Page 124 of Mafia and Gold Digger

It’s concerning that she’s this distraught. Maybe it’s the first dead person since her father that she’s known personally. My brow crinkles as I step into the dark room.

“Em? Give me a sign you’re breathing here.”

She briefly lifts her head from the pillow. The mascara she’s wearing is smeared and her eyes are red.

I’m not sure how to be comforting or consoling. “These…things, um, happen, Em.”

A small sound leaves her before she looks away again.

“Em…” I move to reach for her.

“I just want to be alone for a while please.” Her voice is soft.

My hand freezes midway, dropping to the bed between us. “Right.”

I move away from the bed. Why is she acting like this? They were friends, but she swore it was just friends and nothing more... “Are you going to eat?”

“I’m not hungry, thanks.”

The progress we’ve made feels like it’s stalling. That birthday cake. The necklace. The card that took me fucking hours to write. And everything in between it—dates, late night conversations as we play chess, telling her about my life before.

I close the door behind me without another look back.

“Milena?” I knock on her door. “I’m going out for a bit. Pizza is on the way.”

My steps are heavy as I turn down the hall, jog the steps, and go out the door before I even hear her respond.

I need out.I need air.

This isn’t a normal response to someone dying. Sure, a bit of upset when you hear the news. But crying for a few hours? It’s like she’s shutting down completely. I don’t understand emotions that well, but that’s what you do when you…love someone.

I check my phone before sliding into the SUV. I need a distraction, and luckily for me, one just landed in my lap.

The sound of Emerald’s sob haunts me even in the car. The music blasting through the speakers doesn’t come close to drowning it out. My hands tighten around the steering wheel. Every muscle tenses. I want to help her, to give her the time she needs to grieve, but I can’t help that ugly feeling in my chest. The one that keeps telling me this isn’t a normal reaction to your friend dying.

She’s acting like the love of her life just died.

The thought is like a wave of cold water hitting me. Of course. Of fucking course.

I circle the building on the industrial estate, scoping out my newest target. Again and again, I circle, unable to clear my head enough to actually do what the fuck I came to do.

I should be looking for the exit strategy. I should be planning my move. I should be focusing on how I’m going to get the information I need from the bodies that no doubt fill the space.

My eyes narrow. Knuckles whiten more. I grip the leather wheel harder, hearing it creak under the strain.

“Fuck!” I slam my hand against the steering wheel edge.

But I know I need to get a handle on myself. Be controlled, calm, collected. Be indifferent and aloof. Because without those things, I’m as good as dead. And I have to remind myself that Veneti men are strong—unfeeling and ruthless.

I repeat it in my head like a mantra. Like that will quiet the beast bubbling in my chest that wants me to turn around and confront Emerald.

My teeth grind harder, and it’s a miracle I haven’t cracked a molar.

Of course, she was still in love with him. He sent her happy birthday cards and didn’t struggle to write them. He made her laugh without much effort whenever they bumped into each other at the casino. He and she talked still about everything under the sun. He let her in. He was emotionally available, and now, he’s gone.

A bitter part of me is glad. Glad that Ronnie is out the picture, and I didn’t have to dirty my hands to make it happen. Glad he can’t steal Emerald away from me anymore.

I park the SUV, trying to focus on the building. Trying to do my damn job. Pushing all those thoughts behind me and back into the goddamn box where they belong. I take a deep breath, clearing my mind.

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