Page 35 of Mafia Captor

“Okay,” she says. “Well, that’s good, actually. So, she wasn’t the right girl for you. You were right to end it. Moving on.”

“There is no right girl for me,” I lie.

Ashe’s face floats in my mind’s eye. A voice in my head calls me out, telling me I’ve found the one girl in the world for me. She’s being held captive under my own fucking roof.

“I’m sure Sailor will be able to find another chick online. Or a dude for you, for that matter,” I say.

Ma shakes her head. “For me? We’re talking about you.”

Let’s keep the focus off me and my nonexistent love life.

“Why don’t you date?” I ask.

“Don’t even say that word to me. Please. When your father died, my dating life died with him.” Her voice dips. “You know that.”

I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug. “I know. Let’s talk about something else.”

Ma recovers quickly, turning the conversation back to my brother.

“How about Sailor’s blind date? She disappeared too. Came down with the stomach flu. I told Sailor it was not my caterers. She wasn’t even there long enough to eat anything.” I have to hold back a laugh as she continues her rant. “Can you believe that girl never evencalledSay Say back? I’m mean, she’s pretty. I’ll give her that. But she’s short. When you’re that vertically challenged, you can’t be so choosy.”

“Ma!”

“What?” She shrugs, her already small filter growing nonexistent as she ages. “I only speak the truth. I need grandbabies that can reach my kitchen cupboards when they come visit me.”

“Stop.”

“Alright, but have you ever heard of something so rude?” She gives me a stern look, demanding an answer. “Sailor is a catch. Every single one of my boys is. She’d be so lucky—”

Redirect. “Let’s go get a glass of wine.” I steer her through the kitchen toward the rear of the house.

Her heels click against the floors as we go. “Oooh… do you have any of that 170thedition champagne in your cellars? The one you served with the chocolate-covered strawberries. I loved that the last time I stayed here.”

“I’ll have the staff whip us up a little dessert.”

Ten minutes later, Ma and I are sitting at a café table on the brick patio behind my commercial kitchen, sipping on flutes of chilled champagne. Ma nibbles happily on a white chocolate-covered berry. We’re shooting the breeze, keeping the convo light. She’s telling me, again, about how I need to install a water feature out here.

I’m starting to relax, to enjoy myself when another staff member comes up, placing a third champagne glass in front of an open seat.

“Who’s that for?” I say.

The staff member goes to answer me, thinks better of it, and quickly nods, giving a “Have a good evening, sir,” then scurrying away.

“This fuckin’ guy. Can’t answer a simple question?” I don’t know his name. They never stay long enough for me to learn their names. “I swear, this staff…”

If Ashe was here, she’d probably tell me this is why my people keep quitting.

“That was strange,” Ma says, staring after the guy as he scurries away.

I refill her glass as she takes another strawberry.

Ma takes a long sip. “You really need someone to manage these people better.”

The click-clack of a pair of heels echoes from the Spanish tile kitchen floors, grabbing my attention. I glance up to the open glass doors that run across the back wall of the kitchen. My heart jumps in my throat.

The very last face I’d think I’d see right now.

What’sshedoing here?

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