The Mafia Dons Pet (Masha and Luciano) novel Chapter 1

Masha pov

A few weeks ago, my mom got engaged to a retired mafia boss, Jimson Vincenzoni.

Tonight was our first “family dinner,” and I was anxious about meeting Jimson’s children—Luciano and Emma.

I’d spoken to Jimson a couple of times. His jagged scar hinted at a violent past, yet his voice was always gentle. Mom swore he was sweet and caring. I still wasn’t thrilled about her marrying someone tied to the mafia, but it was her choice. After everything she’d been through, she deserved happiness.

Dad died in an accident when I was seven, and Mom raised me with all her heart. She only started socializing again after I left for Vancouver Film School. I just wanted her to be happy—but I wanted no part of the mafia world. My focus was on graduating and becoming a producer.

I stepped into the grand entrance hall, unsure which way to go. The last time I’d been here was with Mom. The lights were on, but the Vincenzoni house still felt dark and unsettling—probably because I dreaded meeting Luciano.

People called him brutal, ruthless. His name alone carried fear.

“Masha.”

Mom’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. She looked radiant in a silver dress, happiness making her seem years younger.

“Mother,” I smiled, moving in for a hug and kissing her cheek. “You look gorgeous.” I stepped back to admire her dress.

She brushed a stray dark curl from my face, her gaze lingering on my V-neck dress.

“Honestly, Masha,” she said with a soft smile, “you could put a whole room to shame without even trying.”

I smiled at Mom, though her compliment felt heavy. The tight dress already made me uncomfortable—I wasn’t the skinniest, and the thigh-high slit only made it worse. Mom’s frown deepened as her fingers smoothed the fabric.

“Tonight is very important,” she said, her eyes locking on mine. Her touch said what her words didn’t: Please try. Please accept this.

Heavy footsteps cut through the soft music. Jimson appeared beside Mom, bending to kiss her cheek.

“Evening, gorgeous,” he murmured, straightening with a grin. His silver hair gleamed in the dim light, his crisp navy suit immaculate.

When his attention shifted to me, I felt eight years old again. “Good to see you, Masha.” My greeting came out small, stuttered.

He didn’t mock my fear—men like him never needed to. From the corner of my eye, I saw a waitress freeze mid-step when Jimson lifted a single finger. That was power—the kind that didn’t need violence to command a room.

The door opened. A woman’s voice rang out.

“Really? Brother, look at this mess.”

Emma glided in like a runway model in white silk, a man—Kol—close at her back.

And then came Luciano.

The name alone made hardened criminals flinch. He filled the doorway like smoke before a fire—taller than Jimson, raven-black hair falling in deliberate waves, high cheekbones, a shadow of stubble.

But his eyes… God. Dark, smoldering, all-seeing, giving nothing away.

His charcoal shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing scarred forearms. And there—crimson stains on his cuffs. Fresh.

Instinctively, I stepped closer to Mom.

He was the most dangerously beautiful man I’d ever seen. And the Mafia Don of the Greek syndicate. My nerves screamed run.

Jimson’s voice cut sharp. “Luciano. What happened?”

Luciano didn’t even blink. He simply looked through his father and headed upstairs. Jimson’s fury simmered. Emma stayed quiet, Kol unreadable, Mom masking her emotions like a pro.

Jimson followed his son, their footsteps fading. My mind spun with questions I’d never dare ask.

This man—this storm of danger—was about to be my stepbrother.

Crazy.

“I’m so sorry about that, Tiffney,” Emma said smoothly, her voice sweet as honey over broken glass. “I’m Emma, and this is my husband, Kol.”

Mom smiled, slipping into social grace like a second skin. “You’re just as beautiful as your father said. And this is my daughter, Masha.”

I nodded silently. I was nothing like Mom, a social butterfly. I preferred my camera, my screenplays. Tonight already felt exhausting.

I shot Mom a look, clearly saying I hated this.

“Let’s move to the dining room while we wait for the men,” Mom suggested, ignoring me.

I forced a smile and followed her. Our private alcove overlooked both exits and the grand staircase—not an accidental choice.

Appetizers arrived: prosciutto-wrapped figs, untouched.

“Oh, Masha will look lovely as a bridesmaid,” Mom said with a hopeful lilt I couldn’t crush.

Emma smiled politely. “Reminds me of my wedding. Kol here was a nervous wreck.”

“Hey,” Kol laughed softly, his hand slipping into Emma’s. The simple intimacy made me look away.

Their chatter blurred as my thoughts drifted upstairs. What was Mom thinking? Of all men, she picked a retired mafia don?

Honestly, I grew up in the mafia, but I didn’t know much about it. Mom always sheltered me, especially when my dad passed away.

What I know about the mafia life came from the school’s resident mafia princess, whispered stories at film school and from my dreadful cousin Alice, who swooned over the man every chance she got. Some of my friends crazily loved Luciano, but others feared him as if he was like the death God. Not wanting to know what kind of man he was, I kept myself separate from the murky water of the mafia. And in the future, I also planed on keeping it that way.

“Enough about the wedding,” Emma turned to me. “I hear you’re in film school?”

The topic felt like mercy. “Yes. Graduating soon.”

“That’s great,” Kol said, warm interest in his voice. “What’s your focus?”

“Production.” Finally, solid ground.

“I’ve always wanted to see how movies are made,” Emma mused.

A low, lethal growl interrupted. “I don’t care what it takes. Handle it. Or get out of my city.” Luciano’s voice rolled into the dining room like thunder.

I froze. Was he talking about the blood on his cuffs?

“Just do as I bloody tell you,” he finished, ending the call. Then—like flipping a switch—his expression softened as he approached.

“It won’t happen again,” he said, kissing Emma’s cheek.

“Better not,” she muttered.

Luciano turned to Mom just as Jimson returned. “Tiffney, my apologies for the delay. Business, you understand.”

“Of course,” Mom soothed, patting his arm like it was nothing.

Nothing? He probably killed someone minutes ago.

“Why don’t you sit next to Masha?”

Oh, God.

My heart pounded as Luciano settled beside me, his expensive, spiced cologne filling my lungs.

“Apologies for such a poor first impression,” he said, his dark eyes locking on mine. It didn’t sound like an apology. It sounded like a warning.

“I’m… Masha Gambino,” I managed.

He lifted his hand, and remembering the blood that coated his skin only minutes ago, I stared at it Yeah, no. That was a hard pass for me. I didn’t need that kind of bad karma in my life.

My gaze cautiously met his, and I watched as those dark brown irises become even darker. Something akin to amusement flashes through his eyes. The kind of amusement a cat had while playing with a mouse.

His hand lowered smoothly, but his eyes darkened. “Come now, we’re to be family. No need for formality.”

Before I could react, he pulled me into an embrace.

The wool of his suit was soft. His arms were steel. His fingers dug into my shoulders.

His breath was warm at my ear. “That’s the last time you’ll disrespect me. Next time I offer my hand, fking take it.”

Terror rooted me in place. I didn’t do confrontations. Anxiety had always ruled me, courtesy of my cousin Alice’s torment. And Luciano was the embodiment of volatility.

I forced myself to stay still, nodding slightly. Finally, he released me.

I glanced at Mom. She was too busy gazing lovingly at Jimson to notice.

“Is everything okay, Masha?” Emma asked.

I couldn’t ruin Mom’s night. I bit my lip and lied. “Yeah, I’m just excited to meet everyone.”

Before she could reply, Jimson raised his glass. “By the end of dinner, we’ll be one big happy family. To family.”

My trembling fingers lifted my glass. The red wine looked too much like something I’d already seen tonight.

My soon-to-be stepbrother had threatened me, and I’d known him for less than ten minutes.

Yeah. I definitely wanted no part of the Vincenzoni family.

“To family,” I echoed, silently praying I’d survive dinner.