Page 108 of My Mafia Queen

This is a pivotal moment in my life. If he believes me and takes the money, I’m off the hook.

If he doesn’t, I’m in big trouble.

He moves his eyes to his drink, scoops up the glass, and takes another swig before talking again.

“Someone told me you were out of town, working the streets.”

“What?”

I choke on my food and cough on purpose, hinting at how outrageous that is.

He studies me with a lifted eyebrow.

“Who said such nonsense? It can’t be one of your friends.”

My father has no friends, and my question is rhetorical as I try to show him how naive I am.

So naive and dumb that I wouldn’t be able to sell my body for a buck. No one would make money pimping out my ass.

“Someone called you or something?” I drone on.

“They texted me,” he says.

“Who texted you?” I ask, knowing that I’ve won this round as he looks at the money.

He no longer cares who said what.

He wants the money that comes with a flimsy explanation, and everything else can go to hell.

With a sweeping gesture, he collects every bill off the table and shoves them into his back pocket.

“It was from an unknown number,” he says curtly, no longer in the mood to talk.

He empties his glass, and I know exactly where he plans to go next.

He is so damn predictable.

“Make sure your sister is fed,” he tosses at me over his shoulder, suddenly in a hurry to go buy some booze and drugs.

With that, he exits the house and slams the door.

His truck rumbles in the driveway, and the headlights sweep the windows before the darkness grows as he moves away.

A sigh leaves my chest, and my hands begin to tremble.

Stupid, stupid life.

My knees shake, too, as I push out of my seat and turn off the radio. Finally, I dig into a cupboard for a loaf of bread, cut a couple of slices, put them on the plate, and go back to the table.

Now that the danger has passed, I can enjoy my food.

A few long minutes pull away before I finish, chewing absently.

I set the machine for a cup of coffee, wash the dishes and wipe the table and the counter clean.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee cloys the air when I fill up a paper cup and retrieve a plastic lid from the drawer.

First, I take a sip, and then I glance at the space, making sure everything is in order before walking out and locking the door.

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