Page 17 of Mafia Obsession

The office is empty. My heart pounds, and I rush to see if the window is open. Maybe he and Kayla were flung out, and they’re bleeding down on the pavement.

“I’m fine.” A weak voice from his private bathroom is followed by the guttural sound of spitting. “Go home.”

I’m about to go in there when Kayla comes out of the bathroom. Whimpering, she runs past me.

I creep toward the bathroom and see my boss bent over the sink, one hand gripping the porcelain edge. He spits again, and this time I see red swirling down the drain.

My stomach drops. “Do you need an ambulance?” I ask stupidly.

He straightens when he sees me in the mirror. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he says, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing.” He reaches for another paper towel and presses it to his lip. His voice is steady, but the skin beneath his eyes is already starting to bruise. “They made a mistake.”

“Mistake?” I mumble. “What do you mean?”

He hesitates but figures he can trust me. And now I feel more guilty for what I’ve been doing.

“Someone’s been stealing crates from the Italians,” he says.

My pulse pounds in my ears. Nico Scava is looking for missing crates. That shakedown has nothing to do with me.

“Only theirs?” I ask carefully.

“Only theirs,” he says, gaze sharpening. “They are land-locked kings of Las Vegas and don’t know too much about the ports since taking over from the Vitales. Somebody thinks they can get over on them, I guess.”

Damn, I need this job. I can’t have someone killing Nathan before I’ve stolen enough money to get Sandrine out of that facility in Chicago.

“Go home, Lourdes,” he orders.

“Okay. I hope you…feel better,” I say, shaking my head, feeling dumb.

I don’t know what to say to someone who just got beaten up.

Back in the main office space, I see Marisol and Benny’s desks are abandoned, their laptop docking stations empty.

I return to my desk, my hands trembling as I shove my laptop into my workbag and leave the office as well.

The train ride home passes in a blur, my mind whirling with thoughts, one overlapping the next, and building up to a crescendo of a panic attack. I clutch my bag to my chest, my mind replaying Nathan’s words.

Selective shipments. Just the Italians. That isn’t random. And when men like that go to war, collateral damage doesn’t matter. The ports close and all shipments stop. That will put Nathan out of business. And me without a job while Sandrine is stuck in that awful place.

My stomach churns, and by the time I unlock the apartment door, my nerves are wound tight enough to snap.

I freeze at the sound of muffled gunfire and cursing in the living room. But it’s just David on the couch playing one of his stupid video games. No lights are on in the apartment, and the television casts a sharp blue glow across his face. He doesn’t even look up when I enter the room.

He stopped noticing me years ago.

“You’re late,” he mutters, eyes still on the screen. “I’m hungry.”

“Can I have a minute to decompress? There was this thing at work.” I drop my bag on one of the side chairs. The only place I sit, because he’s always on that couch. Even sleeps on it most nights. “These men came into the office and?—”

“Don’t make me ask you twice for my dinner,” he snaps, interrupting me. “Make that beefaroni I like.”

Not bothering to argue, I slog to the kitchen and take out a frozen block of ground beef he didn’t even bother to defrost. Now he’ll have to wait.

I put the meat in the microwave to soften, and with David still playing his game, I take out my laptop to check my bank account.