The Plus-Size Mafia Heiress Strikes Back

A moment later, my father opens the door. The guard behind him stays where he is, waiting for permission to let me into my own home. “Gardi. You're back.” My father steps aside. “This has gone on long enough. You're seeing the doctor today.” “He's right,” Vivian says, coming up beside me. A tiny red light blinks on the little camera clipped inside her jacket. She's still filming. “I don't need to see a doctor.” “You're going,” my father says. I reach for the glass of water on the counter, but Jasper steps in front of me and presses a mug of hot tea into my hands. For a second, the warmth makes me forget what I just heard. During our first month together, my cramps got so bad I was doubled over, sweating through my shirt. Jasper couldn't cook to save his life, but he made me soup from scratch, spilling half of it and burning his hand on the pot. When it finally helped, he pulled me into his arms and let out a shaky breath. “I'm gonna take better care of you. Next time you feel like this, let me help.” For five years, he always made sure I had something warm to drink when I wasn't feeling well. “Viv said you weren't feeling well.” I force a nod, then look up and find Vivian watching my face. She's waiting for me to smile at him, then fall apart when he turns back to her. The tea is bait. “Just get checked out, honey,” Celeste says, dabbing at her eye. “For us. Please.” She loops her arm through mine and steers me toward the door, where a guard is already waiting to escort us to the car. She sits beside me in the back while Jasper drives and Vivian takes the passenger seat. Vivian holds his free hand, whispering and giggling until she turns around. “Gardi, remember when Jasper brought me gardenias and told me he loved me? God, he was such an idiot. He knew I loved roses.” She watches my face. I'm the one who loves gardenias, and I'm the one he brought them to. My name is Gardenia. Two weeks ago, that would've made me cry. Today, I smile. “Really? Aww. You guys are so cute.” The car brakes hard. Jasper looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Gardi... you okay?” “I'm fine.” I point out the window. “Aren't we here?” At the clinic, Celeste insists Jasper and Vivian go into the consultation with me. “They've seen how she's been behaving,” Celeste tells the doctor. The doctor asks about my sleep, my appetite, and what happened over the past two weeks, then sets down his pen. “Ms. Carter, you're showing signs of anxiety. Nothing you've told me so far suggests you're delusional.” Vivian's smile disappears. “That can't be right. She keeps telling everyone my boyfriend is her fiancé.” She nudges Jasper, and he immediately pulls out his phone. “Doctor, are you sure? She's been sending me things like this every day.” He turns the screen toward the doctor. [Jasper, I don't know if you're crazy or I am. You're my fiancé. Why won't you admit it?] [Why are all our photos suddenly of you and Viv? When did you swap them?] [Today's your birthday. Last year you said you wanted to go back to the hotel where we first—] The doctor reads the messages, then looks at me over the phone. “These are concerning, Ms. Carter. Delusions are a possibility, but this may simply be a refusal to respect boundaries.” The consultation room door is open, and a nurse passing outside slows down to look at me. Vivian catches Jasper's hand and holds it in her lap. “We've tried to be patient with her,” she says. “She's my sister.” I hear a whisper from the hallway. “The girlfriend brought her boyfriend's mistress in for treatment?” “Look at the size of her. She seriously thinks she can steal her sister's boyfriend?” Then Vivian lowers her voice, just enough to make everyone lean in. “My stepfather's worried too. She's supposed to inherit his family, but she's been like this for weeks.” My face burns, and my hands won't stop shaking. I look at Jasper, desperate for him to say one honest thing. He's watching Vivian. She gives him a quick grin and flashes an OK sign beneath the desk, where the doctor can't see. The red light on her camera is still blinking.

They dragged me here to get more footage of the family heir falling apart. I take a slow breath and look the doctor in the eye. “You're right. I was delusional. But I'm wide awake now.” I stand up, leave Jasper and Vivian sitting there, and walk out. In an empty corner of the waiting area, I open my phone and scroll past two weeks of unanswered messages to Jasper. He finds me before I reach the first one, so I slip the phone into my bag. “Gardi. There you are. I've been looking everywhere.” I look up with a small smile. “You're Vivian's boyfriend. What do you want with me?” He glances back toward the consultation room. “Gardi, come on. Showing the doctor those texts was for your own good—” “Sure.” I hold out my hand. “My phone's dead. Can I borrow yours?” He lets out a relieved breath and hands it over. I unlock it on the first try. He's used the same passcode for years. There's a group chat pinned at the top of his messages, with Vivian and the guys from her welcome-home dinner. I open it. She's posted a video titled The Fat Mafia Girl's Meltdown. The thumbnail is my face, blotchy and wet with tears. Vivian: You all think she's so calm. Give me two weeks. Vivian: When I make her crack, you call ME Mafia Princess. One of the guys: Video or it doesn't count. Another: That whale's supposed to be your next Donna? I'd pay to see her lose it. Jasper: Leave Gardi to me. Under the video, Vivian has added another message. [Your future Donna, gentlemen. Begging a man to love her.] Jasper shifts beside me. “You need to make a call?” “Just a second.” I angle the screen away from him and send the video and screenshots to myself, then clear the messages I just sent. After that, I open his social apps, unfriend my accounts, block them, and delete my number from his contacts. Then I hold the phone out to him. “Well, this appointment cleared things up. I won't bother you and Vivian again. Wish you both the best.” He looks down at the screen and goes pale. “Gardenia!” “What are you two doing?” Vivian hurries around the corner and sees his phone in my hand. “Why the hell are you touching my boyfriend's phone? Get some self-respect. Stop using your little ‘condition’ as an excuse to cross every line.” I almost laugh. She never worried about boundaries when Jasper was mine. We'd been together for two years when she got sick and I asked him to drive her to the ER. That's where they swapped numbers. She insisted on taking him to dinner to thank him, and after that she started showing up on our dates, at our dinners, and on our weekend trips. Jasper remembered her favorite drink, her birthday, even her allergies. Whenever I questioned him, he gave me the same answer. “I'm only nice to her because she's your stepsister.” Vivian had hers ready too. “I'd never even talk to that guy if he weren't your boyfriend.” I believed them for years. Now she's staring at his phone like she's terrified of what I might have seen. Everyone at that dinner knew they were together. My “lie” was the only true thing anyone said all night. My fiancé and my stepsister have been sleeping together behind my back, and they've made me the punch line. “Whatever you saw, you've got the wrong idea,” Vivian says. “I was just—” Jasper snatches the phone back from me so hard I stumble. “Seriously, Gardi? How many times do I have to say it? I'm not your fiancé. I'm Vivian's boyfriend.” He steps in front of her. “Being the Don's daughter doesn't mean you get to claim me. Stay away from us.” Then he shoves me, and my knees hit the tile. For a second, I can't get enough air to speak. Vivian adjusts the camera inside her jacket. People stop around us, whispering and staring while I push myself up from the floor. Pain shoots through my knee when I put weight on it, but I straighten and raise my voice. “Your boyfriend is the one crossing lines—” Vivian goes still. Jasper gives her a quick, reassuring look, then reaches into his pocket. “Oh, shit.” Something small hits the tile and skids toward my foot. A dog tag. Etched into the metal is one word: BUDDY. I snatch it off the floor. “Where the hell did you get this?” Buddy is my dog, the one I brought back from my grandparents' farm when I was little. After my mother died, my father sent me to live with her parents in rural Ohio. They were old and set in their ways, and most days I might as well have been invisible. Buddy followed me everywhere, even into the cornfield where I once got lost. He found me before anyone else did. When my older cousin stole my toys, Buddy would sneak into his room and bring them back one by one. When my father finally came to take me home, I held on to Buddy and refused to leave without him. They had to bring him too. I made his tag myself that summer, copying the ones I'd seen on other dogs. The little ring that used to attach it to his collar is bent open. Jasper sees the panic on my face and exchanges a smug look with Vivian. “Don't overthink it. I'm sure your dog's fine.” I grab his collar. “Where is he? What did you do to Buddy?” He presses his lips together, putting on the same sorry look he used when he showed the doctor my messages. “Come on. Let's go home. Celeste's making soup.”

I let go of Jasper's collar, shove him away, and run. When my father first brought me back to the city, the other families' kids wanted nothing to do with me. They laughed at my clothes, my round face, and the way my thighs rubbed together when I walked. Vivian was the only one who'd sit beside me at lunch. For years, I thought she loved me like a sister. Now she's betting on how much it takes to break me, and Jasper is helping her collect. Behind me, her voice carries through the clinic doors. “Thank God you had that tag. She barely reacted in there.” “But did you see her run? All that belly fat bouncing around!” Vivian bursts out laughing. Buddy didn't bark when I came home this morning. I stood outside the door listening to them laugh, and he never made a sound. He didn't come limping to the door when I went inside, either. I take a cab back to the estate, then run from the gate to the house. The soup pot is on the dining table, its lid half off, with bones sticking out of the steaming broth. I stop so suddenly my shoes skid on the floor. “No.” Tears blur the pot as I reach for the lid. A blur of yellow fur shoots out from behind the couch and catches my pant leg. “Buddy!” I drop to my knees, pull him against me, and sob into his coat. He's here, and he's alive. Then teeth clamp down on my shoulder. I scream and shove the dog away. He lands in front of me, snarling, with his teeth bared. It's Tommy, Vivian's dog. Buddy hasn't moved that fast in years. Celeste stands by the table, watching me get up with a hand pressed to my shoulder. “Where's Buddy?” She looks away. “Vivian and Jasper are on their way back. They have to get ready for the party at the club. Tommy's staying with us for a few days.” “Celeste. Where is my dog?” Her eyes flick toward the pot. My father walks in from the kitchen. “Buddy? He went for Tommy the second Vivian brought him over. I had one of my men put him out.” Buddy has never attacked another dog. He's fifteen, with a bad hip, and he can barely manage the porch steps. I hold up his tag. “Then why did you take this off?” Neither of them answers. “You dumped him somewhere, didn't you?” Celeste looks at my father, waiting for him to speak. “Why?” My voice rises. “You couldn't even let him stay?” I turn to my father. “Dad, I'm your daughter. You know what he means to me. How could you do this?” He slaps me hard enough to turn my head. The guard by the doorway looks away. “I feed you, put a roof over your head, keep you safe, and you scream at me over a fucking dog?” I press my palm to my cheek. “You knew what Buddy meant to me. Her dog gets to stay, and you throw mine out?” “Watch your mouth.” “Picking Vivian over me wasn't enough? Now you have to pick her fucking dog over mine too?” My father raises his hand again, but Celeste steps between us. “Richard, enough.” Then she turns to me. “Gardi, don't act like none of this is your fault. Vivian treats your father like her own dad. She hugs him, talks to him, makes an effort.” She glances at him before continuing. “You spend half your time locked in your room doing God knows what. Then you come out and expect everyone to fuss over you.” My father looks me over, from my swollen cheek to the blood on my shirt. “Vivian knows how to talk to people. She's beautiful, she's charming, and she doesn't embarrass me every time I take her somewhere.” “And look at you,” he adds. “A fat fucking brat throwing a tantrum. You expect my men to take orders from you?” I stand there with my shoulder bleeding while he tells me how much better his stepdaughter is than his own daughter. Vivian is charming when she wants something. Jasper bought every expensive outfit and piece of jewelry Vivian owns, all of it on the card I gave him. And the little camera hidden inside her jacket is mine. I taught myself photography in the room Celeste keeps complaining about, and I loved every minute of it. Vivian saw my photos and asked me to teach her, so I did. Then she asked to borrow my equipment, and I lent her the whole setup. Along with my camera and lenses, I gave her a tiny clip-on camera I used for behind-the-scenes footage. That's the one she hid inside her jacket at the clinic. Now she's using it to film me at my worst, sobbing and falling apart. I look at my father, waiting for him to acknowledge even one thing she's done to me. He says nothing. I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand. You wanna see what I can do with a camera? Fine. I'll show you—