The Mafia Killer’s Wife by Rosa Milano

Five

Amanda

My cellphone's dead so I plug it in to charge while I scrub the carpet, using cloths from under my sink. The smell is awful and my head hurts, but what choice do I have? I can't handle any more yelling.

When I'm done, I get dressed. It's a sweatpants and comfortable top kind of day. I go for the yellow sweater with holes in the side. It's battered and old but it's made of the softest fabric in the world, perfect for when you're hungover.

When I'm dressed, I check my cellphone. Messages from Tess. Lots of messages from Tess.

Where are you?

Are you all right?

I saw you leave with that guy, who was he?

You get your ass cherry plucked at last?

You all right?

Still got his cock in your mouth? Too full to talk to your bestie?

The last messagecame through this morning.

Still in his lap? You hound!

I type fast.

Home alone. What happened last night?

She replies at once.I'm guessing she's still in bed.

We got wasted. You left with some guy in a suit. I never saw you pull that fast before. Good work. He looked hot, too. Let me know if you want to tag me in for date number two. I can show him how I work it better than you.

"Mandy, get your ass down here."My dad, yelling at me.

I pick up my handbag and check my purse. A single five-dollar note. I make a mental note to go to the bank first chance I get. I must have somehow spent a fortune last night.

Mom and Dad are both at the kitchen counter when I get down there. "Sit down," Dad says, pointing at the stool that's been put in the middle of the tiles, away from the countertop.

I sit on it, feeling like I'm about to be interviewed for a job. Mom's got a highball in her hand. Christ, it's not even nine thirty, and she's well on the way to getting wasted.

"You know we don't like you drinking," Dad says, folding his arms over his chest.

Mom nods sagely next to him, sipping at her glass."Look what happens when you drink. You disrespect us. You can't take care of yourself."

"I'm an adult," I reply. "What's the problem?"

"You're not even twenty-one. You're nineteen. You shouldn't be drinking at all."

"What should I be doing? Sitting here waiting for you to get me hitched to a Mancini? Is that my life, Dad? A wife in waiting?"

"Watch your tone," he says, pointing a finger at me. "You're sailing close to the wind at the moment and I just hope Benito puts you in your place."

"I told you, Dad, I'm not going on a date with Benito Mancini."

"Why not?" Mom asks. "Tell me what's wrong with him? He's handsome. He's rich. He's the Don's son for crying out loud. You should be honored he's chosen you."

"Honored?" I try not to laugh. "Yeah, Mom. I'm honored all right. Honored that sleazebag wants me." I narrow my eyes, looking at her closely. "He beats his girlfriends. You know that, right? You okay with that?"

"Maybe you need a beating or two to get you in line," Dad says.

Mom looks away and that's when I get it. She already knows all about Benito, but she doesn't want to think about it. For the first time in years, I feel sorry for her.

I get to my feet. "I'm going out."

"Where to?" Dad asks. "Where do you go all the time?"

"Out," I tell him. I put a burst of speed on, ignoring my still throbbing head. I get to the front door before him and pull it open.

"Make the most of it," he yells after me as I scurry off. "You're to be engaged to Benito Mancini, and he's already planning the wedding." He's spitting with rage. "When you're a bride, you'll do as you're told."

I flick him the bird and then make a run for it. Hopefully, by the time I go home, he'll be at work. Sometimes he's at work for days.

I slow down a couple of blocks later, walking slow to catch my breath. The bank's on the other side of the road. I want to empty my account, take the money and run somewhere new.

Where would I go? I've no friends anywhere but the city. I've no family that would take me in. Dad would freeze my accounts quick enough and last night showed me how quick I can make cash disappear.

I'm trapped and I hate it.

The only thing I can do is act out like I'm still a kid. It's childish but I've no other outlets for my anger. It's got to go somewhere. How long before I end up like my mom? Sitting and drinking to forget I'm married, wishing my life turned out differently?

"Spare some change?"

I look to my left. A woman who looks no older than me is sitting on the ground, paper coffee mug at her feet, a few quarters inside. She's got a dog with her. A gray mongrel that's fast asleep in a curled up little ball. "Here," I say, giving her my last five dollars. "Get him some treats with it."

"Will do," she replies.

The dog reminds me of the dream I once had. Working with animals. Like that's ever going to happen.

I walk into the bank and straight into a huge mountain of a man. I bounce off his chest and I look up to find myself staring into the darkest eyes I've ever seen. "Come back for more?" he asks.

I open my mouth but my throat's drier than it was when I woke up. I can't say anything. It's him. It's the man from last night. Only he hasn’t got a beard today. He’s got stubble to die for. My God, he’s handsome.

My worst enemy. Ethan Gianni.

A blank in my memory forms into a distinct shape. Me bent over and him spanking me by his car. That can't have really happened, can it? I look at him for clues, but he's giving me nothing except one raised eyebrow.

"Buh," I manage to say.

"Good talk," he replies. "Glad we were able to catch up."

"Mr. Gianni," the manager says, waving from the back of the bank. "This way, please."

"See you later, Mandy," Ethan says, before turning to the bank manager. "Good to see you, Jimmy."

Ethan walks through into the back. The door closes behind him and I come up with about a dozen brilliant retorts. Too late for any of them, so I'm left scowling at the closed door so hard I'm surprised it doesn't burst into flames.