Until I turn eighteen at least.
“I know you are hurting bambina, but it is time to come home. There’s nothing left for you here.” he says with finality. He came to my mother’s wake and in the minute, he has been here not once has he looked in her direction.
I look into his cold eyes and can't shake the feeling of dread that runs through my whole body. “Who are you?” — with fake bravado I face the man that has never been a part of my life until today.
He offers me a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, before giving me his back and facing the goons dressed in all black that he brought with him today.
“I am Benedetto Nicolasi, but you can call me grandfather.” The moment he announces himself, everyone begins to whisper.
The infamous Benedetto Nicolasi.
Current Capo dei capi of the three crime families of Detroit.
I close my eyes and let those words wash over me while I release the breath I’ve been holding ever since this man arrived.
My mother always warned me that one day her past would catch up to her, and now it did. I bet she didn't account for her not to be here with me when it happened.
I can vividly hear her last words. “Vida mia, it’s ok. Andrea… don’t be scared. Trust me and be my brave girl.” — her words settled down deep in my bones, fueling me with strength.
“Your father fought for us and went against his family and that was his undoing. The only way to survive them is by showing no weakness.” — she tells me while looking into my eyes — “Never bend to their will, be the queen in their game and fight sunshine. Fight like hell for your freedom and happiness. Promise me.” — she finished with conviction. I could feel her pain and torment on her deathbed worrying about the dark future that is waiting for me, promising nothing but pain.
I remember like it was just yesterday the night my mother finally revealed who my father was and what the Holy Trinity of Detroit means. I never imagine after all these years with no contact, my estranged criminal family would come looking for me.
Why now?
I kiss my mother one last time as one lone tear slowly falls on her cheek. I gently grab her cold hand and whisper so no one can hear. “I’ll love you till the end of my days and even then, I will still love you, forgive me.”
With one last look and a heavy heart, I say goodbye to my mom and the beautiful life we had. Her naive, trusting, and loving daughter is gone.
It is the only way to survive this new life without her.
I turn my back on my mother and face the stranger that calls himself my grandfather. Benedetto holds out his hand and offers a deceiving smile. “Welcome to the family, cara mia.” I put my hand in his, hold my head up high and let him lead me to my new reality.
Detroit City.
Where the Holy Trinity awaits.
Due
NEW WORLD
“People don’t tell you who you are. You tell them.” – Serena van der Woodsen
ANDREA
Now
Detroit, Michigan
Nicolasi.
That’s what they call me now.
Andrea Valentina Nicolasi – Turner.
Back home, it was certainly chaotic with me being the only daughter of one of the most successful supermodels and fashion designers of the decade. Paparazzi followed my every move there, but here no one cares about me. I don’t know what Benedetto did but there’s not one single camera in sight.
Detroit.
I left New York City for this.
Unwillingly, but still, this sucks big time.
The suburbs are filled with uptight cheating assholes and desperate housewives; spoiled brats that think the world owes them something and, therefore, feel untouchable. I’ve been here three days and I already want to hang myself or stab my eyes out with a knife.
Whichever hurts less.
Dramatic but true.
Today, Benedetto, or grandfather, as he keeps reminding me, sat me down for a brief chat. He wanted to get to know me. I call bullshit. He had seventeen years to get to know his granddaughter, but he never bothered before, so the question is why now?
Why when I’m only a few weeks shy of eighteen and I will no longer be under his custody? I’ll just have to endure this family until then.
He also wants to introduce me to everyone that is part of his circle of criminals. I don’t care to meet anyone like I don't care to call him grandfather. I just want these weeks to fly by so I can be back in New York and continue my mother’s legacy. I want to take Valentina Co. to new levels and add my own touch to it.
Still, I'm conflicted.
I want to leave this place as soon as possible but I also want to know what happened to my father. Why did he break my mother’s heart and abandon us? Mom told me all about the Nicolasi family but never once told me exactly what happened to my father.
I can't leave this shit hole without knowing why my mom was so scared for me on her deathbed.
So, I'll play nice with them.
Keep your enemies close and all that shit.
I only have one ally right now and that’s Emilio. He was there for my mother when everyone wanted to take advantage of her. He became her confidant and like an uncle to me. Benedetto oversees my inheritance, but Emilio is running Valentina Co. until I turn eighteen. When that time finally comes half of my mother’s fortune will be in my possession and the other half is for my children. She always did want grandbabies. I sigh while picking up my phone and shoot Emilio a quick text. I need him to keep me updated on what’s going on back in New York.
I look in the mirror and inspect my new hair. It's straightened almost to perfection and the new white-blonde highlights I added early this morning makes my honey brown eyes pop. It’s freaky how much I look like mom today. She always told me I was her twin but we both knew that I only inherited the color of my eyes and slightly tan skin that comes from her Puerto Rican side. I love my mother’s culture; it was a big part of my life when my abuela was alive. I know Spanish because my mother never failed to speak the language when it was just us. I am so proud of my Puerto Rican side. Our people are resilient, happy, and never fail to lend a helping hand. Although I was born here in the US, my mom and abuela never failed to teach me about the enchanted island in the Caribbean surrounded by only beauty and water.
Mom also taught me a little bit of Italian but only the basics because she was not fluent. She always repeated the few words my father taught her when they were together. Now that I am older, I am so grateful to her that she taught me to appreciate different cultures and because of it I am bilingual.
We are living in a world and in times where most people fear what’s different or what they don’t understand. Growing up when I slipped up and spoke Spanish people would tell me to go back to my country or to speak English because we are in America. I was young and I let their rude and discriminatory comments get to me to the point, there was a brief period where I only spoke English.
Mom also told me how a lot of people in the industry made her feel like she was inadequate or lacking when she talked in her native tongue. That’s one thing I want to change about the fashion industry.
They judge what's different, what they don't understand and can't control.
But sadly, that's where our similarities ended. Nobody ever thought of us as mother and daughter. Since she gave birth to me when she was only eighteen years old, everyone mistook us for sisters. Mom told me once how she had to drop out of college because she couldn't work full time to provide for me and go to classes at the same time. So, she worked two jobs, as a salesgirl by day and a waitress by night. Although I can imagine it must've been hard, she never gave up.
She always fought for us.
For me.
Now it's my turn.
I step away from the mirror and turn on the tv, I still need to keep in touch with what’s happening back in New York. See, when my mother died, it was all over the news. Everywhere I looked, news articles were sp
eculating about her passing, trying to ruin her name. Instead of showing love and mourning her, the news and magazine outlets were reporting garbage, gossip, and speculations about her death. Hot Gossip magazine even wrote a piece about the future of my mom’s company now that she is gone, but no one reached out to offer their condolences. How quickly she was forgotten and became old news. People only care about the current hot topic and selling their shitty magazine articles.
Sadly, that’s how the world of the elite works.
My mother was so much more than a stunning face on a magazine cover. She was compassionate and was always giving back to the less fortunate, never asking for anything in return. I might be fashion royalty, but I wasn’t raised like the airheads that live to flaunt their luxurious lifestyles pretending on the gram and living off of their daddy’s money. I want to do more with my life, something meaningful.
I want to make her proud.
I turn the tv off and snap some quick selfies for my social media. I thought about hiding away and grieving but sadly I can't do that. In this industry, everyone knows who I am and that soon I'll be the new face of Valeria Turner’s fashion empire. They'll expect certain things from me and over my dead body will I let my mom’s dream burn to ashes or be stolen from me.
And I have a feeling my mom’s fashion empire is the only reason Benedetto Nicolasi dragged me here after all these years.
I look at my reflection in the mirror one last time and I am proud that I look like her. Well, unless you count the new nose ring —a tiny diamond and the bloody red lipstick shade I’m wearing today.
Valeria Turner was always elegant and refined. She didn't need a lot of anything because she looked young and beautiful no matter what. She wouldn’t be caught dead wearing red lipstick. Abuela taught her when she was young that red was the devil’s shade. How ironic is it that red is my favorite color?
In all my baby pictures I am wearing something pink. Once I got older, mom let me experiment with my style and although she was a fashion icon and all eyes were on her, she never judged me and not once made me feel discouraged or afraid to express myself.
I remember this one time we attended Paris fashion week and I wore a black polka dot dress with green rain boots and Minnie Mouse ears that she bought me the summer before when we went on a vacation to Disney World.
She was decked out in designer clothing and wearing her favorite black faux fur coat, looking like the bad-as-fuck fashion icon she was. And still, she proudly showed me off to the world and was never embarrassed of me. Not even once.
A lot of famous designers mocked her decision of not using dead animals for her designs, but she also gained popularity and more supporters because of her brave decision to break stereotypes and ignore outdated fashion traditions in those times.
I am my mother’s daughter after all and now that I am here in Detroit surrounded by haughty and snobbish people, I don't really care to fit in.
I make my own damn trends and I would not be caught dead with the desperate housewife look.
Hell no.
I want to stand out and stand strong.
I move around my new room and feel a bit of nostalgia because the room is almost identical to the one I had back in New York. I appreciate the fact that they didn’t order someone to make me a princess room all covered in pink.
Dammit, I can’t escape this fucking color.
The walls are all white, with a huge bed covered in red satin sheets. In the corner of the room, there is a beautiful pearl white antique bookshelf filled with all my favorite books and next to it there’s a desk with painting and drawing equipment. I don’t know how they knew drawing is my passion, the only one that did was mom.
My room has a beautiful balcony covered in red roses with a perfect view of the mansion’s entrance.
This is my dream room, the one I always wanted but was almost impossible to have since we lived in a penthouse with no garden view or balcony, the only view I had was the busy streets of Manhattan.
I find it strange that Benedetto knows that I love to read and that my passion in life is drawing. Only mom knows, well knew. With a heavy heart, I close the balcony’s doors and walk to the closet. I need to choose what I’m wearing tonight; I need something that will give an ‘I don’t give a fuck’ what you think statement.
There’s a loud knock on my door that immediately interrupts my train of thought.
A guy I've never met before strolls in like he owns the place and sits on my bed. He's tall with jet black hair, blue eyes, and a wicked smile. He has a lip ring and a neck tattoo of a woman’s eyes.
This guy doesn’t look like all the other goons I have come across since I’ve been here.
So unusual.
A sinister smile resembling Cheshire cat spreads across his handsome face. Yeah, I must be careful with this one. Those with the prettiest smiles and kind eyes are the ones that usually stab you in the back with your own knife.
"So, the prodigal daughter has returned home." He smiles but there’s nothing friendly about his condescending tone and I can feel the atmosphere change real quick. Benedetto has not introduced me to the family yet, but mom told me all about my dad’s brother Cassius and his two sons, Valentino and Lorenzo Nicolasi. She never forgot to mention them, but always with a sad smile on her pretty face.
The dude is staring at me, waiting for a response. I can’t give anything away, especially that I know of him, so I decide to act clueless. "Who are you?” I question while staring at him.
Show no fear, sunshine, they’ll feed on it. Thoughts of my mother’s last day consume my mind but in moments like this, it always gives me strength and a sense of calm so I can face anything and anyone.
I get out of my head and give this guy my undivided attention. He’s gorgeous. I have to admit that, but in a — I will give you the night of your life before I slit your throat and feed you to the dogs’ kind of way and that’s the type you need to stay away from.
"Lorenzo Nicolasi, call me Enzo.", he stares at me for too damn long, like I'm a puzzle he needs to figure out and like he knows a secret I don’t. “Cousin works too since we are family and all.”, he winks as he gets off the bed walking towards me.
"Ok, cousin, mind telling me why you barged into my room?”, by the annoyed look on his face, it's obvious he didn't miss the venom in my voice. He gets closer and from the way he's clenching his jaw, I can tell I pissed him off.
Good.
"I just wanted to meet my cousin, that's all.” The way he says cousin feels wrong. He said it like it’s a dirty word and it pains him. He is now toe to toe with me, and I have to raise my head to look at him. From this angle I have a better view of his unusual neck tattoo, there’s a name around the woman’s eyes, I can tell it ends with the letter ‘A’, but before I can take another look, he steps away from me. “See you later, cuz.”, he regards me with a cruel smile before he turns to leave.
What…the…fuck.
How can someone change moods so quickly? It was like having a conversation with two different people.
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Fucking Hyde.
Tre
CRUEL WORLD
“After all there are things so much worse than death.” - Jafar
LUCAN
You could say carrying the name Volpe comes with many advantages. There’s money, pussy, and power. My three favorite things in this fucked up world. I never wanted to be made, but I knew I could never escape it. My father made it clear that he does not agree with women leading men, so that leaves me as the only choice.
All my dreams and goals in life changed the moment he threatened my little sisters. If I dare to defy him and ignore my duty as the heir of the Volpe family, my girls will suffer the consequences.
And I'd do just about anything for them.
So, I learnt to enjoy it.
After the first taste of power, the savage in me was not satisfied, it wants more.
I fed the beast, but that’s the problem.
<
br /> It wants more to satiate the uncontrollable need for power.
Before, I never wanted to be king, but now I can’t deny the appeal. Everything I could ask for is thrown at my feet on a daily and I fucking love it.
But on days like today, I wish my mother would have taken me with her eight years ago when she left this place.
Detroit, Michigan
Our territory.
We run a third of this city. Everyone with the name Volpe, Parisi, and Nicolasi can do whatever they please and get away with it. Here, the children of the most notorious crime families in the United States of America are treated like royalty, as if we are untouchable.
We are and everyone knows it.
Nights like this one, where I have a warm body lying next to me, satisfied-as-fuck after three rounds of fucking — still don’t manage to distract me from the fact that my mother ran away with her lover and never looked back. She just fucking left like we meant nothing to her. On this very same day eight years ago, she ran from the city and abandoned us.
This year her betrayal hurts a little bit less, but it's still there. Reminding me why I can’t trust anyone, especially with what's left of my heart. If there’s anything left that is.
Ring, ring, ring…
I already know who it is before I even check the caller ID. It must be serious if he’s taking time out of his precious day to call me. He usually sends one of his dogs to fetch me.
Fuck.
I throw my head back and groan. I contemplate sending him to voicemail, but that never ends well for me. My father is one petty bitch and I always get stuck with the shit jobs when he’s pissed with me and doesn't get his way.
I hit the green button and my father’s commanding voice booms over the line. “Wake the fuck up, son. It is time.” — There is a long pause before he continues. — “Demetrio’s child has come home; you know what to do and if you fail…your sisters will pay the price for your mistake.”, with that he ends the call.
Andrea The Beginning (Holy Trinity, #1) Page 2
