by Hamel, B. B.
“None of it’s mine, though,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, I get paid very, very well, but the real money, the big foreign bank accounts, the investments, they’re all upper management. They’re all the Don, his underboss, those guys.”
“And you’re just a grunt.”
“Poor me, right?”
“I don’t know, you don’t seem to mind.”
He laughed a little, placed a couple slices of mozzarella over each piece of chicken, and put them in the broiler. He stirred the pasta then took it to the sink to drain. When he was finished, he plated the pasta in small bowls, poured a little jarred sauce over top, grated some cheese, added a touch of oil, a little pepper, and nodded to himself.
“Didn’t have time to do a real sauce,” he said. “But good enough for now.” He put the bowl in front of me then returned to the oven. “Hope you’re hungry.”
I felt my stomach rumbling, staring at the pasta. “I could eat.”
“Go ahead,” he said. “Get started.”
I took a bite, and as soon as I tasted the delicious cheese and sauce, I knew I was screwed. I took a few more bites, sipped the wine, and couldn’t help myself. By the time he had the chicken finished, plated, and on the table, I’d finished almost the entire bowl.
He sat down across from me and gave me this strange smile, like he was proud of me for eating my most of my meal. I glanced at him then looked away as I cut a piece of chicken and ate it.
“Whoa,” I said.
“Good?”
“This is really good.”
“They didn’t have my normal stuff at the grocery place,” he said. “So I had to improvise a little bit. I like a different brand of cheese and breadcrumbs, and the chicken was a little too thick, but I think I managed.”
“Where’d you learn to do this?”
“Sergio,” he said. “The guy that owns the bakery? My Capo was in his crew back in the day, and I help him out sometimes. He showed me how to cook a few dishes, you know, made me dinner and made me stand around and learn while he did it.”
“Sounds like an interesting guy,” I said, my voice flat.
“You’d be surprised,” he said. “I hear a lot of stories about that crew, you know, about the old days. They got into a lot of trouble back then.”
“I’m not really interested.”
“You’ve made that pretty clear,” he said, but the smile didn’t slip from his lips. “Not that I mind, though.”
I ate the chicken in silence. He picked at his food, ate half the pasta, sipped his wine, and watched me. It was a little disconcerting, a little uncomfortable, but I forced myself to ignore him.
He was looking for a reaction. I wasn’t going to give it to him.
“What makes you hate mafia guys so much?” he asked. “One just made you a very rich girl.”
“You know who my dad was?” I asked.
“All I know is he was the Don’s brother,” he said and put his wine glass down. “But I’m guessing he’s gone now.”
“Got killed when I was a little girl,” I said, staring at my plate, picking at the remnants of the chicken. “One day he went out to work, I didn’t know what he did back then, but he didn’t come home. Ended up shot in some alley.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Luca said.
“Broke my mom,” I said. “Really messed her up. The rest of her family’s in the mafia too, out in Chicago, really powerful people. I guess they tried to bring her home for a while after it happened, but she refused, kept telling me that all the men in the mob are broken, that life just leads to death and misery. I guess she couldn’t handle it anymore, and she had some really rough years.”
“I can see why you’d hold it against us then,” he said.
“No, you can’t,” I said. “To you, a mafia guy getting killed is just part of the game. But to me and my mother, it meant losing a father and a husband. It broke her for a while, and I think she’s still picking up the pieces.” I dropped my fork with a clatter and pushed back from the table, anger pouring through my chest. I couldn’t help myself, the memory of my mother back then spiked through me, and I hated him, god, I hated him so much.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Upstairs,” I said, picking up my wine glass.
“I’m glad you joined me for dinner,” he said. “Maybe we can do it again.”
I stared at him. “This isn’t a game,” I said. “This isn’t some joke. I don’t want to be here. Getting trapped in this house by my uncle, getting this stupid fortune handed to me that I don’t even want, this is a nightmare for me. Do you even get it?”
He nodded, his eyes on mine like liquid fire.
“I get it,” he said, his voice gentle. “But it’s not my job to make this easy on you. It’s my job to make sure you’re safe.”
I let out a hard laugh. “You’re doing a great job, leaving guns lying around.”
A hint of anger flitted across his expression.
“Run on upstairs, little girl,” he said. “You can throw your tantrum up there. Maybe even move that bookcase in front of the door again.”
I glared at him, jaw tight. I wanted to throw the wine in his face almost as bad as I wanted to throw it down my throat.
I turned away. “Thanks for the food,” I said, and left the kitchen.
He didn’t speak as I stormed through the living room, up the steps, and back into my room. I slammed the door and locked it.
I stood with my back against the wall, breathing hard, before taking three deep chugs of the wine, finishing it off. It felt warm and heavy in my stomach, and for a second, I thought I might get sick.
Instead, I climbed into the strange bed, pulled the strange covers over my head, and buried into the strange, scratchy sheets with their odd storage-room smell and their faded floral pattern.
5
Luca
That night I couldn’t bring myself to climb the stairs and find a bed, so I camped out on the couch. It wasn’t too bad, but in the morning my legs were cramped and my back ached from lying on a bundled-up blanket for half the night.
I got up and checked on Clair’s room. The door was shut and I thought I could hear soft snoring from inside when I pressed my ear against it. I headed back downstairs, made some coffee in an old crusty black drip maker, and leaned up against the wall to contemplate my goddamn life.
I was a babysitter, no getting around it. Don Leone stuck me with Clair, made it seem like this was some big and important job, but now I realize he just gave the girl to whatever lieutenant was dumb enough to take her on. I should’ve turned him down, but when the Don tells a soldier to do something, that soldier better shut up and do it.
Three weeks ago, I was shaking down Jalisco strongholds and killing anyone that stood up and got in our way.
Now, I’m making sure some rich, spoiled girl didn’t… what, cry herself to death?
“Shit,” I said out loud and took out my phone. It was just a little past seven but I knew Steven would be up and at the bakery, so I called him up.
He answered after a couple rings.
“How’s my favorite soldier?” he said.
“What’s up, boss?” I walked over to the coffee pot, poured a mug. “How’s business?”
“Not too bad,” he said. “How’s your special assignment?”
“Awful,” I said. “What’d you hear about it?”
“Not much, not yet at least.”
I sipped the coffee, burned my tongue, cursed, put the mug down.
“He’s got me babysitting his niece,” I said.
“No kidding?”
“No kidding. Apparently she got left some big money and I’m supposed to watch her.”
“Wow,” Steven said, laughing like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “That’s actually kind of crazy.”
“He thinks the girl’s going to be a target,” I said. “Like the Jalisco would go after some random civilian.”
“How much mone
y did she inherit?”
“A lot,” I said. “Millions.”
He whistled. “Sounds like the sort of score the Jalisco would go after,” he said. “I mean, they’d have to grab her, beat her up a little bit, and make her withdraw it all. Not too hard for a crew like theirs.”
“Even still,” I said. “The girl despises the mafia. I mean, fucking hates all of us, like we’re all a bunch of monsters.”
“We sort of are,” he said. “At least to people outside the family.”
“Fine, but she doesn’t have to act like it.”
“Did you just call me up to complain?”
“I called you up to see if my Capo can get me out of this job,” I said. “Send someone else out here.”
“The Don picked you,” he said. “You specifically. You know I can’t go back on that.”
“Come on,” I said.
“She can’t be that bad. I mean, what’s she look like?”
“Not bad,” I said.
“Not bad?” He snorted a laugh. “Come on, what’s that even mean?”
“She’s hot, all right? But she despises me.”
“Colleen hated me at first,” he said. “Comes with the territory. You just have to show her your winning personality.”
“I’m not sure I have one. And I’m not interested in taking dating advice from you. Just get me off this assignment.”
“No can do,” he said. “And you know it. Now I got to go, Sergio’s giving me a look like he wants to kick my ass, and I think I know why. Adios, pal.”
He hung up and I cursed, tossing the phone down onto the table. I sipped the coffee again, and although it was still too hot, at least it didn’t burn my tongue.
I stood in front of the refrigerator, debating whether or not I wanted to eat leftovers for breakfast, when there was a sound outside. A car door slammed right out front, and I hurried to the window. This time I didn’t want to be surprised if someone barged in.
I saw Roberto, his shiny bald head glinting in the morning sun, as he helped Don Leone out of a big black SUV. I cursed, cleaned up the little nest I made on the couch, and stood up straight as the door opened and the Don came limping in.
His eyes swept the room then rested on me, and my whole body went tense. With just one look, I knew the Don was pissed, really fucking pissed.
“Where’s the girl?” he asked without greeting.
“Upstairs, sleeping,” I said.
“Good.” The Don limped inside.
Roberto stayed at the door, his hands clasped in front of him, a stupid smile on his face. I gave him a glare then kept my eyes on the Don as he walked to the kitchen door, peered inside, then walked back over to me.
“Do you know who visited me last night?” the Don asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“The girl’s mother.”
I cleared my throat, shifted foot to foot. “I don’t know anything about that, sir.”
“Of course not,” he said. “How would you? You’re just the one in charge of my niece.”
“She was up in her room almost all day,” I said. “I made her dinner, but otherwise—”
“Made her dinner?” the Don asked. “You’re her personal fucking chef now?”
“Sir, I just—”
“I don’t care,” he said, waving me off with a sharp turn of his wrist. “That girl’s mother is going to be a problem, and you’re going to have to do something about it.”
“What happened, sir?”
He gave me an annoyed look then shook his head. “The woman came to my house,” he said. “Knocked on my door. When Roberto told her I was busy, she persisted, made a scene on my stoop. It was bad enough to pull me out of a meeting with Maksim. I met her in my entryway and let her scream at me for five minutes before Roberto threw her out and warned her never to come back. Can you imagine, Luca? A woman, in my house, yelling in my face like I was some child?”
I only shook my head, my jaw hanging open. Truly, I couldn’t picture it. In fact, I was pretty sure there were dead women littering the bottom of the Schuylkill River for doing exactly that.
There were whole fields of dead bodies planted like rows of corn, dead bodies of people that disrespected the Don.
“I’ll speak to her about it, sir,” I said.
“Do more than speak,” the Don said. “The girl called her mother yesterday, did you know that? I only know because Annabella screamed it in my face.”
“I didn’t know,” I said.
“Of course not. Because you’ve been down here, cooking and watching TV, while you leave the girl to her own devices upstairs. She called her mother, and now I have to deal with that loud-mouthed animal.”
“I’ll handle it, sir,” I said.
“Take her phone,” Don Leone said. “Take her phone away, and tell her that if she behaves, she can have it back.”
I nodded once. “I will, sir.”
“Good. I don’t want to hear from that woman again, and I certainly don’t want to hear that my niece is making phone calls.” He shook his head, his eyes wide with anger. He turned on his heel and walked back to the door, barely limping, barely using the cane.
I watched as he walked past Roberto and down onto the porch. Roberto gave me a wicked little smile and I flipped him off. He only chuckled and followed the Don, closing the door behind him.
“Motherfucker,” I said. “Motherfucking fucker.”
I paced around the living room as the Don got back into his car and drove off. I waited until they were well and truly gone before turning toward the stairs, my heart beating fast, a lump of anger and dread in the pit of my stomach.
I didn’t want to take the girl’s phone away. I was willing to bet that phone was one of the main things keeping her here. If I take that away, she’s going to feel like she’s trapped, and it’s basically guaranteeing she’d try and run.
But if I let her keep it, she could make more calls and make my life even harder.
Besides, the Don ordered it. Even though I think it’s the wrong move, he ordered it, and I follow orders.
“Good little soldier,” I said to myself, stomping up the stairs. “Good fucking babysitter.”
I reached her door, listened for a second, didn’t hear snoring.
I knocked hard, waited, knocked again. I heard someone moving around inside, heard the lock on the handle click. The door opened just a crack.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Good morning,” I said.
“It’s early,” she said. “I’ll come down later.”
“We need to talk.”
“I’m not in the mood for—”
I pushed the door open. She gasped in surprise as I forced her back. She stumbled, tried to push it closed, but I had momentum. I threw it all the way forward and forced my way inside. She screamed at me as I pushed her back toward the bed. She flailed, trying to hit me, trying to scratch me, but I held her arms, keeping her as far from me as possible, and threw her down onto the bed.
“Stop,” I said as she sat there, hair a mess, breathing hard.
She wore a tight black tank top, no bra underneath, showing off her gorgeous breasts. She had on just a pair of small gray shorts, barely long enough to cover her thick ass. Her fingers clenched the sheets and I knew she wanted to throw herself at me, but she held back.
“Get out,” she said. “Get out, you asshole.”
“You called your mother,” I said.
That stopped her. She looked at me, a hint of surprise in her eyes, before she narrowed her gaze gain.
“So what?” she asked.
“So, she went to the Don’s house last night,” I said. “Do you have any idea how fucking stupid that was?”
More surprise hit her. She relaxed her hands and sat forward, staring up at me.
“Is she okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, she’s fine,” I said. “The Don didn’t hurt her, just made sure she got home. But goddamn it, Clair. Wha
t were you thinking?”
“She needed to know,” she said. “If I didn’t tell her, she would’ve gotten worried.”
“You didn’t need to tell her you were here.”
“I’m not going to lie to my mother.”
“We could’ve come up with something,” I said. “We could’ve—”
“There is no ‘we’,” she said, her lips curled into a sneer. “You’re not in this with me. You’re just some hired thug my uncle left here to keep me in line.”
I threw up my hands. “I’m trying to help you.”
“No, you’re not. If you were trying to help, you’d find a way to let me go.”
“You know I can’t do that. You know—”
“You’re just the messenger,” she said, shaking her head. “Whatever, that’s such weak bullshit, and you know it.”
I stood there, my temper fraying. I stared at her and tried to keep myself calm, but she gave me this horrible look, this angry, pissed-off stare, like I was something cheap, something beneath her.
And it pushed me over the edge.
“Fine then,” I said. “You want me to be some stupid brute? You want me to be some asshole piece of shit, mafia scumbag? I’ll do that for you, my pretty little mafia princess.”
She stared at me as I walked to her bed. She flinched back, which only pissed me off more, like I was going to fucking hurt her. I grabbed her sheets, threw them aside, rifled through the covers.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Get off my bed.”
I threw her pillows on the floor, ripped the sheets off.
“Real mature,” she said. “Real grown up.”
I went to the one nightstand, pulled open the drawer, and grunted in victory. I snatched her phone out before she could stop me.
“What are you doing?” she asked, standing up as I walked to the door.
I powered her phone down. “You don’t get this anymore.”
“Fuck you,” she said. “Give that back.”
“Don’s orders,” I said. “I was thinking about disobeying. But goddamn, you really made me do this.”
“I didn’t make you do anything,” she said, walking toward me. “Give me the phone back, Luca.”
“Sit back on the bed, Clair, before you do something stupid.”