I didn't exactly choose to be stolen at four years old.
But the French underworld isn't big on consent.
One minute I was Donatella Acardi, Mafia royalty. The next? Just another stolen kid bleeding in someone else's basement.
That's where I met Ami...
“I feel like I'm being escorted to buy a throne,” I hissed back.
First stop? Shoes. Armando strolled straight into the most expensive store in the building and practically commanded the staff to bring me everything.
“Algo bonito para mi estrellita,” he announced, snapping his fingers like a Bond villain. “And be quick. Mi niña deserves the best.”
The workers were scrambling like their lives depended on my foot size.
Luca leaned toward me, whispering with mock betrayal. “He never called me his estrellita.”
I stuck my tongue out. “Sucks to be irrelevant.”
Enzo muttered, “He used to hit us with newspapers.”
“He made me walk home from fencing practice in the rain once,” Leonardo added, voice flat.
“He’s literally buying me sneakers with rhinestones,” I said, holding up a pair that looked like they cost more than my kidneys.
“AND THE HEELS!” Armando shouted from across the store. “FORGIVE ME, princesa, I ALMOST FORGOT THE HEELS!”
Amir was already texting someone about how he’d become a sugar baby without signing up.
—
NEXT STOP: CLOTHES.
This section of the mall may as well have been turned into my personal fashion runway. Armando sat in a velvet chair like a mafia king judging an America's Next Top Model casting, nodding approvingly at every outfit I tried.
“My solcito, that skirt is divine.”
“Mi corazon, that jacket will protect you from both the cold and bad vibes.”
“Show me that one again, mi cielo. Yes. Bellísima.”
The rest of my brothers were actively dying.
“I swear if he calls her one more damn sun-themed nickname—” Enzo muttered.
“Can I get a nickname?” Luca called. “What about sparkles? I give sparkles energy.”
“No,” Armando said without looking at him.
Daniela had shown up by then, flipping through racks like a pro. “Don’t fight it,” she whispered. “My dad’s the same way. I got an entire pony when I hit puberty.”
I blinked. “A what now?”
“A pony. Her name was Violence.”
I decided not to follow up.
Meanwhile, Diego had found a jacket with enough spikes and chains to make him look like a medieval chandelier.
Do-Yoon hovered silently nearby, eyes occasionally flicking to me and Amir like he was trying to crack a code. I pretended not to notice. Amir actually ducked behind a mannequin.
Aleksander didn’t speak once. Just followed in the background like some ghostly, terrifying statue, except every now and then I caught him glancing my way—and okay, maybe I walked into a clothing rack at one point. Maybe.
Amir smacked me. “Eyes forward, soldier.”
“I’m fine,” I hissed, rubbing my forehead. “Just admiring the lighting.”
“That lighting has arms thicker than your self-control.”
“Shut up.”
—
LUNCH BREAK.
Everyone sat at the bougiest restaurant in the mall. Waiters in suits. Tables that looked like they’d cry if you spilled sauce on them. Armando ordered for everyone. Of course.
“For mi reina,” he said as my plate arrived. “Only the finest.”
Gino wrote on a napkin to Amir, “One time he made me eat a raw egg as a test of loyalty.”
I paused mid-bite glancing at the napkin.
Amir’s eyes widened. “Why do I feel like that wasn’t even the weirdest test?”
“It wasn’t,” Gino he wrote.
—
END OF THE DAY.
Amir and I could barely carry our bags. I looked like I had looted an entire designer village. Armando insisted on carrying the rest, which meant Gino and Leonardo ended up hauling half the bags like unwilling pack mules.
“Mi vida,” Armando said proudly, watching me try to balance three shopping bags and a coffee, “you look radiant.”
“Thank you… Armando,” I said with a polite smile, which only made Luca gasp.
“She said his NAME! Not Papa!”
“Stop trying to make that happen,” I snapped. “It’s never happening.”
As the family piled back into the cars and I slumped against the seat in exhaustion, Amir whispered, “So… you still planning to escape?”
I looked at the mountain of designer clothes around me. “Not until I wear that one jacket at least twice.”
“Fair.”
“And maybe until Armando gets me that limited edition purse he was eyeing for me.”
“You’re becoming one of them,” Amir said, horrified.
I smirked. “If I’m going down, I’m going down in silk.”
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