Sofia

Sofia

I stood alone at the end of the quay, just as I had all those years ago when my father had left for

the first time.

Twenty years and change it took, for the old man to come home again to rest. Now in a fine

mahogany coffin, hardly any less impressive than the fancy little sailing yacht he used to arrive

and depart in.

What's that they say about sins coming home to roost? When my father's body came home to

this island, the sins of the whole world came with him. In his wake, a fleet of shadows. It

seemed that some of the most dangerous men in the world had followed him home this last

time, eager to pick over his leavings and feast their eyes on the many treasures he had

acquired in his lifetime, even as his body grew colder in the heaviest, darkest, most elaborately

embossed coffin money could buy.

My father, the capo. Il Padrone. Father of a thousand lies, rarely seen by the child of his blood.

What a triumphant return.

What a legacy. Any daughter would be lucky, to be left with enough money to buy up a small

country, army and national debt included. Besides the money, there was also an island, several

estates, a couple of private planes, a yacht, another yacht, a fortress on the coast somewhere,

and a vineyard further inland somewhere else. Hugely impressive for a self-made man who

didn't even make it to sixty. And since I was the only child by blood, the only living claimant in

his will, it was all coming to me. Lucky, lucky me.

If only all my father's other children had not followed him home.

One by one, they appeared on the horizon. Lesser men get funeral corteges consisting of slow

cars. Not so, my father's corpse. He made the trip home for the last time with half the crimelords

of the continent accompanying him on their yachts. For that was his true legacy, the younger

men he had picked up over the years and installed as rulers of their respective territories across

the world. Each with their own set of obligations and entanglements to remind them of who

really ruled. The true heirs of my father, the children he could be proud of. While I, the useless

daughter, could be left at home to rot. It's quite funny, really, I thought. I might be sad today, but

I'll still have a quiet chuckle to myself.

My bodyguard, the youngest one called Vincenzo, threw me a concerned look. "Are you feeling

all right, bambina?"

Adorable. He was only a year older than me, and he'd still picked up the habit the rest of them

had of referring to me as a child.

"I'm all right, Vincenzo," I said to him. "It's just that I was thinking how funny this all is."

His shoulders acquired that extra bit of tension that I had always associated with him being

worried I might do something outrageous. He wasn't usually wrong, either. But at least he tried

to hide it.

"Funny," he repeated expressionlessly. "What is funny today?"

"Well, it is funny, Vincenzo," I pointed out, "because look at all this froth on the sea, caused by

my father's death. You know what that is out there?"

"No," he said, his shoulders expressing the strong desire not to be discussing this.

I waved my hand at the fleet of superbly outfitted yachts on the horizon, heading closer in a

cautious and respectful formation around my father's boat.

"That, my friend," I said gravely, "is what you might call a crimewave."

Vincenzo looked at me. I looked back. There was a long, tense moment when I thought I might

get slapped across the face for going too far. But it's still Vincenzo, my dearest friend since I

was sixteen. He's always known I can't help it, being the way I am. A reluctant grin stretched

across his face. I couldn't help beaming back at him.

"Admit it," I said. "Best joke I ever made."

"The standard is not high, bambina," he replied. "But ok. It's not bad."

And so we stood there grinning at each other like a pair of nervous monkeys, not even knowing

how closely we were being watched.

Gabriel

Funerals weren't really my strength, but I generally tried to be respectful of such occasions.

Much easier than pretending to be happy at weddings and christenings. Infinitely preferable to

pretending interest in all the stupid people who kept trying to talk to me at my mother's soirees.

For that reason, it shocked me to see the dead man's daughter laughing joyously on the quay.

On this day of all days, she could find the time to smile and flirt with a handsome young man in

the bright sunshine. Perhaps the weather was inappropriate for a day of mourning, but as far as

I knew, that chit of a girl had lost her only living relative. Was she really so callous, or was it only

the thought of her inheritance that made her bubble over with happiness?

His usually generous mouth compressed tightly in disapproval, my ship's captain lowered his

own telescope. "They're waiting for us on the quay, it seems. I hope they are not too surprised to

see the coffin. They seem to have forgotten why we have come here today."

"You may be right, Matthias. There doesn't appear to be any great sorrow here. We may have

come to the wrong place to show our respect." I grimaced. "But then again, Il Padrone was not

always a lovable man. Perhaps his daughter is not the only one smiling today."

"That's not relevant," said Matthias bitingly, and I realized that his feelings had been truly

offended. "It's the look of the thing. She shouldn't look like she's waiting for her lover on the day

her father's body comes home to be buried."

That opened up a new line of thought for me. "Do we know if she might be?" I asked idly, my

eyes still glued firmly to the girl on the quay.

"Might be what?" said Matthias, looking around quickly. "Waiting for a lover?"

"Well, I was wondering," I said, squinting to focus now on the young man smiling back at

potentially the richest woman to exist since Catherine the Great. "Is it possible that she is

looking forward to a life of freedom and luxury with a man she knew her father would never

allow her to marry? A humble bodyguard, maybe?"

Matthias jerked his telescope back up so fast, I thought he might dislocate his neck. "A

bodyguard? That one?" He'd always been more fanatical about guarding my interests than I

could ever be, and I could tell he was offended all over again at this potential affront to my

dignity. If an heiress was in the offing, naturally Matthias would like to think I would be the most

suitable candidate for courtship, not some stripling in a rented suit. Never mind that the stripling

had already been sequestered on the estate where the heiress lived in splendid isolation, with

nothing and nobody else to console her except her bodyguards. A regrettable oversight on the

part of Il Padrone. One I would now have to correct.

Matthias frowned heavily. "You think they were waiting for him to die so that they could be

together?"

"Well, I don't know, do I, Matthias? All I know is that they look young, happy and in love. They're

practically sparkling in the sunshine. I can't be the only one who's noticed."

And in fact I was sure I wasn't. There were other sharks circling in the water today, and judging

from the gleams of sunlight on glass from behind us, I knew there were a number of others who

had seen the capo's daughter waiting by the water. And they were all thinking the same thing.

That she was young, single, and without her father's protection now. Ripe for the taking.

Matthias cursed under his breath. "That boy will not survive two seconds after the Magnusson

brothers arrive, that much I can tell you."

Ah, yes, the Magnussons. The nastiest pair of predators in the Baltic Sea. Unusual for them to

travel so far south, but for their adoptive father's death they would pretend to make an effort.

Just as I had. We were all bound to the same mentor after all, by virtue of his own training. Even

Matthias could not fail to acknowledge the debt, though I believed he had reason to hate the old

man more than the rest of us combined. Not that we ever spoke of it.

"Well, well," I said tolerantly. "We'll see when we get there. If little Lars has his heart set on the

capo's daughter, who am I to object?"

Matthias grunted disbelievingly. Among the other things we never spoke of was my own,

undying hatred of Lars Magnusson, my quite urgent need for a wife, and the fact that I've always

loved women who love to laugh.

Certainly it seemed that this funeral might have possibilities.