The Mafia Killer’s Wife by Rosa Milano

Forty

Amanda

I've never been in Primo Mancini's house. It's creepy. The place is badly lit and smells like it hasn't been aired for years. The windows are all shuttered, the floorboards creaking like something out of a horror movie. I haven't seen the man himself yet.

My plan to run as soon as the car stopped was ruined by the fact we drove straight into a garage with no exit other than a door into the house. I might have guessed after what happened at Ethan's penthouse.

Inside the house, staff scurry back and forth. Butlers, maids, men in suits talking into cellphones. None of them look at me when I'm brought inside.

Dad's still pointing a gun at me, shoving me along the corridor toward a door at the end. It opens as we reach it and a man in his sixties emerges, wiping his hands on a stained yellow cloth. "Amanda Davis," he says with a smile. "Primo Mancini, at last we meet."

I spit in his face. His smile doesn't fade. "I like a girl with some fire to her. Makes it all the more fun when she finally burns out." He pulls his jacket aside to show me the hand cannon he's got in a holster in there. "I can take it from here, Victor, thank you." He steps aside and motions for me to take the stairs down into the darkness beyond. "After you."

"I'm not going down there," I say. I can smell something and it doesn't smell good. I'm not sure what it is but it makes my stomach churn. Age, dust, and something else.

"You walk down there or I throw you down there and you crawl the rest of the way on broken legs," he replies in a tone that suggests he's talking about the weather with a stranger on the street.

I look down the stairs. Primo flicks a light on the wall beside him and I realize it's just another floor like this one. I know I'm getting further from safety but with my father pointing a gun behind me and Primo next to me, what choice do I have?

I walk down the stairs, each step feeling like I'm moving closer to death. I feel sick. I want Ethan by my side. I try to imagine he's with me, try to draw strength from that thought.

He'll come for me. I know he will. I just have to hold on long enough for him to get here. I've never been more glad to know he's a killer. He does this sort of thing for a living. He'll get in here and save me, I know he will.

I jump when the door closes behind me. I turn and Primo is walking down to join me. He grins. "Come this way," he says. "I have some things I want to show you."

He nudges me to go in front of him. I start walking. We turn a corner and there's a long corridor in front of me. Either side of it are mannequins that look so realistic they creep me out even more. "You're so pretty," Primo says as he mirrors my footsteps. "I'm a fan of pretty things."

I say nothing, glancing at the first mannequin we pass. A woman in a skintight leopard print swimsuit. The face is leathery and wrinkled, the hair shrunk, once blonde, now white. "My first," Primo says. "Do you like her?"

I don't reply.

"You should feel honored. I only bring women down here if I'm sure they are right for my collection."

I look at the mannequin more closely, a sinking feeling growing in the pit of my stomach.

Primo strokes the statue's cheek. "Sarah Blake," he says. "My first love. I was just a capo back then and not as skilled as I've become now. The newer ones look like they haven't aged a day. What outfit do you think you should wear when the time comes to be immortalized?"

I glance at his face. He's staring at the mannequin with real love in his eyes. I get the first inkling that he's insane. Really insane. "I don't know," I say. I glance around me. Can I run for the door? Is it locked?

He kisses the statue's cheek before turning back to me, pulling out his gun and pointing it straight at me. "You don't like her, do you?"

"I do," I reply, deciding it'll be better to humor him for now.

"No, you don't," he says, his smile fading. "You will though, after a while. They all do. They get used to it down here eventually, even the most fiery ones like you." His grin returns. "Ethan will be dead soon, and then it'll just be me and you. Perhaps I'll put you in a wedding dress. I haven't got a bride anywhere in my collection."

I look down the corridor. I count at least eight mannequins. Only they're not mannequins, are they? The heavy weight inside me pins me to the spot. I know what Primo's going to do to me and it's so insane I can hardly accept the idea without my own mind cracking and breaking down.

He's going to kill me and have me stuffed. I thought Benito was bad, but he's clearly nothing compared to his old man.

Primo opens the door next to him and then steps back for me to enter. "Choose whatever outfit you like," he says. "I'll give you some privacy to get changed."

He shoves me inside and then the door slams shut, locking a moment later. I look around me. There's a window in the far corner but it's barred. There's no way I can fit through. It's at ground height and looks out onto the street. I can see people's ankles as they walk past.

Does anyone out there know how close they are to all these bodies? I try shouting through the glass, hammering on it with my fists but no one even looks down. I'm guessing it's thick and mirrored, impossible to see through from the outside.

I turn around and look at the open closet, the only furniture in here. There's a load of dresses on racks, some costumes like this is Halloween. Slutty school girl. Housemaid. Nurse. Superhero. An idea occurs to me. I think back to the books Ethan had me studying.

There's something there if I can only remember it. Something that could get me out of this alive. I wrack my brains, willing the idea to come to me. If I can't remember, I'm a dead woman.

It's like a lightbulb goes on above my head. Despite everything that's going on, I smile. I know what I need to do. I know how to get out of here alive. I pull out an outfit from the closet and begin to change.