The Mafia Killer’s Wife by Rosa Milano

Eight

Amanda

Something happened when he touched me on the forehead in the bank. I don't know what it was but I know it was real.

I can still feel it as I walk down the street toward my home. I keep looking behind me. I'm not sure if I'm expecting to see him or the bank robber.

My body feels numb apart from where he touched me.

The only thing I can feel is the spot where he touched my forehead. When it happened, something shot from his fingers and raced into me. It's the only part of me that's not shut down.

I don't feel anything about the man with the shotgun. I'm numb, like I've been outside for too long in the winter without a coat on.

My limbs are heavy, my legs moving of their own accord. My mind is empty. I'm not even thinking about the reaction I'm likely to get when I get inside.

It's not until I get home that I realize I didn't even get any money out. I think back. It's already like a dream. The ATM was busted so I joined the queue for the teller.

I was waiting for my turn when that guy burst in. I could tell something was up with him straight away, but by the time I'd worked it out, he was pulling the shotgun out and knocking me to the ground.

Is it wrong that I expected Ethan to come out and rescue me? I thought he might burst out of the office wearing a superhero costume, bend the guy's gun into a knot before tossing him into the back of a patrol car.

He didn't save me. He was probably hiding back there, afraid for his life like the rest of us. More proof the Gianni's are scum.

The robber went in the office, and I tried the front door but it was locked. I was trapped. I heard the shot. My heart broke. Was that Ethan getting killed back there?

Ethan came back out, and the robber didn't. What the hell happened back there? Ethan had blood on his knuckles. Looked furious. I shuddered, freezing to the spot.

Doesn't matter. It's over. Done with. I'm safe. I can go back and get money later. For now, what I want is a stiff drink to calm my nerves. My father keeps the drinks cabinet well stocked. Needs to with my mother around.

I'm hoping the house will be empty. Mom tends to go hang around with her ladies during the daytime, gossiping about how much they all hate their husbands. I joined them a couple of times in my early teens, but the sheer unrelenting despair of the whole thing got too much for me.

I said if they were unhappy why not just get divorced? I got laughed at, like divorce was an impossible thing to carry out. "In this family, we don't divorce," Mom said, the only one not laughing. Then they got back to talking, and I kept my mouth shut after that.

If that's what marriage is, you can keep it.

Dad goes out to work at the bookmakers most days. He's only a gopher for the illegal bets taking place in the backrooms of the bars, but it's still work. He's always talking about how he's going to make something of himself one day, become a wiseguy, move up in the world.

I walk in and at first the house seems empty. I go into the lounge to open up the drinks cabinet. The curtains are shut which never happens during the daytime. I've not put one foot inside the room before someone flicks the light switch and a roomful of people jump out and yell, "Surprise."

There are balloons. There's cake. There is what seems like my entire extended family. Aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews. Mom swaying in the middle of them all, holding her glass high. Dad's grinning while coming over to me. "What the fuck is this?" I hiss in his ear.

He roars with laughter. "Happy engagement!" he shouts at the top of his voice before whispering, "It's happening. Get used to it."

A man is peering over his shoulder. An olive-skinned, rat-faced man with whiskers to match. Thin moustache, thinning hair, weedy arms in a short-sleeve shirt, the top button undone. Benito Mancini.

"Mandy," he says, smiling wide enough to reveal several crooked teeth. "Your father said you were beautiful, but I had no idea you looked like such a goddess."

"Aww," say several of the women at once, clutching their hands together.

Benito Mancini, at your service," he continues, taking my fingers in his and kissing the back of my hand. "I hear such wonderful things about you from your father when I visit my bookmaker. He tells me I must meet you. I will love you. You are the apple of his eye. Worth ten times the price he quoted. He is soft with you, isn't he? I can tell this." He kisses my hand again. His lips feel cold and slippery, like being kissed by a fish. I yank my hand away from him and take a step back.

"Amanda," Dad snaps. "Come back here and don't be so rude to your fiance. He's come all the way here just to see you."

"Is all right," Benito says. "She is shy. Such an innocent girl is always shy. I take no offence."

There's a thump on the front door so loud it shakes on its hinges. My father frowns and then forces a smile onto his face. "Must be someone else for the party."

Benito isn't so sure. He's looking suspicious, his eyes narrowing as he moves behind me like he's going to use me as a human shield if anything goes wrong. His guys are already moving closer toward him, also watching the front door.

I look into the entrance hall as my father opens the door. On the other side of it is the guy from the bank, the guy from last night, the guy who touched my forehead and sent a bolt of lightning from my heart to my pussy and then up and down my spine. Ethan Gianni. What's he doing here?

I'm sure my hair is already on end, the electricity still there just from looking at him out on the step.

He's talking in a low voice to my father. Benito is looking out at him and muttering. "Ethan Gianni? He's supposed to be retired. Out of the game."

"Excuse me a moment," I say to Benito, walking out into the hall in time to see my father and Ethan going into his study. They close the door behind them to get some privacy, but I know something my parents don't.

I go into the downstairs bathroom and lock myself in. Pressing my ear to the wall near the sink, there's some kind of echo chamber in the plumbing down there. I found out once when I heard my father yelling in his study down the phone at someone. I can hear every single word of the conversation that's taking place in there between him and Ethan.

"Don Gianni is not going to be pleased about this," Ethan is saying.

"That doesn't concern you." I can hear the fear in my father's voice, even if he's trying to sound tough. "You are out of the game, Ethan. Hit forty and gone. Everyone knows it. Don't pretend you still have clout."

"Want to test me, Victor? So sure of yourself that you are happy to show such disrespect? Want to speak to the Don about this?"

"No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"I told you to keep her away from Benito and you agreed. What do I find now? An engagement party. Do you have ringing in your ears, Victor? Are you getting deaf as you get older? Did you not hear me properly. She is to have nothing to do with that woman beating piece of shit out there."

"It's not up to me. Don Mancini has paid a fair price for her."

"Then you must be disrespecting me. Did you lie to me last night? Is that what I should tell Don Gianni? That you do not listen to his enforcer? You know what that means, right?"

"Please, Ethan, you can talk to him. Straighten all this out. It's just a misunderstanding, that's all." I've never heard my father so scared.

"Why should I help you, Victor, after your disrespect to me?"

"Please, I'll do anything. Whatever you want, you can have it. You want money?"

"I don't want your money, Victor. A man retiring has plenty."

"Girls? You like girls? I can get you girls. As many as you want."

"Keep your pox-ridden whores for the Mancini soldiers."

"There must be something I can give you, a token of my respect for you and for Don Gianni. Please, Ethan. Don't kill me. I have a family."

"If I was going to kill you, it would have happened already."

"Then what do you want? I'll give you anything you want. Anything."

There's a pause before Ethan says, "I want your daughter."