention that I hated cocky jocks who walked, talked and acted like they were everyone else?
I hated them even more when they were part of the rival mafia family.
“Is that what you want, Bambina?” Cesare smirked at me. “Pretend like this interaction never happened and move on?”
I had the perfect comeback on the tip of my tongue, harsh enough to shut him up for good, but I refrained. As much as I hated to admit it, Rocky was right. It wasn’t worth making such a big deal over something as small as a petty argument.
Instead, I smiled sweetly at him. “Make sure you keep quiet the next time you’re in the library, and you won’t have any problems with me, Mancini.” With that, I turned around, flicked my hair over my shoulder and packed up my belongings.
Rocky followed closely behind as I walked out of the library and headed off campus to his car.
“What were you thinking, Nella? Things could have gotten really messy back there,” he chastised, holding open the passenger door for me. “Your Papa won’t be happy to hear about this.”
“You’re not going to tell him.” I sent him a pointed look when he slid into the driver’s seat.
“You’re sorely mistaken if you think I’m keeping this a secret from your Papa,” he snorted.
“And you’ll be sore if you open that big mouth of yours and snitch on me again.”
His eyes lingered on me for a moment, mirth swimming in them even though his face remained otherwise stoic. “It’s my job to snitch on you, Nella.”
“No. It’s your job to protect me,” I countered.
“That’s exactly what I did back there.”
“I didn’t need you to butt in. I was doing fine just by myself.”
“Sure, you were,” he snorted, his tone disbelieving.
“You’re so annoying,” I huffed and turned to stare out the window.
Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but I liked to think that I would have been able to handle my own without him. I mean, what’s the worst Cesare Mancini could have done for simply requesting him and his athlete friends stay quiet in the library?
-
Layla Knight
30.05.2023
