Married to the Mafia Boss

Arianna

I push the accelerator down, and my car thunders. It’s a mighty sound that dwarfs the cars on either side of me. Oh, they try to make their voices heard, but my Tia is feisty, loud, and rambunctious, all the things I am in life. People thought I’d probably get a bright pink car, but my souped-up Chev Impala is a beautiful matte black with a thin gold racing line down her body. The words: Cup Cake are stenciled in gold down my driver’s door. It’s the term of endearment my father called me growing up. I was always his Cup Cake, always two words, not one. He’d sometimes pause in the middle when calling me, I don’t know why but it would make me giggle.

At twenty-five, though, all five foot six of me likes being in what my oldest brother considers a death trap on wheels. My black hair is braided down my back. Most drivers wear a helmet, but I only do that when I’m unfamiliar with the track. The industrial area just outside of Brooklyn is not unfamiliar territory to me at all. In fact, my family owns most of the warehouses down here.

A beautiful, much more petite blond in a busting boob tube and too-tight leather chaps walks to the safe point between the three cars lined up, with me in the middle.

I rev my car again to spook her a little, and I don’t miss the briefly sour look she gives me before she dons that perfect Alabama smile, small white teeth almost sparkling in the high beams of the cars parked around us.

She raises her hand with a handkerchief, and I can feel my pupils dilate in concentration. I squeeze and rotate my hands on the steering wheel, checking my grip. She suddenly drops her arm, and I punch the accelerator.

Jarrod, driving the Mustang to my right, pulls in front of me by a fraction, and Hans, who drives the GTI to my left, falls behind me.

This will not stand.

I don’t do second place.

But I have an advantage that Jarrod doesn’t. I’m intimately familiar with where the roads are broader and where they narrow. I’ve been driving through this area since I could operate a golf cart to get from one of my family’s warehouses to the next.

I feint left, and Jarrod turned left. I feint right, and he follows. He’s not going to let me pass him easily. Although, I don’t mind if my ride gets a few scratches, and I can’t say the same about his feelings for his car.

I feint right and jerk left as we round a particularly open corner. He doesn’t quite buy it, but I manage to gain enough speed that he can’t get me back without causing a crash.

The radio in my car starts crackling, “We’ve got pigs. We’ve got pigs coming in hot. Bail! Everyone bail!”

I pick up the receiver and hit the side button, “Not until I fucking win this.”

Han’s voice comes over the static, “I’m out. I forfeit.”

I hit the button again, “What’s it going to be, Jarrod?”

“I’ll leave you and the cops in my dust, cupcake,” he says arrogantly.

I deliberately fall behind him, and as he moves to occupy the space I leave to prevent me from pulling up again, I pull to the right and overtake him, clipping the front of his car. I hear him swearing at me over the radio, but above that, I hear sirens in the distance, even over my thunderous engine. As I fly past the finish line, a few stragglers hang out of their cars. I don’t wait to see if they leave. I radio in, “I’ll be back to collect my winnings, don’t spend them.”

I fly between two warehouses as the cops pull into the area through the gates to my left. There’s a gap in the chain link fence just big enough on this side, and I doubt they even register that I’ve raced out past them.

No, unfortunately, they did register my move. I look in my rearview mirror to see two cop cars turning around to give chase.

“Sorry, boys, I got bigger fish to fry,” I change gear and go through two red lights before I turn right, then left, and soon I’m on the highway heading back toward the estate where we live.

I keep my speed down once I’m far enough away from the cops following me. I don’t want to attract any more attention.

I pull into the hidden driveway, not the main one, and use my clicker to open the gate. Once in, I open the garage door and pull Tia into her parking space. Next to her is my lime green Honda Civic, also modified, and next to that is my Camaro in dark purple.

I climb out of my car and flip my braid over my shoulder. At some point in the race, it had flown over my shoulder to fall down my right side. I stretch, and as I raise my hands above my head to get a good long stretch in, a light suddenly floods the garage.

I look to where the door that leads to the kitchen is, and Carmine, my brother’s best mercenary, is standing there with his hand near the light.

“Home late, I see? Was it worth it?” he asks. Taking the two steps down, he walks toward me, chuckling.

“I won if that’s what you’re asking. Also, I didn’t get caught this time.” I bat my eyelids at him, and he gives a deeper chuckle. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as though electricity is coursing through my body. Our eyes meet, and he holds my gaze. I look deeply into his eyes. He comes closer to me. “Well, that’s good news. I’d hate to give your brother the news if you did.”

“If you did what?” Alessandro’s voice shatters the spell that seems to have befallen us, and I look over Carmine’s shoulder. I just see the top of Alessandro as Carmine is six feet, so I look up at him the same way I look up at my six-foot brother.

“If I got taken in by the police again,” I say casually.

Carmine steps aside as Alessandro approaches. “Why do you insist on sneaking out at all hours of the night to race cars illegally?”

“Because I like it, and what I like, I get,” I tease with a grin. “Besides, what else is there to do if I’m not allowed to be involved in the family business,” I add.

Alessandro ignores my comment, and I know I’m not in trouble because a small smile plays on his lips. “How much did you win?”

“Three thousand,” I comment. “I have to pick it up tomorrow.”ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

Alessandro kisses my forehead. “Hmm, of course, you do. And if I were a gambling man, which sometimes I am, I’d wager you’ll use that as a buy-in to another race, probably tomorrow.”

“I’ll take the Camaro. You know I don’t race that baby,” I say with a grin. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me,” I glance at Carmine, who has a sweet smile as he watches me, “I need to get to bed. I’m obviously somewhat sleep-deprived from being up so late.”

Alessandro chuckles. “Go home, Carmine. I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch.”

Carmine nods. “Sure thing, boss. Have a good night.”

I can’t help but wonder if he stayed so late because he was waiting to see me. I grin as I walk to my room, closing the door behind me. A bit flustered, once I’m between the cold sheets of my bed, I close my eyes and picture Carmine’s smile.