Page 32 of Christmas with the Mafia
The fact that she is flanked by a small army should put her mind at rest, and she sighs. “Habit, I guess. When I first moved in, there was a guy who lived on the lower floor. He used to follow me up here and ask if he could come in for something to eat.”
My skin prickles with anger. ”Does he still live here?”
My tone is smooth, but my intention is deadly.
“No, he was caught raping a woman in Central Park and got five years. I guess I had a lucky escape when Mr. Pettigrew came out and told him to back off. I was his bitch.”
“His bitch?”
“He was speaking the only language the guy understood. He’s adaptable like that. It’s why he’s the longest-living tenant here.”
“Mr. Pettigrew again.”
“Yes, dear Simon. He’s a godsend really and is more like the father I wish I had. You know, he told me he would put in a word with his son and maybe I could become his new daughter-in-law.”
“His son?” I’m already getting a headache, and she nods, fumbling with the last lock.
“Yes, Edward, who now goes by the name Edwina and plays in the alternative Broadway version of Cabaret. He’sgood at it too, but Mr. Pettigrew lives in hope it’s just a phase.”
The door opens, and as we head inside, I nod to Trent. “Wait out there; there’s only room for two of us in here.”
He nods, snapping his fingers at the guards who followed us to take up their positions at every entry and exit point.
“So, this is your business.” I note the endless baskets with shredded paper littered around the room, ribbon trailing on every surface and various boxes of items that she must place in them.
“Yes, this is Basket Case, also known as my empire.”
She glances at her phone and sighs. “I should chargethis. I must have at least five orders on there that should be posted today. What can I say, duty calls.”
She heads to a shelf and plugs in her phone and sighs.
“I won’t be long. I’ll change and meet you downstairs.”
“I’ll wait here.”
“But–”
“But what?”
“But this is it. I can’t change in front of you.”
“This is your entire apartment?”
I peer around me and notice there is only one door and thought it led to a bedroom.
“What’s through there?”
“My shower and toilet. There isn’t room for a sink, so I use the small one in the kitchenette that’s well, to your right.”
She blushes and appears so uncomfortable I experience a moment’s sadness for her life. This is her world. In this one room, and yet she appears happy about that.
“Grab a bag and pack what you can.”
“Why?”
“Because we won’t be back until the new year.”
“But my business.”
