Page 64 of Mafia Queen
“Left?”
“Like, out the gate. Down the hill. Ten, fifteen minutes ago.”
I’ve been waiting for Santino to show up and take me to do this one little errand before a war burned down the city…and he was already gone. He left. Slipped away. Gave me a gun, taught me how to use it, and left me behind.
Of all the emotions I can choose from—disappointment, anger, worry—I decide on dumbstruck.
Maybe there’s a clue to where he went in his office.
He’s not there, but the room isn’t empty either.
Dario sits behind his desk, which bothers me, but no one’s telling him to fuck off. I’m not sure if that also bothers me or if I’m seeing the results of a well-thought-out plan.
“Where is he?” I demand.
“Not here.”
“I didn’t ask where he isn’t.”
“I answered you based on what you need to know. He’s not here, and until he is, I’m taking care of shit.”
“This is my family’s house.”
“Look,” Dario says. “I know he’s got you on a longer leash than what a guy would call standard, but all I’m telling you is he’s gonna be back before dinner.”
He thinks I’m just going to disappear. His dismissiveness is infuriating. Even at his worst, Santino didn’t treat me like this. I put my hands on the desk and lean over.
“Did he go to get my zia and zio?”
He stands, putting his hands on his side of the desk.
“Are you going to be a problem?” he asks, but it’s not really a question. It’s an accusation.
And I’m guilty as charged. I’m going to be a fucking problem, but not until I know what’s going on. Dario is a man who asks for neither forgiveness nor permission.
“Keep talking to me like I work for you, and yeah, I’m going to be a problem.” I take my hands off the desk. “Or you can tell me, yes or no. Did he go for my family?”
He comes around and stands over me—too close, but I won’t step back. I cross my arms as if that’s enough of a barrier…which it’s not. The man’s heart was chainsawed from a block of ice, and the blood in his veins is cold enough to keep the organ frozen.
“Yes. He went to pick up people for you,” Dario says. “And like I said, he’s going to be back before the gravy’s done. So maybe take your ass to the kitchen and give it a stir.”
This is the only concession I’m going to get from this guy, so I turn and leave before I have to see him sitting behind my husband’s desk another second.
* * *
Santino and Armandoaren’t back in time for dinner. I join Celia and Loretta in the downstairscucinato prepare it amidst the stink of the coal furnace. I’d hoped to have my zia with us by now.
“He’ll be back before you know it,” Celia says, chopping an onion. “He’ll come in hungry and barking orders. I can feel it.”
“I feel it too,” Loretta adds, rummaging around the industrial refrigerator. “But most of the time, I had a feeling Elio wasn’t coming back, and he did.”
“What about the time he didn’t?” I ask.
“Funny thing about that.” She shrugs, closing the fridge door with an armful of cheese. “The future isn’t written on feelings.”
Celia grumbles, and Loretta pats her cheek and kisses it before dumping the cheese on the counter. Loretta is pissing in Celia’s Cheerios, but she’s right. Intuition predicts nothing about the world—but it can tell you who you are. Feelings are the weather vanes of the heart. Do these instinctual, predictive feelings force your attention to what you hope for? Or what you fear? Which of those winds blows strongest?
He’ll be fine.
