Page 9 of My Mafia King

A woman and a man. They look like tourists. Light summer clothes, phones in their hands. The woman takes pictures or records a video, perhaps, a buffed-up bellboy wheeling in their suitcases.

My eyes fall to her turquoise necklace as I clumsily murmur an apology before spinning around and walking back into the heat.

It’s like stepping into the mouth of a dragon. Like hands of fire move rapaciously over my skin. Hopefully, my mascara isn’t smudged, and my lipgloss is still on my lips.

Absently, I run my fingers under my eyes and bottom lip while pulling to the side and watching the flow of people climbing out of their limousines and strolling into the hotel.

There must be a convention of sorts. Or there’salsoa convention. Several events must be taking place here.

I'd been warned this was a huge hotel, which fueled my optimism that I might find some work.

For now, something else bothers me, though.

I swing my gaze over the cars and people and even look across the street. The construction workers are gone.

So it can’t be someone from that crew looking at me.

I am paranoid, but can you blame me?

If I think logically about it… No one knows where I am.

There’s no way my father already does.

The only person who knows exactly where I am is Jen. And Jen is the kind of woman who doesn't run her mouth and can hold her own. Maybe she’s overdoing it in some instances.

But still… I don’t want my father’s wrath on her.

Despite all that, she wouldn’t talk.

No, for sure, she wouldn’t.

With that pacifying thought, I glance around the area one last time before sucking in a long breath and walking inside.

* * *

CARMINA

The personI need to speak to about a job opportunity will be here in about ten minutes––I’m told by the girl at the concierge desk––so I step to the side and wait.

She signals me to move closer and points to a small bar not far from me where complimentary drinks await the guests and employees.

“If you’re thirsty,” she says, smiling, and my first thought is that I look thirsty, and by that, I mean in disarray.

I thank her and slide closer to a full-length mirror and the bar in question.

My face looks good, my hair behaves, and there is no telling sign I’m living out of my car.

A small bag with my car keys, wallet, government-issued ID, cash, and burner dangles from my hand.

Aside from my car and another set of clothes, this is pretty much all I have to my name.

The cold mango juice is a nice break from the panicked thoughts swirling in my head.

The condensation on the glass, the sweet flavor, and the yellowy-orange color remind me of the plumage of a cockatoo, taking my mind away from where I am, why I’m here, and what I am about to do.

A good feeling flickers through my chest, and a soft smile pulls at my lips as I think about Tina and how, one day, I’ll bring her here.

We’ll drink fruit juice and hang out by the pool, soaking up the sun and lazily sitting in our lounge chairs while wearing colorful bathing suits and oversized sunglasses.

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