Elena
The ghost broke into my apartment again last night.
I almost didn't notice it this time.
But I smell him. That's my first clue. It's always the same. Woodsy, smoky, strong, and masculine. I used to hate the way his scent would linger, but it's grown on me over the years.
I have to look closely to figure out what he took. I walk around my apartment, letting my fingers drift over old records, half-burned candles, a small fox statue on a bookshelf, dying dried-out flowers left in a vase, until I figure it out.
My lip balm is gone.
"Creepy choice, Mr. Ghost," I say softly to myself, or maybe to him, I'm not even sure. It's totally possible he can hear what I'm saying.
I mean, if he can break into the Venturi Famiglia's most guarded and important mansion basically whenever he wants to, what else can he do?
It's not impossible that he's watching and listening right now.
The thought would've sent me into a panic spiral when this all started. I remember waking up to mornings like this one, the ghost's smell lingering in the air, and freaking out for hours. I told Papa, Marco, the guards, anyone who would listen, but no matter how many security cameras they installed or men they had watching my room, there was never any sign of an intruder.
I saw therapists, psychologists, doctors, but none of that helped. There were weeks when I thought I was going insane.
My ghost kept coming, and he kept stealing.
Now, after all this time, I've come to accept it. It's almost weirdly comforting in a way. Like a heavy thunderstorm or snow piling on a roof.
Disconcerting and beautiful. Just part of nature.
Every time he takes something, it's proof that I haven't lost my fucking mind.
And he's never hurt me. He's never even shown himself. There's only the smell and a missing object and never anything more.
I've had cameras filming me while I sleep, hidden microphones recording every sound in my room, dozens of high-end motion sensors protecting my floor, and he never once showed up.
At this point, he's just a part of my life.
"Well, at least you'll have moisturized lips," I murmur as I go about my morning routine. I like to talk to my ghost sometimes. "It's fine, you know. I have like ten dozen of those and I never finish them. Do you ever miss me when you don't come for a few days? I miss you in a weird way. Maybe I have you all wrong. You're not some evil ghost haunting me. Maybe you're my guardian angel."
But angels don't steal pens, scrap paper, pieces of old mail, little marbles, playing cards, rubber bands, even a bottle of shampoo one time. Nothing expensive. Nothing important. Almost always something small.
No, my ghost probably isn't an angel. He's probably some creepy demon monster.
"You're my creepy demon monster," I say as I lift my coffee cup to my lips with a smile. "Isn't that right, Ghost?" My little suite is completely silent. There's no answer, only his lingering smell. I breathe it in, smiling as it tingles in my nose, and give myself a sharp nod. "Time to start the day, Ghost. What should I wear? I'm thinking something black and comfortable…"
Livia House
I live with my brother Marco and a whole fleet of guards and staff. I start feeling lighter and better the instant I'm out of that place, like the weight of what our family does for a living is totally oppressive when I'm under its roof. I stop for another coffee at a little shop around the corner, leave a nice tip for the barista, and smile to myself as I stroll along the hot sidewalk.
Florence in deep summer can be brutal. It's not just the heat, but the absolutely stifling humidity. Sweat beads my back after two minutes, and I'm already regretting the walk.
But this is my habit. Even though Marco said the Famiglia would happily give me a ride to Livia House every day, I refuse to take him up on that.
I don't want to owe the family anything.
From the outside, people think I'm some spoiled rotten mafia princess. I can't really blame them for making that assumption. I like designer clothes and nice things. I'm not proud of it, but I have a very mild addiction to retail therapy, and my closet reflects that terrible character defect.
But all my money comes from my personal trust. Mama established it for me back when I was a baby, and the cash has been growing every year in very good investments. I'm not rich, but I'm comfortable enough since I don't have to pay for food or rent or anything like that.
I know how fortunate I am. I see it every single day in the eyes of the women who come through Livia House.
Desperate women taking enormous leaps outside of their comfort zones. Women who have been hurt, beaten, stalked, abused, gaslit, and attacked. Some of them are so strong it kills me. And others need more help than they're willing to admit.
I keep coming to Livia House for them. Because I have so much, and I owe the world even more.
"Good morning, Paolo," I say as I buzz myself in through the nondescript front door. There's nothing but the word Livia chiseled in stone to let people know that this boring, gray structure is a sanctuary for any woman who needs it.
"Morning, Elena." Paolo smiles at me over his newspaper. He's the full-time security guard, a nice white guy in his late fifties with a buzz cut and a bulldog attitude. He takes his job as seriously as everyone else in this place.
"Clara said to send you to her office when you get in."
"Everything okay?"
"Just had a few new guests arrive overnight." He scowls and shakes his head. "Never stops."
"That's why we're here. Have a good day." He rings me through, and I step into the main welcome area.
Livia House isn't beautiful. It doesn't have the budget for fancy rooms, bright paintings, new furniture, anything like that.
This place is as utilitarian as it gets.
But to me, it's perfect because it serves a purpose.
It saves lives.
And so much of my family is about ruining them. The Venturi Famiglia takes and takes, but this is my way of trying to balance that out. Here at Livia House, I give everything I can. I give all of me, even when it fucking hurts. Like when a woman needed to talk about how her husband used to smack her with heated frying pans as a punishment for burning dinner, or the woman who was forced into sex work by her boyfriend so they could afford drugs, or the woman who appeared one night with an infant in her arms and a broken arm begging for help. Hearing the hell they've been through kills me. Sometimes I leave this place with a heavy soul.
But I keep coming back because they need me.
"There you are." Clara Rossi stops in the hallway ahead of me. She's a small, sturdy woman in her sixties with dark hair and a no-bullshit stare. Some people might call it resting bitch face, but I know it's more like armor against the worst hell this world has to offer. "We've got to talk."
"Everyone good?" I follow Clara into her cramped little office. It's more like a closet with a desk, two chairs, and three filing cabinets. Papers and forms cover every surface. I can tell she's been here since early, based on the three empty coffee cups, and she'll be the last to leave later tonight.
"Had some new guests show up."
"Paolo mentioned it."
"There are a couple of kids. I was hoping you could babysit this afternoon while we do groups."
"Happy to help." I smile at her and lean back. "Kids like me."
"You're like a weird baby savant."
"It's all about patience and meeting them at their level."
She purses her lips. "I've got three boys, and I'm telling you, their level is way too low for me."
I laugh at that. Clara's one of the most caring people I've ever met, but I can't imagine what it would be like to grow up with her as a mother. Talk about tough love.
"Do you want me to do the usual cleaning first?"
She shakes her head. "Bathrooms aren't bad. Maybe later if you find some time. I think the moms need a break, and these poor kids are having a tough time."
"What's the story?"
"The usual." She glances down at an intake form in front of her. "Drunk husband beat her up for years. Then the kids came along, and he started to beat them up too." She shakes her head. "I've gotta warn you. The little girl, she's six years old, and I think her nose is broken."
My fingers go cold and start to tingle. "He did that?"
"It's why she left."
"Did she call the police?"
"We're working on it, don't you worry."
I nod once, jaw tightening. I hear a lot of awful things in this place, but kids getting hurt never fails to fuck me up. Which is probably good. If I'm ever numb to that, I'll probably have to quit for my own sanity. At least I know I've still got my soul intact.
"I hope that piece of shit rots." I push back from her desk and stand.
"Anything else you need?"
"Nope, just the kids for now. You're my favorite volunteer, you know that?"
"Better be. I've been hanging around here for too long now."
"You'll get sick of us one of these days."
I give her my best smile. Even if I'm hurting inside, I can grin straight in the face of hell and keep on going. Because no matter what happens, Livia House is my penance; it's the penance my whole family deserves. It's small, but it's something, and I won't ever quit, not unless I've got no other choice.
"Doubt it. I just love singing nursery rhymes and cleaning toilets way too much to walk away."
Main
Picking up little Jenna and chasing after her little sister, Talia. Those girls were adorable but an absolute handful. I could tell their mother needed a little break, though, and it was my pleasure to give those girls a little normalcy for a few hours. We went for a walk, got ice cream, watched a movie together in the rec room, and did some crafts. My fingers are sticky with glue.
"They're gonna saint you one of these days, you mark my words," Paolo says as I head out through the small front lobby.
"Doubt it. Pretty sure only good people get that honor."
"You'd be surprised!"
I wave and step out into the late afternoon. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the sunlight. I look down and pause, surprised to find my brother Marco leaning against a car parked halfway down the block. He waves at me as I slowly approach.
"I thought we agreed to no rides?"
He shrugs slightly. Marco's a big guy with dark hair and our father's sharp looks. Most girls thought he was handsome growing up, which always drove me crazy. He took over as the Don of the Venturi Famiglia two years ago, and he's been growing the organization like crazy ever since.
Life's been prosperous for this little mafia crew.
Which is good and bad. Mostly bad for the world, but great for us.
"I thought it'd be nice to spend some time with my sister."
My eyebrows raise. "The Don himself, gracing me with his presence? I always thought you were too busy."
"Never too busy for family." His smile is charming, and I almost believe it.
"Seriously, Marco, what's up?"
"Can't I just want to see you? And we can leave it at that for a little while?"
"Look, if I'm going to get punched in the face, I want to get it over with. Don't draw it out. Why are you here?"
He sighs and gestures at the car. "Get in. We need to talk."
"Business or personal?"
"Let's call it both."
That leaves a stone in my gut. I hesitate and glance back toward Livia House. There are so many women in there, too many if I'm honest, and they're all suffering in their own ways.
While my life is easy. I have a personal suite in a massive mansion and plenty of money to buy me whatever I need. I've been given a lot of leeway over the years and basically allowed to use my time however I want without any obligations to the Famiglia. It's an extremely rare privilege in this life, and I've taken advantage of it for a while.
But for some reason, I feel like that's all about to change.