The Mafia Pact Between Czech & Sicily

"Gio."

"He's not even fucking listening."

"Giovanni."

"Hm?" I replied, still typing a text.

Giovanni: Do I know you?

Unknown: Sophie?

Sophie.

Sophie.

On instinct I went into my notes app, finding the same copy and paste message I send to every girl who messages me.

Giovanni: Hi, please confirm your full name, age and location where we met. Visuals help too. You can send a selfie or a photo of your drivers license or passport for ease.

I leaned back on the couch, one shoe off, still half asleep. My eyes fluttered closed when something suddenly hit the side of my face, forcing them open again.

I turned to glare at Tristano who was already looking at me like I'd ruined his entire fucking day.

"What?"

"Costa asked you a fucking question."

"So?" I scoffed, picking up the half empty water bottle he threw at me. "It's not my fault I didn't hear him."

That caused Costa to pause behind his desk, raising an eyebrow at me, his expression incredulous.

Guy gets promoted to the Don and suddenly looks at me like he owns my fucking soul.

Just then my phone buzzed in my hand, taking my attention away from my cousins.

Unknown: Sophie Harrow, 25, we met at the bar last night??

Then she attached a copy of a British passport.

She seemed vaguely familiar. Familiar enough that I hoped I didn't promise her brunch.

She had blonde hair and a slightly aggressive expression — which can probably be explained by the fact she's British.

Giovanni: Oh. Hey.

Tristano muttered something under his breath, but I didn't catch it. Too busy zooming in on Sophie Harrow's passport photo.

Not bad. But not brunch-worthy.

And then my phone was snatched from my hand.

"Can we fucking focus for once?" Tristano growled, settling back down in his chair.

"Give it back."

"Focus." Tristano repeated, nodding towards Costa who was flicking through papers on his desk.

"Why the fuck am I even here?" I sighed, or groaned. Somewhere in the middle. "It's 11am."

"Did you or did you not request more responsibility?" Costa murmured, his eyes still on the documents.

"Is that supposed to be a trick question?" I frowned, genuinely confused.

This time Costa was the one to sigh, tossing the papers down on the desk. "You're 26, Giovanni. It's time to grow the fuck up."

"Grow the fu—" I scoffed, sitting forward. "I've been holding shit down for three weeks!"

"By getting drunk every night?" Tristano muttered, tossing my phone between his hands.

"After I do what I need to do." I clarified. "I'm doing the work of two people, remember. So why don't you two fu—"

"We get it." Costa cut me off, remaining calm behind his desk, despite the fire burning between Tristano and I on the other side. "You miss Aidan. But behaving this way isn't going to—"

"Behaving like what?" I finally snapped, standing to my feet. "I'm literally the same as before. I'm not slacking, I'm getting my shit done. It's you two who are struggling without Rocco. You're expecting me to be his replacement, and I'm not."

"Watch it." Tristano seethed, pushing his chair back to stand up. "Remember who the fuck you're talking to."

"Is that supposed to intimidate me?" I cocked an eyebrow at the way he stood aggressively across from me.

"I don't know, does it?" He asked, his lips suddenly pulling into a dark smirk. "You don't have your twin to hide behind this time, Giovanni. Let's see how tough you are without him."

I didn't even think twice before charging at him, shoving him backwards.

The chair behind him scraped against the floor but he didn't lose his balance. Instead, he lifted his fist, throwing it in my direction.

I managed to dodge it, but barely — his knuckles skimmed my jaw, enough to sting. I swung back, catching his cheek.

Costa didn't even flinch. He just turned another page, his lips moving as he read the figures on the page.

Tristano lunged again. I ducked, grabbing the nearest thing I could reach — a stapler, and pretended to aim it at him.

He paused, his expression incredulous. "You gonna staple me, Gio?"

"Depends. You still got any coma paperwork left to file?"

The word coma always got a reaction.

His eyes narrowed for a split second. Then he suddenly smirked, grabbing my collar and dragging me halfway across the desk. The two of us collided with a stack of folders, which exploded into a flurry of contracts and invoices on the floor.

Costa exhaled sharply, shaking his head while he continued to read his documents.

Tristano pushed me back, muttering something under his breath. I didn't catch it, but I caught his next hit — right in the ribs.

"Motherf—" I staggered, winded, then swung back and hit him square in the chest. He stumbled, but caught himself on the edge of Costa's desk.

Costa finally looked up, his expression deadpan. "Seriously, are you both five?"

"Six." I said, out of breath. "Emotionally."

That made Tristano crack — the corner of his mouth twitched despite the fact we were both sweating and dishevelled.

I pointed at him, half laughing. "See? You smiled. That means I win."

"You win when I say you win."

He shoved me again, lighter this time. I shoved back before collapsing against the edge of the desk, rubbing my ribs.

"Fuck, man. Why'd you have to hit so hard?"

"You brought up the coma. I thought I got a fucking break when Rocco left for his honeymoon."

"Nah." I grinned, still gingerly rubbing my side. "He told me to keep the coma jokes going."

This time Tristano shook his head, but I could tell he wanted to smile.

I think the psycho actually enjoyed the coma jokes deep down.

"Finished?" Costa asked dryly, flipping to another page like we hadn't just channeled the last week of frustration into a fight.

Tristano straightened his shirt and fixed his hair. "Yeah. Just needed to remind him who's older."

I grinned, wiping my lip. "Yeah? You hit like someone's granddad."

Tristano snorted, then actually laughed — that low, reluctant laugh he did when he didn't want to find something funny.

Costa didn't even look up this time. "If you're both done flirting, I'd like to get back to running a mafia."

That did it. I burst out laughing so hard, Tristano threw a balled-up contract at me.

It hit my shoulder.

I threw it back.

And just like that, the tension evaporated after the two of us brawled in the middle of the Don's office while the Don himself pretended we didn't exist.

Some families had therapy.

We had this.

"So, the Czechs?" Tristano sighed, dropping down in his chair.

Before I sat down on the couch, I quickly swiped my phone back, grinning when he narrowed his eyes at me.

"They've been pushing for something more official." Costa set his pen down, leaning back in his chair. "Vít wants to finalise whatever this is between us."

"'Whatever this is.'" I repeated, rolling my wrist lazily. "You mean the unofficial alliance we've had since Franco tried to destroy us under Julius's orders?"

Costa ignored me. "They want clarity. Julius threatening both sides put everyone on edge. They want to make sure when the Greeks move again, they're not standing alone."

I smirked. "Smart of them. Nothing says stability like signing a deal with us."

Accardi is, and always will be, the most powerful name in Europe.

Tristano threw me a look. "They've earned it. Ivana's been running point for six months and hasn't let us down once."

He wasn't wrong.

Even if she was fucking irritating.

Ivana Vítková was a devil in heels — and one of the few outsiders the we actually trusted. The Czechs proved themselves when Franco fell, and they stayed loyal even after Julius threatened them for allying with us.

Now they just wanted the paperwork to match the loyalty.

Costa's sighed, tapping his pen on the desk. "We've been working with them long enough. It's time to decide what the arrangement actually looks like — and how far it goes."

I stretched my arms out across the back of the couch. "So what's on the table? Guns, intel, or blood?"

Costa glanced up from his files. "All three, if it comes to it."

Tristano nodded, more serious now. "The Greeks are rebuilding faster than anyone expected. If they make a move, we'll need the Czechs solidly behind us."

Costa turned his attention back to the documents. "Then we formalise it. No more handshake deals. I want this alliance locked in before Julius even thinks of his next move against us."

I hummed, pretending to think. "Formalising alliances. Paperwork. Meetings." I flashed a grin at Tristano. "Guess you better hold on to that stapler after all."

He flipped me off without looking up.

Just then my phone buzzed in my hand.

Unknown: Hey baby.

"For fucks sake." I sighed, pulling up my notes app again.

Giovanni: Hi, please confirm your full name, age and location where we met. Visuals help too. You can send a selfie or a photo of your drivers license or passport for ease.

<<<<<<<< >>>>>>> <<<<<<<<

"I want the pink one."

"Well, you can't have the pink one." I sighed, lifting Amalia into my arms in the cleaning aisle at the store.

"Why?" She whimpered, reaching for the pink rubber gloves.

"Because you don't clean anything and they're too big for you."

"I will clean." She turned to look at me, her green eyes full of hope. "Pretty please?"

Amalia cleaning? Never.

"I'll buy you real toys, okay? Not rubber gloves."

"Pink toys?" She peered up at me as I put her in the little seat in the store cart.

"Sì. All the pink toys you want."

She beamed like she'd won the lottery.

Millie was going to kill me.

I pushed us down the next aisle, steering with one hand while texting with the other.

Giovanni: So? Is it good?

Twin4Lyfe: No. I almost threw up.

Twin4Lyfe: Who puts fish on pizza and calls it Italian?

Giovanni: You're literally in Italy.

Twin4Lyfe: Sardinia. It's a different species of disappointment.

Then Aidan sent me a photo of his anchovy pizza in Sardinia. Brianna was in the background, eating a bowl of pasta.

I grinned, glancing up when I narrowly avoided a stack of cereal boxes. Of course he'd complain about pizza in the birthplace of pizza.

Giovanni: Tell Bianca to order you nuggets next time.

Twin4Lyfe: Already did. The waiter looked like he wanted to fight me.

A laugh escaped before I could stop it — and that's exactly when the cart clipped the corner of a shelf.

The impact was small. The chaos? Immediate.

Three bags of cat litter hit the floor like sandbags. One burst open, and the sound echoed through the aisle.

"Shit." I muttered, pulling the cart back as a small cloud of dust puffed into the air.

Amalia coughed, staring at it with wide eyes from her seat in the cart.

A store worker appeared at the end of the aisle — previously stacking shelves and currently mid-breakdown, just staring at me.

He didn't say a word.

He just blinked.

Once.

And then twice.

Like he was silently asking why me?

"I was testing the durability." I said, nodding at the litter mountain.

He blinked again. Then slowly turned and walked away.

Coward.

My phone buzzed again. I looked down at the selfie Aidan sent of himself at the restaurant, holding the world's saddest slice of pizza.

I snorted, showing it to Amalia. "Look. That's your Zio Aidan on his honeymoon."

She squinted at the photo, then burst out giggling. "He looks sick."

"He probably is." I grinned, snapping a picture of the cat-litter crime scene.

Giovanni: Bro look what just happened.

"I'm telling Papà." Amalia announced while I pushed the cart down the pet aisle, glancing back at the fallen cat litter.

"I'll get you ice cream."

"Okay." She immediately grinned, kicking her legs as we headed towards the cat food.

I shook my head, breathing out a laugh as I picked up Lula and Floof's favourite food.

The most expensive brand of cat food.

Once we got the cat food, Amalia made me take her to the children's clothing section.

Because of course she did. She's Millie's daughter, after all.

"I want pink pyjamas."

"Why?" I sighed, leaning against the cart. She was still sitting in it, looking around at the pyjamas.

"I love pink." She said it with a 'duh' tone, her nose scrunched up.

"Amalia, baby, you have more clothes than—"

"Those ones!" She suddenly pointed at a set of pink pyjamas with a mermaid on and seashells.

"Fine." I sighed, pushing myself up off the cart. I went to choose her size when I heard that polite fake cough people do when they're trying to catch your attention.

I turned to see two women behind me. Late twenties, dressed like they'd come straight from Pilates. One had a weird two-bun hair style that made her look like Minnie Mouse.

Both were smiling way too fucking much for an afternoon trip to the store.

"Sorry." One of them said, glancing at Amalia. "We were just wondering...is she your daughter?"

I grinned, already clocking the tone. "You hoping she's not?"

They laughed — that high, flirty laugh people do when they've already decided they're interested.

"She's adorable." The one with the weird two-bun hairstyle said, ignoring my question. "How old is she?"

"Four." I lifted Amalia slightly, who beamed at them. "She belongs to my cousin. I just rent her for errands."

Amalia giggled. "He bought me pink pyjamas!"

The women laughed again, and then Minnie Mouse touched my arm. "That's sweet. Most men would never take a little girl shopping."

"Yeah, well, most men don't have to bribe her with ice cream to keep her quiet." I smirked, glancing down at Amalia. "Right, baby?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Two scoops."

"See?" I said. "Negotiations already started."

The one with normal hair bit her lip, still smiling. "You're really good with kids."

I smiled back. "I'm good with a lot of things."

She blinked, a little flustered and I grinned wider.

Then I gave Amalia the signal, a tap on her leg. And she suddenly gasped dramatically, pointing behind them. "Zio Gio, look!"

Both women turned to look. Big mistake.

By the time they faced forward again, we were already gone.

Amalia squealed in the cart, holding tight onto the bar while I quickly rounded the corner, passing that same traumatised worker from earlier.

"Hey! You!"

"Hey, bro." I grinned, rushing past him towards the check out.

If I wasn't in such good shape, unlike that store worker, I would have been out breath by the time I got to the checkout.

"Is the angry man coming?" I whispered to Lia, quickly unloading all the snacks, cat food, and Amalia's pyjamas.

"No. He's just looking at you like he wants to eat your head off."

"Gross." I grimaced while she giggled in the cart. "We'll get ice cream next, then go pick up Marina and Sandro from school. Don't tell Mama about the angry man or the flirting, yeah?"

"Okay!" Amalia kicked her legs again. "But I want sprinkles."

"Deal."

<<<<<<<< >>>>>>> <<<<<<<<

"So, I've got four cheeseburgers with extra cheese. Four large fries. Three colas and one strawberry milkshake." The drive thru guy repeated my order. "Anything else."

"Yeah, three kids meals." I replied, glancing back at the three children in the back seat.

Amalia was wearing her new pyjamas.

Yes. She got changed in the fucking car.

Like I said, Millie's daughter.

And Marina and Sandro were in their school uniform. Sandro was busy playing with his cop car and Rina was reading Dr Seuss.

How she hasn't run out of Dr Seuss books is fascinating.

"You get to choose a toy for each meal." The drive thru guy said it with the same enthusiasm as a coroner announcing the cause of death. "We have a Troll doll, a slime monster or a space ship."

"Hey." I turned to look at the three children. "Which toy do you want? A Troll doll, slime monster or space ship?"

"Troll doll, please." Marina smiled, keeping her finger on the words she was just reading.

"Me too." Lia nodded, looking out the window.

"A dinosaur, please." Sandro replied between them.

I turned around. "Bro, they don't have a dinosaur."

He blinked. "Then I'll wait till they do."

"That's not how drive thrus work, Sandro."

He shrugged like this was my problem.

And he's definitely Costa's son.

I turned back to the drive thru speaker. "Two Troll dolls and one space ship."

Sandro sighed dramatically, Amalia started humming VeggieBoogie, and Rina quietly read her book.

I rolled on to the next window to pay for the food. And then the guy passed me the bags one by one.

Almost immediately, Amalia tried to snatch a fry from one of the bags.

"Don't even think about it." I warned. "The car just got cleaned."

She blinked, her little fingers frozen mid-air. "Just one?"

"You said that last time."

"That was a different day." She reasoned.

Hard to argue with logic like that. "Fine. One."

"And me?" Sandro grinned, snatching two fries from the bag.

So much for one fry.

I rolled my eyes, glancing over at Marina. "Rina, take one."

"I'll wait till we're home." She gave me a shy smile.

"It's okay, Cucciola. Have some." I nodded at the bag as I turned back to the front to take the drinks tray from the drive thru guy.

Behind me, Rina shuffled forward to carefully take one fry from the bag.

That's why she's my favourite Mini Twin.

Once I got everything, I flashed my lights at the security ahead. Then we started the drive back home in our convoy. One SUV in front, one behind. The Accardi school taxi service — armed and bulletproof.

The kids weren't even bothered, they were used to it. The guards, the tinted windows, the way the security got out of the cars when we reached their school, making sure they got inside safely.

I was midway through listening to Amalia sing the VeggieBoogie theme song when my phone rang on Apple CarPlay.

"Stop singing." I glanced back at Lia as I hit answer. "And don't talk."

"Sì?" I murmured, turning onto our road.

"Where are you?" Her voice came through the speaker.

"Driving." I smiled.

"Driving where?" She asked.

"On the road."

"Gio."

"Millie." I quipped back, pulling up outside the gates behind our security.

"Where are my children, Giovanni?" She snapped, causing Lia to giggle in the background.

"In the car."

She hung up just as the guards opened the gates.

I chuckled to myself, driving up the long road towards the Accardi villa— home to the most chaotic family on the planet.

But right now...that feeling of home was missing something.

Or someone. Multiple someones.

We pulled up in the driveway and I released a heavy breath, turning off the engine. For a split second, my eyes lingered on the empty passenger seat next to me.

Then I turned to the children in the back. "Let's see if we can all get inside without any of you fighting, screaming or crying."

"Can I cry?" Amalia lifted a hand, grinning shyly.

"No."

I got out of the car, opening Amalia's door to unbuckle her. She got out and then I helped Sandro while Marina unbuckled herself.

Meanwhile, the security SUVs from our convoy drove off, heading off to their other duties.

Lia and Sandro took off, running inside, taking their chaos with them.

For those few seconds, the driveway was peaceful. Too peaceful.

No Alessia and Bianca giggling. No Rocco swearing inside. No Aidan singing off-key nearby.

Just birds, the fountain, and children speaking faintly inside.

It didn't feel like home without the noise. I already anticipated this when I found out Bianca and Aidan were going on their extended honeymoon around the world at the same time Alessia and Rocco were going on their honeymoon.

I shut the car door and looked up at the villa. Somewhere inside, Millie and Ivy were probably in the kitchen, talking, laughing, pretending everything was normal.

Costa and Tristano were probably working where I left them to go on the school run.

Cesare was probably sleeping, or judging someone.

But the house still felt too big. Too still.

I beckoned over one of the staff, handing him the food and bags from the store.

"Go inside, Rina. Tell Zia Millie I got dinner."

"What about you?" She asked, clutching the straps of her school backpack.

"I'll...I'll be in soon."

She studied me for a moment, that strange knowing look in her eyes despite only being six years old.

Then she finally nodded, turning to head inside.

I stood there a moment longer, taking a deep breath. But it didn't help.

Nothing helped — not really.

Because for the first time in my life I was facing a problem I couldn't fix on my own.

I pulled out my phone, sending one more text.

Giovanni: Miss you, bro.

I waited a moment for a reply, my fingers flicking against the edge of my phone restlessly.

But nothing came.

So I slipped my phone in my pocket, glancing over at the villa again.

And before I knew it was in the car, speeding down the driveway.

<<<<<<< >>>>>>> <<<<<<<

I spent the next couple of hours throwing myself into work — the best kind of cathartic release.

Costa made Aidan and I his Capi di Punizione.

Captains of Punishment.

And I've never been more in my element than right now, driving a screwdriver through a man's eye.

"You had every fucking chance to come clean." I muttered through his screams. Then I applied just a little more pressure and they cut off.

They stopped completely, his body falling limp on the chair.

I released the screwdriver, stepping back to admire my work.

A little cleaner than I'd hoped. It could have done with slightly more blood — a better splatter.

But not bad for a Monday.

I left the guy slumped in his chair, wiping my hands on a rag as I walked out the warehouse.

Two of our men were stationed at the doors, smoking cigarettes as if this was a fucking picnic.

But the moment they saw me, they lowered them.

"Clean it." I ordered as I passed them. "Use acid this time. Properly."

"Sì, Signore."

I wanted to scoff under my breath, watching them quickly put the cigarettes out like two school boys who got caught.

If you're going to smoke on the job, at least do it with some fucking balls.

After the warehouse it was the lounge.

This habit of working to distract myself...it was one of those self destructive habits the Accardi men knew all too well. The kind of habit we'd mastered.

I knew what I needed. And this wasn't it.

But what else could I do?