The Mafia Killer’s Wife by Rosa Milano

Four

Amanda

Iwake up with the mother and father of all hangovers. Extended family has turned up too, digging into every single synapse in my head. I have no memory of last night. How did I even get home?

I haven't opened my eyes yet, but the sun is already piercing my brain with razor sharp daggers of agony.

The curtains in my room are supposed to be blackout ones. How is the sun even getting in? I ease my eyelids apart, wincing at the brightness. Some son of a bitch came in and opened my window. That's the problem.

The breeze is blowing the curtains, letting the light come streaming in. I pull the blankets over my head and groan. What the hell happened last night?

There are big blank spots in my memory. I remember arguing with my parents about going out. I just got a new Harrison Kruger creation and I was determined to wear it out. That's clearest in my mind. Them telling me I'm staying home as I'm meeting Benito Mancini tomorrow and need to look my best. As if I'd go out on a date with him. The guy's an absolute sleazeball. Everyone knows that. Sure, he's the Don's son, but he's also a slimy octopus handed douche.

I remember being sent to my room. No, something before that. Trying to go out the front door.

Mom at the top of the stairs, highball in her hand, splashing over the side onto the Persian rug, ice clinking as she tells me to get my butt back up here. Dad trying to block the doorway. "You're not leaving here to go out whoring. You're a good girl, Amanda. You stay home and we will talk about all of this."

There was nothing to talk about. I was not being set up on a date with their choice of man. I'm nineteen years old. I'm perfectly capable of choosing a man for myself. I don't need their help.

"I'm going out," I told them both, getting my hand on the front door before my father slapped me. Not enough to do any real damage, but enough to sting. He hadn't slapped me in months.

Then a blank. Some time later, I'm climbing out of my bedroom window. That's why it's open. I opened it last night. I'm working my way down to a waiting car. Tess is there, ready. You can always rely on your best friend. We race away.

What happened after that?

Another blank and then I'm in Silhouettes. Not even sure how we got in. The waiting list is longer than my arm. Those guys. We went in with them. They looked like hoodlums, but I didn't plan to stay with them for long, just long enough to get inside and start living it up.

One drink, they paid for it. Sweeter than usual. Then another blank. Was that all I drank? No, I had a couple of glasses of something else, but by then it was all a blur. Nothing again.

I can't think anymore. My head is throbbing too much.

My throat feels like I've been without water for a week. I need to drink something. I grope for my bottle. It's always on the bedside table. Except it's not there.

I'm going to have to emerge from my cocoon. The light though. How can I handle the light?

I slide my hand upward and get hold of my blindfold. It's on the pillow, slipped off during the night. Or I never managed to get it on at all. I slide it over my eyes and then glory be, I can stand up.

I flick the bird at the sun for trying to defeat me and then I feel so dizzy I fall back onto the bed. I've never felt like this after a night out before. I only had a couple of drinks.

Why do I feel like I've been on a week long bender? Why is my ass hurting like someone slapped it? What the hell happened to me last night? How did I get home?

The bottle's fallen on the floor but it's leakproof, so I'm good. I take a sip and waters coats the back of my throat. Feels really good.

I manage another sip before the bedroom door opens and my father is yelling at me. "Awake at last, you good for nothing. Where the hell did you go last night? You go out and you get off your face and you embarrass me and for what? So Ethan Gianni can dump you on my doorstep? Walk onto Mancini turf like he owns you. You let him touch you up, didn't you? Went out and did it to spite me because of Benito."

He's shaking my shoulders. "Answer me, girl. You did it to shame me, didn't you? Thought this would stop me giving you to Benito, but you can think again. It's happening and you will tell me you are happy to do this. Answer me!"

I open my mouth to speak. All I do is throw up all over him.

"You're a goddamned mess," he snaps, stepping back from me. "What the hell is wrong with you, Amanda?"

"I'm related to you," I answer, but he's already slammed the door shut on me. "Clean that up," he shouts through, as the smell of what I've done hits my nostrils.

I'm retching again a second later. I stumble for the bathroom and get there just in time, kneeling in front of the toilet bowl, keeping the blindfold in place. I don't want to see what's coming out of me.

I'm there until the dry heaves have long subsided and the stomachache is fading. My headache tags back in and starts squeezing around my skull.

Tess.

She comes into my head from nowhere. What happened to her? She found some guy, I think. But what then?

I wipe my face and walk back into the bedroom, putting my bare foot in the worst possible place. The squelch is bad. The smell is worse. I'm in the bathroom again an instant later, things coming out of me I didn't know were inside. I flush a few times before raising my blindfold.

I'm still wearing last night's dress. I pull it off over my head and then take off my underwear. I refuse to look at my foot. I jump in the shower and I don't look down for a long time. I know I've got to clean up when I get out of here, but I'm in no rush to do that.

I close my eyes and let the water run through my hair. I try to fill in some of the other blanks. How did I get home? Dad said Ethan Gianni dumped me on the doorstep.

That can't be true.

I would never have anything to do with a Gianni. They're our worst enemies. The Mancini famiglia protects us. The Gianni famiglia do nothing for people like us. People caught on the border between two turfs.

Ethan didn't bring me home anyway. Some guy did. A really tall guy with a beard. Ethan doesn’t have a beard. This guy did. The hot one. The one who looked like he was there to kill someone, the one the others were staying away from.

I have a hazy memory of his face. Jutting jaws, stubble covered, dark eyes, cold expression, like he'd be happy to watch the entire world burn around him. I picture him in the shower with me, running his hands through my hair, getting me clean. Maybe he'll clean the carpet for me too, while I'm busy imagining things that'll never happen.

I close my eyes, and the two faces mesh together. It was Ethan. The tall, handsome guy. The one who brought me home.

I groan out loud. Trust the sexiest man I ever met to be part of the family we hate. Still, on the plus side, it's not like I'm ever going to see him again.