Page 72 of Texting My Mafia Boss

The man licks his lips. “All right, then,” he says, soaked in sweat. He looks as anxious as I feel. Outside, more bullets crack. I don’t believe they’re cars anymore. “This is going to be nice and easy. Us three, we’re going to be friends until my buddies get here. Nice and easy.”

Sylvie looks at me… and I’m flooded with awe, love, and admiration. She doesn’t look scared. She lookspissed. She’s got her father’s eyes as she stares at me.

The man isn’t holding the knifetoher. It’s at his side though. One wrong movement.

“Let me switch places with her,” I tell the man.

He laughs, low. “Why would I do that? You’re just the nanny. Mr. Bellandi would let you die like it’s nothing.”

I swallow, shaking my head. Why do I have to do this now, like this?

“I’m not just the nanny. He cares about me. We’ve been… seeing each other. Romantically.”

Sylvie’s eyebrows shoot up. Her lip twitches. Is she smiling? The poor girl’s emotions are being blasted from every direction.

“I promise you, he cares about me,” I tell the man. “He won’t want me killed. I work as a hostage just as well as she does.”

“She’ll run,” the man grunts.

“I won’t,” Sylvie says. Her voice is so steady, far steadier than mine. “If I run, you’ll hurt Mara. I don’t want you to do that.”

“See?” I spread my hands. “She’s just a child. We’ll switch places. It’s not a big deal. The same setup. We’ll wait here with you.”

“You’ll try something,” he huffs, like a petulant child and not a bearded, sweaty man holding a child hostage.

“What could I possibly try? You were able to sneak into this place and hide out. That’s impressive. I can’t even imagine how you’d do a thing like that. I’m a simple person. I can’t outsmart you.”

He actually grins, taking the compliment. It’s grotesque. “I was never driving,” he says. “I was hiding in the back. The boys at the door don’t speak to the boys inside enough, it seems, because they didn’t notice the discrepancy. Clever, eh?”

“Very clever,” I agree. “So? Can we—please?”

The man considers, while more gunshots fire outside. I’ve got no way of knowing who’s winning. I need to get us out of here somehow. Maybe this is the end for me, the final note in my story. If I can save Sylvie, it will be worth it. It has to be.

“You and the Don, you very close?”

“Yes.”

“You gone all the way, have you?”

I swallow. “We can’t talk about that in front of?—”

“Answer, bitch.”

“Yes,” I whisper.

He sighs. “Okay, fuck it. Nice and slow.”

I approach him, my hands at my sides. When I’m a foot away, he shoves Sylvie toward the ground. It’s the best thing he could’ve done. I don’t think I’d have the bravery otherwise. But the moment she hits the ground, letting out a quiet squeak, something breaks in me.

I see the little girl I was. Shoved down in the dirt, no right to grow and develop andbe. I see all the pain. I see the betrayal. It flashes across my mind. That hot jolt of rage is enough.

I throw my whole body into a punch. Pain surges up my arm, knuckles cracking. He roars and falls back, more from shock than anything. He isn’t knocked out, just dazed. I stare, stunned, until Sylvie tugs on my shirt.

“Mommy, let’s go!” she screams.

I snap out of my daze, picking her up quickly just as the man starts to crawl onto his feet. As I run toward what I hope is the exit, I wonder if I just heard Sylvie right. Did she call me mommy? Is that a good thing?

The man is behind us, bellowing, calling us every horrible name he can think of. He sounds closer than he can be.