Mafia and Gold Digger (Marchiano & Petrov Mafia #6)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

E MERALD

My mind is reeling and racing like an out-of-control rollercoaster. The letter taped to the door of our apartment this morning flashes in my head. And the big, bold lettering, stark against the bright white paper, is etched into my mind.

The air conditioning in the back office feels as frigid as an arctic wind whipping around me. Or maybe it’s fear that’s icing my veins…

Fear of what that piece of paper means.

And fear of what I’m about to get myself into right now.

“You sure you want to run guns for us, Emerald?”

Terror. Panic. Desperation . They all rush through me like rolling tidal waves, threatening to drown me under their sheer weight. No. No, I don’t want to do this. But he doesn’t need to know that. “Sure. Of course.” The words trip off my tongue as I cross my fingers behind my back.

Ronnie Mainetto, my boyfriend, slides his gaze over me. “Is something wrong?”

Doubt creeps into his expression, and my stomach tightens. I paste a sunny smile onto my face and force some false brightness into my voice. Because if I smile, if I pretend everything’s okay, then maybe it will be. “Everything’s totally fine. I just want a little more spending money.”

While we speak, I keep snapping the clasp on my bracelet open and shut. My heart pumps loudly in my ears like a drummer thumping out a beat. I don’t know how else I’m going to make rent this month. My mom won’t be able to come up with the money. She’s the reason we’re in this mess. And the only thing I’m certain of right now is that I have to keep a roof over the heads of my three younger siblings. I’m eighteen, and I never imagined I would have the burden of this sort of responsibility, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to let my siblings down—ever.

I hate to even ask Ronnie. To be vulnerable like this. Relying on others for a handout. That’s what others will say if they find out about this. But I push that information from my mind. It doesn’t matter what they think. Not right now. Just keep smiling, Em . Just keep hoping that everything’s going to be okay .

My palms are clammy as I continue playing with the cool metal clasp. Open , shut , open , shut , trying to calm my shredded nerves with the soothing sound of the clicks.

“I mean, we don’t really have much going on. Some courier work, but that’s kind of low-level stuff.”

“I’ll do it,” I say quickly before he can take the offer back. I clear my throat trying to push off the desperation dripping from my voice. “I mean, I don’t mind if it’s something like that. What do I have to do?”

He relaxes in the chair in his office at the back of the restaurant. “We’ll give you the details. You drop the guns off and take the cash at the location. When you get back here with the money, we’ll pay you a cut of it.”

It doesn’t sound like the hardest thing in the world. And yet how many stories of runners and couriers getting picked up by the cops swirl around the casino on an all too regular basis? The very real fear of being caught chokes me like a serial killer has his hands wrapped around my neck. Still, I keep my face neutral. “Sure. I can do that.”

I hope.

Ronnie hums before he takes a sip of his whiskey. “Okay. It’s yours. I’ll let the boys know.”

“Thanks, Ronnie.” I try not to let my body sag with relief because this is only half the battle. I’m not stupid enough to think that this is going to be as easy as he makes it sound.

“No problem, Em.” He’s only half paying attention now, his gaze fixed on a message that’s lit up his phone. He doesn’t look happy. “I’ll be back in a minute, okay, doll?”

I watch Ronnie talking in hushed tones with a couple of his guys who are standing just outside the office door. They’re talking business, and I know I’ve overstayed my welcome now.

I give Ronnie another smile as I squeeze past him, and with a slight nod of his head, he acknowledges I’m leaving and says that he’ll call me later about the job.

* * *

I triple check my phone for the address, the bright screen illuminating my face.

It’s dark and overcast today, making the fact that I’m wearing sunglasses a little weird. But the thought of not wearing them just doesn’t sit well with me.

It’s just a run-of-the-mill gun drop. A typical swap. Teens younger than I am do this stuff all the time.

I can do it.

And yet my heart’s racing in my chest, my palms sweaty as I swipe them against the front of my jeans. If I mess this up, that’s it. I can kiss the crumbling roof over our heads goodbye, and the warm meals for the kids will be out the window. Gone in a poof of smoke.

Eviction.

The word is a big neon sign flashing in my head.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I can do this. I have to do this. There’s no other option. The money I’m getting from this is enough to prevent homelessness for the next month. And losing our home is not a reality I’m willing to put my siblings through. They deserve so much more, and I’m going to make damn sure I give it to them.

We never stood a chance with a liar for a father. One thing’s for sure; I’ll never fall for a man who lies. I’ve seen firsthand the damage and irreparable fallout that lies cause. They can never serve as a solid foundation for anything good—because lies are nothing but flimsy pillars that’ll always cause the volatile elements in your life to come tumbling down like a collapsing house of cards.

My hand squeezes into a fist around the strap of my bag, and I take another steadying breath before walking again.

Twenty minutes ago in Ronnie’s office, I’d been given the bag, heavy with the weapons inside. Together with an address, a time, and a warning not to get fucking caught.

I lick my lips. I’m two streets away from the location. And then I see a cop car.

Oh God.

Swallowing against the knot in my throat, I try to look nonchalant. I don’t hurry my step despite all the warnings screaming inside my head.

My pulse thrashes against my neck. My grip on the bag tightens, fingers slick with sweat.

The cruiser inches closer. Its tires crunch against the road. And it crawls to a stop beside me.

A shadow moves inside.

Then— whoop ! The siren blares.

Every muscle in my body locks.

Please, no …

The cops rush out of their car.

I screw my eyes shut.

“ You’re under arrest !”

And I feel the whoosh of cold air as they rush toward me.

Cringing, I wait for their hands to grab me.

And wait some more…

Before cracking one eyelid open a millimeter.

And darting a feverish glance around myself, I see a kid in a dark hoodie a few steps away who’s being cuffed.

My mouth drops open.

I snap it shut again and drop my gaze to the ground just in case they see me gawking and start to get curious.

I’m just an innocent bystander. Okay, maybe not so innocent. But I’m not the one they’re after today.

I yank my hood down quickly to blend in with the other bodies milling about the place. People all on their way to goodness knows where. But as far as the cops are concerned, I’m just another black-haired girl in a sea of ravens, brunettes, and blonds.

As I hurry on, I can’t help my eyes darting back to the officers, my hand tightening on the bag as I hold it to my side. What’s the charge for carrying weapons without a permit? The stolen, illegal kind of guns. I don’t know the answer to that, and I’m sure as hell not about to find out.

Being arrested right now is the last thing I can cope with. My siblings count on me, and spending a night in holding or worse is just not part of the plan. With a shaky breath, I relax my body. Focus, Em.

I arrive at the location. Skidding to a halt, I watch wide-eyed as two more cops stand outside the door I’m supposed to be dropping at.

Crap.

I duck back into the shadows on the opposite side of the street as I watch a man, a muscled guy in a wife beater, chat with the officers. Carlito. His gaze is darting around looking for someone. For me.

Okay, Emerald. You can do this. Just got to find a new way to deliver the goods.

Waiting for the police to leave isn’t an option. They linger after they question people, especially when it’s something to do with dodgy guys like Carlito.

I drag a hand through my hair. It’s going to be fine. It’s got to be fine. Because if I get caught, there’ll be no one to watch the kids. And then Child Protective Services will split us up, and the life I’ve been trying to build for us will disappear faster than a single blink of my emerald eyes.

And that’s not happening. Not today. Failing this simple task isn’t an option. I can hear the sea of whispers already if I have to slink back to Ronnie with the guns still in my possession. Untrustworthy. Just like her father. Worthless. Useless.

The words sting even in my mind. I dig my nails into my palms. I’m more than my father’s daughter. And I’m not letting myself fail.

I stare at the location again. It’s a typical row house. There’s got to be a way around this. Think, Em. It’s obvious they don’t have a warrant, or they’d already be inside his house and turning it upside down.

If I can get in, swipe the money, and leave the guns, I’m scot-free. It’d be simple if it wasn’t so goddamn risky.

I squint as I imagine all the moves in my mind, examining the situation like I would a chessboard.

All possible moves and endgames .

Looking at how I can keep control of this game .

Because that’s the only way I can protect myself in this murky world …

And there it is.

The way I can get in.

There’s an alley out back. That means squeezing between the small gap between the houses. But I’ll do whatever it takes if it means I can complete the job.

I move out from the shadows and into the bodies that move up and down the sidewalk. I catch Carlito’s eye as I pass on the opposite side of the street.

He gives a small tilt of his chin before narrowing his beady eyes to the officers.

My foot taps at the crosswalk, waiting for the hand to switch to the walking man. Three…Two…One…

I stay in step with the other bodies crossing the road. Nothing looks more suspicious than trying to race across the street when others are just moseying on by.

Approaching Carlito’s house, I hold my breath as I duck into the gap between the buildings.

It’s so narrow. My hoodie snags. I press the bag to my chest and shimmy through the passage, stopping to listen.

Nothing.

My lips purse. I can taste the sweat on my upper lip.

Then I hear one of the cops take one heavy step nearer, then another.

I plaster myself to the wall.

“Where are you going, pig?” Carlito’s mocking voice floats toward me.

I wait a few moments, not even daring to breathe, before peeking around the corner.

The cop’s back is to me now, heading back to where Carlito stands, hands on his hips.

I swallow the bile burning my throat and make my way into the back alley, careful not to make a single sound.

I edge the gate open, careful to lift the creaky latch only a centimeter at a time, cringing with every single squeak it makes.

The back door is open, giving me a view of the rundown interior. The planter box I need is just in reach.

Hurrying forward, I shove the bag into the box, snatch the envelope of cash taped to the top, run back out through the door, and hop the fence back into the alleyway.

Done ! Thank God that it’s done .

I pull my hoodie from my body, tying it around my waist. The moment I hit the main street again, the vise on my chest slightly lessens. My body sags as I make my way in the opposite direction from where I came. I just need to put distance between me and that mess back there.

Fishing my phone from my pocket, I send a thumbs up to Ronnie. His response is another thumbs up and an offer to meet back at his office. And just like that, the terror of facing the night on the streets vanishes.

For another month, at least.

The stress of the last few days is catching up with me.

I know I’m doing things that are wrong. Very wrong.

My life’s a mess.

But I don’t know how to make everything okay again.

* * *

The next day, I’m behind the bar at Casino Venice and about to start my shift. I finished high school a few weeks ago, and now, I try to pick up as many shifts here as I can. My whole life seems surreal to me. Up until last month, I was still juggling school and homework as well as working at the casino. Yeah, it’s definitely surreal.

I’m glad to leave school behind. If only shaking off the past years could be that easy…

Addison, another bartender, sighs as she polishes a glass, a deep frown marring her features.

“Is everything okay, Addison?”

She gives me a quick smile. “Yeah.”

“Aaron issues?” Aaron is her loser ex-husband.

“Is it that obvious?” she says with a grimace. “He was supposed to have the kids this weekend, but he says he can’t now because his latest girlfriend apparently can’t stand children. I’m supposed to be working on Saturday, and I’ve asked around, but no one can swap with me.”

“Doesn’t Janice owe you as you swapped a lot with her recently?”

“Yeah, she definitely owes me.” She pulls a face. “But she said she has a mani-pedi planned which she can’t possibly cancel , and then she’s busy the rest of Saturday getting her cat Botox or some shit like that.”

Christ, Janice really is awful. She takes advantage of Addison’s kind nature, but she always wheedles out of returning all the favors. And I desperately hope that she isn’t really subjecting her cat to Botox. I mean, what the heck? “I can swap with you,” I tell Addison.

“I can’t let you do that,” she says quickly. “You already swapped with me this week, and you haven’t had a Saturday off in ages.”

“It’s no problem. I’ve nothing planned anyway.” I cross my fingers behind my back. I have a date on Saturday, and my heart dips a little because I was really looking forward to it, but Addison is a single mom, and her own mother can’t help her out right now as she’s recovering from a heart attack.

She hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” I say, squeezing her hand.

It’s busy here, and I start to check through more glasses as Addison goes to collect fresh liquor bottles from the storeroom. She’s back a minute later, carrying a tray of new bottles, and she calls over to me as she approaches. “Emerald, there’s a call for you. It’s your mom. She needs to speak to you.”

All eyes swivel toward me, and my heart sinks in my hollow chest as I hear her words.

“Does your mom need help to give a double blowjob to her latest john?” Ria Gioberti sneers in her annoyingly nasal voice.

Addison shoots me a sympathetic look as snickers sound all around me.

Ria is the leader of the mean girls’ clique who hang around the casino, trying to snare a rich mafia husband while passing the time by making my life hell. She made sure to insult me almost the entire time we were at school together, and it appears she’s determined to carry on doing the same thing now.

I was never one of the cool girls at school, and that was totally fine by me because all I ever wanted was to blend into the background and stay off the radar of the gossips. I wish I was the sort of person who could just brush off comments like this, but the cackles of Ria and her cronies cause a wave of embarrassment to submerge me within its depths. I know that my mom is almost definitely calling me because she’s wasted. She’s drunk, or she’s high, or she’s both. And I can’t risk saying anything back to Ria and causing a scene because I desperately need this job.

Ignoring the whispers around me, I walk toward the back area. Addison is also on her way back to the storeroom, and I trail slowly behind her. She, along with just about everyone else, knows that my mom is an escort.

“I don’t think it’s anything to worry about, Em. Your mom says she’s feeling sick and needs you to come home.”

She’s sick . That means she’s as high as a kite. And she’s either locked herself out of the apartment, or she’s run out of alcohol, weed, and money.

I walk through the back lobby, noticing as always the marble checkerboard floor. Black and white .

It would be a lot easier if life was black or white. Right or wrong. Happy or sad. Sunshine or shadows…

But it isn’t. Because life—especially, my life—isn’t meant to be simple.

That’s why I prefer to play chess.

On the black and white board I got for my seventh birthday, I learned the letter and number of every square, a multitude of sequences, and a wealth of strategies. And on that board, I always know if I’m on the attack, on the defense, or just biding my time.

Wouldn’t life be easier if it was a set of predefined moves? Which if you followed them, would lead you to the outcome you desired?

Because in chess, the pieces follow rules and move in predictable patterns. But in real life, all you can do is make a move and pray it doesn’t end in checkmate.

Reaching the office, I check around me before slowly picking up the phone. “Mom?”

“Emerald? I need you... I’m sick,” she slurs.

She’s definitely wasted. I cringe inwardly, knowing that Addison will have heard her in this state.

“Okay, Mom. I’m on my way. Are you at home?”

I hear a sound like she’s just bumped into something. “But I can’t find my keys…” she wails.

“Just wait for me. I’ll be there soon, and I’ll let you in.”

For a long time now, I’ve felt like the parent and felt like I’ve got to take care of her.

I hate having to let work down, and I hate losing this shift because of the money. Even though I’ve got the money from the gun run, that’s mostly going toward the two months’ rent we owe and next month’s rent. I still need to earn money for utilities and food and all the other stuff.

Hurrying home, I arrive at our rundown building to find Mom slumped on the floor outside our apartment. “Come on, Mom,” I huff out as I haul her to her feet.

I let her into the apartment with my key and help her stagger to her bedroom where she collapses onto the bed.

“He’s left me.” She starts to sob.

Oh God. She’s been dumped. And although the latest guy is yet another loser who she’ll be better off without, I still don’t want her to have to go through this pain.

“I’ll make you a coffee and bring it into you. It’ll make you feel better.” And it will help to sober her up. Because when she’s drunk, she also gets maudlin.

Heading to our tiny kitchen, I’m pouring the coffee when a knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.

I hope to God it’s not one of the neighbors wanting to complain—again—about my mom causing a disturbance when she couldn’t get into our apartment. Being wasted makes her curse and shout and scream. A lot .

I slowly open the front door to find a man holding a huge bouquet of flowers.

“Delivery for Emerald Fiorelli.”

“That’s me!” I beam a huge smile at the delivery guy, and he smiles back at me. That’s the great thing about smiles and laughter—they’re infectious and brighten up the whole day. Maybe that’s a silly thing to think, but with all my problems, I hold onto small things like this. Opening the door wider, my cheeks tinge with delight as my arms stretch out for the bouquet of deep pink roses and stargazer lilies he holds out to me. “Thank you so much!” Closing the door, I lean against it and admire the magnificent blooms, inhaling a lungful of their heady fragrance before checking the card.

The flowers are from Ronnie. They have to be a good sign. He wouldn’t be sending me flowers if I was worthless or irrelevant—if I was unlovable , right? Because people say things about my background all too often, and it always leaves me feeling like I’m not good enough…

I try to not think about the rumor I’ve heard. Because it’s just that. A rumor. Probably started by someone trying to stir up trouble for me. He wouldn’t cheat on me, right? If he did lie and cheat, I would ditch him so fast, but I’m pretty certain that he would never do something like that to me because as well as being my boyfriend, he’s also my best friend. After admiring the flowers again, I grab my cell and send him a text.

Emerald: The flowers are gorgeous. I love them.

Ronnie: Anything for you, baby. Aren’t you still at work?

Emerald: Had to come home for a Mom emergency.

Ronnie: If you’re free, we have a meeting in the back room at the casino at 5 p.m. and need another cocktail waitress?

Emerald: For sure! I need the extra work after having to drop today’s shift. I’ll see you there xxx

When my mom is like this, I know she’ll fall asleep soon and sleep it off, leaving me free to work another shift. After putting the blooms in water and gazing at them one more time, I know I have to get a move on if I don’t want to be late, but I decide to change my dress because I want to look my absolute best if I’m seeing Ronnie.

One of the things I like about working at Casino Venice is that staff can wear their own clothes as long as it fits the employee dress code of ‘smart and stylish.’

My feet move on autopilot as I head for my closet. I stand before all the sparkly dresses in front of me, my gold-tipped nails running along the fabrics as I weigh my options. And my eyes rest on the security tags still attached…

It’s something I hate about myself, and honestly, I’m deeply ashamed about it all and really wish I could stop. I’ve tried to stop so many times, and I know I have serious issues. I look at the dresses before me and think that if I’m in these shiny dresses, it allows me to look the part of being worth something and makes it a little bit easier to blend in despite everything that’s happened. Although that’s not the real reason I have them …

And I pick out one of my favorites—a gold dress that clings to my curves like a second skin and stops mid-thigh. Although it’s not gold exactly because the sales ticket describes it as Champagne Mist . This dress, along with all the other ones I have in a similar shade, aren’t plain gold. No, they’re all called something more unique and special.

Stepping into the dress and zipping myself up, I get ready as quickly as I can, adding my work badge that says ‘Casino Venice’ in a curling gold script.

Running a hairbrush through my glossy black mane and adding a slick of mascara around my green eyes, I calculate in my head how much I’ll earn this afternoon and how much closer it’ll bring me to making this month’s utilities and food bills.

Before I leave, I take the coffee into my mom’s bedroom and leave it on her nightstand, where I know that it’ll more than likely grow cold and be left untouched. But I’m not going to let my mom’s issues spoil my mood today.

I take the train and climb the steps out of the station. I’ve never gotten anything on Valentine’s Day before, and my good mood means I’m practically bouncing along in my black Balenciaga boots—a gift from Ronnie.

And I carry on in my little bubble of bliss, daydreaming and away in my own world.

Not realizing that I’m about to get stopped by the authorities.

And hauled down to the station.

Because I’m working for my mobster boyfriend’s family…