Chapter Nine

Vittoria's POV

The phone almost fell from my hand as my heart started racing.

"Who is this?" I demanded, my voice trembling but there was no answer.

"Hello?"

The line went dead.

I stared at the screen, my hands shaking as I tried to process what was happening.

Who could it be? The only explanation was that it was someone at the gala. Someone who knew that Paolo was my uncle. Or it could be someone else entirely.

I let out a breath, I would have to deal with it later. I was too tired.

"It could be a prank," I murmured to myself but I knew it couldn't be. This person knew something and I was in danger.

I placed my phone on the reading table and headed for the bathroom. The water felt warm on my skin, washing away all the stress of the evening.

I slipped into my bed, covered myself with the blanket and closed my eyes.

But the words kept replaying in my head. "I know who you really are."

It repeated like a mantra in my head until I fell asleep.

The dream came softly, but vivid as I was pulled back to when life was simple.

I was eight again, sitting at the dining table as we waited for mum to be done cooking.

My papa was there, with his beautiful smile that I hadn't seen in years.

"Mia gioia," he started. "Stop being so jittery, your mama is almost done."

Mia gioia, my joy, it has been so long since he had called my that.

He looked younger, his face free from tension that would later be etched into his features.

"But Papa I'm so hungry," eight year old me complained and he laughed softly.

"Cara mia," my mum chipped in, "I'm almost done just be patient okay."

"Yes mama." I said quietly.

Then the scene changed, this time we were in the sitting room, this time I was four.

Papa was humming softly, seated on the couch with a newspaper in his hand.

"Vittoria," he called, his deep voice warm and gentle. "What are you drawing, amore mio?"

I grinned, raising up my book to show my crude attempt at a family portrait.

The proportions were wrong and the colors mismatched but he smiled at it like it was a masterpiece.

"See you're the tallest," I said, pointing at my depiction of him. "This is Mama and this is me." I explained proudly.

He chuckled, folding the newspaper and keeping at aside.

"Of course I'm the tallest, who's going to reach the sky and bring down a star for my my little girl."

I giggled as he ruffled my hair, before I asked. "But Papa, if you're tall enough to reach the sky, why haven't you brought down any stars?"

"I'm still growing mia gioia, when I'm tall enough I'll bring one down for you."

"You're still growing?" I asked in shock and he nodded.

"But Mama said that when you become big, you stop growing."

"Thats for only Mama, but me and you, we'll grow forever."

"Really?"I asked excitedly and he nodded.

"Does that mean when I'm big enough I can also reach the sky and bring down stairs?"

"Of course, but you'll have to eat well so you can be very tall."

From the kitchen, my mum's voice called out. "Dinner is ready my star catchers, come and wash your hands."

"Sí mama," I said and ran into the kitchen.

The scene changed again, this time I was even younger.

The air was filled with the scent of Mama's freshly baked garlic bread.

Papa was there, flipping through his photo album.

"Vittoria, come here," he said and I ran to meet him. He picked me up, setting me on his lap.

He pointed at a picture in the Album, it was of me when I was a baby, wrapped in a pink blanket, my face scrunched up.

"That was the day we brought you home," he said softly.

I giggled happily, "Was I really that small papa?"

"You were even smaller," he said, pinching my nose.

"Smaller than this?" I asked, pointing at the baby.

"Yes,"

"What about you papa? Were you ever small?"

I didn't hear his reply as the scene changed again.

I was a teenager standing at the top of the staircase eavesdropping.

My papa and uncle Paolo were arguing downstairs in the living room. Their words were muffled but I could still pick some of the words.

"You're making a mistake Paolo, you're endangering your family." My father said firmly.

"No I'm not, Francesco. The Donini family is not like the other Mafia." My uncle snapped back.

"Paolo, all Mafia are the same, they wouldn't think twice about killing you and your family when they feel like it. Our padre tried his best to avoid joining the Mafia, don't spit on his memory Paolo."

"Don't bring our late father into this!" Uncle Paolo shouted. "He's not here and I need to look after my family."

"Paolo but…" My father started but Uncle Paolo interrupted him.

"I don't want to hear it."

The room fell into an uneasy silence until I heard the slam of our front door. Uncle Paolo was gone.

The scene shifted again, I was an adult, standing in front of my father's study.

The air felt heavy, the smell of cigarette smoke filling it.

Papa was seated at his desk, staring at a stack of papers in front of him. His hair was greyer than it had been the last time I saw him, his face was etched with deep lines of worry and exhaustion.

"Papa," I said as I entered the room.

He didn't look up at first, still lost in whatever thoughts had consumed him. It wasn't until I was closer, close enough to see the slight tremble of his hands, that he finally noticed me.

"Vittoria,"he said, his voice hoarse. He sat up straight and tried to force a smile but the look in his eyes gave him away.

"What's wrong?" I asked and she shook his head quickly.

"Nothing," he replied. "Just work."

I frowned, crossing my arms. "I'm not a child anymore, just tell me."

He let out a breath, staring at me for a while.

"No Vittoria, I won't tell you."he finally said with a firm tone.

"But Papa…"

"Please leave me be," he said, and plucked a cigarette from the pack, placing it between his lips as his other hand reached for a lighter.

I stood for a while watching him, this wasn't the father I knew and loved. What was going on?

The scene shifts to the darkest moment of my life. I was standing at the docks with my Mama, watching as two men pulled a lifeless body out of the Hudson River.

My mama ran to look at the body but I already knew. It was my Papa.

"No, no, no." I whispered to myself as I walked towards the body.

Mama had already broken into tears beside it.

His face was pale and lifeless, his eyes closed as if he was sleeping. There were bruises around his neck and hands. I knelt down beside it, holding his face in my hands.

"Papa," I called to him, hoping he would open his eyes and answer me with a smile but he didn't respond.

Mama let out a strangled cry and collapsed into me, I wrapped my arms around her trembling body as she sobbed into my shoulder.

"They killed him," she whispered in my shoulder. "They killed my Francesco."

I was still struggling with accepting that my Papa was gone. I just sat there, holding my mother as she cried her heart out.

The sharp ring of my phone shattered the dream.

I woke up, gasping for air, my heart pounding against my chest. My pillow was wet with tears and my hands were trembling.

The phone was still ringing beside me and I reached for it, checking the screen to see that it was Mr Palazzo calling.

"On a Saturday?" I asked myself before swiping to answer.

"Hello, good morning sir."

"Vittoria,"he answered. "Come to the office. Immediately."