Page 34 of The Mafia King's Baby

I nod. “Associate, huh? I had associates before being fired, but I never asked any of them for advice on where to bury a body.” A giggle threatens to escape again, but there’s no amusement behind it.

He touches my knee for just a moment. I should flinch away, but I don’t. “Just a little longer to keep it together.”

I nod and inhale before exhaling sharply. “Have you done this before? Buried someone, I mean.”

“Yes.”

My eyes widen, but I’m not really shocked. “Here?”

“No. Different places.”

Different places. Multiple bodies in multiple locations, on multiple nights like this one. Perhaps I’m not his first unwilling accomplice, but the latest in what might be a long line of people who got pulled into his world and had to choose between cooperation and prison. “What happened to the others?”

“What others?”

“The people who helped you before.”

Yefrem is quiet for so long I think he won’t answer. Finally, he says, “There were no others. Not like this.”

“What makes this different?”

Another pause. “You.”

The single word carries gravitas I’m not sure I want to understand. Me. What makes this different is me, specifically, not just anyone who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I don’t know what that means, don’t know if it’s better or worse than being interchangeable, and my thoughts are too scattered to really focus on anything right now.

We turn off the main road onto a dirt track that my car would never handle. The sedan’s suspension absorbs the worst of the bumps, but I feel every pothole and rock through the seat. Trees close in on both sides, branches scraping against the windows like fingers trying to hold us back.

“Almost there.”

The trees open up into a small clearing, and Yefrem pulls the car off the track into a space that his GPS indicates. He turns off the engine, and the silence is absolute. There is no traffic, no neighbors, and no civilization for miles in any direction. Just us and the night and a federal agent’s body waiting to be buried.

“This is it.”

I stare out at the clearing then at the man beside me, who’s about to teach me how to dig a grave. A month ago, I was worried about job interviews and guest room ratings. Now I’m about to become the kind of person who knows how deep to dig to hide a body, how to choose the right spot, and how to cover the evidence so it stays hidden.

What’s about to happen settles over me like a physical presence. After tonight, there’s no going back. No pretending this didn’t happen, and no returning to the woman I was before Yefrem knocked on my door and changed everything. All I can do now is dig and pray this ends with both of us still breathing.

14

Yefrem

The ground here is softer than I expected, with loose soil mixed into old leaves that give way easily under the shovel blade. I’ve chosen a spot about fifty yards from where we parked, far enough into the tree line that casual hikers, which is unlikely this late at night, won’t stumble across it, but close enough that we don’t have to carry Lang’s body through dense forest.

Celia stands a few feet away, holding the flashlight with both hands to keep it steady. The beam wavers slightly—her hands are still shaking—but she’s managed to keep it pointed where I need it. She hasn’t said much since we arrived. She’s just followed my instructions and held whatever I asked her to hold.

The digging goes faster than usual. This soil has been disturbed before, though not recently. I clench my teeth and dig, piling the dirt to one side in a neat mound that will be easy to redistribute later.

“How deep does it need to be?” Celia’s voice cuts through the rhythmic sound of the shovel hitting earth. She sounds more academic than curious.

I pause, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. “Deep enough.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Three feet. Maybe four.” I resume digging, focusing on the physical work rather than the way she’s watching me. “Deep enough that animals won’t disturb it but shallow enough we can finish before dawn.”

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, the flashlight beam moving with her. “Okay.”

The hole is taking shape now, roughly rectangular and deeper than it looks from ground level. My shoulders burn from the repetitive motion, but the physical exertion feels good after hours of sitting in the car. It gives me something to focus on besides the weight of what I’ve dragged Celia into, and I wouldn’t dream of asking her to take a turn with shoveling.

---