Page 4 of My Mafia King

I wrap my arms around her and hold her like that for a few long moments while she sobs uninterruptedly against my chest.

When we finally straighten our backs, she brushes off her tears, and I run my fingers over her cheeks while she seems more resolute.

That is my little sister.

Like me, she doesn’t have much going for her, yet she has a stubborn resilience, which helps her survive.

“Where are you going?” she quietly asks.

“Vegas,” I say in a clipped voice, and her eyes delve into mine, searching for more answers. “I’m doing this for both of us. All right?” I murmur, stroking her hair with calm tenderness.

She tilts her chin down in acknowledgment.

“He’s not going to hurt you,” I say. “As long as Stella’s in the house, he won’t lay a finger on you. He was never aggressive toward you.”

The more I talk, the more I sound like I’m trying to convince myself that none of the crap that had happened to me could happen to her too.

She knows that, so she sheds tears again.

I sound desperate, which is not how I want to come across.

“Can I call you?” she asks, whimpering at the same time.

Still stroking her hair, I smile, yet her eyes are tipped down so she can’t see my grin.

“No, you can’t,” I say.

She tilts her head up and stares at me, and her eyes look like two scoops of moonlight tucked between her lashes.

I go on.

“You don’t have a phone, and I’ve ditched mine. I don’t want him to track me down. I’ll get a burner and call Jen. We’ll communicate through her. She’ll come by our house or meet you at school. If not, you can always stop by the restaurant. She’s still working there.”

She splays her hand over mine.

“What if something happens to you?”

“Nothing will happen to me. I’ll make sure of that. Just try to stay alive…” I say, injecting some dark humor into my voice while a lump the size of my fist is lodged in my throat.

My tears are like flaming little dragons burning my eyes, yet I still manage to push them back and lock them behind a determined, stoic look I’ve carefully rehearsed in front of the mirror these past few months for moments like this.

This is what a parent would do––I thought.

And what am I if not a parent to my younger sister?

“All right,” I say, shifting my position and checking the time on my plastic wristwatch. “I have to go now. I’ll drive for the next few hours so I can get there in the morning. I have a job interview tomorrow morning.”

Worry builds over how harsh and final my decision sounds, and it glints in her eyes.

“Where did you get the car?”

“I bought it from a mechanic at a shop two blocks away from Jen’s house.”

She struggles to smile.

“How does it look?” she asks, making me flash a tense smile.

We’ve never had anything in our lives besides the basic necessities, and I’m loosely using the terms‘basic’and‘necessities.’

---