The scent of tobacco from one of my father's Cuban-imported cigars saturates the hallway, nearly as much as Kate's incessant screams within her room.

"The ladies and pain don't go together," quips one of my father's advisors, who chuckles at his poor joke.

"Let's just hope all this screaming is worth it; you need an heir."

I glare at them furiously, enough to make the advisor straighten up.

"My apologies, Capo, I didn't mean to discomfort you with my remarks."

"Think before you speak, Angelo, unless you wish to lose your tongue."

"Gabriel!" my father scolds.

"Quiet, father, you'd also do well to remember who is the Capo dei capi now."

He shrugs off my comment. Everyone knows that the great Alessandro has not taken it well, having to hand his leadership over to his eldest son. I think he believed he could continue manipulating me as he did in my youth, but no longer.

That time is over; now I rule and decide how to live my damned life.

The screams continue, drowning out our voices. I want to go out and ride through the city on my bike, but I know I mustn't; my son is about to be born.

A son I never wanted.

From a wife I never loved.

One of the conditions my father imposed to become the Capo dei capi of the Camorra was to marry an Italian woman from the mafia families and produce an heir. My ambition led me to accept his request, and in less than two weeks, I stood at the altar with a woman beside me whom I had never met, trembling each time I touched her.

On our wedding night, she wouldn't let me touch her, terrified after all she was but a girl of nineteen. Not that I am old, being only twenty-eight, but I've lived and certainly have more experience than a virgin. I've been with dozens of women since I was fourteen.

Although I lack empathy, a trait that aids me in my profession, I didn't want to force a frightened child to fulfill her marital duty, so I continued my liaisons with other women, even bringing them to this house, to my room. Things would have continued that way if my father hadn't pressurized me about an heir. Eventually, I caved and consummated my marriage. I tried to make it a pleasant experience for her, and I think I succeeded since, in the following nights, she sought me out in my room and began to get upset when she saw me with other women.

After a month she was pregnant, and I no longer had to sleep with her, which was a relief. I never enjoyed our encounters, often feeling like I was making love to a doll. Kate never caressed me or interacted with me during our encounters, perhaps out of fear, but I couldn't care less.

Now the Camorra is mine.

Suddenly the screams stop, and after a few seconds, a furious roar spreads throughout the house.

Father slaps my shoulder and smiles.

"The next Capo of the Camorra is born," he proclaims.

I clench my jaw, as I have no intention of yielding my position to anyone who doesn't deserve it, not even my own son.

I bang on the bedroom door, but no one answers. Damn, I have things to do; I can't keep wasting time.

After what seems an eternity, Anna comes out, the woman who has cleaned this house and looked after me since my mother passed away.

"I'm so sorry, sir," she says nearly sobbing. "We couldn't stop the bleeding; your wife has passed away."

Everyone looks at me cautiously, waiting for a reaction to what I've just heard.

"The child?"

Anna dries her tears. "The baby is fine," she says and rushes back into the room. When she opens the door, I can see Kate's lifeless body on the bed with the sheets stained red.

"I'm sorry, my Capo," Angelo says, but I pay no heed to his sympathy.

"Here she is," Anna says, holding a bundle in her hands that won't stop wailing. "She's a beautiful girl."

Dear lord. A girl.

A girl with blonde hair and strong lungs for complaining, her mother's legacy.

I don't even give her a second glance before I address Anna. "Hire a nanny as soon as possible. I can't waste my time caring for a baby, not if we want to continue expanding our territory."

After all, La Cosa Nostra might always strike and try to reclaim the ground we've taken from them.

"Make sure she's young, Italian, and a virgin. You need to marry another woman and have a male heir," my father commands.

I turn and look at him with the coldness that my enemies both fear and covet.

"You wanted a grandchild, there you have it. Now I'm the Capo, and I will live my life as I please."

"Son, you need an heir."

"No," I order, hissing furiously.

Everyone takes a step back.

"What name will you give your daughter, sir?" Anna whispers.

"You take care of what I've ordered you to; we'll deal with the name later. I've got more important things to do. Inform Kate's family to take care of the funeral and remove her body from my house," I command before leaving.

As I said, I have much more important matters to attend to.

Sophia

I slide across the broad white leather seat of the limousine, from window to window. I don't want to miss a thing!

For the past twenty minutes the houses have been growing larger and more beautiful. Now each one occupies a whole block. I'm on the verge of squealing like a little girl who can't contain her emotions.

The house where I lived with my dad was beautiful, yet modest. Every weekend when dad was off work, we'd drive his car through the wealthiest neighborhoods of the city, marveling at the magnificent and massive homes. He always told me that one day he'd build me a house fit for a princess, but sadly, he died on my twelfth birthday.

I still miss him, and I believe I always will.

My mom passed away when I was born, but dad always talked about her, showing me photos and videos, so in a way, she was always there. Plus, dad put a lot of effort into filling the roles of both mother and father, and I think he excelled at it. I couldn't have asked for a better dad.

It's just unfortunate that a job he did for his Boss took his life, but in the Camorra, dying while following your Boss' orders is celebrated and admired, and used as an example for others.

My dad is and will always be a hero to me and to the Camorra.

I can't help but squeal with delight when the limousine turns and begins to drive up a cobblestone driveway flanked by enormous evergreen trees. In the distance, a massive structure looms.

No. It's not a house, it's a freaking mansion!

I start bouncing in my seat at the thought of living here for the next few months, if everything goes well. But I know it will. I've never taken care of a baby before, but I've been looking after myself since my dad died and I did well—I mean, at least I'm alive. Taking care of a baby should be much easier, right?

Besides, it's a baby; I won't even need to worry about it sneaking out at night.

My thoughts are interrupted when I can see the mansion in greater detail. It features Mediterranean architecture, and it's finished in bone white and gray colors. It has two stories and massive windows everywhere, which I assume must be bulletproof since this is the house of the new Camorra Boss, and it's always better to be safe, especially if his child is here.

It's a shame that the baby's mother died, according to the scant information given to me by my aunt, who was eager to get rid of me. But I hope he's as lucky as I was, and that his dad can fill that role or he marries a kind woman who will love the new heir even if it isn't her own blood.

"Shit, is that a helipad?" I ask, looking towards the rear of the property.

"It is, Miss Sophia," replies the driver.

My face flushes as I realize he has witnessed all my squeals and cries of admiration.

"I'm sorry," I whisper so softly that I can barely hear myself.

"No need to apologize, Miss Sophia. It's a beautiful home."

"It's the most beautiful home I've ever seen!" I exclaim, hugging myself with a huge smile on my face that I don't think will fade easily.

The driver steps out of the limousine, opens my door, and helps me down. Once on the ground, I spin three hundred and sixty degrees and squeal again.

I still can't believe I'm going to live here!

It's a dream come true.

I sit on the beautiful flat stones that cover the entranceway. I run my hand over them and smile as they feel smooth and cool against my skin.

"The place has a helipad, three swimming pools, one of them heated. There's also a tennis court and a vast garden that was the creation of the best landscape architect in New York."

"I'll take it," I blurt out, then laugh at the thought of ever buying a house like this.

The driver laughs. "You deserve that and more, Miss Sophia," he says looking at me fondly. "I worked with your father; he always talked about his little Sophia."

"Oh, it's a pleasure," I say, getting up and greeting him with my hand.

"The pleasure is mine. My name is Matteo Rossi."

"I'm Sophia Palermo, although I imagine you already know that."

He nods before speaking: "The woman who runs this house and will be in charge of you is named Anna Romano; she's kind, but strict."

"I understand."

"I hope you like it here."

I smile. "I think so, everything has to go well."

He walks me to the door and once it opens, he returns to the limousine.

A fifty-year-old woman with hair as black as mine and dark eyes scrutinizes me.

"Are you Sophia Palermo?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen, but I assure you I'll take good care of the baby."

"We shall see," she returns still not letting me pass. "I knew your father; one of the best soldiers the Camorra ever had."

I smile as I do every time someone mentions my dad.

"Thank you."

"I hope you're a hard worker and as loyal as your father was."

"I hope so too."

"Follow me," she orders, and I start to follow her, my mouth agape as I see the interior of the house, which is much more beautiful than the exterior—and I thought that was impossible. "You stayed with your uncle Narciso and his wife, no?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I don't like them."

I smile. "Then that makes two of us."

She looks at me and can't help but respond to my smile.

"Smart girl."

We start ascending a grand staircase leading to the second floor, and my eyes are glued to the beautiful works of art hanging on the walls.

"Is that a Picasso?"

"Do you like art?"

"I'm not an aficionado, but I'd recognize a Picasso anywhere."

"It's a Picasso."

"A replica or original?"

"What do you think?"

I whistle, impressed. "Wow."

"Your room will be next to the baby's."

"Understood."

She knocks on a large bronze door, and a uniformed maid emerges, reeking of vomit with a stain of it on her chest and hair.

"Finally," she exclaims and dashes out of the room.

A piercing cry that clenches my heart is all I can hear.

"Welcome," says Anna before she pushes me into the room and shuts the door behind me.

"Shit, what do I do now?"

Sophia

I approach the crib and look around with sorrow. The room isn't decorated for a baby and it's quite dark.

I draw the curtains to let the sunlight do its job. The baby screams at the top of its lungs, its face red. It isn't wearing a diaper and the crib is dirty with its own waste.

I search frantically for diapers and wet wipes to attend to it. As soon as I find them, I sigh in relief. I move closer to the baby and lift up its small t-shirt which is also wet, with what I hope is sweat.

"Oh, you're a girl," I say as I get a better look at her.

Strange. I'm almost certain my aunt told me about the Capo's heir, but I guess the baby's sex doesn't prevent her from being her father's successor. We're in the twenty-first century, if a woman wants to be Capo, she will be.

"I know, honey, you'll be warm again soon," I whisper upon feeling her cold skin.

Taking off the clothes shows me that the situation is worse than I imagined. I'm going to have to bathe her. I clean the excess dirt with wet wipes while the little one cries out with all the strength of her tiny lungs. Carefully, I carry her in my arms to one of the doors, but it turns out to be a closet. I open the other door and bingo, we have a bathroom.

Looking around, I'm sure I can't bathe her in the huge bathtub, it's too dangerous. I turn the sink tap and when the water is lukewarm, I place the baby in and wash her with the soap on the counter, which isn't meant for babies—I hope it doesn't harm her sensitive skin.

The baby quiets for a few seconds as she feels the water, but then resumes crying even louder.

"It's just water, sweetheart, we'll be done soon."

Since I'm here, I decide to wash her beautiful blond hair with extreme care, making sure no water runs down her face and into her tiny ears.

"That's it, my dear, we're done now."

I lift her out and wrap her up in a towel that I fortunately found in one of the many drawers of the enormous piece of furniture that covers an entire wall of the bathroom.

I search everywhere for a hairdryer but can't find anything. Just as I'm about to give up hope, I locate one in a small plastic basket on one of the shelves.

I find an outlet, turn it on the lowest speed, and begin to dry the slippery baby, who I think enjoys the warmth as she quiets for a few minutes.

"See? That wasn't so bad," I tell her as I make sure to dry her all over.

Once she's dry, I switch off the dryer and walk over to one of the room's large chaise lounges, hastening to put on her diaper.

I feel like crying like the baby as I fumble with the diaper, but I finally manage something respectable. Then I try to dress her, but she cries and flails her little arms and legs.

I sadly notice her ribs sticking out as she cries.

"You need to eat better, little one," I tell her and stroke her cheek, hoping it'll plump up someday.

I place some large cushions around her to prevent her from falling to the floor, then proceed to change the crib's bedding, never taking my eyes off the little gladiator punching the air with all her might.

After finishing, I pick her up again and set her down in her crib, making sure to cover her with a clean blanket.

The baby continues crying, but I tune it out and begin to clean up the mess in her room and the bathroom. I even locate the little one's toiletries and place them in a more accessible spot. I'll need to organize this room when I have time. And maybe decorate it—the gray color of the walls is depressing. If this were my room, I'd cry just like the baby.

"I didn't ask for your name, little one, but I'm sure it's beautiful.”

My heart breaks when I see tears rolling down her thin cheeks. I move closer and stroke her belly with my hand, but it doesn't soothe her, she continues to cry.

When I'm about to start crying with her, I remember something my dad always used to tell me.

I hold her in my arms, open my blouse, and lay her against the skin of my chest. I take her blanket and head to the biggest couch, lying down with her on my chest and abdomen. She's so tiny. Her feet barely reach the middle of my belly.

I start to hum one of the songs my dad sang to lull me to sleep, and she slowly begins to settle down.

I kiss the top of her head when she sighs and starts to close her little eyes.

I take her tiny fingers and caress them until they're no longer so cold. Then I bring them to my mouth and blow warm breath on her little hand. She sighs again at the warmth on her skin.

"That's right, baby. Everything will be okay, I'll take care of you. I'm not going anywhere, sweetie. Sleep peacefully."

I kiss the top of her head and enjoy her exquisite baby scent. She is an adorable little one. I'm sure her dad melted with tenderness as soon as he saw her. Because even though he's our Capo and has to deal with his enemies, I'm sure he has a special place in his heart for this little treasure. Who could not fall in love with her?

I'll need to ask about her feeding schedule, the measurements for the milk, and especially, where there are special items for her. I'll speak to Anna before she wakes up.

I move as slowly as possible; I don't want to wake her. She looks so peaceful right now that I don't want anything to ruin her deserved moment of rest. Crying like that must be exhausting.

By her crib, I slowly move her away from my body and lay her down on the sheets, but before I can cover her up she opens her eyes and starts crying again.

"Here we go again."