4. Marchella
CHAPTER 4
MARCHELLA
I stand next to the bar at the end of the night, counting my tips. I do well enough most nights, but tonight, the cash take is amazing. I actually want to cry out with glee. The five, crisp hundred-dollar bills that the sexy stranger, who also happens to be my date tonight, left on his table before dashing out of here are safely tucked away in the front pocket of my pants, not to emerge until I’ve gotten home and can slip them into my safe, along with every other dollar I manage to squirrel away for a rainy day.
I just never anticipated that I’d be living in the middle of a never-ending monsoon.
I take a sip of water from the glass in front of me, my mind tripping back to the fiercely handsome guy who literally barreled into my life tonight, only to disappear just as quickly. A shiver runs through me and I glance down at my watch. It’s eleven o’clock now.
I bite down on my lower lip, hugging myself in anticipation. How ridiculous! I don’t even know his name, although there’s something about him that’s so damn familiar.
Speaking of names, I wonder how he’ll react when he hears my last name. Will he be like all of the others who disappear into thin air when they find out the truth about my family? I mean, it’s not like guys are lined up to beat down my broken-down door, not with the patriarch of my family tree rotting at the roots in prison.
For murder.
At twenty-four years old, I have no prospects…of anything.
I tug at my ponytail.
Maybe I can write a book.
I took courses in creative writing, and Lord knows, I love to read. These days, it’s my only escape from my otherwise dismal reality, whether it’s reading stories to the little neighborhood kids or smutty romance novels to myself.
How hard could it be to write one of my own?
At least I’d be able to use my name in a way that would benefit me instead of making me cringe as it so often does.
My eyes sneak a glance toward the door. It’s still a couple of hours until last call, so he’ll be able to get inside.
But the past year has taught me that things have a tendency to go sideways more often than not, and getting your hopes up prematurely is the surest way to be disappointed.
I see Jimmy, my boss, walk over. I straighten up and flash him a bright smile. “Hey, Jimmy! Great night, huh? And tomorrow will be even better, I’m sure! That party will bring in so much business! I’m really excited for you!” There is an exclusive event on the schedule for tomorrow night hosted by some socialite here in lower Manhattan. It’s to celebrate the launch of a new artist who is debuting at the Whitney Museum of Art this weekend. The guest list is sure to be filled with A-listers, and I’m hoping that’ll mean big bucks for the servers.
Namely, me.
“Thanks, Chella. It should definitely be good for the restaurant.” He returns my smile, but it doesn’t quite reach as high as it normally does. It almost looks…forced. A knot of fear constricts my heart.
Oh, God. Why is he looking at me like that?
Jimmy clears his throat. “Listen, Chella. I don’t think I’m going to be able to use you tomorrow night after all.”
I furrow my brow, my breath hitched. “I don’t understand. I’ve been on the schedule since you booked the event. You said you needed your most experienced servers here.”
“I know what I told you, but…” His voice trails off and he averts his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. “Things have changed.”
“What kind of things?” My voice rises slightly and I hate myself for it, but I need to work this event. I can easily make a few hundred dollars in only a few hours, and it will hold me over to next weekend when I work here again.
He leans toward me. “You know this event is high-profile.”
I nod. “Of course.”
“That’s exactly why I can’t risk upsetting any of the guests. The people who run in this circle can crush my business if they recognize you. I took a risk taking you back after all hell broke loose with your family, but negative publicity at that level will crush my business. I just can’t take that chance.” He backs away. “I hope you can understand.”
I swallow the gaggle of tears in the back of my throat and nod quickly. “Sure, Jimmy. I totally see your point. And I am so thankful to be back here. I’d never want to be the reason for anything bad to happen to your business.”
“Thanks, Chella. You know I think the world of you, and I’d do anything in my power to help you. But I need you to sit this one out. There will be others in the future and hopefully, when the stories die out, you won’t be under such scrutiny.”
I force a quivery smile. “Right,” I whisper, gathering my tips and stuffing them into my pocket. “I guess I’ll just see you in a couple of days, then.”
Jimmy’s lips curl into a rueful smile. “Take care of yourself.”
“Thanks, you too.” My voice is strong, but on the inside, it’s choked with sadness and dejection. And there isn’t much I can do other than to walk out of the restaurant with my head held high. I give a little wave and scurry outside before the tears stinging my eyes slip down my cheeks.
I clench my fists as I stare up at the sky.
No little stars twinkle down on me. It’s just a thick haze, kind of like the one I feel hangs over me day in and day out. So obscure, you can’t see a single glimmer of light in the distance.
I want to scream and yell and cry. I want to punch something, break something…anything! For the past six months, I’ve tried to battle against the negativity surrounding me on a daily basis. I’ve tried to keep my glass half full with the knowledge that this, too, shall pass.
When? When will it pass exactly? Well, that’s the freaking magic question.
I’ve worked hard, kept my head down, and tried to figure out how to put the jagged pieces of my life back together. With barely any prospects for a real job, and diminishing opportunities at my current one, I’m grasping at the frayed ends of my sanity.
And Frankie?—
My phone buzzes. It’s the one luxury I allow myself, and it’s barely functional as a smart device. But my brother’s track record requires me to be reachable at all times.
Speaking of the devil, it’s a text from him that lights up my screen.
Where are you?
I let out a sigh and stab a response.
He replies almost instantly.
Go home now. No pit stops.
I roll my eyes.
Damn, you mean I can’t go out clubbing?
I’m serious, Chell.
I chew my bottom lip as I walk toward the subway station, fumbling in my handbag for my pepper spray, and tucking it into my sleeve as I bring my hand out. What the hell has Frankie so spooked?
I actually have a date. Where are you?
Don’t worry about me. And who the fuck are you hanging out with?
A smile tugs at my lips . Just a guy I met at work. I won’t be late.
There’s a long pause before he responds.
I don’t like you being by yourself with a strange guy.
I roll my eyes. Well, lucky for me, you’re not my keeper.
Just lock up tight when you get home. Make sure nobody follows you. I’ll see you soon.
If that doesn’t sound comforting…
And make sure the jackass keeps his hands to himself.
I snicker and lean against the wall next to the front door. I look left and right, but my mystery date is nowhere to be seen. A few minutes later, I frown at my watch. Still no sign of him.
It was silly to think that maybe I could experience a little sliver of normalcy. A hot guy, asking me out…that’s just not my life.
Not my reality.
Not anymore.
I give him another five minutes because it’s not freezing out, but as each one passes, my ‘reality’ becomes more and more clear.
I let my resting bitch face slide into place as I get onto the subway a short while later. It’s filled with university kids, most of them drunk, high, or both. And none of them seem to have a care in the world, other than getting wasted or laid.
How lucky they are to enjoy their evenings without giving a single fuck about anything.
That used to be me.
I ride to my stop and then get off the train, sure to keep an eye behind me as I jog up the steps to the street. I stuff my hands into my jacket pockets and keep that fierce look on my face as if to challenge anyone who dares get too close. I pass the bars and delis and storefronts in my shitty neighborhood, looking straight ahead as cars zoom past me in the road. I turn my head every once in a while, a knot in my gut warning me that there is always calm before a storm.
But nobody follows me.
Nobody speaks to me.
And nobody?—
I yelp, my foot getting caught in a sidewalk crack. I put my hands out to brace my fall, landing on the pavement with my full weight on my wrists. Bits of gravel and grit scratch up my hands, and my knees scrape against the sidewalk, tearing a hole in one pant leg.
Fuck.
I sit back on my heels, a sob rising in my throat.
That’s when it hits me.
No matter how hard I try to keep my head up, no matter how much time I put into planning for a better life, reality is always back to smack me in the face.
And it fucking sucks.
I drag myself to a standing position, whisking the dirt off my jacket and pants. I examine my hands, the thin cuts on my palms already bleeding. I let my hands fall to my sides and turn to my right, catching a glimpse into the overflowing tavern. A song by the Dropkick Murphys interrupts the pity party in my mind, girls and guys singing and drinking and dancing.
I wish I was one of them.
Come to think of it, I wish I was anyone other than who I am right now.
I should feel guilty for thinking that, for despising my father for unraveling what remained of our family after Mama died, for wishing I could just run away to a place where nobody knows who I am, a place where I can get a fresh start and a new lease on life since my current one is about to expire.
Maybe it already has.
* * *
After a fitful night’s sleep, I wake up to a lot of banging. Cabinet doors, closet doors, pantry doors. I lift my head from the pillow, rubbing sleep out of my eyes as I pull myself into a seated position. “Frankie?” I call out, my voice groggy. “What the heck are you doing out there?”
But he doesn’t answer.
I’m just greeted with more banging and heavy footsteps pounding around the apartment.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and reluctantly launch myself off the bed. I said we’d go for a run, so maybe it’s better to get up and at ’em early.
I catch a glimpse at the time on my phone and groan.
Seven o’clock?
Ugh, I was thinking more ten-ish.
I pad into the kitchen, running a hand through my sleep-tousled hair. Frankie is dressed and thumping all over the place, piling things together by the front door. I furrow my brow as I take it all in.
“How was your date?” he grumbles when I come into the kitchen.
“Didn’t happen. And I don’t want to talk about it, so please don’t ask.” I nod at the pile of crap he’s assembled in the center of the apartment. “Going somewhere?” I ask, heading for the cabinet where my favorite coffee mug resides. I frown at the coffee pot and then at my brother. “Couldn’t you have started the coffee while you packed?”
Frankie lets out a huff. “There isn’t time,” he grumbles.
I furrow my brow. “You want to tell me what’s going on? Are you okay?”
He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I’m fine.” His brown eyes twitch at the corners, and I know immediately that he’s holding out on me. “For now.”
“What are you talking about?” I narrow my eyes, forgetting all about the coffee. “Did you do something last night?” I look around again at the mess on the floor. “Why are you pulling all of your crap out here?”
“Look, Chell. I don’t have time to go into detail, but we need to get out of here.”
“Why?” My eyes widen. “Oh my God, how many times have I told you to stay away from those fucking scumbag gangsters you insist on hanging around? When are you going to learn? After everything happened with Papa, after the mess he caused for us, the loss of everything we ever knew, how could you let yourself get caught up in that shit again?”
“Stop being so judgmental! You know it’s my job?—”
“It’s only a job if you get fucking paid,” I shout.
“That’s the problem,” he says, stopping short. His shoulders slump and he raises his pained expression toward me. “I did get paid. Big.”
“What did you do for this payment, Frankie?” I ask, my mouth suddenly bone-dry. I swallow hard, but the growing lump in my throat almost chokes me.
“Something bad. Something,” he says, walking over to one of the windows that faces the street. “That can hurt us, way worse than anything we’ve experienced before. The shit with Papa would feel like a picnic in comparison.”
I storm over to him, pushing him against a wall. I wag a finger in his face, my voice quivering with anger. “You’d better tell me exactly what you did that can hurt us ,” I hiss.
“It’s more the ‘who’ than the ‘what’ that’s the issue,” he mutters.
“I don’t like playing these games with you,” I say. “Tell me what happened!”
Frankie averts his eyes. “Look, I’ll explain everything, but in the meantime, I just think we need to get out of the city for a while. Just lay low somewhere where nobody knows us until I can figure out?—"
His cell phone rings and we both jump. He pulls it out of his pocket and stares at the screen for a second before answering. I can’t see the name or number but judging by the fact that the color in my brother’s normally tan face fades more and more with each passing moment, I know it’s not a call he wants to take.
But he answers because the look of resignation on his face speaks volumes.
“Yeah?” he barks into the phone. Always the tough guy. Always the fucking troublemaker!
My breath hitches, and I nibble on a hangnail as he continues his terse exchange. It must be a burner phone, even though there isn’t a whole lot of detail exchanged.
God, I hate that I even know what a burner phone is…
He finally hangs up after a few minutes, but he looks somewhat settled after whatever he was just told. He drops the phone back into his pocket and sinks onto the couch, combing his fingers through his hair.
I sit across from him on the edge of the rickety coffee table, wringing my hands together. “Who was that? More importantly, do I even want to know?”
“It’s not important,” he grunts. “What is important is that it looks like we’re clear for the time being.”
I clasp my hands together and bring them to my lips, squeezing my eyes closed for a second. I say a silent prayer to God that whatever Frankie did isn’t as bad as I think. “Frankie,” I say, struggling to keep my voice even. “You are jeopardizing our lives by sticking with whatever thug crew you’re working with. I don’t care what they’ve promised you, but it isn’t worth what you’d be giving up if you ever got caught doing their dirty work. Do you understand that?”
“We’re not starting this again, okay? This is what I know! It’s all I know! This life is it, it’s all we’ve got.” He turns away. “Chella, if we wanna make fast cash, big money, this is the only thing I can do to help.”
“You can’t make money if you’re dead, Frankie!”
“I know, I know!”
“What the hell did you do?” I ask, my voice shaking.
Frankie puts his hands on my shoulders. “I can’t give you any details, except I did do something bad last night, but the good news is, nobody knows I was involved. The guys I was working with didn’t sell me out. That’s what they just told me. So we’re good. We don’t need to run.”
“Yet!” I say, throwing my hands into the air. “And what happens next time, when someone does sell you out or worse, you get caught? Huh? Then, what?”
“You’ve gotta take shit a day at a time. But today, don’t sweat it. We’re gonna get paid big, okay? I’m talking a huge chunk of cash that’ll take care of a shit ton of bills with enough left over for us to enjoy a little bit. To move outta this shit hole and into a better place.”
I shake my head. “Frankie, I can’t get caught up in another downward spiral, do you get that? You know what Papa’s conviction did to my career, my life. Both of our lives!” I spring up from the coffee table and start pacing around Frankie’s belongings. “Last night at work, Jimmy told me he couldn’t use me tonight for a huge party because I might bring bad press to the restaurant.”
Frankie scoffs. “That’s bullshit!”
I shrug. “Is it? I mean, Papa is a convicted murderer, a known mafia enforcer. Jimmy would get a lot of flack for employing me. On a normal night, it’s not a big deal, but there will be a lot of press at this event. They’d sniff me out like a piece of meat rotting in the kitchen. It would crush Jimmy’s business.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about working there tonight because it’s payday!”
I cover my face with my hands. “You don’t understand. What I’m saying is that my life is one step away from complete destruction if someone else in my family gets pegged by the media for some boneheaded scam to make a quick buck,” I say with a pointed look. “And just so we’re clear, that ‘someone else’ is you .”
Frankie claps a hand on my shoulder. “Chella, I know how hard you have been working. Can’t you just accept this and let out a sigh of relief that I finally came through for us?” He walks over to me and pulls me in for a hug.
“I’m still a little afraid to breathe,” I mutter, laying my head on his shoulder. “Are you going to tell me what happened last night? Don’t keep me in suspense, especially if we need to flee the city in the middle of the night.”
“I’d rather not,” Frankie mutters.
I pull away and clutch his arms, shaking him. “All of your earthly belongings are piled in the center of this room. You were ready to run somewhere, anywhere far away from the city out of fear that whoever you screwed over was going to come for you and do God only knows what. I think I have a right to know what we’re up against!”
“You’re not up against anything,” he growls. “This is all on me, Chella. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Do you really think that’s your choice?” I ask. “I mean, these guys go after everything and everyone, Frankie. After all of these years, haven’t you at least learned that?”
“Yeah, well, nothing is gonna happen to you. I made sure of that. And this afternoon, I’m gonna meet the guys I was working with and collect my cut. It’s gonna help us out. I wanna help us, Chell. It shouldn’t all be on you, especially since…” Frankie’s voice trails off before he finishes his thought.
“Since what?” I ask.
He shuffles over to his pile of clothes and grabs them off the floor. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. But we’re okay. I promise.”
“Okay, well, how about you promise that you won’t do anything risky or stupid again?” I grab an armful of his stuff and trudge back to his room with it. “Then we don’t have to worry about making a quick getaway.”
He smirks at me. “But I’m so good at this shit. How can I just walk away?”
“If they break both of your legs, you won’t have a choice.”
“I don’t plan on getting caught. The guys I’m working with know they can count on me.”
“Translation: they know you’ll do just about anything for a fast buck.” I graze his arm. “It’s too dangerous. Not worth it. We’ll figure this out. I’ll come up with a plan to make the money we need somehow.”
“How many more nights of waiting tables are you gonna have to suffer through to pay that money?” Frankie shakes his head. “I’ve proven myself. Let me pull my weight.”
“It’s a bad idea. And what if they’re going to pull one over on you? You said you’re going to collect your cut. What makes you think they’re going to give you a cent? How do you know they aren’t about to screw you?”
Frankie chuckles. “You really have no faith in me, do you? I’m fucking in , don’t you get it?”
“You shouldn’t go to your meeting spot alone,” I say. “I’ll come with you.”
He lets out a loud guffaw. “You’re insane. I’m not taking you with me!”
I don’t argue. I’m the last person who could help him in a shady situation and he knows it. I can’t even stand the sight of blood. I get queasy and lightheaded. And aside from the pepper spray, I’m probably the least street-smart person on the planet, other than when I use my resting bitch face on the subway.
It’s kind of ironic because I’ve grown up in a family firmly ingrained in the mafia. I was always kept away from the nitty gritty, though. Papa never saw me as a protégé. That was always Frankie’s role. I was the book smart one, the reader, the dreamer, the one who was going to do great things, the one who started to…well, that is until her plans came to a screeching halt.
Frankie always said Papa’s enemies would be back for us, something I probably should have prepared a little bit better for. I guess the past six months of nobody lashing out has given me a false sense of security. Either they can’t find us, or they just don’t want to bother looking now that my Papa is behind bars.
I really don’t know what I’d do if they came for me, if I could even get away. I’d try, sure. But that world is pretty foreign to me. I never wanted anything to do with it growing up, and after the fallout with the trial, I detest the idea of it. That lifestyle stripped me of my own success, everything I had planned for my future. And while I get that Frankie has never been the studious type, I really wish he’d found a different niche, one that didn’t involve drugs, guns, or a gaggle of thugs who can’t even pronounce two-syllable words.
Maybe this will be the wake-up call he needed. Take the money and run, Frankie!
Anything to get him away from the thug life! My God, I would have so many words for the leader of the fucking shithead pack he runs with!
“Can you take Chase or Johnny with you?” I ask. Those are two of Frankie’s friends, ones who didn’t desert him after Papa was convicted. Ones who’d always been there and refused to walk away from our family because of the bad press. I trust Frankie more when they’re with him.
“It’s not really a place for them, Chell,” he says, rubbing my arm. “I’ve gotta do this on my own. But it’ll be quick. I’m just going uptown, nowhere crazy. I’ll probably be home for dinner. We can order pizza, my treat,” he says with a wink.
My heart thumps hard and fast when he smiles. I want to believe him, but the overwhelming sense that something is about to go very wrong washes over me, consuming my whole being. Maybe I’m just being overly protective. Or maybe I’m right on target with these feelings. Nothing is ever quick—even death—with the mafia.
“Do you, ah, have a gun?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “Course I do.”
I nod. “Okay, well, don’t forget to bring it. Just in case.”
“I’m telling you, it’s going to be fine. Besides, I wasn’t even the ringleader. Salvatore handled all of the heavy shit. And he’s the one who called me about coming to collect my cut. He’s the one they would have gone after, not me. But they obviously don’t know it was us who pulled the job.” He squeezes my shoulders. “What’d I tell ya? Good things are starting to happen, Chella. This is only the beginning.”
And that’s what I’m afraid of — and also that my and Frankie’s interpretations of ‘good things’ don’t exactly match up.