The Mafia King’s Doll

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Waking up the day after the surgery, I feel groggy as hell.

An image of an attractive man standing next to my bed flits through my mind, and a frown forms on my forehead.

Was it real or a dream?

I can remember him vividly. He had black hair cut in a sharp faux style, the sides trimmed short. His eyes were a unique color, light brown irises with a dark green ring around them. Almost cat-like.

He even growled like a tiger.

“The kidney belongs to me.”

My eyes widen as the thought that I might have seen a freaking ghost hits me.

“Don’t be absurd,” I mutter to myself as I gingerly try to sit up.

My midsection and abdomen are tender from the surgery, but the pain is a lot less than I expected.

Leaning back against the pillows, I let out a sigh.

Just then, Dad comes into the room, and when he sees I’m awake, a smile spreads over his face.

“How do you feel?”

The corner of my mouth lifts into a grin as I answer, “Stronger.”

Leaning over me, Dad presses a kiss to my forehead before taking a seat on the armchair next to the bed.

Taking my hand, he asks, “No pain?”

I shake my head. “There’s just a little discomfort.” “Let me know if you’re in pain. Okay?”

I nod, then stare at Dad, who looks younger with all the worry gone.

“You need a vacation after all the torture I’ve put you through. I’m sorry for all the worry.”

He lets out a relieved breath. “There’s nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. You have a healthy kidney, and hopefully, I can take you home next week.”

Scrunching my nose, I chuckle. “Yeah, I’m tired of the hospital.”

Suddenly, I’m hit with an intense wave of emotion, and the realization that I’m not going to die overwhelms me.

Dad moves forward, and wrapping his arms around me, he says, “It’s over, sweetheart. Thank you for fighting to stay with me.”

The memory of the visitor from the night before flits through my mind, and I pull back so I can ask, “Do you know who the donor is?”

Dad shakes his head. “It was an anonymous donation.”

Shoot.

My eyebrows draw together then I ask, “Do you think I can write a thank you letter? Would they give it to the person?”

Again, Dad shakes his head. “There’s no way to contact the person.”

Before I can continue the conversation, Dad brushes some strands away from my forehead and says, “Focus on getting better so your body accepts the kidney.”

Taking a deep breath, I relax back against the pillows.

There’s no way the man I saw last night donated a kidney. He’d still be out of it from the surgery like I was.

Yeah, it was probably just a dream.

Hey, at least my mind conjured up a hot man.

Renzo

Sitting in the back of the Bentley as Vincenzo brings it to a stop at the cemetery, my grief darkens until it suffocates the last of my humanity.

I throw the door open, and even though it’s raining lightly, I don’t wait for one of my men to bring an umbrella and walk to where the hearse has stopped.

Even the heavens weep for you, Giulio. That’s how fucking special you were.

I don’t wait for the funeral director and open the doors at the back of the hearse.

Looking at the black casket, the pain is so fucking intense, I struggle to cope with the grim reality of the day.

A memory of Giulio learning to shoot a gun flits through my mind. He turned around, and everyone ducked to the damn floor, cursing him. He

laughed so hard tears ran down his face.

When Elio, Vincenzo, and Fabrizio join me, I wait for Vincenzo and Fabrizio to pull the casket out until Elio and I can take hold of the front.

As we start to carry Giulio to his final resting place, Franco falls in behind me while Dario takes up position behind Elio, and the weight of the casket lessens.

Angelo and Damiano also join us, and walking to the hole in the ground, I glance at the chairs, forming a half-circle around the grave.

My soul feels numb by the time we place the casket on the green straps that will keep it suspended over the hole.

As the other men go to take a seat, Franco stays next to me while I look down into the hole.

This isn’t right.

Giulio was supposed to bury me. Not the other way around.

Minutes later, Franco whispers, “Everyone’s here.” I nod, but my feet refuse to move.

More minutes pass, then I growl, “You can start, Father.” The priest’s voice begins to drone, but I don’t hear a word.

I keep staring at the fucking hole I’m supposed to leave my little brother

in.

I feel a hand on my lower back, and turning my head, it’s to see my

mother. Her face is streaked with tears.

Lifting my arm, I wrap it around her shoulders and pull her tightly to my side.

She was a mother to Giulio, and today, she’s burying a son. My eyes burn as if they’re on fire when she sobs.

The rage swirls like a tornado in my chest, creating chaos and destruction.

“Mr. Torrisi?” Father Parisi says to get my attention. I have to say something.

Sucking in a deep breath of air, I turn around and lead my mother back to her chair. Once she’s seated, I place my hand on her shoulder and look at everyone who’s come to pay their respects.

It’s not just my men. An army of soldiers crowd the space around the grave.

I’m supposed to say something about Giulio. Maybe share a funny or sentimental moment.

When I open my mouth, there’s only fire and brimstone as the words rumble from me. “They killed my brother. We will hunt every last person who was involved. We’ll fucking burn New York to the ground.”

A chorus of agreement sounds up.

Turning to the casket, I move closer again and crouch down to grab a fist of dirt. When I straighten up, I bring up the last memory I have of Giulio.

‘Don’t stay out late. We have a lot to do tomorrow,” I mutter to Giulio.

He comes closer and steals a fry from my plate. After popping it into his mouth, he chews before saying, ‘You’d make a good father. You’ve had me to practice on.’

‘Because of you, I’m never having kids. You’re a fucking handful,’ I say with a playful tone lacing the words.

The infectious smile that’s synonymous with Giulio tips his mouth up. “I won’t be late. Don’t go to bed too early, old man.”

“Fuck you,” I growl.

His laughter fills the open-plan kitchen and living room as he walks to the elevator.

Slowly, the dirt slips through my fingers, falling on the casket.

My voice is hoarse as I say, “I’ll miss you so fucking much, Giulio.”