My Tragic Mafia Life | ✔️

30

Her mother waited, expectant. Josephine wasn't sure how to phrase the words. Help had never been a part of her thoughts, much less reliance. People craned their necks for each other only to be left with a gutted throat. She knew it best if last year wasn't evidence enough.

    "Mother," Josephine said. "I'm not here for banter. I have an agenda, and it requires your advice. I need help with a man."

    "A man?" Mother inquired.

    "A boy." Josephine clarified. "We can call him that if you'd like."

Mother pulled Josephine closer to her, tapping sharpened nails across plump lips. "At least you're not running around with old men. A boy. What would you want to do with a boy?"

The answer was obvious. Josephine tucked a strand of hair beneath her ear."What else do I do best?"

Mother said, "I don't see the problem."

"The problem is that he's like Father. Almost identical."

The pool across the garden glistened pure white underneath the stress of the sun. Servants disappeared between hedges, reappeared with trays, then lost each other over the pathway. After some time, Mother lowered her glasses to frame her face, hiding her eyes in heavy thought.

"Je sais très bien a quel point il peut être difficile," Said Josephine, eyes away from her mother. "Qu'est-ce que je dois faire?"

Mother tightened her neck and shivered. "The most important thing, sweetheart, is that you must understand them." Mother whispered, a breath of excitement gone mad. "To most men like your father, they live in a world full of objectives to be reached. They see one goal, conquer it, and go for another. You see, Josephine, I met your father by a woman named Cecilia. Back then, he couldn't enjoy the pleasures of life. All he saw were objectives and things. It's probably what that boy is like too."

"Then what's the problem?" Josephine demanded. "There's hardly any differences between us. We both see people by their use and value. It's perfect. We should be perfect. But when I talk to him, I'm telling you, it's like talking to an iron wall full of spikes."

Mother smiled, reaching, then twirled a strand of Josephine's hair like a charmer bewitching their snake. "As of now, you are just a thing to them. And that boy is even a thing to himself. They don't need to waste time on being kind, fulfilling a role that doesn't further progress them. Like your father, life to them is just a game of chess. And we are all pieces of the playing board."

Josephine lowered her brows. "Merci de ton aide. Tu es tres utile."

"What did I say about speaking french?" Mother said, suddenly annoyed. Only when she was angry would she revert to Josephine's mother tongue. But to live a lie in English, it's what her mother did best. Josephine clipped her mouth. "The only way for you to become not a thing, but a person, is to become valuable. And in that boy's eyes, stupid smiles won't work. Not even kindness, no matter how warm the embrace."

    Mother said, "To become important to him, you must use his vulnerability and break him."

    That caught Josephine by surprise. Using his weaknesses against him, like blackmail? What would even count as blackmail for Dante? He had so many secrets, so many closed doors...

Mother continued. "There are a million vulnerabilities, each depending on a person's own set of ideals. Trauma, negligence, depression, grief, hatred, poverty—all things to be considered. For your father, he was insecure. He hated how weak he was when he was the youngest son on his side of the family. Who'd have thought he'd be the one to inherit his grandfather's entire estate? Of course, it wasn't always like that. I had to be the one to coax his confidence. Soon, he began to relate me with feelings of overall morale for his future. I became his tool to feel better, and in the end, it worked." Josephine could have sworn a hint of pride tugged on her mother's face as she went on. "I have a talented husband, a beautiful daughter and all the riches in the world to buy, burn, or break whatever I want."