Page 28 of Mafia and Gold Digger

When two tiny fists grab the box.What the fuck?

Some kid has just stolen the last box of Lucky Charms right out from under me. Yeah, this is why I can’t stand kids.The sneaky little shit!

I’m not going to let him get away with that.

Isawthem first.

Ismelledthem first.

Iwantedthem first.

They. Are. Mine.

Before the kid can get away, I grab one side of the box and give it a tug.

The kid’s eyes widen.

But he doesn’t let go.

He takes a sharp intake of breath as I pull the box back toward me.

He yanks it into his small body.

I try to pull it out of his hold.

But the kid is surprisingly strong for his age.

I growl with frustration.

Making him nearly leap out of his skin.

But he doesn’t let go of the cereal.

And what ensues is a tug of war.

Jesus, he might look like a little kid, but he’s like a goddamn squirrel on speed—full of energy and determined not to give in.

Finally, with a twist of my hand, I wrench the box out of his grip. “Get the hell out of here, kid,” I mutter, glad to see the back of him as he scurries off to find his mom. She’s probably too busy yakking on her cell or flicking through the gossip magazines to have even noticed that her child is going around terrorizing and intimidating other customers in the store.Fucking parents these days.

I stroke the box of Lucky Charms before putting it in my basket. Then after getting a few more items, I head for the bakery section.

With my head down as I approach, scrolling through my work emails, I don’t take much notice of who else is around.

But then I hear the words no man ever wants to hear in his lifetime: “That's the evil man who took my Lucky Charms.”

As the annoying little voice fills the air, my heart stills for a moment.

Before the faint scent of chocolate mints fills my senses.

And suddenly, I have a sinking feeling that’s worse than the Titanic must have ever fucking felt.

A quick glance upward confirms my worse suspicions as I catch sight of a head of dark glossy hair and a pair of glaring green eyes.

It is, without a doubt, Emerald goddamn Fiorelli. Why do I keep running into this woman?

I start to edge away.

Can I sneak behind the stand stacked with ciabatta and focaccia and get away before she realizes it’s me?

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