Page 1 of Mafia and Gold Digger

CHAPTERONE

EMERALD

My mind is reeling and racing like an out-of-control rollercoaster. The letter taped to the door of our apartment this morning flashes in my head. And the big, bold lettering, stark against the bright white paper, is etched into my mind.

The air conditioning in the back office feels as frigid as an arctic wind whipping around me. Or maybe it’sfearthat’s icing my veins…

Fear of what that piece of paper means.

And fear of what I’m about to get myself into right now.

“You sure you want to run guns for us, Emerald?”

Terror. Panic. Desperation. They all rush through me like rolling tidal waves, threatening to drown me under their sheer weight.No. No, I don’t want to do this. But he doesn’t need to know that.“Sure. Of course.” The words trip off my tongue as I cross my fingers behind my back.

Ronnie Mainetto, my boyfriend, slides his gaze over me. “Is something wrong?”

Doubt creeps into his expression, and my stomach tightens. I paste a sunny smile onto my face and force some false brightness into my voice. Because if I smile, if I pretend everything’s okay, then maybe it will be. “Everything’s totally fine. I just want a little more spending money.”

While we speak, I keep snapping the clasp on my bracelet open and shut. My heart pumps loudly in my ears like a drummer thumping out a beat. I don’t know how else I’m going to make rent this month. My mom won’t be able to come up with the money. She’s the reason we’re in this mess. And the only thing I’m certain of right now is that I have to keep a roof over the heads of my three younger siblings. I’m eighteen, and I never imagined I would have the burden of this sort of responsibility, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to let my siblings down—ever.

I hate to even ask Ronnie. To be vulnerable like this. Relying on others for a handout. That’s what others will say if they find out about this. But I push that information from my mind. It doesn’t matter what they think. Not right now.Just keep smiling, Em.Just keep hoping that everything’s going to be okay.

My palms are clammy as I continue playing with the cool metal clasp.Open,shut,open,shut, trying to calm my shredded nerves with the soothing sound of the clicks.

“I mean, we don’t really have much going on. Some courier work, but that’s kind of low-level stuff.”

“I’ll do it,” I say quickly before he can take the offer back. I clear my throat trying to push off the desperation dripping from my voice. “I mean, I don’t mind if it’s something like that. What do I have to do?”

He relaxes in the chair in his office at the back of the restaurant. “We’ll give you the details. You drop the guns off and take the cash at the location. When you get back here with the money, we’ll pay you a cut of it.”

It doesn’t sound like the hardest thing in the world. And yet how many stories of runners and couriers getting picked up by the cops swirl around the casino on an all too regular basis? The very real fear of being caught chokes me like a serial killer has his hands wrapped around my neck. Still, I keep my face neutral. “Sure. I can do that.”

I hope.

Ronnie hums before he takes a sip of his whiskey. “Okay. It’s yours. I’ll let the boys know.”

“Thanks, Ronnie.” I try not to let my body sag with relief because this is only half the battle. I’m not stupid enough to think that this is going to be as easy as he makes it sound.

“No problem, Em.” He’s only half paying attention now, his gaze fixed on a message that’s lit up his phone. He doesn’t look happy. “I’ll be back in a minute, okay, doll?”

I watch Ronnie talking in hushed tones with a couple of his guys who are standing just outside the office door. They’re talking business, and I know I’ve overstayed my welcome now.

I give Ronnie another smile as I squeeze past him, and with a slight nod of his head, he acknowledges I’m leaving and says that he’ll call me later about the job.

* * *

I triple check my phone for the address, the bright screen illuminating my face.

It’s dark and overcast today, making the fact that I’m wearing sunglasses a little weird. But the thought of not wearing them just doesn’t sit well with me.

It’s just a run-of-the-mill gun drop. A typical swap. Teens younger than I am do this stuff all the time.

I can do it.

And yet my heart’s racing in my chest, my palms sweaty as I swipe them against the front of my jeans. If I mess this up, that’s it. I can kiss the crumbling roof over our heads goodbye, and the warm meals for the kids will be out the window. Gone in a poof of smoke.

Eviction.

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