Page 243 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

“We’ll figure things out,” I say. “Hey, maybe we can go for a run in the park tomorrow if you’re around? Get some fresh air, maybe scrounge some money together for a dirty water dog or five.” I grin, nudging his shoulder. “It would be fun.”

He pauses, then gives a stiff nod. “Yeah, it would be.”

I force a smile. There’s a strange look in his dark eyes that I don’t like, but I decide not to press him on it. I know he’s sensitive about Papa, and I don’t have the energy to argue about it right now. I have a long night ahead of me and I can’t be worried about what glimmers in the depths of my brother’s gaze. “I’ll see you in the morning,” I say, squeezing his arm. “Please be careful.”

“You say that to me every time you leave,” he grumbles.

“It’s because I worry.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” I say, picking up my handbag and jacket. “’Night.”

“’Night,” he replies, and there it is again. That damn look.

It makes my stomach twist because it always—without fail—means trouble.

And we really can’t afford any more of that.

Literally.

We can’t affordanything.

I carefully pull the apartment door closed since the landlord who goes by the name Mr. Raynor lives on our floor, and I don’t want to alert him since I won’t be able to cover the rent for this month and last month for another week. Yes, I’m behind. Yes, I want to choke my brother for putting me in this position because he insists that he’s going to be making good money soon with his new-ish job. And I use the word ‘job’ lightly. I know he’s gotten himself tangled up with some mafia thugs here in Manhattan, not that he’s admitted as much. He’s probably beating the shit out of people for his bosses and collecting money owed, not thathe’sthe one doing any of the actual collecting, as far as I can tell.

Jesus, who knew the mafia offered unpaid internships and that my stupid brother was qualified?

A chill slithers through me as I take the stairs as lightly as possible so as not to make any unnecessary sounds. Mr. Raynor has ears like an elephant, and the only way I know to keep him off our backs is to flash him a glimpse of boob every now and again when he confronts me.

I really don’t feel like watching the lecherous look on his face tonight as his eyes drop down the front of my shirt.

Blech.

But hey, it is what it is. I have to work with what I’ve got.

Who knew that six months ago our entire world would come crumbling down around us the way it has? I mean, I thought being forced out of Sicily ten years ago was bad, but this? This is complete decimation.

Regardless of the reason, Papa killed someone. I’m not naïve enough to believe he’s never done that before, but at least he’d never been caught red-handed. I could have convinced myself that he was innocent if it wasn’t for the fact that he quite literally had the man’s blood on his hands when the cops arrived at the scene.

Second-degree murder. That verdict just about blew my whole life out of the water.

He claimed it was self-defense, but if you saw my dad and the guy he popped, it doesn’t really add up. Luckily for my father, the jury bought it and that’s the only reason he wasn’t sentenced to death.

Unluckily for me and Frankie, all of the money we had that wasn’t already seized by collections for my mother’s medical bills was sucked up by exorbitant court fees and defense lawyers who couldn’t seem to get out of their own way enough to win a ‘not guilty’ verdict.

But the reality is, Papa killed a member of the Volkov Bratva, a vicious organization out of Brooklyn, and his own lawyers didn’t have death wishes.

The bank took our house and our cars, and we had to sell any possessions with value just to cover necessary living expenses.

Talk about seeing your future get swallowed up by a black hole.

And at twenty-four, I’d just barely began my career in bilingual childhood education before my job was yanked away from me halfway through the year. Seems as though New York State wasn’t a fan of hiring teachers whose parents are convicted murderers.

Some people can be so prickly.

Insert eye roll.

I was fortunate enough to have kept up a good relationship with the owner of the bar I’d worked at through my years at New York University, and even more fortunate that he re-hired me after being dishonorably discharged by the New York State Board of Education.

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