Page 2 of Hustler in the Mafia

My chest ached and burned like the hot engine of an old car, ready to throttle down. I couldn’t go on. My pace slowed. I wanted to keel over and die. Giving up would be so easy. Here on the sodden mud path leading from the forest to the villa in front. But not my damn mind. It dragged my body along like a heavy anchor, clattering and clamming with wheezing breath.

I wish I could say this was the closest I’d come to facing death. My life wasn’t a bed of thorns but rather one with sharp-edged nails. The innumerable times that Tata’s boot-clad foot latched on to my body like I was his favourite punchbag made this look like a fucking joke. At least with Tata, he might have gone to the effort to bury my body. He and Mama might have even had a funeral. With booze and hookers, but still, they would have given a show. Tata would have invited his drinking buddies, and Mama would have asked her pimp and her clients to come mourn with her. They probably would have had an orgy or something to celebrate my death.

But I bet the nasty animal with bad breath you could smell a mile off wouldn’t have done that. I should have known. I was a lot of things. A thief, a liar, the worst daughter on the planet, and unworthy of anything good in my life. But I wasn’t an idiot. Still, it was like the lack of food was making the small amount of wisdom in my brain drain out. I should have fucking known that this particular Albanian couldn’t be played with.

My mama had big plans for me. She called me beautiful. She envisioned the money I would bring her. But turned out I was her biggest mistake. Because this beauty came with a loud mouth and an insane kick. Any man who reached his grubby hands for my pussy got blue balls delivered like a fucking phantom in a black box. They never saw it coming. Not a single one of them. But still, beggars couldn’t be choosers. My game was simple. I did what I needed to do to survive. Some people used their brains to bring in the money. Some their hands. I used my body. Every time I dropped to my knees, it shone a light on my sorry existence. I’d done it too many times to keep count but too little to learn to enjoy it. Every time a man shoved his dick into my mouth, it felt like the slither of a venomous snake. Every time a man groped my body, it felt like red ants crawling on my skin. But there came a time when the desire for food or the comfort of a trouble-free night far outweighed any moralsI would want to hang on to except one. I never gave them my body.

But, of course, the knucklehead wanted what he couldn’t have. The moment his beefy hand snuck out and fisted my jaw, I knew he was going to be bad news. But it was already too late. The alley was dark, the night cold, and, in all honesty, who would even want to listen to the screams of a runaway girl? Not even my own Rromani community would come out to help when I’d dumped them at the first opportunity four years ago.

So, I used another one of my talents. I played along with him, I hummed and moaned and encouraged him and let his sweat-soaked hands plaster me with bruises until he let his guard down and dropped his pants on the floor. Then, I did what any good girl would do. I wrenched his arm, kicked him in the balls, and ran for my life. That kick worked every single time. Oh, I also took his glittery watch off his wrist when I had my foot on his balls.

That was a tad too much, maybe. I wasn’t sure if it was that or his blue balls that made him follow me across Albania and all throughout Italy. Ditching countries wasn’t enough to keep him off. He was like a fucking leach, and he just wouldn’t let go. Three days of always being a breath away from him. I had it coming when I left him behind at a bus halt or a ferry stop. His cold eyes pinned to my triumphant ones. I should have known. My luck was running out. Even faster than that was the money that was dwindling, with only a thin lining to show in my drawstring pouch and the size of a pinkie hole at the edge of it.

Was it the heaviness of the weightless pouch that made me make this stupid decision to come back to this place? I could argue it was a mere coincidence. But last night, when I had hidden in an abandoned factory, I had made use of it to snatch a small plier to cut open the metal fencing around this property. The villa loomed larger than life as I neared it. It spreadmajestically over the land, sucking it up with ivory walls and wooden windows. It was just a facade. Behind it lived men who took a life with a snap of their fingers. I couldn’t tell if the gasps in my breath were my body letting go or my fear throttling up.

The last time I had been here was almost two years ago. When Antonio Capizzi found me hiding in his library, listening to his conversation with his father, I thought he’d kill me. The only good thing about that would have been that I would have died at the hands of a man who looked hot as sin. But, of course, I didn’t have that luck. He chucked me out to Peppe, one of his servants, and warned me never to come back. Well… ‘warned’ was putting it lightly.

“If I ever see you anywhere near us again… I will deliver you as food to your family in a fucking box.”

I didn’t have any family. Not anymore. But when theConsigliereof the Mafia threatened me like that, the wise girl inside me took the advice. So I ran as fast and far as possible. I couldn’t say it had all been bad. I had some good times. Travelled a bit. Took a long holiday. I thought hiding in the luggage compartment of busses and lounging around back alleys of restaurants should be called vacationing as well. I bet I saw the realness of a city more than its inhabitants.

But now the holiday was over, and I was back here. Because deep down, I knew if there was any place I could hide where that vile man wouldn’t dare come further, it was near the house of theConsigliere. Near. I wasn’t an idiot. I wasn’t going inside that house and getting myself caught. I would just hang around here until the Albanian left and take off.

Besides, there was another man I needed to avoid here. Peppe. The idiot who’s dick I was sucking last time to get some food. Let’s just say he wasn’t thrilled when his fire-breathing boss found me tucked away in his library.

My stomach cramped again,curling in on itself from the painful hollowness. Three days I’d been slinking into the shadows cast by the house. The Albanian hadn’t given up. He didn’t come closer, but he circled me as I circled the house. We kept at it. Both of us. Why was I always the prey in my life? For once, I wanted to be the stronger one. During the day, I stuck to the thickness of the trees, staying away from the servants and the men with angry faces, but during the night, I sneaked around to the bins outside the kitchen to find some leftovers.

Only, every time, I’d been finding more than leftovers. A cold salad on the windowsill, a lukewarm lasagne next to the bin. All untouched, with a fork right next to it like it was dished out just for me. Hunger was a weird thing. It made me hallucinate that someone was looking out for me. I swallowed the big lump in my throat.As if.But it didn’t stop me from chucking that fork out and stuffing that lasagne in my mouth with my cold, grubby hands like my life depended on it.

Then, the night before, I had found a tiramisu just in front of the kitchen door, and I knew for sure. Someone was watching me. The heat on the back of my neck that made the hair stand out wasn’t from a sudden blast of hot air, it was because someone’s eyes had landed on mine. How long would it take before I had to drop to my knees?

For a nanosecond, I’d thought it was the hotConsigliere.Except I knew I’d already be dead if he’d found me because he looked like a man who kept his word. So it was one of his men. Was this why I could sneak around without getting caught? Someone liked me. I could almost taste the sourness of a gratitude blow job in the future.

But I was wrong again. Someonehadliked me. There was no food around tonight. Nothing. Even the garbage was empty, like they’d determined I wasn’t even worthy of their trash. Hot tears burned the back of my eyes as I clutched my stomach and crawled my way to the back door.

For once. Just once in my fucked-up life, I wanted a fucking break. If I wasn’t blessed with a loving father, I should have had an angel of a mother. But no. My whore of a mother’s only advice was that the cum of men would provide enough vitamins for me. Could I then just maybe have been blessed with a fresh plate of food for one day without having to jerk someone off?

The cavity in my belly ached with such emptiness that it trilled through my body. I just wanted one fucking meal. And one less Albanian in my life. If I had to choose, I would still choose the meal.

I was done. Past all this shit that life threw at me. Hunger made me courageous. Previous near-death experiences drained out of me as easily as dirty water in a sink.Cristo!Was I doing this? With a tremble in my hand, I latched on to the handle, pulled it down, and pushed the door open.

It was a villa, but the damn place was old. It smelled of centuries of family money, and the loud creak of the door echoed and bounced off all the colourfully pigmented fresco walls.

Just my luck. I squeezed my eyes shut and slowly counted to ten wheezing breaths. My eyes flickered open, expecting an army of men before me. Not a single man with a gun stood in sight.

Maybe today was going to be my lucky day.

With new confidence and a sweep of my feet, I stood up and scanned the kitchen that I had observed for days with my eyes glued to the windows. Warm terracotta tiles everywhere. A large, robust table extending to the dark corners swallowed the left side of the room. It wasn’t enough to spark a second of my attention. To the right stood the big, ivory fridge, as shiny as anelephant's tusk, surrounded by rusty wooden cabinets. But what caught my eye was thepièce de résistanceon top of the marble countertop, right next to the sink in front of the window. It shone brighter than a jewel and made me hotter than a fire. Had I seen that view from outside, I would have crashed through the glass. A full plate of pasta. So hot I could see the smoke whiffing off it and smell the freshness standing five meters away.

Cautiousness slipped off me and thudded to the floor like a heavy and unwanted coat. With quick steps, I paced to the corner. A smart girl would have floated above this deliciousness and pondered.Is this too good to be true?But a famished girl would have done exactly what I did. Skip the cutlery lying next to it and shovel a big heap into my greedy mouth.

A loud groan burst from my mouth.This must be what heaven felt like… and hell. My choked gasp split the air as a thick hand wrapped around my throat.

“What’s this filth in the kitchen?” The cold threat of Peppe’s voice assaulted me a second before he whipped me around to thrust his face inches from me. His nasty breath gusted up my nostrils as my own whooshed out of mine.

“What you going to do this time to get out of this fix?”

Fight. That’s what I always did. I latched onto his hand, which was choking me, and dug my nails into it.

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