Taken By The Hitman by Amber Adams

Chapter 2: Bianca

 

I stifle a sigh and try not to glance at the clock on the wall, knowing that time hasn’t moved all that much since the last time I looked at it.

I long to go outside, to enjoy the summer sun on my face, but there’s far too much work to do right now that I can’t afford such a break.

My eyes flicker over to the diploma on the wall of my small square office, then the whiteboard that I’ve yet to erase from my last brainstorming session.

It’s all I’ve got in this office. There is no color, no mementos, nothing in this space.  It’s the way I like it: simple and unfussy.

Still, if I tilt my chair just the right way, I can see the sign on the glass front, the name of my business that is a homage to my mom.

Homebodies is a labor of love, really, one that I hope continues to make a difference in the city that I love. I hope to change someone’s future with the money I raise, do good in the face of so many things that haunt the city and the people that live in it.

My mom was far from perfect, but she was amazing. She was a person that light radiated out from, who wore her heart on her sleeve for not only the city, but also her family. She loved her husband to distraction, and when she died, I think a small piece of my father did as well.

Despite all the galas and parties she had thrown during her life, I knew that my mom’s favorite place to be was at home, with us. “Homebodies” is what she would call us as we curled up next to her, watching old movies and eating popcorn.

Realizing I am woolgathering again, I force myself to focus. I spend the majority of my afternoon searching for funding, whether it’s finding grants or calling for donations, which is my least favorite thing to do.

Sometimes it wasn't so bad—every once in a blue moon, I came across someone who seemed to really resonate with my mission. Those were the good calls, where I felt like I was really making a difference, adding one more solid brick to the foundation of what I hoped would become an institution in the city, one that changed people's lives for the better.

And then there were the other calls, like the one I am on currently. Mrs. Betty Lancaster usually is a large benefactor for numerous charities, but today she’s apparently not feeling very generous. I’ve spent the last twenty minutes on the phone attempting to get a donation out of her.

"Yes, Mrs. Lancaster,” I say lightly, hoping that my exasperation doesn’t come through in my voice. 

“I do know people like that. In fact, I know a lot of people, some of whom could use a little bit of help, which we provide."

“I just do not know, dear,” the woman replies evenly. “I already give a great deal of money as it is, and I just don’t know how your cause is any different.”

“I assure you,” I repeat. “This is very worthwhile and different, Mrs. Lancaster.”

Another fifteen grueling minutes later, I finally put down the phone, rubbing at my eyes. In the end, Betty has agreed to donate $500, not anywhere near as generous as I’d hoped.

Still, something is better than nothing.

Recording the donation so I can send her the receipt later, I note the red light on my phone and look at the number. It is from my brother Emil. My breath catches and my hand hovers over the phone to call him back but decide not to right away.

I haven't seen him much since our father Arturo passed a few months ago, although he tends to call once or twice a week. I know he’s checking in on me, wishing that I be closer to him and the family business rather than sitting in this office. But Emil has been understanding of my need to have my own thing, to be out on my own, even if it’s not his preference.

Since our father’s death, my brother is now the head of one of the biggest Mafia families on the Eastern seaboard and he is still trying to find his place in the gaping hole that our father’s death left.

My eyes tear up thinking about papi.

Even near the end, when he'd been bedridden for weeks, all he'd wanted to talk about with me was my work. Even though I knew it was hard for him to not have me work in the family business he was my biggest supporter and so proud of me. He always wanted to give me money for it, which I always refused, and this was the only thing that we ever really disagreed on.

How I miss papi.

There were moments when I had briefly considered giving in and letting him inject some cash into my fledgling enterprise. It certainly would’ve made starting this non-profit far easier but, in the end, I had always stood firm.

Even without going to the all-powerful Arturo Moretti, I knew enough people growing up in that particular community, to have solved all my funding issues in a single afternoon, but...no. That kind of funding is not the sort I wanted.

Ultimately, I didn’t want ‘the family’ money touching my non-profit. I wanted it to be clean and separate, but I also wanted to accomplish this on my own.

I could tell it always hurt him to hear me say it, but I knew he understood.

It’s the reason I go by my mother’s maiden name rather than my father’s, a Manzo instead of a Moretti. While I don’t have any issues with what my father has done or the life it brought me, I want to be seen as outside of his empire.

Now the only ones who are left are me and Emil. I am so proud of him, of everything that he’s going to do now that he is the leader of my father’s empire. I will absolutely stand beside him if and when he needs me but on the day to day, I do prefer some distance.

Snapping away from my memories, I look back at my phone. I really should call him back.

Unfortunately, I have more pressing things to accomplish first.

I quickly shake my head, trying to push the tender family memories away.

My brother can wait. I still have three hours before I am going to call it quits.

There are still a great deal of phone calls to be made and I don’t want to lose momentum now.