Page 34 of Texting My Mafia Savior

“Decency?”he snaps.

“Not decency. If word gets out that Don Caruso goes back on his word, it would be bad for business. That’s what this is all about, after all. Business.”

The barrel of the gun wavers. The needle squeaks and hisses as it scratches the paper as if it’s going to set it on fire. Finally, Dominic puts the gun away. “Get out of my fucking sight. You make me sick. I know you’re lying. I’m going to prove it. And when I do, you’ll give me my Lucia back. Go—now.”

I practically run from the room, my heart pounding. But it’s not my life I fear for. It’shers. Not my wife—my niece. It’s Arria. There’s no telling what Dominic is going to do now.

CHAPTER 15

ARRIANA

“Why would he be at my party?” I question, pacing up and down in front of the couch, the photo clutched in my hand.

Mom and Dad sit side by side like they’re the kids and I’m the parent, chastened as I scold them. There’s clear panic on their faces. Part of me feels terrible but screw that. They’ve been lying to me for years.

“He’s a mobster. At the same party, there were loads of guys who were mobsters, too. I’m not an idiot. I know something’s going on here, and it’s not good.”

Dad sighs and leans forward. “Arria, what makes you think he’s a mobster? Where are you getting this information?”

“How isthatthe point?” I hiss. “I know you’re hiding something. Do you think I’m an idiot? I’m not a little kid anymore. I can see that you’re both withholding the truth. Just be honest, please. For once.”

My phone buzzes. I check it. It’s Nico.

Nico:Where are you?

Me:At home.Why?

Nico:I’m coming to see you right now. Lock the doors. Don’t answer it to anybody.

I rush to the front door, lock it, then go to the back door and do the same. Dad follows me. “What are you doing?” he demands.

“Uncle Nico just texted me. He told me to lock all the doors. I guess it has something to do with the fact that our family has never, at any point, had anything to do with the mob, right?”

“Why is he texting you?” Dad asks. “Why wouldn’t he text me?”

I fold my arms, glaring. Dad’s got a look of suspicion on his face, which is pissing me the hell off. As if he has any right to be suspicious and judgmental after all the lies they’ve told me. But I can see it. He suspects something about me and my uncle.

“Well, Dad, if you know nothing about the mob—which you apparently don’t—whywouldhe text you?”

Another text.

Nico:Are there any unusual cars parked outside?

I go to the front window. Mom is on her feet, pacing, muttering to herself as if she’s on the verge of a breakdown. I almost feel bad again, but I can’t go there and let guilt mess with me.

Me:Not that I can see. It looks normal.

Nico:Okay, I’ll be there soon.

“Nico is coming here,” I tell Mom and Dad.

They exchange another of their secretive looks. Mom whispers, “She’s not a little girl anymore, Rocco.”

Dad drops into his seat, rubbing his hands up and down his face as he groans. “If there are things we haven’t told you, it’s always been for your own good.”

“Okay, fine,” I reply. “But that’s not the case anymore. So tell me—why were mafia guys at my birthday party?”

“I used to work with them,” Dad mutters. “I’m not proud of it. I got into debt with them when I tried to start my accountancy business. To pay the debt, I did their books. I was neverin, in. I only did the boring stuff. The paperwork.”

---