Page 9 of Mafia's Broken Omega

The next day, I quit my job. I left no forwarding address, and the only physical address they had on file for me was a PO Box.

It was a simple decision, and I didn’t even bother to clean out my locker. The next Velvet could have whatever I left in there. The short shorts and G-strings weren’t going to fit much longer anyway.

After that, it was time to make a plan. I sat on the floor and sketched a few designs for T-shirts. Drawing and coming up with silly sayings was always a fun hobby for me. I used to imagine starting my own graphic-tee company some day but never thought I’d have the means to even consider it. But now that I was doodling characters and patterns, I realized it could be an actual thing.

And it was something I could support myself on with a baby at home.

Thanks to the fling I had with Cord, and the money I earned from it, I had more than enough saved.

I bought a pack of plain white onesies and a set of fabric markers, excited to make my first actual T-shirt a gift for my baby. It was well past midnight, and I was still sketching on the floor, trying to remember some puns I’d come up with when I was a kid.

Thoughts of Cord kept creeping into my mind and messing with my resolve. The urge to unblock Cord’s number was strong, but I just reminded myself of what I was gaining. My baby was more important than a booty call.

The next day, I pored over review sites and watched countless videos before deciding which silkscreen box I wanted and then placed an order for it, along with a box of blank T-shirts in everycolor they had. If selling shirts didn’t work, I’d try something else. But I wasn’t sure I’d ever have an opportunity like this to just try something that I loved…and I would not let it slip past me.

Cord hadn't tried to find me, and despite the pinching in my chest that didn't go away, I kept telling myself it was a good thing. The right thing.

He was the head of his own mafia family. I’d blocked him for a reason, and keeping my baby safe was at the top of that list.

7

CORD

Pain meant nothing to me. My focus was solely on getting stronger and faster. My fists pounded against the canvas of the bag, powder flying. The tape on my hands had worn down and blood coated my knuckles.

"All right. That's enough." Rosco stopped the bag and stood between it and me.

It was only because I didn't feel like getting my ass kicked that I was able to stop from punching him instead.

I might’ve been head of the family, but that didn't mean I could take on Rosco. The man was ruthless in the way he fought, which made him good at what he did.

His current role was keeping me safe.

"I can keep going," I said. Though the shortness in my breath told another story.

"Not happening. We've been at this for hours."

"Nonsense. It's only been a few minutes."

He shook his head and walked away.

I followed.

We were silent while I untaped my hands and then showered off the sweat from my workout. Based on the amount of blood swirling down the drain, it seemed I might have gone at the bag a little too hard.

It was better than going at someone's face. Which I was just one bad day away from doing. In the months since the incident that ruined everything—which was how I was thinking of the warehouse explosion—my associates had shielded everyone in the business from me. My house was operating on a skeleton crew because of my temper.

A mafia boss was supposed to rule by fear, right? Because people cowered away from me, it meant I was doing something right.

Never mind that every day the brightness that had once filled my days grew darker and the thoughts of burning down the entire business intensified.

What was this all for, anyway? I didn't have a family to leave this to. I didn't have friends anymore.

I had no purpose.

Purpose had disappeared into the night and no longer answered my phone calls.

And even though I had literal assassins at my fingertips and men who would do whatever I asked, no questions, I couldn't seem to find any shred of information about where Velvet had gone.

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