Page 27 of Married to the Mafia

There was no content message. Just two more photos. She moved her cursor over the first one, reminded herself that Mikey hadn’t found any sort of virus or malware attached to the last set, and opened it. Her stomach lurched immediately.

The picture was of her Uber driver again. The man was still bound to the chair, but this time his throat had been slit and deep red soaked his torso as his head hung unnaturally back and to one side. Brandi closed out of it as quickly as her suddenly uncoordinated self could manage. It took her several seconds of sucking in gasps of air before she could make herself open the other picture. Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea.

Don’t let him win.

There was no dead body in the second picture. Arguably, that made it better. But Brandi was not the kind of woman who enjoyed an unsolicited dick pic on a good day, and this was definitely not an exception. She would in fact have preferred to never see this particular appendage under any circumstance, because she knew who it belonged to. She was sure the hand holding a thin strap of cloth sloppily around it was the same hand that had helped deliver her current set of bruises. She had nearly clicked out of the disgusting picture before she realized she recognized one other thing—the strap of cloth. That was one of her pairs of panties that she’d been sure she’d lost in the wash the previous weekend.

Before she’d ever officially laid eyes on her stalker.

Brandi snapped the lid of her laptop shut and tossed it to the other side of the sofa, pressing a hand to her abdomen in an effort to contain her nausea. Don’t let him win.

“Breakfast’s ready!”

She wasn’t hungry anymore. Again. But that also felt like letting the bastard win, dammit.

Her phone buzzed with an incoming call and she saw Mikey’s name come up on the screen. Guilt flared in her chest. “Can you keep it warm, Daria? Mikey’s calling,” she said, preferring a lecture to wasting what she knew was good food. If it was possible. She scooped up the phone and hoped her voice didn’t give her away terribly. “Morning.”

“I fucking told you not to look.”

“Well you could have fucking told me why. Or deleted them.”

“Believe it or not I’m juggling like three things this morning. Deleting those comes after I add them to the list of evidence I’m hoping to trace.” Mikey drew a breath. “I thought if I told you specifics, you’d get upset.”

“Like I wouldn’t anyway?”

“More upset.”

Brandi opened her mouth to snap back, to point out that she was, in fact, quite upset, but she caught the words. It was her own fault. She’d purposely done what he’d told her not to do. She groaned at her own stubbornness, lifted the coffee, and started toward the dining room. “You probably can’t put words like ‘pictures of dead people’ in a text, anyway.”

“Next time I’ll say ‘more PDP.’”

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, entirely ignoring the upward twitch of her lips.

“More or less than you going out of your way to look at something you knew you wouldn’t like?”

“Fair.” Brandi settled herself carefully at the same seat she’d claimed for every other meal so far and smiled in silent gratitude to Daria as her breakfast was set before her. “You’ll be back for lunch?”

“That’s the plan. I’ll text you some things to keep you busy so you don’t self-sabotage in the meantime.”

“Hilarious. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Mikey paused. “And good morning.” Then he hung up, leaving her weirdly flustered.

The rest of the day rolled by in relative peace. Brandi learned that someone—presumably George—had come by her condo the night before, but the man on duty inside had jumped the gun trying to capture him. George had gotten away. Of course, they both knew what he’d done after that. The new information had been the push she needed, she realized, and by the time Mikey was done with his work day she’d come to the decision it was time to let the condo go. It wasn’t like she’d been planning to see it again when she’d fled on Wednesday.

That would be a process, and take time, but she knew it was the right call. Even if George disappeared in every way, she couldn’t go back to that space. She certainly wasn’t going to hold on to it for fifty-three weeks while she waited out the minimum length of her still-pending marriage.

Nor could she afford to be dwelling on the fate of the condominium she’d once been so proud of herself for acquiring. It was Saturday, and Mikey’s mother was coming. Brandi wanted to put her best foot forward, if that was even still possible. She hadn’t met her soon-to-be mother-in-law, and already she felt like she was coming from behind. What did I expect? It wasn’t like Mikey had fallen wildly in love with her and had gushed about all her wonderful qualities to his family. It wasn’t like they had been quietly dating behind the scenes. She may as well have been invading their family.

Brandi clutched at the towel around herself. Her gaze drifted to the bathroom mirror and she pulled her lips between her teeth. She’d been avoiding it, but if she was going to be judged in a couple of hours, it was best to be prepared for the critiques. She remembered all the dark and swollen blotches. She remembered the angry red skin. She needed to see how much had healed since those early hours on Wednesday. So she let the towel fall to the floor.

Her focus stayed on her face at first, studying the state of recovery that was most obvious. She still had some bruising under her eyes, but nearly all of the swelling had subsided. Even the bruises at the back of her jaw were subtle and would easily disappear with makeup. She reached up, gingerly prodding the bridge of her nose, and exhaled with relief when the touch didn’t hurt. It had never been broken, but that first day she’d had doubts.

Okay, so I don’t look like an actual zombie. Not everything’s going wrong, then.

Her eyes followed the downward motion of her arm and she examined her wrists next. The worst of the two bruises there was still fairly visible, which was incredibly frustrating. At least the other was less so. Again, she trailed her fingers over the skin, and even the more discolored wrist failed to do more than twinge.

She dragged her gaze back up to the mirror, skimming over the plump rolls she knew she’d find and looking for what didn’t belong. She remembered her ribs hurting from the first night’s assault and watched herself reach up, feeling along her torso for tenderness. There was one spot, left of center, that still made her wince. But even that wasn’t too bad.

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