Giacomo's Daughter ebook - Sofia Spera Book One
Giacomo's Daughter: Book #1 of the Sofia Spera trilogy
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About this premium ebook:
Max Denaro is a top guy in the most powerful Italian Mafia family called the Scalici Squad. So whatever Max wants, he gets. And the notorious Detroit mobster wanted Sofia Spera since he first laid eyes on her singing her heart out on stage at the grand opening of the Book-Cadillac Hotel.
Once married to the mob, nobody, including her over-protective father, Giacomo, can keep her safe from the life-threatening danger that comes along with being Mrs. Denaro.
To stay alive, Sofia must use the only weapons available during the Roaring Twenties - her smarts, sexuality, and stellar aim.
Seen through the eyes of an eighteen-year-old woman, “Giacomo's Daughter” is not your typical Mafia story. The first of a trilogy, Rosanna Savone’s debut novel gives an honest, gripping portrayal of an Italian Mafia wife swept into a dark criminal underworld during Prohibition in the volatile yet vibrant Detroit, Michigan.
What people are saying:
“I can’t wait for the next book!”
"The depiction of Sofia's innocence and fear make her eventual claiming of her power all the more effective."
"This is a must read!"
"Interesting view of the Mafia and a women's role in it."
"This was a fantastic read I burned through on vacation!"
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Enjoy a sample of GIACOMO'S DAUGHTER:
Mrs. Sofia Denaro was only eighteen years old. Still, she had already lived a lifetime, although you would never know it from the looks of her. Despite it all, she always somehow managed to have an air of innocence -- the most likely reason being she was once truly a sheltered girl.
She was a dark-eyed beauty reminiscent of a Roman goddess. Some would say she even looked like an angel in her white terry cloth robe as she glided effortlessly through her walk-in closet packed to the hilt with a luxurious wardrobe.
She had an outfit already carefully planned for this special evening. She combed through each hanging dress skimming them all with her fingertips on her way to the perfect ensemble. As she did so, Sofia caught a glimmer of the gigantic pear-shaped diamond solitaire on her left hand.
For a split second, it reminded her of the day that ring was first put on her finger.
The ring, being so conspicuous, made it hard not to be continuously reminded of that moment. It was easily five carats, although she couldn't remember exactly.
She had been in such shock when she first saw it nestled within its black velvet box. As she stared at it, wide-eyed with her hand covering her mouth to hide how her chin had dropped, her whole world had fallen silent. His instant bragging about its enormous size became nothing but muffled background noise.
Since then, Sofia never bothered to ask what he had said that day since things like diamond rings didn't seem to matter much anymore.
But for something that didn't even matter to her, this ring wasn't allowed to ever leave her hand. Max Denaro made sure of that. Since the day he nonchalantly slid it on her ring finger with the coolest confidence she had ever witnessed in a person in her entire life, the world had to know at all times that Sofia belonged to Max.
Because whatever Max wants, he gets.
And he wanted Sofia Spera since the moment he laid eyes on her on stage at the grand opening of the Book-Cadillac Hotel singing her heart out. She knew this to be true because Max could never resist reminding her, repeating the story often in the short time they'd been married.
Sofia was reared by her parents to be nothing more than a good Italian girl virtuously molded, thoroughly trained to excel in domestic chores, and patiently waiting to be chosen by an equally good man and provider.
There wasn't a day that went by; however, that she wasn't singing along with her Victrola, although becoming an actual singer was out of the question for her. According to her strict Catholic parents, well-behaved women didn't run around on stage making spectacles of themselves. Good women weren't created for entertainment. At least, not for wide audiences. They were created for a higher purpose, a more noble cause, only to be enjoyed by one special man. Her future husband.
But her Sicilian father always had to add that women had it easy. Because they only had three choices to make in their entire lives.
Sofia could hear him now. In her mind's eye, she could see Giacomo sitting at the scuffed table tucked in her family's kitchen corner. Wearing his blue jean overalls with the oval Ford emblem stitched across his chest, he'd be twirling his spaghetti with his fork, stopping every so often to puff on one of his short, hand-rolled cigarettes. Papa would always count on his first three thick fingers, rough and blackened by the manual labor required of him on the automobile assembly line. He'd say in his thick Sicilian dialect with his husky voice that women had only to choose to be a mugghieri, soru, or una puttann'.
Every time he would say it, her father would pull on his long, scruffy, salt-and-pepper beard with a cheerful slap on the table. With a chuckle, he would be so amused with himself for coming up with such an apt observation on his own.
But then he would add with a cheerful snicker and sometimes a playful pinch on Sofia’s cheek, that she had it even easier than the rest because she had only one choice. To be a wife, of course.
Evidently, Papa didn't see her being either of the other two extremes, a nun or a whore. So Sofia, being limited in options, resigned herself to societal fate quite early on in her teens.
What else was a girl to do in 1924?