Penelope Eleanor Galanis

"You're getting married?" Damian stared at me wide-eyed, his little pink ice cream spoon halfway to his lips.

Ice cream dates were our thing.

"Yeah." I sighed, leaning back in the plush chair at our favourite ice cream parlour in Manhattan.

They always give extra sprinkles for free if you charm them in the right way. It just helps that Damian and I can be pretty charming.

"You agreed?"

"I don't have a choice, Fred. At least if I cooperate, I'll get some kind of say in who I marry, which is unheard of for women in my position."

"Damn." He whispered, taking a bite of his chocolate fudge ice cream. "Well, do you know who you might marry?"

"That's actually what I wanted your opinion on. I think you'll know all the candidates we talked about this morning."

I took my phone out to find the notes I'd made during our early meeting this morning over breakfast.

It was going to take me a while to recover from the stress of being awake so early.

I planned to research every name and gather as much intel as I could. That meant I was going to ask Damian for his opinion on each one. He's the only one who wouldn't sugarcoat it or hide anything from me.

When he realised what we were about to do, my cousin grinned, rubbing his hands together. "This is going to be fun."

Finding excitement in my misery?! Typical Damian.

"So, we decided to go around the world and list all the different organisations." I couldn't think of a better word to use in such a crowded ice cream parlour.

Since we lived in New York for most of the year, I decided to start in America.

"The American Mob is run by-"

"Jeffery Madeleine. He's a dick. He killed his sister for having an affair with his best friend." Damian shook his head to object straight away.

"Okaaay. I don't need that kind of drama in my life." I deleted his name off the list before continuing. "Next was Mexico. Justin said his name was Raul Her-"

"Absolutely not. Any criminal gang in Mexico or anywhere in South America will use you as a fucking drug mule. Or they'll pimp you out to their closest friends and relatives."

Remember when I said he wouldn't sugarcoat it?

"Okay." I cringed at the thought of carrying drugs in my...hidden places. I deleted Raul Hernandez and all the other names from Brazil, Argentina, and Colombia.

"Any of the Triads in China?"

"Bitch, you don't speak Chinese."

Good point.

"Japan? I love sushi." I grinned while he gave me a flat look. "You're willing to marry a seventy-year-old Japanese criminal for the sushi?"

So he's also off the list.

"Is there anyone in Australia? Australia is cool."

"Yeah, cool with all its freaking spiders." He grinned.

"Oh, hell no." I shook my head. Damian laughed, knowing all about my arachnophobia. I'm that bitch who will shamelessly have a panic attack if she sees a spider.

"Spain? The Perez family."

"No." Damian immediately shook his head, stuffing his mouth with more ice cream.

"What? Why? I've met them before; they're all nice. Plus, from what I remember, Adrian is kind of cute." Adrian was the heir and future leader of the Perez Crime family. I'd met him a few times in passing, and he was definitely an 8 out of 10.

But Damian didn't reply.

I frowned, watching him eat another bite of his ice cream while avoiding my gaze. I knew that sheepish behaviour all too well.

"Damian...what did you do?"

"What makes you think I did anything?" He quipped back immediately. Now he's being defensive.

"I know you, so spill." He took another few seconds and another bite of ice cream, then he finally confessed to his stupidity.

"I slept with Gabriel."

"You slept with Gabriel Perez?" I leaned forward, whisper-shouting. "He's the psycho brother who-"

"Organises secret sex parties where people mysteriously end up dead. I know." He continued to avoid my gaze, swirling his spoon in his cup. I thought he was looking away in shame, but he was actually preparing to stun me again.

"I also slept with his sister."

"Damian, I-"

"And then his mother."

"Okay, so cute Adrian is off the list." I didn't want to hear anymore. He chuckled when I shook my head in disgust. My cousin slept with three out of five members of the main Perez family.

I could never un-know that.

"Have you slept with anyone from the Jones family in London?"

"No, I haven't. But William Jones is married, and he has a 17-year-old son who I don't think is in your age range. Anyway, you'd hate London. It's too cold."

"We live in New York." I pointed out with a laugh.

"And we spend the winters in Athens, honey. London is too cold for you, and it's not exotic enough. You won't fit in with that gorgeous skin tone." I rolled my eyes, trying to hide my smile as I took a bite of my mango ice cream.

Damian was always the one who couldn't handle the cold in New York. But he always blamed me to save face - apparently, it's not good for the future Underboss of the Greek Mafia to be scared of the cold.

"France? Charles Fa-"

"Convicted rapist." Off the list you go, Charles. And hopefully off to prison.

"Netherlands? The Voss family is nice, right?"

"They traffic women. Piss your husband off and we'll never see you again." I have a knack for pissing people off. I'll cross him off the list too.

"Denmark?"

"Married, no sons."

"Switzerland?"

"That guy is ugly as fu-"

"Don't be mean." I glared at him, deleting another name off my list. I might have told Damian not to be mean, but we had a very similar taste in men. I need someone I find attractive, and I trusted Damian's judgment.

"Serb-"

"Say that word and I'll send you to Australia to live with the spiders." His eyes suddenly went from humorous and playful to cold and angry in a split second.

I was used to the mood swings when it came to mafia men and their business, but that didn't mean I liked it. They'd been especially touchy about the Serbian Mafia recently - sometimes unnecessarily.

"Okay." I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, deleting the Serbian leader off my list.

"Russia?" I moved onto the next name with a tentative murmur, taking another bite of my ice cream.

Damian hesitated before he spoke. "Shit...Peppy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." Since the bitch called me Peppy, I refused to look at him, and he tried again. "You just need to understand that when it comes to business, tempers flare and we can get a little mean. We're at war with the Serbs, you know that."

Still no reply.

"You want some of my ice cream?" He slid the chocolate fudge brownie ice cream towards me, and I felt my resolve weaken.

"Fine." I snatched his ice cream from him, sliding mine towards him. We always swap a couple of times. It's just a thing we do

"So, Russia?" I huffed, having had enough of this conversation.

"Dimitri Krylov...he's a little scary for you, but he's not a bad guy. He's a few years older than you, if I'm correct. Maybe 33 years old or something like that. He's had an on-again and off-again relationship with some woman for the last decade. But, from what I know, he's been single for a while, so he'll probably agree to the marriage."

Only an eight-year gap. That works?

"Do you think...do you think he's a good option?" I suddenly felt uncomfortable and shy at the thought of meeting any of these men for the purpose of marriage.

I've met some of them in passing, but meetings for marriage are so different. They often become public news very quickly if new alliances are being formed. They're also very political and business-focused.

Let's just say, your comparability is rarely ever considered.

"Yes, I think so. He doesn't have a wife, he's in your age range, and he doesn't traffic women. We have a good relationship with the Russians too. Your father would be happy with this one."

I nodded, leaving Dimitri Krylov on my list. That just left the last name.

"The Delgado family in Sicily?" I took a bite of the chocolate ice cream, waiting for his reaction. But it wasn't a reaction I expected.

He laughed at me. "What's so funny?"

"You said it as if the Delgado family would want you." He laughed.

"What's wrong with me?" I frowned.

"You're...you're you." He gestured at me as if I were Exhibit A in his argument.

I caught my reflection in the window of the ice cream parlour, and I winced. I was sitting there in my hangover outfit consisting of my oversized men's hoodie, leggings, and sunglasses. My face was bare of makeup, and my hair-frizzy from this morning's shower-was thrown up into a bun.

I screamed, 'I'm hungover, going through a mid-twenties crisis. '

Damian was right, but I decided to go on the defensive instead of agreeing that I'm a hot mess.

"So you think I'm not good enough for them?" He laughed again, not taking my offended tone very seriously.

"They're a classic Mafia family, Nelo. They don't like outsiders. They don't treat anyone who isn't an Delgado with respect - unless you've earned it. They're Sicilian royalty and they don't take anyone's shit."

People who don't share their blood have to earn their respect?

"They don't sound like royalty, they just sound arrogant as fuck." I shook my head in aversion. "The last thing I want is to be stuck married to a narcissistic, arrogant, pompous, son of a-"

"Yeah, okay." Damian cut me off with a laugh, clearly seeing the signs of my impending rant.

"I'm serious. They sound obnoxious." I could never be married to someone like that.

"Don't judge until you've met them, Lopey. Santi and his brothers are alright once you get to know them. Well, they're alright for a bunch of murderous criminals." He shrugged, taking another bite of my mango ice cream.

"Santi?"

"Santiago Delgado. He's the heir to the Sicilian Mafia."

Even his name sounded pretentious.

Okay, maybe I was just still sore from my encounter with Italian dick last night.

Santiago does have a nice name. But, if he's anything like that guy I met last night, then I'd never even want to meet him, let alone marry him.

"As far as alliances go, the Sicilian Mafia is a hell of a good one. They control most of Italy and the Mediterranean region. Your father would prefer it over the Russians, for sure.

It sounded like this would be the jackpot for my father. But after last night, I've had enough of Italian men to last me a lifetime.