The Capo’s Daughter Needs No Permission Chapter 04
I stayed in the hospital for the next few days.
Every day, one of my father’s men would appear at my door, sign the visitor log, and leave almost immediately.
It wasn’t care.
It was just making sure the protection records showed that the local capo hadn’t abandoned his biological daughter in a hospital.
Once I was able to get out of bed, I checked Ava’s Instagram.
While I’d been recovering from surgery, my family had been taking her to fancy restaurants, concerts, and the Ferraro Family’s summer banquet.
My mother had sent me pictures, too.
Not of them, but of the growing stack of permission slips on my desk at home.
She wrote:
*When you’re feeling better, we’ll take you next time.*
I didn’t reply.
The day I was discharged, I had barely stepped outside the hospital when Ms. Albright called.
She told me Westbridge had officially confirmed my admission.
Then she sent me a screenshot of a fund transfer.
“I explained your situation to the Ferraro Family education fund. They approved five thousand dollars to cover your housing and transportation before school starts.”
That fund was managed by a council of widows and senior advisors. The money came from a fixed allocation paid by each crew, and it could only be used by the applicant.
I stared at the five-thousand-dollar transfer, my eyes burning.
“The acceptance letter and the check should have been delivered to your house,” Ms. Albright said happily. “Did you get them?”
I checked my banking app.
The money wasn’t there.
Then I checked the daily photo of the mail delivered to our front door.
The mailbox was empty.
My mother collected the mail herself every day.
I took a bus home.
The moment I walked in, I saw Ava and my mother in the center of the living room. The Ferraro Family ladies’ luncheon had just ended, and several female relatives and the wives of my father’s men were still lingering.
They were all gathered around Ava, admiring her new gift.
“Maria, the way you’ve fulfilled your duty to this girl… Mr. and Mrs. Bellini can rest in peace.”
“Honestly. She dotes on Ava more than her own daughter.”
Someone noticed me. “Oh, Romy’s back.”
I ignored them and walked straight to my mother.
“Where is the money from the education fund?”
The room fell silent.
My mother’s expression turned to ice.
“Isn’t the family paying your tuition?”
“You went crying to the education fund for help? Were you trying to make the advisors think we don’t take care of our own?”
“Five thousand dollars wouldn’t be enough to get you through college in California anyway.”
I held out my hand.
“That money was approved for me.”
Ava immediately stood and grabbed my arm. She pointed to an unopened Gucci box beside the sofa.
“I’m so sorry, Romy. When Aunt Maria was buying me a graduation present, her card was declined, so she used your check to cover it.”
“If you need it right away, I’ll return it this instant.”
My mother stepped between us, shielding her.
“Return what? It was a gift. You’re keeping it.”
“Romy is a Vitale. Her tuition and protection are covered by the family. If she takes that five thousand dollars and runs off to California by herself, that’s when she’ll really be in danger.”
She went to her room, came back with another stack of permission slips, and shoved them into my hands.
“I’m holding on to this money for you for now. If you need anything later, you can ask for it with one of your father’s slips.”
I stared at the black-stamped papers in my hands.
The education fund check had my name on it.
And yet, in a room full of Family members, my mother had turned it into a handbag for Ava—then tried to buy my silence with the very slips she used to control me.
I threw them in the trash.
“You’ve always put Ava first.”
“Starting today, I’m putting myself first.”
I turned and walked out.
No one tried to stop me.
That night, the family was still gathered in the living room, keeping Ava company.
My mother came into my room alone.
She saw the metal box next to the trash can.
When she lifted the lid, all five hundred and seventy-six permission slips were still there, packed tightly inside.
She looked around my room.
An old bed. A desk with peeling paint. A wardrobe Ava had discarded.
There was nothing in the room that looked like it belonged to the daughter of a capo.
A long time later, she sent me a series of voice messages.
“Romy, it’s getting dark. It’s dangerous for you to be outside the protection zone alone.”
“I was wrong about the five thousand dollars. I’ve already transferred it to your account.”
“Ava’s already been to Orlando. This time, we’ll take you—just you—to the Caribbean. I’ll have Marco book the tickets right now.”
I listened to them and felt nothing.
Some permissions, once denied when you need them most, become worthless forever.