Married to the mafia King

That had the desired effect.

Maybe the Widow had been right about shooting Giotto and what had she called it? setting a ‘fearsome example.’

Roderigo had had a front-row seat, after all.

He knew the old lady wouldn’t take kindly to fucking around with her granddaughter’s safety.

Roderigo grumbled, but he immediately pushed on the throttle and doubled our speed.

“If we get stopped on the way, it’s on your head, not mine,” he said snippily.

“Fine,” I replied, but I kept all sarcasm out of my voice. “Thank you.”

He didn’t answer.

I ignored the cold shoulder.

Roderigo was acting like a complete dumbass. The worst man in my family’s crew of foot soldiers was better than him

But I thought I knew why.

The Widow’s regime had gone unchallenged for decades. Her power in Venice was so absolute, and the situation so peaceful, that her men had grown complacent and lazy.

Yes, something unprecedented had happened that morning during the attack on the Widow but Roderigo could write it off as a betrayal by one of his colleagues.

The idea that the situation might have fundamentally changed?

Unthinkable.

Unfortunately for Roderigo and his fellow soldiers, a pack of wolves had come to town.

Hungry wolves, ready to rip out some throats.

Roderigo thought the danger was over because a few mercenaries were dead…

But I feared the danger had only just begun.

Roderigo slowed down as the motorboat moved from a smaller canal into a larger one. Once he was sure there were no boats we might collide with, he sped up again.

The waterways in Venice were like streets which means they had traffic. They also all had names, which were displayed on metal signs affixed to the sides of the ancient buildings.

I looked around in wonder at my surroundings. It really was like something out of a fantasy.

The city’s foundations had been slowly sinking for centuries. As a result, many buildings’ ground levels had been abandoned to the sea. Several feet of water covered the floors, and small motorboats were moored in what 200 years ago had been a living room. Algae and slime covered most of the walls up to the high-tide marks.

Our boat went under a footbridge spanning the canal. Up on top of the bridge, curious pedestrians peered down at us.

We must have looked odd to them: six tough guys in suits cruising along in a motorboat.

“Has Signorina Fioretti called you back yet?” I yelled at Roderigo over the sound of the motor.

He gave a single, bitter laugh. “Lucia? No.”

“Maybe you should try her again.”

“Trust me, she won’t answer.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Because she never answers.”

“But you texted her about the attack, right?”

“I doubt she read it. Probably too busy taking selfies.”

“Then how are we supposed to find her?”

“She has ‘Find My iPhone’ enabled for my account.”

“But what if she’s turned it off?”

Roderigo smirked. “If she does, she doesn’t get her monthly allowance and there’s no way she’s going to pass that up.”

“Too many shoes to buy,” another man said mockingly.

“What if she doesn’t have her phone on her?” I asked.

Everyone on the boat laughed at that one.

“It’s surgically attached to her hand,” Roderigo said. “She’ll have it.”

I thought for a second. Something wasn’t sitting right with me.

“Are you the only one who could track her with ‘Find My iPhone’?” I asked.

“No, there are several of us.”

“Like Giotto? Or somebody else who might have betrayed your employer?”

The blood slowly drained from Roderigo’s face. He notched up the throttle a second later so we went a little faster.

Now he was finally getting it.

“Just in case, anybody got a picture so I’ll recognize her?” I asked.

One of the younger suits snorted. “Just look at her socials. Instagram’s her favorite… at the moment.”

I pulled out my phone. “What do I search for Lucia Fioretti?”

“No. Principessa puttana della mafia.”

‘Mafia princess bitch.’

Several of the guys chuckled.

I glared at the guy who’d said it. “I don’t think your employer would appreciate ”

“It’s her handle,” he interrupted. “Go ahead, look it up all one word.”

I raised one eyebrow, but I typed it into Google

And lo and behold, an Instagram account popped up.

When I opened it, I began to understand the men’s attitudes.

There were hundreds of pictures of a young, very pretty woman. She had a cherubic face with huge brown eyes, full lips, and flawless skin. Her long dark hair was fashionably cut and styled differently in each photograph. She was also quite short maybe a bit over 5 feet and petite. Overall, she gave the impression of a beautiful life-size doll.

She was also extremely spoiled.

Now, I wear expensive clothes. I need them custom-made because my frame is so large but my suits and shirts are of the highest quality. So I don’t begrudge anyone a taste for luxury.

But I don’t flash designer labels for the hell of it. I try to be understated.

Lucia was the very definition of ‘ostentatious.’

Everything she wore showed off her extreme wealth. Birkin bags… Hermes scarves… and lots of jewelry with the Gucci ‘G’ prominently displayed, often encrusted in diamonds.

She had taste, yes everything she wore was beautiful but she was a walking billboard for the most expensive brands in the world.

In one of her photos, she was wearing a Gucci jumpsuit and carrying a Louis Vuitton bag.NôvelDrama.Org holds this content.

The caption was ‘Slumming it.’

When you were used to carrying around an assortment of $200, 000 Birkins, yes, I guess a $30, 000 Louis Vuitton was a step down.

So she was beautiful…

Boastful…

And on top of that, she looked like an ill-mannered little brat.

I guess I should have known that from ‘Leave a message, BITCH’

But the pictures were confirmation.

In at least two dozen photos, she was scowling and flipping off the camera with her middle finger. In a couple more, she made the obscene Italian gesture for cunnilingus: her fingers in a ‘V’ at her mouth with her tongue stuck out.

Basically, ‘eat me.’

I sighed.

I wasn’t looking forward to the next half hour.

Hopefully I could just let Roderigo and the others handle her. I would get points with the Widow for going along, and then I could leave Venice behind.

A text message notification from Lars popped up on my phone.

I tapped on it and opened Messenger.

Can you talk?

Everything had happened so quickly since the attack that I’d forgotten about sending him the pictures.

I immediately called and held the phone up to my ear.

Lars answered on the first ring.

“Hey, Mass I’m here with Dario and Niccolo.”

I could barely hear them over the sound of the boat motor, but I could more or less tell what he was saying.

Niccolo spoke. “Where the hell are you?”

“On a boat in the canals with the ”

I was about to say ‘Widow,’ but I caught myself in time.

” Signora Fioretti’s men, going to get her granddaughter at her university.”

Because of the noise of the boat motor, no one else in the boat could hear anything Lars and my brothers might say over the cell phone but I wanted to let them know why I might be a bit vague in some of my answers.

“Scoring brownie points, I see,” Niccolo said approvingly.

“I’m trying.”

“Are you alright?” Dario asked. “You weren’t hurt in the attack?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“More importantly,” Niccolo joked, “is the Widow alright?”

“Thanks,” I said sardonically. “And yes, she’s fine.”

“Did you happen to save her bony ass in a grand display of heroics?”

“I’d say that’s a fair assessment.”

“Then I hope she’s suitably grateful.”

“That part’s going well.”

“Excellent,” Dario said.

“Any word on the attackers?”

“My source has identified two of them. He’s still checking on the others.”

“And?”

“They’re Wagner Group.”

I stared straight ahead in shock. “…shit.”

“Yeah.”

The Wagner Group was a paramilitary organization originally headed up by Yevgeny Prigozhin once the right-hand man of Vladimir Putin. That is, until Prigozhin accused the Russian Defense Ministry of backstabbing his troops as they fought on the front lines of the Ukraine War.

In June 2023, Prigozhin and 25, 000 of his mercenaries mutinied and advanced on Moscow. With enemy troops less than 200 miles away, Putin held a nationwide broadcast and said that Prigozhin had betrayed Russia. Prigozhin claimed it wasn’t true, that he just wanted to oust two of his enemies in the Kremlin who had stabbed the Wagner Group in the back.

Back-channel negotiations ensued, and Prigozhin ended up calling off the insurrection. Wagner mercenaries left Russia and took up residence in Belarus, a former Soviet satellite and current Russian ally.

Two months later, Prigozhin ‘mysteriously’ died in a plane crash.

The Kremlin denied any involvement, but it was determined that the crash had resulted from a midair explosion probably a bomb planted before takeoff.

Since Prigozhin’s death, Wagner members had started looking for freelance work wherever they could find it.

I guess they’d found it with Uncle Fausto.

The Wagner Group became infamous for committing war crimes while they were fighting in Ukraine. Rape, torture, mass executions…

Not to mention that in the early stages of the war, Prigozhin had recruited murderers from Russian prisons to join Wagner’s ranks in exchange for full pardons for their crimes.

In short, the Wagner Group was a nasty piece of business… and it seemed Fausto had hired some of them to go after the Widow.

“You think it was a coincidence they attacked her when I was there?” I asked.

Niccolo laughed bitterly. “I think you mean, ‘How the fuck did they know I was in Venice?’ It was either a bug in the house or moles. We’re looking into it.”

“Okay… so what do we do?”

Dario answered. “Deliver the Widow’s granddaughter to her safely, then get back home. We’re figuring out the rest right now.”

“Alright.”

“Watch your back,” Lars warned me. “If they went after the Widow, they might not be finished.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” I said glumly.

“Keep safe,” Dario said, “and let us know when you’re on the way back.”

“Okay,” I agreed, then hung up the phone.

As I’d feared, the situation had gotten a lot worse.

“Bad news?” Roderigo asked.

“You could say that,” I replied. “Those mercenaries back at the palazzo? They’re from the Wagner Group.”

Roderigo shrugged. “So?”

“The Wagner Group?” I said in disbelief. “As in, the guys who did most of the Russian fighting in Ukraine and then almost overthrew Moscow?”

Roderigo smirked. “If you killed them, they can’t be that tough.”

The douchebag was lucky Adriano wasn’t here. My brother would have bit his head off… then tore him a new asshole… then shoved his head up the new asshole.

I just gave him a grim smile. “I didn’t see you in there.”

Roderigo smirked. “Hey if you can kill them, I can kill them.”

The guy who wanted to go 3 miles an hour on his little putt-putt boat?

Not likely.

But now I saw another fault with the Widow’s men. They assumed that if some stronzo from Tuscany could take out the mercenaries, they must not have been that tough in the first place. The only reason the attackers had gotten as far as they did was because of Giotto’s treachery.

Stupid assumption.

Both that the Wagner guys hadn’t been that dangerous…

And that Giotto had been the only traitor in the Widow’s ranks.

Before I could say anything, Roderigo turned back to steering. “Nobody else is gonna show up. This is all a big to-do about nothing.”

“Famous last words.”

Roderigo snorted in amusement. “We’ll see.”

I double-checked the holster for my Glock, which I’d gotten back when I left the palazzo, and hoped I wouldn’t have to use it.