The Mafia Killer’s Wife by Rosa Milano

Fourteen

Amanda

He's busy the rest of the day. I'm left with a pile of books by the huge window looking out on the city. There's a big comfortable armchair in a reading nook. It would be perfect if I knew he wasn't in his study.

My body is crying out to be near him. My head wants to get as far away as I can.

I flick through some of the books. He wasn't kidding about the contents. I learn more about camouflage techniques from one chapter than I ever knew in my life. There's stuff in there about knife fights, throwing a tail, taking guns apart and cleaning them, all sorts of things I'm hoping I'll never need to use. Blending into crowds like a hitman. Throwing weapons. So much about guns.

I've never fired a gun in my life. Never needed to, never wanted to. My father has one in the house but it's kept locked away.

I'm reading and it gets me thinking.

How many people has Ethan killed? Is it enough for him to count as a serial killer? Is that who I'm locked in with? Hannibal in a suit? Buffalo Bill without the moths? Has he got bodies in that locked room? Am I going to join them? What was it he said? You won't see inside there if you behave.

I focus hard on the books because there's something else I'm trying hard not to think about. It's what happened in the bathroom when he burst in on me.

I was so scared of him when he grabbed hold of me. I was thinking he was going to beat me. Instead, he bent me over and bared my ass, held me in place so I couldn't get away.

He didn't beat me. He spanked me. Again.

When he spanked me, something happened between us. I don't understand it and I don't want to think about it. All I know is that I don't want to be spanked again. I don't want to feel that again, that melting inside me.

The way he touched me afterward, running his hands down made it worse. Especially so close to the core of me that I was sure he could see into my soul, knew exactly the turmoil I was going through.

Could he tell how wet he was making me? How much his teasing was driving me wild? I've never been touched down there before, but it felt so right. I could feel myself opening up for him, widening inside. It was a strange feeling, not one I want when I'm around him. He's a killer. Not a good man. Definitely not husband material.

I shake my head and read the same paragraph a third time. What I want to do is get out of here and the book in my hands is giving me the perfect method.

He comes out of his study in time to make dinner. It's steak, medium rare and more tender than any I've ever tasted. Served with roast potatoes and steamed vegetables.

He's quite the chef.

"How is it?" he asks.

I want to lie, but I can't. "Better than I ever get at home."

"What do you get at home?"

"The best my mom can do is microwave wonders and Dad eats whatever is put in his hands. I'm not allowed to cook for myself. Apparently, it's not becoming, whatever that means."

After eating, he's back in his study, only coming out to show me into the guest room after midnight. I try not to think about why I feel disappointed when the door closes on the guest room. "I'm trusting you," is the last thing he says before leaving the door unlocked.

More fool him.

I give it an hour. I don't get undressed. I don't do anything but wait, listening at the door. I hear nothing. I take several deep breaths before easing the handle down. It turns silently.

I look out, and he's still not gone to bed. He's sitting in the armchair in the dark, facing away from me. I'm not sure if he's heard me. If he has, this will all be for nothing.

I watch him, but he's not moving. That's when I get it. He's fallen asleep sitting up. I check my theory by creeping toward him, peering around to find his eyes are shut. Next to him is his gun, in arm's reach. He's taken his jacket off and it's draped over the side of the chair. He's got his hands on his knees, facing the elevator, like he's expecting trouble. Does the guy ever relax?

I ease my hand into the pockets of the jacket, finding what I want a moment later. The keycard for the elevator and the key to his car beside it.

I'm crossing the floor with them when he shifts in place. I freeze, expecting him to jump up and grab me.

For minutes on end, I can't move. I'm staring at him, but he doesn't shift again. His eyes stay shut. Eventually, I force myself to get moving.

I cross to the elevator and swipe the keycard. Fitz is watching me quietly from his bed. "Good boy," I whisper to him as the elevator slides open. "You just stay."

I hit the button for the parking garage. Why are there even buttons in here? It's clearly his private elevator, but there are buttons for each floor. Perhaps he owns the whole building.

Doesn't matter. Don't care.

I get to the parking garage and I unlock his car. The shutter slides open automatically. I'm guessing it's linked to his key. I back out into the main parking garage, taking it steady, my hands too shaky to move fast.

Only when I'm out on the street do I move faster. It's late enough for the traffic to be light. Whenever a car appears behind me, I think it must be him but nothing happens.

I've done it. I've gotten away from him.

I get home, leaving the car on the street outside. The front door's locked, so I use the same technique I used to go out with Tess last night. The drainpipe.

I shimmy up to my window and get inside. I collapse onto my bed and I still think he might burst in at any moment. What will I do if he does?

I'm so sure of it that I hardly sleep a wink, but I don't hear from him again. The next morning my father seems surprised to see me sitting at the counter in the kitchen. Mom has given me oatmeal without so much as looking at me. Cooked for me, then went back to her drink. "What are you doing here?" Dad asks.

"Ethan changed his mind," I tell him.

Mom barks a laugh from the lounge. "Ethan Gianni never changes his mind," she yells through.

"He did with me."

Dad doesn't say anything else. I'm guessing he's waiting for me to leave so he can make some enquiries of his own. I don't care. I'm not going back to that man.

It wasn't just the spanking, though that is still stinging when I walk out of my house to go find Tess. It's the other things I felt when I was around him, things I don't want to feel. I refuse to feel them. I shut them down. I shut them out. I hate him and that's an end to it.

It's a beautiful morning. I should focus on that.

Tess is behind the counter at the cafe and she looks shocked to see me walking in on her.

"Mandy?" she asks. "You all right?"