Mafia Underboss’s Secret Agent

"No."

"I'm sorry?" I cocked an eyebrow, pulling back the hammer on my gun for emphasis. "I think I misheard you."

There was a slight pause of hesitation before I received my answer.

"I said yes." He corrected himself.

"That's what I thought." I murmured, inspecting my weapon of choice. I got him exactly where I wanted him. "You have any final words?"

Usually I don't wait for final words — it's not my style. But I was feeling kind. Plus, I already won, I might as well enjoy it.

The fear is the best part in these situations. As we say in La Famiglia:

La paura è un'arma. Se la sai usare, hai già vinto. (Fear is a weapon. If you know how to use it, you've already won.)

"Um..." He paused, looking around the room while he thought hard about his last words. "I will let you go."

"You'll let me go?" I frowned, pausing my movements with my gun. Then I blinked in confusion, struggling to process how his mind worked. "What?"

"You can go." He jumped off the stool, taking the plastic toy gun from my hands before I could react.

"But I won. You didn't win." I thought that was pretty clear? He lost, I won.

"No, I won." He countered, pulling out the plastic handcuffs from his belt. "Want me to handcuff you? Or will you go?"

"Costa! Your son is cheating at Cops and Robbers." I turned to look at my brother who was at the kitchen table, busy scrolling through his phone.

He took his sweet time to finally lift his gaze towards me and his five year old son.

"Papà." Sandro snapped, gripping the plastic hand cuffs a little tighter.

"Sandro won." Costa decided.

"What the fudge?" I scoffed, looking down at the grinning five year old. "No way. I caught you. I put you on the stool."

"I won." He snapped, adjusting his police hat. "You are now under arrest."

"This is ridiculous." I sighed, holding my tattooed hands out so he could put the handcuffs on me.

"My Underboss got taken in by a five year old cop." Costa mused, still scrolling on his phone. "Patetico." (Pathetic)

"Vuoi venire qui e dire questo?" I snapped, sitting down on the stool after Sandro nudged me. (You want to come over here and say that?)

"You're in handcuffs, fratello. I'd be careful with the threats if I was you." (Brother)

As if I couldn't snap the plastic handcuffs with a flick of my wrists.

"I won't be forever." I muttered, glaring at my nephew. "I'll get you and I'll get your papà."

"I will arrest you again." Sandro grinned, adjusting his police hat again. The thing was too big for him but he insisted on wearing it anyway.

"We'll see." I narrowed my eyes at him, leaning back against the breakfast bar on the stool.

Sandro liked a few minutes of quiet after he handcuffed someone. In true Accardi fashion, he liked to admire his work.

Except he liked to admire handcuffed people while we admired tortured people.

But whatever works, I guess.

"He handcuffed you again?" To make it all worse, that annoying Greek accent entered the room.

But she was carrying my sleepy 3 year old niece, so I tolerated her presence.

"What do you think?" I sighed, waving my joined hands at Amalia who gave me a tired wave back. Then I rested my cuffed hands on my lap again.

"I think you're stupid." Millie quipped back, heading over to the dining table where Costa sat waiting for breakfast.

"You–" Before I could try to give her a piece of my mind, she jumped in.

"Sandro, baby, your Nonno is coming back today. I want you to go and tidy up the living room." (Grandad)

"Okay!" And just like that he was gone.

And I was still handcuffed.

"I'm going to kill you." I glared at my irritation of a sister in-law.

"What? You know what Edoardo is like when he steps on Lego." She innocently shrugged, turning away to hide her smile from me.

"Don't snap those handcuffs again." Costa wrapped an arm around his annoying wife, narrowing his eyes in my direction. "I'm not dealing with another tantrum."

"So you want me to have breakfast with my hands like this." I lifted my cuffed hands which definitely didn't go with my suit.

"Aidan will help you." At that exact moment, the twins ambled into the kitchen, stupid little grins on their faces.

"Yeah, bro. I'll feed you." Aidan smiled, coming over to where I sat at the breakfast bar.

"Oh, hell no. Stay the hell away from me." I lifted my cuffed hands, pointing a warning finger at the idiot twin.

"What? You don't want me to feed you?" His steps slowed and he actually frowned like my rejection hurt him. "All the kids here say I'm really good at it."

"None of them say that." Millie scoffed.

"Yes, they do. Especially yours." Aidan smirked, nodding at Amalia in her mother's arms. Amalia only smiled, clearly enjoying the attention.

"My children don't like you — either of you." Costa pointed out, his eyes still on his phone.

"Of course they do." Gio frowned.

"No, they don't. They have my genes and I don't like you."

"They have your genes yet Sandro wants to be a policeman when he grows up." I added, earning a sharp look from Costa — the future heir to the Sicilian Mafia.

He hates anyone reminding him of his failure to recruit his heir into La Famiglia. So, of course, I take the liberty to remind him every chance I get.

"Mention that again and I'll kick your ass."

"Touchy." I chuckled, standing up to head over to the table with my hands still cuffed.

"Zio?" Amalia whispered, catching the attention of the entire room. (Uncle?)

If Amalia ever spoke, the whole room stopped to listen. She even managed to get Costa's attention away from his phone.

"Sì?" I smiled, struggling to pull my chair out with my hands cuffed, causing it to scrape against the tiles. It was inconvenient for me, but it irritated my brother so I didn't mind.

"You have handcuffs." She rubbed her eye tiredly, watching me now try to sit down.

"Your brother arrested me." I gave her a soft look before shifting my expression to her irritating mother. "He forgot to release me before he left to tidy up."

"He'll be back." Millie waved me off, just as the kitchen door swung open and Tristano stepped in.

He didn't say anything at first, heading straight over to his usual spot at the kitchen table. He took his seat, his eyes immediately landing on my cuffed hands resting on the edge of the table.

"Those don't go with your watch." He murmured, amusement lighting up his eyes.

"Maybe we need to get Sandro some more expensive ones." I mused, studying the plastic cuffs currently digging into my wrists. Tristano was right. The dull, grey plastic clashed with my gold watch.

It wasn't a good look on a mafioso.

"Please. The last thing we need is him losing the key to handcuffs you can't snap off easily." Millie shook her head, leaning back in her chair on Costa's left.

It was a regular occurrence for Sandro to lose the key after handcuffing someone. Usually, it was one of the twins or Costa who suffered that fate. But last time, it was me who had to listen to a thirty minute tantrum from Sandro, and consequently a lecture from my brother for snapping the handcuffs off my wrists.

"Last time I stole the key." Amalia suddenly admitted, once again catching all the attention in the room.

While the rest of the idiots laughed, I was busy glaring at my little niece who suddenly didn't look so tired anymore.

Her cheeks flushed a light pink, her lips pulling into a shy grin.

"Am going to find Lula." Amalia wriggled in Millie's lap until she finally released her. It was the fact I was handcuffed that I didn't quickly catch her when she ran off out the kitchen door.

"Poor cat." Giovanni chuckled when Lia started calling out for Lula in the hallway. Amalia was a little aggressive with Lula. She just didn't understand why the cat didn't like her.

Lula was our mother's cat. For some screwed up reason, she only liked Costa. And then Millie when she arrived, which just made the whole thing much worse. Why would she like Millie of all people? Her Greek accent nauseates me to this day – seven years later.

"So, where have you been hiding this time?" I questioned Tristano, my cuffed hands resting awkwardly in front of me. "I didn't see you after that warehouse job last night, when we went for drinks."

Drinks and cigars — the best ending to any evening.

"I skipped it." Tristano replied just as Agata rushed over with a tray of hot drinks. "I handled the pickup, everything went through. Then I came home."

"You didn't want to spend time with your family? That's hurts, fratello." Costa mocked, putting a hand over his chest. (Brother)

"Please, that's not part of my job description." Tristano fiddled with his cufflink, leaning back in his chair. "I do my part, I always will. But sometimes I need a break from–"

"From that?" Millie cut in, nodding towards the twins — where Aidan was trying to help Giovanni with his tie.

"Ow!" Gio coughed. "It's too tight."

"It's not. You're supposed to feel a little pressure. That means it's on right."

"It's not a little pressure. You're going to kill me." Gio coughed, trying to push Aidan's hands away.

"Then at least you'll be dressed well for your funeral."

This is what Tristano needed a break from — I get it.

"Fair enough." I sighed, earning a smile from Tristano and an eye roll from Costa.

Tristano was right, he always did his part. No matter what happened between us in the past, he was still one of us — still an Accardi.

Tristano could slit a throat or negotiate a multi-million dollar deal when we needed it. But he didn't live for it the way Costa and I did — the way our father had beaten into us. That's why he was now Costa's future Consigliere and I took his place as the Underboss.

He was happy with the change in the plan. His wife had softened him more than he admitted.

"Must be hard to focus with Ivy gone." I smirked, leaning forward. "Where is she this time? Visiting her cousins in Switzerland again?"

That was the other problem with Tristano's wife. She wasn't Sicilian — or even Italian. She was a random baker from Switzerland.

You can imagine how much our father loved her. Edoardo Accardi was stuck in his ways as an old school, hardcore Don. He didn't tolerate outsiders.

I didn't either, but then Millie came along and I compromised — but only a little. The Greek annoyance grew on me.

Tristano's eyes narrowed, but a grin tugged at his lips. "She's with her family. I can manage fine without her."

"Can you?" Costa chimed in, finally setting his phone down. "Because I saw you checking your watch three times at dinner yesterday. Waiting for her to call?"

"Shut up." Tristano laughed. "I'm not that obsessed."

"Sure you're not." I rolled my eyes. "You've been half a ghost since she left. Did she take your balls with her too?"

"Attento." (Careful) Tristano shot back, pointing a finger at me. "Your ass is still handcuffed, remember."

"Please." I chuckled, admiring my cuffed hands again. "I'd still take you, cuffed or not."

"Look at this." Costa scoffed, directing his words towards his wife. "My Underboss is handcuffed like a child and my Consigliere is a lovesick pussy. And I'm expected to rule half of Europe with them."

"Good luck." Millie chuckled, sipping on her cappuccino — decaf of course. Since she was 7 months pregnant.

"But at least I can trust you to handle things when I'm not looking." Costa added, his appreciation showing.

"Always." Tristano nodded, meeting Costa's gaze. "You know that."

"I do." Costa replied, nodding once. "Even if you're mooning over Ivy half the time."

The three of us laughed, settling into our usual dynamic.

Costa led, I enforced and Tristano tied it together. Our father might've wanted us harder and colder, but we were brothers first.

Nothing broke that.

"Remember, Julius is coming over today. Before they leave for Athens." Millie said, rubbing her seven month bump.

"Great. More Greeks in the house." I murmured, earning a look from my sister in-law.

Julius and Damian had been in Palermo for three days, visiting Millie and the kids, but also for some work.

The alliance between the Greeks and Sicilians was still strong, seven years after Costa and Millie signed those marriage contracts. Ever since we eliminated the threat of the Russians and the Serbs, there wasn't much need for physical protection. But we helped each other where we could.

We also had some legit businesses set up in New York.

Turns out, those Greek fuckers are smart when it comes to numbers.

Who would have thought it?

"What did you do yesterday?" Tristano asked Millie.

"Damian and I took the kids to the beach. He was trying to play dolls with Amalia, splash around with Sandro and work on his tan." She rolled her eyes at the last part. "And he was updating me on all the drama in his love life. He's still dodging that lunatic Miguel Diaz."

I let out a loud laugh. "Is that Spanish bastard still after him? I thought Damian cut him off?"

The saga between Damian and Miguel was a long one. Let me sum it up:

Once upon a time, Damian and Miguel were sleeping together. Damian is Millie's idiot cousin and Miguel is a Spanish criminal who organises secret sex parties where people go missing. Damian found out he had a family and decided to sleep with his mother and his sister. Miguel found out and tried to kill Damian — many, many times. Now that Damian is in a relationship, Miguel is jealous.

"Apparently it didn't work." Millie said, her lips twitching with a smirk. "Miguel's threatening to show up at Julius's next meeting in New York just to get to him."

"Your family are as stupid as you." I sighed, using both hands to try and reach my phone from my inside jacket pocket.

Millie watched me with that stupid look on her face before releasing a scoff. "Yeah, we're the stupid ones."

"Hey, your son is the one who handcuffed me."

"Let me help you." Giovanni being the helpful idiot that he is, reached over to try and shove his hand inside my pocket.

"Get off!"

"What? I'm helping you get your phone." He frowned, still trying to get in my pocket.

"Have you ever heard of personal space?"

"I had a wombmate. Of course not."

"What the hell is a wombmate?" I frowned, temporarily pausing my efforts to get my phone and to shove Gio's arm away with my cuffed hands.

"Aidan." He frowned, nodding towards his twin. "He's my wombmate."

I looked between the two grinning 25 year olds before shifting my gaze towards Costa. "Can we get rid of them?"

"I have no complaints." Costa shrugged, earning the expected reaction from the twins.

Then Agata and Greta laid out the breakfast spread while I enjoyed a rare moment of peace in the morning. Now that the kids were gone, everyone was busy on their phones. Well, everyone apart from me, since my hands were still cuffed.

"Mama, I found Lula!"

The short peace was interrupted by Amalia coming in, only to run back into the hallway. We heard a few squeals and a sharp meow. Then she returned a moment later with the grumpy grey cat following obediently behind her.

"Baby, don't bother Lula too much." Millie always tried, and failed, to protect Lula from Amalia. But it was pointless.

"I'm not. She wants breakfast." Amalia pouted, walking over to where Lula's food bowl was. "Come, Lula."

The poor cat trotted along, looking over at Costa and Millie like she was asking for help. Then she took a moment to hiss at the twins when they smiled at her.

Some things never change.

Next Daria came in with Marina at her heels — six years old, all dark curls and shy smiles.

"Good morning." Daria smiled speaking with her thick, Russian accent. She guided her daughter to a chair between the twins.

Daria was our Uncle's secret girlfriend — part of the Russian Bratva. She was pregnant when the Russians killed him in retaliation.

She went into hiding but Costa had some people find her when Marina was just a baby.

This is where they belong, it's their home.

"Morning, little cousin." I grinned, lifting my cuffed hands in a wave.

Marina giggled and half-hid behind the bear, but then peeked back out. "Why are your hands like that?"

"Because I'm a criminal, cucciola." I smirked, cheerfully. (Puppy)

"Rocco." Daria's voice cut in sharply, not unkind, but firm. She had that maternal glare that could silence a room. "You know she repeats everything."

I threw her a lazy grin. "I'm counting on it."

Daria sighed and shook her head. She was busy cutting Marina's toast into a star shape, the same way she does every single day. "Rocco, you need to stop."

"Oh, come on. Marina is smart. She knows what not to tell people." I glanced over at my baby cousin who was busy fiddling with her teddy bear.

She waits patiently every day for her star shaped toast.

"Okay." Daria sighed, leaning back in her chair once she was done. "She wrote a story about how her brothers helped Costa and Millie get married."

Millie froze, Costa lowered his phone and the twins looked up like two puppies hearing their names.

"What story?" I asked, already smirking. I knew, of course I knew.

She was referring to an episode of Bedtime Stories with Zio Rocco.

"The one you told her." Daria said dryly. "Where her idiot brothers–" She nodded to Gio and Aidan. "–were Zia Millie's fairy godmothers."

"Oh, dear Lord." Millie muttered.

Daria opened her handbag, pulling out a piece of paper with Marina's writing in pencil.

She even brought evidence with her.

"She wrote that a mean Russian man was sending her horrible presents. And it made Zia Millie sad." Daria started reading the story to us, like it somehow proved I was at fault.

Aidan grinned. "Technically not wrong."

"So they sent her chocolates and flowers and dresses and jewellery to help her fall in love with Zio Costa. But Zio Costa hated her, even though she loved him lots."

I don't think I told the story like that.

It doesn't sound quite right.

"Zio Costa had to marry Zia Millie to protect her, even though he was grumpy and mean and didn't want to. But then—" Daria paused for dramatic effect, her eyes meeting mine. "–he saw her crying in the kitchen because she loved him so much and that's when he realised he loved her too."

"I fail to see how this is bad." I shrugged, still handcuffed, earning a glare from Daria.

"She wrote that Zio Costa killed the bad Russian man to get revenge for Zia Millie. Because he's good at killing people, he's a Mafia prince."

"Ah." I nodded, seeing the problem.

Tristano burst out laughing. Millie looked horrified. Costa just rubbed his face with one hand, clearly trying not to smile.

"She drew pictures." Daria added, turning the paper over to show everyone. "Millie in a white dress, Costa with angry eyebrows, and the twins hiding behind a box labelled 'magical Russian presents.'"

I leaned over, whispering to Marina. "You told your teacher Zio Costa was a mafia prince?"

Marina blinked at me, then nodded slowly, pointing at her drawing. "He had a crown in the picture."

Millie looked like she wanted to throw herself out the window.

Daria gently tucked a curl behind Marina's ear. "You can't tell stories from home, lyubov. Especially not ones with guns and crowns." (Love)

Marina leaned closer to me to whisper, still clutching her bear. "Next time I use one of your bedtime stories...should I change the names?"