Page 46 of My Mafia Queen

He’s not, so I sit on the edge of the bed, thinking about what happened last night and smiling at the memory.

Before long, I enter the bathroom, turn on the water, and shower. Still sunk in thought and still smiling.

By the time I search for clothes in my walk-in closet, I have no idea what time it is.

It must be late––for breakfast, anyway––but I’m hungry, so I go back to the living room and search for food.

Luckily, someone has brought me food. Coffee, pancakes, eggs.

The food is warm and smells delicious.

Wearing a summer dress, sandals, and a cropped cardigan and having my hair tied into a ponytail with a red scarf, I pile food onto my plate.

I pour myself a cup of coffee and drag a bowl of fruit closer.

I’m almost finished when I remember that I wanted to call Jen to ensure things were all right back home.

Running a napkin over my lips and sipping more coffee, I push the chair back and rise.

Moments later, I make the trip back, and charge my phone for a few seconds before I place the call.

Jen doesn’t answer, and panic surges through me while horrible scenarios pop into my head.

My father came home, and Stella couldn’t handle him, so he threw a fit and went straight to my aunt to collect Tina and look for me.

I hope that’s not the case.

Or maybe Beau‘Dick’Anthony has Jen, and she’s in trouble.

I hope that’s not the case either.

A sentiment of guilt pushes through me.

The people I care for might be in trouble while I’m having fun with Damaso.

It’s hard to suppress this kind of thinking when, all my life, I’ve been conditioned to assume responsibility for everything that happened.

I try to calm myself while checking the time several times.

Normally, it’s hard to reach people on the weekend. Maybe they’re out there doing something.

I call again.

The phone rings and rings until I give up. Tense, I put it down and look around the room. What am I supposed to do?

I suck in a long breath before shifting my focus back to my phone. I can’t think of anything else. I call Jen again, and this time, she answers, and a sigh of relief leaves my chest.

“Is everything okay?” I ask as noises echo in the background.

“Yes. Why?”

She sounds relaxed, and I de-tense a little.

My voice softens too.

“I’ve called you several times.”

“Seriously? I’m sorry. I didn’t hear my phone. Wait… My phone was in my purse. I just scooped it out. Something happened?” she asks, the smile in her voice vanishing.

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