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“Bed. Now.” Uncle Angelo decided he had had enough of me. “I don’t want to hear another word out of you tonight.”
I hesitated, shifting from foot to foot.
He sighed, his affection for me beating his anger. He approached, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You will get used to him, Isabella. In time.”
“Fish don’t get used to sharks, Uncle Angelo.”
“No, they don’t.” He gave me another affectionate squeeze before leading me towards my room. “Get some rest, Isabella. You will need your energy for what is about to happen.”
I didn’t go to bed. Even when the sun began to rise in the distance.
Instead, I dug the papers out from under the mattress and spread them on the floor around me. I gathered photos of everyone in the Vigliano Mafia before positioning them in order of hierarchy, with Don Giova
I had so many titles. Daughter, principessa, legitimate, spy. They were all temporary, nothing more than fleeting descriptions of me.
My true title?
Lombardi.