Preface

Rosie's POV.

Saturday night family suppers were a given in my household. The only valid excuse not to attend was if you were out of town on business. The women cook while the men do business in the family room of Nana's house. Nana had a large kitchen, which was excellent when there was so many clumsy girls that had to be in there, because as in the words of my father, the capo of our family by the name of Frank, "not knowing what is going on in our family is the only way to keep you women safe."

It's a load of bull, if you ask me. 

But I am on one the bottom rungs on the Dolera ladder, being only nineteen and female. F**k this whole system. But whatever keeps me alive, I guess I'll have to do it. 

Nana reached over the bowl on tuna salad I was stirring, not quite reaching the salt she was trying to grab, she then nudged me, and asked for it. I handed it to her, then went back to angrily mixing the damn tuna salad. 

Stephanie walked into the kitchen and threw her coat down on the chair, the chatter in the kitchen quieted while everyone said hello to my older sister. 

"It's f*****g freezing out there," she commented. Nana smacked her arm. 

"Language, Stephanie."

That's what I love about Nana. She has this thick Italian accent, so whenever she addresses my sister, she pronounces her name like the Stefani in Gwen Stefani. She pronounces my name as Roh-see instead of Ro-zie like everyone else. It's like it keeps the family genuinely Italian, you know?
"Rosie, get the turkey out of the oven, it's going to burn," Aunt Corrina ordered me, "On the double Rosie, Frank isn't in a good mood," she passed by me carrying a new bottle of scotch out to the men in the family room. 

Steph followed me over there, kneeling down and whispering to me, "I need to talk to you. Now." 

S**t. Steph's either doing the soft again or pregnant. F**k. 

I nodded quickly and took the bird out of the oven, setting it down on the counter before turning to my grandmother Isabelle, who only spoke Italian. 

"Ho bisogno di parlare con Stephanie, sar™ solo un secondo." I told her. She nodded and waved me away. 

"Io mescolo l'insalata, basta fare in fretta, la nipote." She smiled at me, promising to take over my job. I grinned back and followed my sister out into the parlor. 

Steph was a wild child. Always has been. Dad was constantly getting on her about her tons of piercings that are all up her ears, her eyebrows, the one on her upper lip, and her newest addition, a silver anti-eye piercing. She had her thick black hair up in a messy ponytail and wide hips somehow fitting into her ripped up blue jeans. She, as always, was wearing heavy black eye makeup, but that was just the Dolera daughter way. My younger sixteen year old sister Stella looked nearly identical to Steph, except she had long blonde hair and blue eyes instead of the black hair and brown eyes like Steph. 

Steph brushed her locks from her face, then furrowed her brows, examining my eyes. 

"Sonofabitch," she whispered, "Have you been hitting the yak again, Rosie?" She asked. 

I shrugged, "F**k off, Steph. What the hell do you want anyways?" 

Steph did a little slow twirl of anxiety before turning back to me, "F**k, Rose. I'm in deep this time." 

I'm in deep. A common phrase used by my sister. She's either in debt again or fucked someone over on their weed. That's my sister, a marijuana distributor. No, she doesn't grow it, f**k that, she's got her little puppets to do that. She just collects the cash, and it's gotten a nice big house and a Mercedes so far. 
I rolled onto the balls of my feet, "The f**k do you mean, Steph?" 

She groaned, "I mean, some sonofabitch done messed up the f*****g fields, Rosie. Damn near half is gone. Got a lot of big people out there that are buying off from me, and I could lose a hell of a lot of business from this little mess up."

"Who fucked up the pot?" I asked. 

Steph waved me away, "Doesn't matter, he already got whacked anyways. People don't f**k with me, Rosie. I may have a goddamn vagina, but people don't f**k with me. They get whacked. This f****r had it coming!"

I slapped her arm, "Keep your voice down, Dad'll get after you for using that kind of language. He's got a meeting going on."

"With who?" Steph inquired.

I shrugged, "I don't know. Some other capos looking for some firearms. Doesn't matter. You need cash, Steph?"

If there's one thing I've gotten from being Mr. Frank Dolera's daughter, it's cash. I am nineteen years old and have nearly eight million, just from little distribution jobs for my sister or crap like that. I'm made, as far as my family is concerned. But as far as the entire organization goes, my father is the only made man. Which mean my two sisters, my brother Andre, my mother Emilia, and I, get it pretty damn good. 

I ran a hand through my long black hair while Steph deliberated. I looked a lot like a Dolera, when it came down to it. Average in height, big hips, dark makeup and hair. But I only had a eyebrow piercing and a few in my ears. I wasn't special, really. It was my bank account, ability to seem naive, and powers of persuasion that were. 

Steph groaned, "F**k... yeah, yeah I do. Just a couple G's, Rosie. Something to buy a little more pot with, because I'm already losing profit as we speak. F**k!" She pushed her hair from her face. 

I could hear the men start to get up in the family room and ending their discussion. I looked back to Steph, "I'll wire it. Let's go."

Steph followed me back into the kitchen, and we both assumed our job positions. I thanked my grandmother for watching the salad. Steph and I got a few curious glances, but no one spoke of our disappearance. 

After the supper, Steph and I shot up in the bathroom. 

Drugs, guns, and cash were the only thing holding this family together as it quickly fell apart. 

We are the wealthiest, most established family of PhD's, that range from doctors to lawyers. It's a shame that's not who we really are.