Page 1 of Married to the Mafia Devil

ONE

Emma

“Emma, we need to talk about your rent.”

I’ve barely opened my apartment door and already Mr. Petrelli is leaning in, trying to get past me.

“I’m late for work,” I say. “Can we do this later?”

“You tell him to come out, stop hiding behind his daughter.”

He leans in too close, the smell of stale cigarettes clinging to him like the mold clinging to the wall behind him. “I’ve been generous since your mother died but it’s been a year. The world keeps turning, Emma, like it or not. You earn money, you work hard, you pay your rent.”

Something inside me snaps at the mention of my mother. “Mom was barely cold when you raised the rent, slipped the letter under the door while we were at her funeral.”

He looks surprised that I’m arguing back for once. “Ten percent is nothing,” he splutters. “I’ve got bills to pay too.”

“You’ve got a brand new Audi in the parking garage. You want me to feel sorry that it’s not the Bentley you keep bragging about getting?”

He looms over me, finger wagging. “My choice of car is none of your business. Your father’s drinking is my business. He spends on liquor but not rent. Where is the son of a bitch?”

“I told you. I don’t know.”

“Three months I believed his lies.” He affects a horrible voice, mimicking my father’s pleas. “It’s coming next week, Mr. Petrelli. I left it in my other pants, Mr. Petrelli. I swear you’ll have it tomorrow. All bullshit.”

“Look, I’ll talk to him when he gets back, okay? I’m sure he just forgot?”

I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or me. Since Mom died, my dad’s memory has gotten as bad as his drinking.

Mr Petrelli reaches a bony finger my way, his breath sour as he leers at me. “You could make up the shortfall. ” The suggestion hangs in the air. He stretches toward my hair, yellow nicotine stained nails getting too close for comfort. “Pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

“You’ll get your money, all right?” I say, cowering back from his reaching hands.

He scowls. “Too good for an old man, is that it?” He shoves something into my hands. “Eviction notice. You have one month to vacate.”

The words hit me like a punch, knocking the air right out of me. “But what about Amelia? It’s not that simple. She?—“

“Your sister’s legs aren’t broken, are they?” His expression hardens, and I steel myself, hoping to reach below the vicious exterior and extract a scrap of humanity from this heartless, greedy man.

“It’s her agoraphobia. She hasn’t left the place since the attack. She’s still recovering but it’s slow. Please, you don’t have to do this. We’ll find the money.”

He stares at my tits, licking his lips. “I tell you what. You keep me company and I’ll give you more time to clear the debt. Otherwise, I’ll drag her into the street myself along with you, that lush you call a father, and all your shit.”

“You lay a finger on her and I’ll...” My voice trails away as I realize I have no leverage

He grins. “That’s what I thought. One month and that’s being generous.” He turns and limps off down the stairs.

I duck back into the apartment. I can’t leave yet. I’m late but I have to go through the ritual from beginning to end before I can go. He interrupted me halfway through. I need to start again.

Lights on and off twice in my room with right hand. Check the window lock with left hand. Check the kitchen faucet is off.

Amelia’s asleep when I pass her room. I’m glad. I don’t want her to see how stressed I look as I rush through the list of things I have to do.

What happened to the rent money? I think to myself. Why is Dad letting this happen to us?

I run my fingers over my favorite photo, the one held onto the refrigerator door with a magnet. It’s one of the few photos I have of Mom; it was always her behind the camera, urging us to goof around for the shot, but Dad took this one.

She was getting real sick by that time. In the picture, she seems almost to glow in the sunshine, as though she has a foot in the next world.

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