Mafiella: Welcome to The Family

The weathered envelope in Stella's hands contains a life-changing secret…one that will thrust her into a world where she not only belongs -
It’s a world she's destined to rule.

Since her grandfather's death three years ago, Stella has cherished the envelope, fantasizing about its mystery and the possibilities it may open for her. But nothing could have prepared her for its contents—a simple invitation to an exclusive all-girls prep school.

Sure, it’s sparse on details, and a new school isn’t the exciting adventure she dreamed of, but it can’t be worse than another dismal year living as a servant under her stepmother’s thumb…can it?

The cryptic acceptance letter hints at a deeper mystery surrounding her family's past - why is her last name different in the letter, and what makes her father so evasive when she questions him about it?

Determined to uncover the truth and escape the hellscape her stepmother rules, Stella dives into her family's history, only to discover more secrets and surprises than she ever could have imagined.

Is the secretive Valentina's Academy a ticket out of her current life or just another prison to survive?

Mafiella is a thrilling mystery of self-discovery and Family secrets that will keep you on the edge of your seat.

Get it Now.

In her cramped and narrow bedroom, which had probably been used as a butler’s pantry by the past residents, given its odd rhombus shape and proximity to the kitchen, Stella sat on the frigid stone floor clutching a yellowed envelope.

The oppressive stillness closed in on her along with the darkness. Piccolo Angelo was scrawled across the front of the envelope in fading script. She kept this treasure hidden between the pages of an atlas under her bed, away from prying eyes, never telling a soul that it existed, anticipating this moment for the last three and a half years. She’d clung to the promise of the envelope’s contents when life became unbearable. It might only be a simple letter from her mother or grandfather, some shred of love to get her through the next few years until she’d be free from this place. 
The envelope’s contents wouldn’t be a mystery for long. Stella traced her nickname with the tip of her finger. She wondered if maybe she should wait and savor the anticipation a little while longer. Once she opened it, the thrill would be over, and she’d know whatever Nonnu had wanted kept secret. She was more than a bit nervous if it contained anything close to the life-changing information of the other envelope. Maybe she’d wait. What was the harm in delaying another year?
Stella brought the paper to her nose and imagined she could still smell Nonnu’s cologne and feel the touch of his callused and leathery hands as he pressed the two envelopes against her palm on his deathbed and made her promise to protect them with her life. He instructed her to open the first when he died. Stella had protested, but Nonnu said he could feel the end nearing, and the first envelope would keep her safe. The second, he said, was not to be touched until her sixteenth birthday, and she was never to show it to anyone. Ever.
Growing up in the suburbs of the Mile-High city, it was just the four of them: Mom, Granny, Nonnu, and herself. Stella had never met or even heard of any other living family. There weren’t any photo albums or framed images adorning the walls of their five-room red brick ranch-style house. When she’d asked about the missing pictures, Granny said all their mementos had been lost in a fire. As far as Stella knew, she was the end of the family line. A line that kept getting shorter. Mom had died before Stella turned five, leaving her with vague, hazy memories. The kind that didn’t feel entirely her own. They were pieced together from Granny’s stories and her daydreams. But it hadn’t been a bad life. She’d adored her grandparents, who were loving and affectionate, if a bit quirky. 
Nonnu would get a far-off look in his eye and tell her about the “good old days” back in Brooklyn, New York. But before he went into too much detail, Granny would prod him out of the easy chair and remind him the grass could use a mow, leaves needed raking, or the driveway was mounded with snow and due for shoveling. That would be the end of storytime. But Stella had been fascinated by his tales of righting wrongs and looking out for the little guy. 
When Granny died four years ago, Nonnu retreated into his special world more and more. It was just the two of them, with an occasional visit from a home nurse when he started going downhill. Stella did all the cooking and cleaning while still attending school. She’d offered to quit or do remote learning, but Nonnu insisted she go in person. He was old-fashioned that way. It was a lot of responsibility for a twelve-year-old. Still, being an only child, constantly surrounded by adults, Stella had always been mature for her age. Being raised by her grandparents, having strict rules, and emphasizing self-sufficiency had helped. They’d had no friends or people over to the house, but Stella assumed they were private people. Granny always said that home was for family, and family was them. On special days when Nonnu was fully present and aware, they’d take the light rail down to the Italian district and go through the market, selecting items for dinner. At the same time, Nonnu quizzed Stella on the Italian names for the produce. If she got them all correct, he’d buy her a gelato. For some reason, he always told the same story on these trips. The story of their rebirth, he called it. And he always started the same. 
Not so long ago, in the slim set of years between the Before and After Times, the world was on fire. Everything was in turmoil. Countries in crisis. Riots in the streets. There was disquiet in every city as people demanded radical change. The pendulum always swings back; you must be ready when it does, he’d say, wagging his finger in her face. The lucky cities were amicably carved up, neighborhood by neighborhood, family by family. Some streets were bisected, leaving your neighbor suddenly in an entirely different domain. Then, there were boundaries no one could agree on, and cities went to war. Eventually, one family emerged victorious. They grew in power and territory—oozing from the city centers into the suburbs as law enforcement lost more power, officers, and ambition. Who could blame them? They were fighting the citizens, the mafia, the gangs, the drug cartels, and anyone else who wanted a piece. It was only a matter of time before they stepped back entirely and became figureheads. 
Sure, there were places they hadn’t reached—yet. Places with wholesome names and even more wholesome people who had never heard of us or the need for protection. Places where people were good neighbors and took policing into their own non-corrupt hands, but that didn’t mean they weren’t on the hit list. Somebody would get them—eventually. This was our renaissance. If only I could have finished what I started. When she asked what he meant, Nonnu would sigh wistfully and reply that someday she’d understand.
Stella remembered clutching both envelopes to her chest as she sat in the living room while paramedics worked on Nonnu, who was slumped in his favorite chair. After fifteen minutes, he still wasn’t moving, so she pushed the secret envelope down the front of her tucked-in shirt and ripped open the other letter. She stared at the page until the paramedic touched her shoulder. 
“Is there someone we can call for you, honey?” the woman asked. Stella handed her the sheet of paper containing a single name and a phone number.
* * *
Standing in front of a two-story mini-mansion popular in the early twenty-first century, gripping one suitcase in her right hand and shielding her face from the sun with the other, Stella looked up at the man bounding down the driveway. She hadn’t even known her father existed until she opened the first letter Nonnu had given her. He was a mass of frenetic energy, jingling the coins in his pocket or gesturing wildly with his hands. He was vastly different from herself and her reserved mother. Other than their identical emerald green eyes, Stella had wondered what else she’d inherited from him. She didn’t have enough time to discover their similarities. Shortly after she’d arrived, he was back in jail. Stella was left to the tender mercies of his wife, her new stepmother, Margaux, and her half-brother Oliver. 
At first, Stella had been excited to have a mother again. Margaux put on a good act when Stella showed up, fussing over her and making promises to shop for new clothes. Nonnu had taught Stella how to read people’s motives, and she could tell Margaux was not pleased. Stella’s arrival had disrupted the image of her otherwise perfect life. Perception trumped reality every time. Pristine and polished, Margaux was the quintessential suburban homemaker, even if her husband regularly spent time in federal prison; she covered it easily by saying he was away on business. But that was just a facade. At home, she had another side, cruel and dismissive. After finishing her daily chores, Stella often skipped dinner to hide in her room. It was a stark contrast and adjustment from the loving home she’d just left. 
When she’d reflected on the uncertainty of a letter to provide for her wellbeing, Stella would become angry. How did Nonnu even know her father would take her in? She could be in foster care or on the street. Life was uncertain. People died all the time, at least they did around her. She turned the soft envelope over in her hands. Maybe this letter contained the code to a safety deposit box full of cash, allowing her to escape the drudgery of suburbia and start over. Stella touched the locket on a chain dangling mid-chest. There was no longer a digital picture that would flicker in the darkness and keep her company, the battery having died years ago. Still, she remembered the image of her mother’s broad smile and her at two laughing into the camera. She rubbed the worn, smooth metal until it warmed under her touch. All this anticipation was overwhelming. Her emotions felt like an overinflated balloon. Just one more inhale, and she’d pop. She felt the sobs waiting to escape at the back of her throat, a bubble of fear rising with her increased anxiety, but she didn’t cry. Not anymore. Stella forced out a quick breath to steady her nerves. Whatever it was, she could handle it. 
“You’re a star, my Stella, and stars are built by pressure,” Granny had told her whenever tears threatened after a scraped knee or when her mother had died. 
There was no clock in her room, digital or otherwise. Per her stepmother's rules, she and her half-brother Oliver’s devices were kept in an automatic locking box on the kitchen island to charge overnight. She dared not flick on a light to draw Margaux’s attention from upstairs. Stella preferred to pretend she was invisible. In this house, it usually worked. Instead of a lamp, Stella relied on the full moon cascading through the transom window onto a slim patch on the floor to provide enough brightness to see. 
Finally, the grandfather clock in the entry began to chime. Stella counted 1, 2, 3…10, 11… She took a deep breath as the twelfth chime clanged, then slid her finger under the fold in the envelope, loosening the seal. It lifted free with ease. The envelope was old, much older than the three and a half years she’d had it. Stella could have “accidentally” opened it many times, but she had promised to wait. And a promise was sacred. She pulled the contents free and unfolded the paper.