Page 131 of Mafia and Gold Digger

How can she sound so blasé about it all? “No, it’s not.”

“I said it’s fine, Em. Why are you being so lame about this?”

“Lame? Milena this is your future you’re talking about. School is important. Not going to prison is important!”

“Why do I even have to go to this dumb school in the first place? All my friends are at my old school. And my new friends do this kind of thing all the time.”

I feel bad that the kids had to change schools after moving into the apartment with me, but I can’t believe I’m actually having to argue about this with my sister. “So, you just do whatever everyone else does? You don’t think for yourself? And you can’t skip class! You need to graduate high school, Milena, and not end up in prison?—”

“It’s a few classes. I’m still doing just fine in school.”

“Running isn’t happening anymore,” I grit out, crossing my arms over my chest. “That’s done and over.”

She glares at me. “Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous!”

“You did it!”

“What? Dammit, Milena. What I did isn’t important.”

“Yeah, it is. So, you can do it, Em, but I can’t?”

“When I did it, the circumstances were wildly different. If I hadn’t done it, we’d have been homeless. What I did was for us all.”

“We wouldn’t have been homeless,” she snaps back. “You would have bounced to the next rich guy, and he would’ve bailed us out of the hole we were in.”

I blink. “Excuse me?” I try to ignore the sharp sting of her basically calling me a gold digger. “I ran those guns because that was the only way we wouldn’t lose our home. What I did and what you’re doing are two very different things. You’re done with running guns. We don’t need the money, and you don’t need to get caught!”

She rolls her eyes and stomps up the stairs.

“Milena! I haven’t finished!”

But her door slams, and I’m left to slump down on the last stair. How the hell did this all happen? Andwhendid it all happen? I know I’ve been distracted lately with all the Calcedonio fallout, but how has everything gone so wrong? What am I going to do? My hands ball into fists as the tears trickle down from my eyes.

I thought she was doing okay, but I know I’ve taken my eye off the ball. Who the heck are the kids she’s hanging out with who are doing stuff like this? I thought I knew all her friends, and they’re not the sort to get mixed up in stuff like running. Milena must have fallen in with a different crowd—and they sound like a bad sort.

I know she’s been through a lot with all the stuff that went on with my mom and her long line of loser boyfriends, having to move home to the new apartment and then here, but she seemed to be handling it okay. Maybe I’ve relied on her too much? Maybe I shouldn’t ask her to watch the younger kids as much or let her know so much about our problems? I’ve tried to shield my siblings from most of our difficulties, but Milena’s a smart kid and often picks up on stuff.

She didn’t mean any of what she said, right? I tell myself that she’s just being a teenager. I look up at the ceiling, trying to will myself to calm down. I will not let her words affect me. Even though it’s clear that’s a losing battle.

If my own sister thinks the same as everyone else seems to think, that I’m a grasping gold digger, what freaking hope do I have?

Unconsciously, my hand rubs against the flat of my stomach. What business do I have in bringing another life into the world? I close my eyes as I hang my head in my hands. How did it all get so screwed up? How did I mess up this bad?

The foyer is dark by the time I realize I haven’t moved in God knows how long.

I’m no better when Saint walks in for the night. I’m at the chess table, looking out over the yard. Milena left a while ago despite a round two and me telling her no—it ended about as well as the first round of arguing.

We start playing a game of chess, and Saint asks about Milena.

“Milena and I got into the running thing earlier.” And I give him a short version of our argument. I know I still have to tell him about the baby. And I want to ask him what he thinks. Does he think I can do this? Does he think I’m cut out to be a mom? But the words won’t come out—because I just can’t give any headspace to the pregnancy right now, not while my mind’s still scrambling with the revelation of what Milena’s been up to and the trouble she’s getting herself into.

Saint’s phone beeps, and he gets it out to see a message from Christian. “I’ve got to go back out.”

“Now?”

“Yeah. We can talk more about Milena later. You going to be okay here alone?”

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