Page 34 of Mafia Queen
“Loretta.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Pack a bag.”
“It’s not a good time.”
She tries to shut me out, but I stop her, staring through the space between the wall and the edge of the door. Something is wrong, and she can’t say what.
I take out my gun and walk past her, into the house, scanning the familiar living room for danger. I check the corners and closets, exiting to the back patio from the sliding kitchen door, listening for a man in the bushes, the scent of his cologne, or the adrenaline from his pores. All I smell is morning dew.
“You should go,” Loretta says from behind me.
I turn to her. She leans against the jamb with her arms still crossed. I wonder if they’re locked that way to hide something besides her heart.
“I haven’t seen Damiano in days,” she says. “If that’s who you’re looking for.”
“He knows I’m coming for him.”
“When you’re like this, no one gets ahead of you,” she scoffs. Her arms drop to her sides, and she backs into the kitchen. “Come inside, it’s buggy out.”
Is she saving me from a trap or drawing me into one?
Outside is better for me. More options. If men are out here and I go inside, I’m stuck there.
“Sit.” I pull out a patio chair for her. “And close the door behind you.”
She’s so efficient at doing what she’s told that I can’t read whether this was her plan or not. There’s neither satisfaction nor disappointment in her manner.
I do not sit. I stand where I can see everything, with my back to a small, enclosed area with a barbecue and no way to surprise me from behind.
“I’m alone,” she barks loudly. “I told you.”
She didn’t tell me she was alone, so she’s not.
“Have I ever lied to you?” When I stay silent, she looks at her lap, and the shield slips. “The way you lied to me for years?”
“I was always honest about what I could be to you.” I look over the garden terraces built into the mountain below, sniff deeply for cologne, check for movement in the garage windows.
“Not with your words but with yourmouth.” The last word comes from the bottom of her lungs. It’s not loud, but it’s still a shout of the heart.
“You lied with yourbody.”
I feel no pity, no guilt, nothing. She may be telling the truth, but she’s also stalling. Giving me room to locate whoever is here.
“And this is why you sold your body to Damiano? To get back at me?”
She sighs, shaking her head. “Do you have a cigarette?”
I take out the pack and offer her one. She wedges it between her lips, and I use my dented Zippo to light it.
“I heard how your lighter got like that,” she says. “You’re going on a murder spree, then you’re going to have a baby and a happy little family like it never happened.”
“There is no baby anymore.”
She pulls on the cigarette again, looking at me as if I’ve done something unexpected.
But the baby is gone, and I can’t let her talk about it as if it’s going to be born. It’s a curse in her mouth.
