The World of Mafia Kings - Vol.2: Angle

Dedication:

For all the wonderful women who feel bad when they want to eat a second piece of cake or order a dessert in a restaurant, and all because of the standard of our society.

This book boyfriend is for you, because Vincenzo knows exactly how to make sure you don't feel guilty ever again!

Triggerwarning:

This book contains explicit content on the subject:

- physical violence / torture

- child abuse / molestation

- murder

- miscarriage

Dear reader, please only read my story if you are mentally and spiritually up to it.

As much as I appreciate every single companion who reads my work, your mental health is more important, so take care of yourself first and foremost.

With love, yours

Claudia

The content of this e-book/book is protected by copyright.

Use by unauthorised processing, reproduction, distribution or making available to the public, in particular in electronic form, is prohibited and may result in criminal and civil penalties.

All written parts of this book were produced without AI programmes. Every word was written by the author. I hereby object to the use of my work in AI programmes, not even for the further training of any AI tools. This offence may also result in criminal and civil penalties.

© of the original edition 2024 by Claudia Winkel

Prologue - Olivia's POV

- 13 years ago -

‘Mum, please...’

‘You're not finished yet, Olivia! There are still empty spaces here, just like here.’

‘But mum... My hand hurts so much.’

Thick tears ran down my cheeks while my wrist burned as if I were holding it in a flame. I was just sitting in my room, although it was more like a chamber, and I wrote. The room without windows was originally a dressing room and used to be part of a bedroom. But when my parents bought the house, they immediately separated the two rooms. One became a second room for my brother Ethan and the wardrobe became my room. My parents put in a second floor where I had a mattress, while a kind of side table underneath served as my desk. I also had a small cupboard where I had to put my manageable clothes, but also my school things and that was it. There was only one table lamp in the room and if I caused any trouble, it was taken away from me. Then I sat in deep darkness... But at the moment the opposite was the case. The room was brightly lit while I was writing on the 100th or 200th sheet of paper. Always with the same sentences:

I am a liar.

I wanted to hurt my brother.

I'm not worthy of being part of this family.

I don't know how long I had been writing this, but my hand hurt so much that I could barely hold a pen. My mum stood behind me and supervised my work. She took each finished sheet away from me and stuck it piece by piece to my four walls. Neatly, so that there was no space left for anything else to hang.

‘Go on, Olivia! There aren't enough sheets here yet!’

‘But I haven't done anything...’

My mum grabbed my neck and her red-painted fingernails dug deep into my skin. She pushed my head down with force until I was hovering just an inch above the sheet of paper.

‘You told terrible, terrible lies at school, Olivia. Your poor brother could have suffered serious consequences if we hadn't set the record straight. You must learn that lying is not okay and so you must endure this punishment.’

‘Mum, please...’

She forcefully pulled my head back by my hair and made me look at her. Her bright blue eyes were icy cold and scared me.

‘Look at me!’

I squeezed my eyelids together and shook my head. But my mum had never been someone you could negotiate or argue with in any way.

SMACK!

Her slap on my cheek echoed off the walls and my eyes popped open in shock, only to see her impassive, uncaring face. My body was shaking uncontrollably and more tears were about to break through.

‘Write child. Nothing you say can change the fact that you made a written statement under witnesses, that it was all made up. You're a liar, Olivia. No one believes you anymore. Poor Ethan has suffered such a shock because of your accusations...’

She sniffled and acted moved, but my mum was an actress through and through. None of it was real, I knew that.

‘For you, his own sister, to think our angel is even capable of something so heinous...’

I could do what I wanted. It was all pointless. My parents still didn't believe me, or they knew I was telling the truth and refused to accept the reality about their beloved child, Ethan. Everything I had told them had really happened.

The school nurse saw my wounds and believed me. Even the headmistress was convinced I was telling the truth, but it was all over when my parents arrived. They talked to me for over an hour until I signed a statement saying that the wounds came from somewhere else and that nothing I said was true. I had no choice or I would have been disowned by my family and I didn't want to lose my aunt or the few friends I had at this school. Frustrated and tired, I wiped my tears away with a sleeve and continued writing. After hours, I had finally finished the last sheet of paper. The furthest corner of my room was now plastered over. My hand was so sore that I could barely decipher the last few pages.

‘Don't be like that. I'll bring you a painkiller in a minute. Just keep telling yourself you deserve the agony as punishment, Olivia, and now lie down.’

My mum grabbed the table lamp and took it with her as I climbed into my bed. Sometime later, my father brought a tray with food, water and the promised painkiller. It was enough to at least get some sleep. The notes were everywhere on the wall and even if I couldn't see them because of the darkness... I knew they were there and what they said. I wasn't a liar, but nobody here believed me anyway...

Olivia's POV

‘Too less salt, but otherwise good.‘

‘Thanks...’

I patted the temporary cook next to me on the shoulder, who was in charge of the soups today. In my mind, I called him Frodo, since he looked from head to toe like Frodo Baggins from the Lord of the Rings films. Of course with smaller feet and taller... Well, somewhat at least. Frodo had certainly told me his real name when he came in, but I had nothing more to do with him in a few hours, so I didn't even bother to learn it. That may have sounded harsh and uncompromising, but it was the only way to make it in this job - especially as a woman. It's actually funny to think that for decades men in our society said that we women belonged at home in the kitchen. Many men probably still think the same today. But when fate led to me becoming a professional chef instead of a chemist, there was a lot of outcry. I wasn't made for the professional cuisine; I wasn't tough enough; women had no