Page 260 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

“Didn’t happen. And I don’t want to talk about it, so please don’t ask.” I nod at the pile of crap he’s assembled in the center of the apartment. “Going somewhere?” I ask, heading for the cabinet where my favorite coffee mug resides. I frown at the coffee pot and then at my brother. “Couldn’t you have started the coffee while you packed?”

Frankie lets out a huff. “There isn’t time,” he grumbles.

I furrow my brow. “You want to tell me what’s going on? Are you okay?”

He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I’m fine.” His brown eyes twitch at the corners, and I know immediately that he’s holding out on me. “For now.”

“What are you talking about?” I narrow my eyes, forgetting all about the coffee. “Did you do something last night?” I look around again at the mess on the floor. “Why are you pulling all of your crap out here?”

“Look, Chell. I don’t have time to go into detail, but we need to get out of here.”

“Why?” My eyes widen. “Oh my God, how many times have I told you to stay away from those fucking scumbag gangsters you insist on hanging around? When are you going to learn? After everything happened with Papa, after the mess he caused for us, the loss of everything we ever knew, how could you let yourself get caught up in that shit again?”

“Stop being so judgmental! You know it’s my job?—”

“It’s only a job if you get fucking paid,” I shout.

“That’s the problem,” he says, stopping short. His shoulders slump and he raises his pained expression toward me. “I did get paid. Big.”

“What did you do for this payment, Frankie?” I ask, my mouth suddenly bone-dry. I swallow hard, but the growing lump in my throat almost chokes me.

“Something bad. Something,” he says, walking over to one of the windows that faces the street. “That can hurt us, way worse than anything we’ve experienced before. The shit with Papa would feel like a picnic in comparison.”

I storm over to him, pushing him against a wall. I wag a finger in his face, my voice quivering with anger. “You’d better tell me exactly what you did that can hurtus,” I hiss.

“It’s more the ‘who’ than the ‘what’ that’s the issue,” he mutters.

“I don’t like playing these games with you,” I say. “Tell me what happened!”

Frankie averts his eyes. “Look, I’ll explain everything, but in the meantime, I just think we need to get out of the city for a while. Just lay low somewhere where nobody knows us until I can figure out?—"

His cell phone rings and we both jump. He pulls it out of his pocket and stares at the screen for a second before answering. I can’t see the name or number but judging by the fact that the color in my brother’s normally tan face fades more and more with each passing moment, I know it’s not a call he wants to take.

But he answers because the look of resignation on his face speaks volumes.

“Yeah?” he barks into the phone. Always the tough guy. Always the fucking troublemaker!

My breath hitches, and I nibble on a hangnail as he continues his terse exchange. It must be a burner phone, even though there isn’t a whole lot of detail exchanged.

God, I hate that I even know what a burner phone is…

He finally hangs up after a few minutes, but he looks somewhat settled after whatever he was just told. He drops the phone back into his pocket and sinks onto the couch, combing his fingers through his hair.

I sit across from him on the edge of the rickety coffee table, wringing my hands together. “Who was that? More importantly, do I even want to know?”

“It’s not important,” he grunts. “What is important is that it looks like we’re clear for the time being.”

I clasp my hands together and bring them to my lips, squeezing my eyes closed for a second. I say a silent prayer to God that whatever Frankie did isn’t as bad as I think. “Frankie,” I say, struggling to keep my voice even. “You are jeopardizing our lives by sticking with whatever thug crew you’re working with. I don’t care what they’ve promised you, but it isn’t worth what you’d be giving up if you ever got caught doing their dirty work. Do you understand that?”

“We’re not starting this again, okay? This is what I know! It’s all I know! This life is it, it’s all we’ve got.” He turns away. “Chella, if we wanna make fast cash, big money, this is the only thing I can do to help.”

“You can’t make money if you’re dead, Frankie!”

“I know, I know!”

“What the hell did you do?” I ask, my voice shaking.

Frankie puts his hands on my shoulders. “I can’t give you any details, except Ididdo something bad last night, but the good news is, nobody knows I was involved. The guys I was working with didn’t sell me out. That’s what they just told me. So we’re good. We don’t need to run.”

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