Page 21 of Mafia and Gold Digger

Disbelief drops my mouth open. “So, you let himhither?”

There’s another noncommittal gesture from her. She’s a completely different person now. Gone is the warm woman who braided our hair before bed and sang to us when we couldn’t sleep. She wasn’t like this when my dad was alive. In her place is someone I don’t recognize most days. Fading further and further from the woman I still cling to as my mom. There are glimpses of that woman still there, but they’re so infrequent that they feel like mirages.

And it breaks my heart to see what she’s let herself become.

“Milena, go to the bedroom,” I say gently.

“But—”

“I’ll be there in just a second. Please?”

Milena nods through her blur of tears.

My hands fist at my sides. What kind of mom lets her low-life boyfriend do this to her kids? Enzo is a complete creep. He owns a chain of sleazy strip clubs, not that my mom ever sees a cent from him. He’s a leech of the worst kind. Enzo keeps trying to persuade my mom to dance at his clubs. Just being in the same room as him is enough to make my skin crawl.

I wait until I see Milena go into the bedroom and the door clicks closed before letting out a sound from the back of my throat. I pinch the bridge of my nose. I can’t tell if it’s disappointment or irritation that’s coursing through me. A mixture of both, probably.

It’s the same thing over and over again with our mom. This is the reason I work so hard. To try and give my siblings a better life than this. They need to know without a doubt that someone loves them and will always protect them. But that’s not what they’re getting right now—not here.

“We’re leaving. I’m getting an apartment, and I’m taking the kids with me. I’m not going to let your boyfriendhitthem?”

She shrugs. “Okay, Em. You do what you think is best.”

The agreement is so fluid that I feel like I get whiplash. She moves to slump down on the couch.

“That’s it?” I stare at her. “Do you…even care?”

She doesn’t answer.

I stare at her, blinking slowly. “So, when I find a place, I’ll move them in with me. That’s the deal.”

“Okay.”

Deep hurt mixes in with all my emotions. “Fine.”

Walking down the short hall, I peer into the room that five-year-old Giulietta and six-year-old Jaspar share. They’re sound asleep, and I send up a silent prayer to whoever’s listening they weren’t awake to witness the whole thing.

My hand clenches the doorknob of the bedroom Milena and I share, and I pause. The thundering beat of my pulse drowns out any other sound. My mouth feels dry. How am I going to afford a new apartment? Picking up more shifts is impossible when I’m already working as many as I can. And asking Ronnie for another gun run is out of the question. I can’t risk ending up in prison because who would take care of the kids then?

I’ll figure it out.I have to figure it out. I want the kids to be safe and happy. My grades really suffered during my last year of high school because of all the stress of my home life, and I promise myself that I’ll not let the same thing happen to the kids.

I push open the door and let it click softly shut behind me. I move on instinct, cradling Milena in my arms as she cries.

When she’s done stumbling through what happened, I give her a reassuring smile, kiss her forehead, and tell her it’s all going to be okay. As I do whatever I can to soothe her, I’m calm and collected on the outside but a storm on the inside. There’s so much to do now. Because if Enzo’s hit her once, he’ll do it again—and maybe not just to Milena next time. I can’t let that happen to Milena or the other kids ever again. It kills me just thinking about what’s just happened.

I stroke her hair and murmur words of comfort, waiting until she’s a little calmer. “Let me see, Milena.” She lifts her face. It’s a nasty mark, but it should fade in a few hours. “I’ll get you some ice in a minute.”

I hear the door creak open and look up to see Giulietta sneaking in. “I heard noises,” she says in a sleepy voice.

She must have heard Milena and me talking. “Come here,” I say softly, and she climbs into my lap, hugging her stuffed bear to her. I bury my face in her hair. She smells like soap and innocence all rolled into one.

“Will you be here to take us to school tomorrow morning?” she asks, her voice hitching with anxiety.

“Of course, munchkin,” I say in a voice which I make as soothing as possible. I absolutely hate that the kids are being affected by all this stuff going on around us. I take the kids to school almost always now, especially after my mom messed up with this a few too many times recently. And if I can’t do it myself, I find a friend to take my place.

“We’re so lucky having two moms,” Giulietta says as she snuggles into me. “We have Mom and then we have you as well.”

“And you’ll always have me,” I reassure her. They count on me, and I’ll never bail on them.

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