Page 9 of Married to the Mafia Devil

“I hold her hostage while he finds the two assholes that gave him the job. Keep his mind focused.” My voice is firm, the plan clear in my mind, even if its morality skirts the edges of dubious. “If he finds them, which I doubt, I win. I get them to confirm Petrovitch has the case. If he fails, I marry her, and go find them myself.”

“You make it sound like being stuck with the girl is a victory.”

“You haven’t seen her. I’ve never seen anyone like her before.”

“What if he runs and you never see him again?”

“He won’t run. Trust me. He cares too much about the people in his life. He took the job just to make enough money to keep them in that shitty apartment. You get the church ready.”

He nods, loyalty overriding his concern. “I’ll do that,” he says, his tone resolute. “You want a dress?”

“I look better in a suit.”

THREE

Emma

The bedroom door opens and Dad falls in, eyes red-rimmed and watery, the stench of booze enveloping him like a toxic cloud. He’s on his knees, tears on his cheeks, his hands shaking.

“Dad?” I say, jumping to my feet. “What happened?”

His voice cracks. “I really screwed up this time. We need to go. Get your sister up.”

I watch, heart sinking, as he gets to his feet, staggering through into his bedroom. He pulls a suitcase from under his bed, throwing clothes and essentials into it with a desperation I've never seen in him before.

“We have to get out of here, now,” he says, voice urgent, eyes wild. “Wake your sister up. You both need to pack. We’re leaving in three minutes.”

“What did you do?” I ask, anger and disbelief coiling in my stomach. “We got an eviction notice today because you haven't paid rent in months. I lost my job today because you've been stealing drinks and putting them on my tab. I had a man with a gun climb in through my bedroom window looking for you. What’s going on?”

“Don’t you get it?” he snaps, a frantic edge to his voice. “We will die if we don’t get out of here now. Matteo Rossi is going to kill me. Now, are you coming or not?”

“What about Amelia?” I ask. “You know she can’t just walk out of here.”

He pauses, his suitcase half-packed, and finally meets my gaze. “She walks out or we leave her behind. I can’t stay. I’m a dead man.”

I hesitate, glancing towards Amelia's room, her soft, steady breathing the only evidence of the fragile peace she finds in sleep. “We can't just leave her behind,” I say quietly.

“You’re dead if you stay here,” he blurts out, desperation seeping into every word. His eyes dart around the room. “Fuck, I am such an idiot. Why did I let them talk me into this?” He fixes his gaze on me. “He came in your window? Did he hurt you?”

I shake my head. “Wanted to know where you were. Who is he?”

“Matteo Rossi, I told you.”

“Should that name mean anything to me?”

“Head of the Italian Mafia. Most powerful man in New York. One evil motherfucker.”

“And why was he looking for you?”

He runs through to the kitchen, grabbing the photo of mom off the refrigerator, shoving it into his pocket. “I stole something from him.”

“You did what?”

He hesitates, then nods, defeat and fear mingling in his expression. “I was hired to move a suitcase; that’s all. Twenty thousand bucks to move one suitcase a couple of miles. They wanted me to take a cab but I didn’t have the money. I had to wheel it on foot. I had no idea I was being watched. Fuck, I’m such an idiot.”

“What was in the suitcase?”

“No idea. It was locked. Now he wants me to find the men who hired me, but I’ve no idea where they are. He gave me twenty-four hours to find them or he says he’ll take you or Amelia. That’s a twenty-four hour head start to get the fuck out of New York and never come back.”

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