Page 9 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

I slide onto one of the four white leather barstools arranged along the shiny black breakfast bar. “Doug needs me to go pick up a sample . . .” I pause as if delaying saying it out loud would change my reality before finally finishing with a sigh, “. . . in Chicago.”

Kira tilts her head slightly, the corners of her lips twitching upward as if she’s caught onto something I haven’t said. “Oh really!”

She turns toward my voice, her eyes wide with excitement and fixed at a point just over my shoulder. She has these striking hazel eyes that would make anyone do a double-take, and her eye movements are so coordinated they leave people oblivious to the fact that she can’t see.

“Yeah, Chicago,” I confirm.

“Oh my God, Addy,” Kira gushes, “you’ll finally get to see the city! I just know you’re going to love it.”

Er, no, I don’t think so.

I shudder even as a pang of guilt hits me. Kira still has no idea that I’ve already been to Chicago. She knows nothing of my relationship with Dante or the disastrous birthday dinner two and a half years ago.

Kira continues, oblivious to my conflicted mood, gesturing wildly as if trying to capture the essence of the city. “Chicago is . . . vibrant, gritty. It’s like a full-bodied experience. It also has a dark vibe to it. It’s so you, Addy.”

“What do you mean it’s so me?”

She smirks, “I mean, your morbid fascination for the darker, more complex sides of things. Of people. Of life in general.” Kira returns to her pancakes, her hand hovering over the pan to gauge the heat by the rising steam completely unaware of how my heart lurches and my gut tightens with unease.

Kira is much too perceptive. She doesn’t even know I’m a crime junkie or about my blog, yet she’s calling me out. But really, what did I expect being roomies with a girl who can hear subtle changes in people’s breathing? Before I can open my mouth to deny that logic, she continues,

“And don’t even get me started on the men.”

“The men,” I repeat, chuckling because I already know what she’ll say next. I could even mime her next words.

“You know . . . the Italians. And no, don’t roll your eyes at me,” Kira scolds, just as I do exactly that.

“Come on, Kira. Chicago doesn’t have a monopoly on hot Italian men. You can find them pretty much anywhere.”

“Nope.” She pops the p with emphasis. “Not the likes of which they’ve got in Chicago.”

“Riiight,” I drawl, shaking my head with a smile.

Kira and her mom moved here from Turkey when she was little, and except for attending Loyola Boston University and recently moving back here, she’s lived in Chicago all her life. It’s no surprise that to her, everywhere else pales in comparison.

I often tell myself that’s part of the reason I didn’t tell her about Dante, the man who just about ticks every box on Kira’s perfect man list. That Kira’s bias would cloud my judgment, but that’s not the truth.

Dante is my secret—the one thing I should never have tried and that ended badly. Like that dangerous game you sneaked out to play and then got hurt and had to hide the injury from your parents.

“So, how long are you going to be there for? I could recommend some really cool places to visit.” Kira leans forward, her fingers drumming eagerly on the countertop.

I force a laugh, but it comes out more like a strangled cough. “It’s not that type of trip. I’m only going to collect something, so I’ll probably be there for an hour, maximum. And then it’s straight back to the airport.”

I feel another twinge of guilt as I watch Kira’s enthusiasm deflate slightly. If only she knew the real reason I’m dreading this trip. But some secrets are better left buried, even from your best friend.

Pushing aside my unease, I focus on Kira’s puzzled look. “Someone in Ecolab forgot to do their job and send the correct samples to us.”

“So why not get Ecolab to send it over then?”

“Right?” I throw my hands up. “You’d think that’d be the obvious solution, but Jim Pearson came and tore my boss a new one, and suddenly I’m being thrown on a plane to fetch.”

I rub my arms, mimicking a shudder. “You know, I wouldn’t want to be on the other side of the likes of Jim Pearson in a courtroom, Kira. He’s like a snapping turtle.”

Kira’s lips quirk upward in a knowing smile. “Oh, I would be more wary of Martelli’s defense team if I were you.”

“Who said anything about the Martelli case?” I straighten in my chair, wondering if I’ve let anything slip about the upcoming trial of the mafia boss. I never talk about the cases at work.

Kira’s shoulders drop slightly as she shakes her head. “You really think I don’t know about Tommy Martelli’s upcoming trial?” Her fingertips dance across the raised buttons along the edges of the overhead cupboards, quickly finding and pressing the right one to pop open the door.

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