The Stomachless Princess

lergy to our Mafia family's

t my mother, the ruthless Boss of the Chicago

ison, convinced she could force my imm

d onto the dining table, my cowardly father

ced bathroom, leaving me to suffocat

t suffer to b

a rival Capo about how my torture was necessary,

sping for my last breath, I

as my body belonged to the Family, she would

inic, I grabbed her massive stash of the

lose my stomach, annihilating my value forever, just s

pte

a's

my soup like honey dissolving

s. Our family's signature narcotic-the product that built our throne. I was born with a letha

of the Chicago Outfit, had never accepted

h sound was a countdown, deliberate and unhurried, like she had all th

eding from my intestines because she laced my morning espresso w

anaphylaxis a

nnot be allergic to the very

olden liquid in my bowl, making it shimmer. Beautiful. Lethal. The sweet chemical scent h

e of ceramic against wood echoed through

at

a request. N

beside her. Her Consiglie

and pleading. "Just eat it, Any

hould have protected me.

reach for the spoon. I would not give her

st

y the doors flinched. Crystal glasses wobbled. My mother's manicured fingers curled around the

sed. "For your disre

-not to stop her, never to stop her-and scooped more golden broth i

ce was red, veins bulging at his temples. "Are

ollowed was heavie

l bills, the surgeon's invoice stamped CONFIDENTIAL, and a square of fabric cut f

the table beside

ge will drain our

at. Dead. A thing sc

stained fabric. His mouth open

od. She didn't care about the bl

dge of the table

soup crashed to the marble floor in a wave of gold and white, s

orth. "I lead this Family. I built this empire. And my own daughter-my

ped her

re she'd been cowering. She placed a smal

mother c

The rice was unadorned. S

ok a

e, a bitter chemical burn spread throu

to powder. Boiled

nd spat the food