Blood Phoenix ：My Fiancé Sold Me To My Eighteen Mafia Fathers Chapter 03
Inside the great hall, my white sable coat lay tossed across the back of Papa’s chair — carved mahogany, blood-red velvet, the seat of the Don of the Moretti family.
Papa bought that coat off a Russian oligarch who came up short on a shipment. Had it re-tailored in Milan. Said nothing but the finest for his principessa.
At the foot of the chair sat a sixteenth-century Venetian chess set. Ivory pieces, hand-carved. Uncle Marco tracked it down at a private auction in Florence — just something to keep me entertained.
On the walnut side table, a handful of loose diamonds sat scattered like spilled candy. Each one the size of a robin’s egg. Flawless. From the family vault.
Uncle Enzo tossed those to me last winter. Said I could use them as marbles.
Chloe was staring at the walls — the oil portraits of dead Dons in gilded frames, the antique dueling pistols locked behind glass, the safe stacked with gold bars. Her eyes went green with greed.
“Julian! If Sera really did piss off the Moretti princess, and we hand her over? The Vance name is made. We are set for life, baby!”
Julian’s eyes were wild. He dug his fingers into my shoulder hard enough to bruise.
“Trading your worthless life for the Vance family’s fortune? That’s the biggest honor you’ll ever get, sweetheart!”
I watched the two of them get high on their own delusion. My face was flat. Like I was looking at a pair of corpses.
“You two ever stop to think you didn’t bring in a sacrifice — but the devil herself?”
Scar’s head snapped around. He locked onto me.
Something cold crawled up his spine. He couldn’t shake it.
That look on my face — that lazy, untouchable arrogance — it looked exactly like the look the eighteen bosses got right before they killed someone.
“Scar. That painting…”
Julian was staring past the chair. At the massive oil portrait mounted on the wall behind it.
A girl. Painted from behind. Right arm bared.
And on that arm — the exact same blood-red phoenix as mine.
Julian’s voice cracked. Something was starting to feel very, very wrong.
Scar’s eyes ping-ponged between me and the painting.
No way…
“What’s all this shouting? You wake the Don, you’ll be lucky to keep your heads.”
A silky, entitled voice cut Scar off mid-thought.
A woman in a red couture gown clicked out on stilettos. Chin up. Attitude for days. Acting like she owned the place.
Bianca Ricci. Bastard daughter of Capo Ricci. Been dreaming her whole life about taking my place as the Moretti principessa.
She swept a disgusted look over the Vance siblings. Then her eyes landed on me.
Scar sheathed his blade fast and bowed his head.
“Miss Ricci. This is the offering to calm the Don.”
Bianca stepped closer. The second she got a good look at my face, her eyes twisted with pure, ugly jealousy.
She stared at my features — a hundred times more beautiful than hers — and ground her teeth.
“What kind of gutter trash thinks she gets to wear a tattoo like that?”
She didn’t recognize me.
Not that I blamed her. My eighteen fathers kept me locked up tight my whole life. Guarded like the crown jewels. A Capo’s bastard daughter like her? Wasn’t cleared to breathe the same air as me.
“The hell you looking at? Keep staring, I’ll cut your eyes out!”
Bianca cocked her hand back to slap me.
I ripped free of Julian’s grip and backhanded her across the face first.
Crack.
Bianca staggered. Blood bloomed at the corner of her mouth.
I looked down at her. My eyes were knives.
“You? You think you get to touch my face?”
“You hit me?!”
Bianca screamed, clutching her cheek.
“The Don is my godfather! I’ll have you carved up and fed to the dogs!”
I gave her a cold little laugh.
“Salvatore Moretti bows his head to me and calls me principessa.”
The words weren’t even out of my mouth before Julian — desperate to score points with Bianca — drove his boot into the back of my knee from behind.
The crack of bone was crystal clear.
I hit the marble floor hard. Cold sweat soaked through my clothes in seconds.
Julian ground his foot into the side of my face and turned to Bianca, wagging his tail.
“Miss Ricci, please! She’s a psycho — do whatever you want with her!”
Bianca smiled. Cruel. Slow.
She pulled a switchblade out of her clutch. Ran the tip along my cheek, down toward the phoenix on my arm.
“This pretty little face and this filthy tattoo — I’ll ruin them both. A little gift for my godfather.”
The blade broke skin. Blood welled up.
I swallowed the copper taste in my throat. Locked my eyes on the doors of Papa’s study. And screamed with everything I had.
“SALVATORE MORETTI! Your daughter’s about to get carved up out here — you gonna keep hiding in there or what?!”
The whole hall went dead silent.