Page 41 of Married with Mayhem

“What happens now?” I ask when my heart rate is no longer frantic.

He rubs a hand over his jaw and sits. He shaved today. Yet there’s already a faint hint of dark bristle on his face. He could probably grow a full beard in a week. He’d definitely look sexy with a beard.

This might be the wrong topic to dwell on right now.

“Lenny Lombardo is a made guy,” he says and a frown deepens the grooves in his forehead. “Part of the old Amato crew.”

While I’m not up to speed on all the particulars of the mafia code of conduct, I understand what this status means. It means the jerk downstairs is damn near untouchable. It means that if anyone ignores this protocol there will be consequences. Even I know that mob punishments don’t consist of a stern scolding and an HR write up.

The situation has become more dire. Monte nearly strangled a made man to death. Because of me.

I’m miserable enough to be bold and reach for the hand resting on Monte’s knee. He absently pats the back of my wrist in solidarity and stares moodily at the wall, lost in thought.

Whatever comes next, we’re in this together. I’m on the verge of telling him this, but then I reconsider whether the news would make him feel better or worse. After all, I haven’t exactly improved his life since landing in New York.

A handful of tense, silent moments pass. We both jump when his phone goes off.

“I’m here,” he says into the phone and then just listens.

Though I can’t make out specifics, I’m close enough to hear Sal’s voice supplying a string of instructions on the other end.

Monte replies with, “Got it,” and then, “We’ll be out of here in a few minutes. We’ll leave through the back exit so just keep the party inside until then. I don’t want to run into any of them on the way out.”

Sal says something else and Monte sighs before saying, “Love you too, Pop. Fill Nico in. Tell him not to come back here tonight.”

Monte stands up and returns the phone to his back pocket. “Pack up,” he says. “We’re leaving the city tonight.”

“But-”

“Three minutes, Sabrina,” he snaps. “That’s all you’re getting so you better pack fast.”

The look on his face makes it clear he’s not willing to compromise. He’ll throw me over his shoulder again if necessary. While I have some complicated and not altogether unpleasant feelings about getting bodily handled by Monte, I’m definitely unwilling to be without my luggage again so I do need to move.

With my nerves cresting once more, I get to my feet. “Don’t you need your gun? You left it downstairs.”

He snorts out a humorless laugh. “I have another one. Now do as I say. We’re leaving.”

8

MONTE

She’s killing me with those trusting, worried eyes. They’ve been trained on me since I tucked her into the passenger seat of the Impala and hurtled out of New York City.

“Are you sure your dad and Nico are okay?” she asks for the third time. Or maybe it’s the fourth.

The western Pennsylvania scenery flies past in the dark. “Nico is safe at my dad’s house in Queens, just in case. And no one will dare harm Sal Castelli. It would be like putting a hit out on Santa Claus.”

“But your dad’s not in the mafia,” she says.

“Of course not. There is no mafia, Sabrina.”

She ought to appreciate this is a joke but she’s too troubled to notice. She twists the ends of her long hair around her fingers and stares out the window, too distracted to even open her laptop and play video games.

“I’m sorry, Monte,” she says in a quiet, mournful voice that makes my chest constrict with guilt.

There’s a sudden tightness in my throat. “It’s not your fault.”

A motherfucking skunk like Lenny Lombardo shouldn’t have been in a position to breathe the same air as Sabrina. I couldhave stopped her from going to the game and Ishouldhave stopped her from going to the game. Although I was deeply uneasy from the second we walked into that basement, it wasn’t until Lombardo showed up that I sensed the situation was about to get really nasty.

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