Page 18 of Mafia Obsession

“Is it ready?” David grumbles from the living room.

“The meat was frozen. That stupid meal you like takes time to prepare.”

David’s thumbs are still on the controller, but the character on the screen freezes mid-stride.

“What did you say to me?” He sets the controller down, then slowly rises to his feet with a muscle-tightening deliberation that makes my skin prickle.

When he steps toward me in the kitchen, I back up.

“You’re on this thing all the time.” He grabs my laptop off the table. “You using it to meet guys?”

I try to yank it back, but he’s stronger. “It’s myworklaptop,” I reply, fighting to keep my tone even. “That’s Nathan’s private business.”

“I’ll look at whatever I want,” he says, waving it over his head like it’s a toy. “Inmyapartment.”

“Your apartment. Your dinner. Your money. My salary goes into an account I can’t even access. You give me a measly allowance like I’m a child.”

His jaw tightens, but when his cell rings, he looks back at it on the crumb-filled coffee table. “Careful how you talk to me,” he says through clenched teeth.

He waves the laptop again, and I reach for it. “Just give it back. I need it for my job.”

“Go get it.” He hurls it across the room.

It hits the wall with a tinny crack that sends ice down my spine. I want to throw up, seeing the cover is now cracked.

“Jerk,” I say because I’ve had it with him.

I hear his heavy footsteps before his backhanded slap hits my face, sudden and brutal. The room tilts, and my knees give out from underneath me. I put my arms out so my face doesn’t hit the hardwood floor first.

I stay down, tasting blood before the searing pain in my cheek flares to life.

“Never talk back to me again,” David says, standing over me.

Even though his phone continues to ring, he stares down at me, his chest rising and falling, as if daring me to speak.

“Pathetic.” He stomps back to the coffee table and answers the call.

His tone shifts instantly as if nothing happened. As if whoever the hell is on the other line is his best friend.

Then he’s moving toward the door, and without even looking at me, says, “Forget dinner, I’m going out.”

Minutes later, he’s gone.

Good fucking riddance.

The apartment is silent except for the ringing in my ears. I stay on the floor, not sure if I’m steady enough to get up yet.

It’s the first time David’s hit me. There’ve been harsh words and some shoving. But it’s clear that now we’ve escalated to physical outbursts.

I crawl to the laptop and open it with shaking hands. The crack distorts one corner of the screen, but the system loads.

Relief floods me so intensely it’s almost dizzying.

I open the hidden folders and log in to the account. Every number is the same. Every penny is accounted for. It’s not enough, but I’m close. Closer than I was last month.

Feeling stronger, I log out and get up. With the laptop now on the kitchen counter, I push the cracked cover back into place, relieved that it’s not causing any further damage.

I collect myself and look around this disgusting apartment. How did I get here? It was like one day melted into the other.