Page 90 of My Mafia King

It might be misleading––I don’t know––but it’s more than I’ve seen in other men’s eyes.

And if it comes to this… To violently have my life ended because of some stupid mistake, I’d rather have him do that and his face in front of my eyes when I draw my last breath.

“Why are you here inside this secret room?” he asks.

Which is not that much of a secret anymore, is it?

“I opened the bookcase by mistake and didn’t know how to put it back together. Before long, you and your men were outside, and I had nowhere to go. I was afraid I might be found in here and taken for a thief. I may be many things, but I’m not a thief. That’s why I’m here,” I say as if talking to him only.

And I do talk to him. I also can’t lie to him.

What he thinks of me is important to me.

Besides, it wouldn’t serve me well if I wasn’t be truthful with him.

My life is on the line.

“It wasn’t my intention to listen in on your conversation. And it doesn’t matter anyway. I didn’t understand what you had said.”

Now that’s a lie, and the Russian laughs behind me.

“You can’t possibly believe that bullshit, Salla,” the man says, and that’s a sly move on his part.

He questions Salla’s authority and, for the second time this evening, makes him put his reputation on the line for me.

He’s forcing Salla to reveal more about our connection or do something about me.

Damaso turns to the Russian.

“She won’t talk,” Damaso says curtly.

His expression reveals nothing.

“You’re fucking with me now,” the Russian retorts.

“No, I’m not,” my boss says, unfazed.

The Russian ponders his answer before erasing the space between him and Damaso, who doesn’t flinch.

“Listen to me, Salla. She’s lucky you didn’t allow us to bring our guns to this meeting, or she’d be dead. She’s also lucky I didn’t break her neck. I’m not in the cleaning business––and you know what I mean by that––for nothing. I never leave loose ends like this. This woman will talk. And I’m not saying she wants to talk, but people are not as gentle as you and I––that’s a joke, of course––and they’d be happy to make her talk. Maybe the FBI agents get to her and convince her to become their informant. I won’t leave this room without settling this issue with you and her, so take your pick. Are you removing her? If not, I will. I won’t risk being taken down by some woman who’s walked into the wrong room.”

“She’s not your problem,” Damaso says. “And this is my business. I’m not telling you how to run your business.”

“No. You’re not. But you wouldn’t say that if this happened to you. And I wouldn’t have a problem taking that person out right there and then. Do you think I don’t know you?”

A grin curves the man’s lips.

“You’re asking me to do something you’d never do, Salla,” he says. “Listen,” he murmurs, moving his eyes to me. “She seems like a fine woman. What about we do that? I buy her from you.”

My stomach hurts.

I look at Damaso, whose face seems carved in stone.

“And before you say anything,” the Russian adds, raising his hand and checking my body. “I’ll give you a good price for her. A really good price. You know I own this market,” he throws at Damaso.

My legs are feeble, and my heart is flapping like a bird as I move my eyes to Damaso, aghast.

I can’t tell what’s in his mind.

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