The Mafia Killer’s Wife by Rosa Milano

Three

Ethan

Imarch over and scatter them like bowling pins. I take hold of the girl's hand and spin her around to face me. She spins so fast she falls. I catch her in my arms to stop her head flying into the nearest table. "Hey," she says. "What's going on? Where'd my friends go?"

"Fun's over," I tell her, snatching back her handbag from the group. "Time to go home."

The men are grumbling. They sound ready to fight for her until they see my face. I turn and fix them with a cold stare. I manage a smile, the one that chills the blood of those about to die.

"She's with us," the furthest guy says, curling his hands into fists. He can't see me well enough to know he's a whisker from death.

"She's with me," I reply.

Someone else is grabbing him by the shoulders, pulling him backward. "What?" he snaps to his buddy. "What are you doing?"

"That's Ethan Gianni," his friend says.

The guy's face turns white. At once the group melts away into the crowd, mumbling apologies as they go.

The girl has no idea what just happened. I doubt she knows what day of the week it is. She's mumbling something about another drink but I'm not listening. All I want to do is get her somewhere safe and then go home. I've had enough of my night out.

By this time Paulie has finished getting our drinks, but I brush straight past him as he approaches me. "Pulled already?" he calls after me. "Good work!"

I get her out the front door of the place. I think about loading her into a cab, but not all the drivers are in our pocket. One of them could feed back to Mancini that I've got their girl, that I've finally got a weakness to be exploited just as I'm getting out of the game.

"Where are we going?" the girl asks, shivering in the chilly night air.

I put my jacket around her shoulders. Seventeen minutes to walk to my place from here. I could take her there. Not a good idea. If she's really supposed to hook up with Benito, she'd be able to give him a great description of the layout of my place.

"I'm taking you home," I say, leading her around the corner to where I've parked. "Where is it?"

"I don't want to go home," she says, tugging her hand free from my grip. "I'm snuck out to have fun, not to go home with Mr. Grumpy."

I think about the five men leading her to the back exit, about what almost happened to her. "You're drunk," I tell her. "I'm taking you home. Where do you live?"

“Not telling you," she says, sticking her tongue out at me and trying to walk past me.

I step in front of her, blocking her path with my body. Her reactions are so slow, she bounces off me and nearly falls on her ass.

"You're mean," she says, staggering forward again, her words so slurred I can barely make them out. "I don't like you."

"That makes two of us," I reply, reaching out for her handbag.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for anything with your address on."

The handbag is empty. I'm guessing the guys took her stuff out of it. She yanks it out of my arms.

"Where do you live?" I ask.

"Not telling you," she says again, looking up at me and blinking slowly. "Say, you're pretty cute. Want to get it on?" She purses her lips together, standing on tiptoes to kiss me.

"Knock it off," I snap, pushing her shoulders back down. Definitely been doped. I've seen girls like this before. It's the way Mancini gets them into his brothels. By the time they sober up, it's too late for them.

"Come on," she says, slipping the strap off her shoulder. The front of her dress is falling down enough to reveal most of her right boob. Another inch and I'll see the nipple. I grab the strap and put it back in place.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" I snap, but I already know the answer. It's in the way her eyes are glazing over, the way her inhibitions have vanished entirely.

She staggers sideways, bumping into my car door. "Don't you want me? We can go back to my place if you want."

"Let's do that," I say. "Where is your place?"

"Thirty-four, Acacia Drive, handsome."

My mind makes a quick calculation. Twenty-six minutes from here if I take the bridge north of the club. I can have her home safe and be done with her by midnight. "Come on," I tell her, leaning past to open my car door. "In you get."

"No," she says with a pout. "I'm not going unless you buy me dinner first."

"Get in the car," I tell her, my voice a low growl.

She's too wasted to feel threatened. "No," she whines. "You can't make me." She folds her arms and sticks her tongue out again.

"In the car now."

"What you going to do if I don't? Spank me?"

"Don't tempt me."

"You wouldn't dare. I'm going back to the club and you can't stop me."

She goes to walk past me so I grab hold of her and plant a couple of smacks right on the middle of her ass.

"You'll do as you're told," I tell her. "You're not going back in that club, and if that group of assholes get their act together and call in reinforcements, bullets are going to fire this way in about a minute. You might get hit."

She gasps, not listening to me, busily rubbing the spot where I spanked her. "You hit me," she says, sounding shocked. "I can't believe you hit me."

"I didn't hit you. I spanked you and unless you get in the car right now, I'm going to do it again."

"I liked it," she says with a wink, grinning up at me, alcohol wafting my way from her open mouth. "Do it again."

She's no idea who I am. I could be anyone. She's a danger to herself, this girl.

I think about what Benito is likely to do to her if they get married. His last girl spent two months being fed through a tube. He only got away with it because he's Primo's son. Bought off her family and they moved to California so she's not around to tell anyone.

"Dare you to do it again," she says, still grinning. She turns and lifts the back of her dress, revealing a black thong and not much else. Her buttocks are peachy and round and there's a red mark from where my hand just landed. She bends over the car, pushing her ass back at me. Her eyes glaze over and two seconds later, she's snoring.

I load her into the back, get her strapped in as best I can, and then set off. As I’m driving, I toss the fake beard and shades into the footwell.

I get to her place precisely twenty-six minutes later. It's an apartment block on the edge of Mancini's turf but not close to his main stretch.

She's been asleep the entire time. I look down at her laid out in the back. She's managing to snore and drool at the same time, her hair plastered to her cheek. Despite everything, she looks kind of cute. "Come on," I say, unhooking her seatbelt.

"Is it bedtime?" she asks in a croaky voice.

"Sure," I reply. "Time for bed, darling." The words seems to comfort her. She smiles without opening her eyes. I help her out of the car and then carry her up to the front door.

I press the button, and a man appears in a purple dressing gown. He's in his fifties and I can tell at once he's her father. He takes one look at her and then at me, and his face turns pale. I have that effect on people a lot.

He's trying to hide his hatred of me. He knows who I am. I can tell. That means this will feed back to Mancini. I'm already sticking my neck out too far. This is not how my hard earned retirement is supposed to start.

"Mandy," he says, turning his attention toward her. "What happened? Where the hell have you been?" I don't like his tone. He's lashing out at her when she can't even hear him. "You're supposed to be in bed."

"She drank too much," I tell him.

"She's always doing this. I told her no going out, and this is what she does to me."

"What's your name?"

"Victor. Victor Davis."

"Where's her bedroom, Victor?"

"Upstairs on the left," he replies, nodding too fast. "Come on, Mandy. Let's get you inside. I can take her from here."

I doubt he could carry a tin of beans without snapping in two. I brush past him and walk straight upstairs. Her bedroom door's the only open one. Inside is a single bed, a bookcase filled with books about animals. I've scanned all the titles in under five seconds. Next to the books is a chest of drawers and a wardrobe, all in varnished dark wood.

"Blankets," I say to her father.

He looks back at me blankly.

"Pull the blankets down, Victor."

I lower Mandy into the bed. She doesn't stir other than to throw her arms around my neck and then pout like she's about to kiss me. I reach back and free her hands, lowering them to her side before pulling the blankets up to her neck.

We head back downstairs. "Thanks for bringing her home to me," Victor says. "I appreciate it, Ethan."

The tone of his voice says he expected me to kill her. Or him. Or both of them.

He's just glad to be alive. That means he'll take me seriously when I give him an order. I stop on the doorstep and turn to face him. "Keep her away from Benito Mancini."

He blinks, looking shocked that I'd even mention that name. It's clear he's about to ask me how I know, but then he nods again. "Sure, of course. Will do. Good night, Ethan."

The door closes and I head back to my car.

She's no longer my problem. What happens after this is nothing to do with me. She might have been gorgeous, but she's clearly trouble with a capital T. Looks like she turned her father's hair white long ago.

Better I have nothing more to do with her. I've already gone too much out of my way for her, not that she'll even remember it by the morning.

I set off for home. With a bit of luck, I'll never see her or that sweet-looking ass of hers ever again.