Page 4 of Made Man

She’s begging for my life. My heart punches harder and harder in my chest. There is no way out. Tony’s arm is still slung around my shoulder. Mr. Volpe’s men surround me. I hear a creak as the iron gate behind me closes.

“Why don’t you come in, too, Mr. Foster?” Mr. Volpe says.

“Dario…” his wife warns.

“We’ll talk about your role in all of this later, wife. I see you and Mira have been playing your own games under my nose. Go clean up and then check on our boy. He’s probably tearing up the safe room.” He gestures for his wife to go ahead, and she casts him, and then me, a worried look. My guts cramp.

She escorts Mira inside, hurrying her toward the kitchen. Tony urges me after them, Ray joining him at my back.

I’ve only been invited past the foyer once before when I was a little. Some kids had messed with Mira on the playground, and I’d beaten the shit out of them. Mira’s parents brought me home for ice cream, and then Mr. Volpe gave me a ride home in his Porsche 911 with the top down. That was a long time ago.

“This way, Mr. Foster,” Mr. Volpe says, opening a door that looks to lead down to the basement.

I don’t want to go down there. Every instinct I have is screamingdon’t go, but Mira’s upstairs and hurt and maybe still mad at me. I can’t leave her. I don’t think her parents would ever hurt her—honestly, she’s spoiled rotten—but I need to make sure she’s okay.

It’s not like I really have a choice with the way Ray and Tony crowd me down the stairs. At the bottom, the room opens to a huge gym. There’s a mat in the middle of the floor that looks to be regulation boxing ring size. Mira has mentioned that her dad boxes.

There’s all the other typical equipment, too—punching bags, free weights, machines, tractor tires and ropes for HIIT—everything you could want. The walls are mirrored. There are no windows and no obvious second exit—the perfect murder room.

My pulse races like crazy. It reeks like copper down here. Probably from the polished concrete.

God, let it be from the concrete.

Mr. Volpe nods to Ray, and he fetches two metal folding chairs from a stack, setting them up side by side, facing the mat.

Mr. Volpe sits, crosses his legs, and gestures for me to take a seat, too. When I do, I realize my jeans are zipped, but they’re not buttoned. My cheeks burn. Thankfully, Mr. Volpe isn’t looking at my face. He’s not big on eye contact, except for when he’s fucking with you.

“I see you were out with my daughter,” he starts, smoothing his slacks. Somehow, they’re still immaculately pressed and creased.

I cough to clear my throat. “Yes, sir.”

I’m not going to apologize. Mira is eighteen, we’re together, and one day, she’s going to be my wife. I’m terrified of this man, but only in my body. Not in my head. Not in my heart.

“I assume this isn’t the first time,” he says.

I nod. I didn’t figure he knew, but she’s an adult, and she can make her own choices. At least that’s what she’s always telling me.

His jaw tightens, and he’s silent for a moment until he seems to come to a decision. “Do you know what I do for a living, young man?” he asks.

Well, shit. He’s pretty clearly some kind of mobster, but I’m not about to say that. “You’re, ah, in business?”

He chuckles. Once. “Yes. I’m a businessman.” He glances over, his lips still curved in amusement. “And we hear you’re going to Wharton in the fall.”

“Yeah.”

“I suppose you plan to go into business, too, eh?”

I nod. I don’t know what he’s getting at or why we’re sitting side by side in an empty room in front of a wrestling mat, but I do know I’m in over my head. The gunshots and falling bodies echo in my head on repeat, and I’m sweating balls.

“Where’s Mira?” I ask.

Mr. Volpe leans back in his chair and folds his hands in his lap. “Upstairs with her mother. Getting patched up.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her, sir,” I rush to say. “She was running for the house.”

“I understand.” He flashes me a quick, cold smile. “Mira is impulsive. Just like her mother. They both let their emotions make their decisions.”

It’s not a lie. Mira is this weird combination of ditzy girly-girl and pure analytical brilliance. You’d never guess unless you saw her in action, but I’ve been to every one of her Odyssey of the Mind and Math Olympiad practices, and I’ve seen the video of the competitions.

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