Chapter 1
RUTHLESS MAFIA KING
Chapter One
Marlena
“Dad?” I whisper, walking down the dark hallway with my heart in my throat. He doesn’t answer, and that bothers me.
“Marlena?” My brother Brandon opens his door, his eyes wide and shining with uncertainty.
“Go back to bed,” I tell him.
“Where’s Dad?” Brandon asks, concern in his voice.
I swallow my fear, wanting to put on a brave show. “I don’t know,” I admit.
Together, we walk into the living room, searching for him.
I’m barely an adult, back home for spring break from college.
Brandon’s still in high school, but he’s fairly large.
Together, I think we could take someone on, but I’m not sure why I think that’s important.
Dad’s probably asleep in front of the television, or he’s in the garage and can’t hear us.
We approach the living room in silence. Dad’s not on the couch, and he’s not in the garage. I check his bedroom again while Brandon checks the attic. Even though there’s no good reason for Dad to be in the attic or in the backyard, we check anyway.
Brandon spots his phone outside on the sidewalk in front of the house. There’s a full moon lighting our way, and the device glints from its resting place on the cement. He picks it up and turns it over. The lock screen is a picture of the three of us, smiling, happy on a family vacation.
Brandon turns to look at me, and I can practically see all the sinister thoughts running through his head.
I have the same thoughts, but I don’t want to let him know how worried I am.
It isn’t like Dad to leave without telling us, and there isn’t a valid reason for his phone to be out on the street when he’s hardly ever without it.
Something is wrong.
“Should we call the police?” Brandon asks.
“Never trust anyone,” my father once told me.
I shake my head. I don’t know much about the business our father is in, but I know enough to be afraid.
Five years later
“So…what position do you see yourself filling?” The creepy guy behind the desk leers at me.
My jaw drops. He can’t possibly be saying what I think he’s saying, can he? This is a job interview, not an audition for a porn film. But one quick check into his beady blue eyes, and I can tell that’s what he’s thinking.
“The position you advertised,” I snap back, trying to rein in my disgust.
I need this job. It’s perfect for me in every way but one.
It’s close to my apartment, the salary is just enough to pay my rent, and it comes with a free gym membership.
Of all the job interviews I’ve been on lately, this was the one I was really hoping to land.
Until now, that is. I can’t imagine myself working for this awful man.
One hard look at him turns my stomach, and I have to force myself to stay in my seat.
“Well, we’re looking for more than a secretary,” he says.
“I know,” I seethe, “the job posting was for a paralegal, not a secretary.”
“Was it?” he asks with a smile, as if he’s trying to be charming.
“You know what?” I say, grabbing my purse off the floor and rising to my feet. “I just remembered I didn’t feed the meter.”
“You can do it with your phone,” he says to my back as I race out the door.
“Thanks! I got it,” I call back, tossing his business card in the trash as I storm through the lobby.
I should sue him. If only I’d been smart enough to get him on tape, I could pay my rent for years to come from the settlement. The nerve of that guy, in this day and age. I have half a mind to call up my dad and tell him to come deal with the slob, but then it hits me: My father is gone.
He didn’t die recently; it’s been a few years.
But every now and then, I still think about him.
In situations like these, a girl needs someone on her side.
But I don’t have anyone. I’m all alone in the world, except for my brother, and I don’t want to bother him with this.
He has enough problems of his own, trying to figure out what he wants to study in college.
I don’t want him throwing his life away to get even for something some slimeball said to me.
I need to cool down. I break out onto the street, and sunlight hits me full force in the face.
That feels good, but I need more. My stomach grumbles, and I realize I skipped breakfast. Job interviews make me nervous, and I’m better prepared to deal with anxiety on an empty stomach. But now that it’s over, I’m famished.
I spot the nearest coffee shop and head inside.
Approaching the counter, I gaze down at all the delicious treats that are lined up behind the glass.
There are pastries and bagels, muffins and croissants.
I want one of each, but I know my eyes are bigger than my stomach.
A single blueberry muffin should do. And I think I’ll have a latte just to treat myself.
“A blueberry muffin and a vanilla latte,” I say, smiling at the girl behind the counter.
She gives me the total, and I pull out my phone. Before swiping my banking app, I check my account. “Holy crap!” I shout.
“Is something wrong?” the cashier asks.
“I…uh…” I mutter, feeling the shock of my situation overcome me. My bank balance is a whopping twenty-six dollars. I don’t even have enough money to feed myself for two days, let alone pay my rent. I back away from the counter slowly, as if I’m a deer spooked by a hunter.
The cashier watches me go, confused but not particularly concerned. Maybe she sees that kind of thing all the time. Maybe people are always shocked by the prices they charge, and it’s no big deal to slink away in abject defeat.
I hold my breath until I’m back on the street, and then the tears start falling.
I can’t help it. My body is wound so tight, and I’m full of rage and shame.
I hate the man who denied me my dream job because he was such a prick.
I hate the muffin for being so damned expensive.
I hate myself for having no friends, no job, and quite possibly an eviction notice in the near future. What on earth am I going to do?
I turn around, realizing that whatever happens, I can’t just stand there on the sidewalk crying. I run straight into a guy wearing a sweater with a college logo and expensive blue jeans. I can’t see anything except his solid chest, and the blue fabric covering it.
I stumble back, my hands covering my face. I’m so embarrassed, I wish the floor would open up and swallow me whole. But he stops me from running away. His voice is soft as he takes me by the shoulders and gazes into my eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, attempting to pull away.
“Freaking out, insecure, neurotic, and emotional?” he teases.
“What?” I demand.
“Fine. That’s what it stands for. I should know,” he says, stepping back to give me space.
I try to compose myself, knowing that he’s just being kind. After my experience in the office across the street, I find it hard to trust a stranger I just met, but this guy doesn’t seem to be staring at my boobs. He looks genuinely concerned.
“I just had a really bad job interview,” I say. “And I’m down to twenty-six dollars in my bank account.”
“I can give you some money,” he offers, going for his wallet.
“No,” I stop him, shaking my head. “I have savings. I just don’t want to tap into it.”
“Ah,” he replies, removing his hand from his back pocket. “Listen, the least I could do is buy you a drink.”
“I think it’s a little early,” I sniff.
“How ’bout a coffee?” he suggests.
I can see that’s what he meant all along. I glance hopefully back at the coffee shop I just left. Maybe I can have that blueberry muffin after all.
“Will you buy me a muffin?” I ask sweetly.
“Sure,” he agrees. “If you’ll tell me what kind of job you’re looking for.”
He holds the door open for me, and I walk back to the scene of my embarrassment.
The cashier pretends she doesn’t know me, and that’s just as well.
I order my muffin again, and my knight in shining armor pays for it.
He grabs a cup of coffee, black, and a bagel, and we choose a seat next to the window.
“I applied to be a paralegal,” I explain.
“That’s great,” the new guy says, seeming way too excited.
“Why is that great?” I ask suspiciously.
“You’re looking for a job, I’m looking for a tutor,” he says. “Seems like the perfect match.”
“What kind of tutor?” I wonder.
“I’m in law school,” he replies. “Trying to help my dad out in the family business, but I don’t really have a head for it. All the case law is so confusing.”
“Oh,” I say, considering this new turn of events. “Well, I don’t have a degree. I did take the LSATs though.”
“Perfect,” he says.
“I don’t even know your name,” I object.
“Frankie,” he answers, holding out a hand to shake. “Francisco Junior, really, but everyone calls me Frankie.”
“Hi Frankie, I’m Marlena,” I say, pressing my palm to his. He’s warm and friendly, but there’s no electric spark. Maybe this tutoring thing will work after all. I’m not looking for a romantic relationship, but I definitely need help paying my bills.
“So, I could help you out with an advance on your pay,” Frankie begins, as if I’ve already agreed to help him and we’re moving into negotiations. “I was thinking two thousand up front, and maybe four per month.”
“Four thousand dollars?” I say, feeling my jaw drop lower with every word.
“Is that not the going rate?” he asks.
“For a full-time teacher?” I exclaim. “I don’t think so.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” he says.
“You don’t even know me,” I object, arguing myself out of the most lucrative deal that ever fell in my lap.
“And you don’t know me,” he counters somewhat dangerously.
“Oh.” I sit back, realizing I might have let my hopes get the best of me. “You’re a serial killer.”
“Not a serial killer,” he declares. “Just a law student.”
“But a law student who likes to pay strange women enormous sums to get in his car?” I guess.
“We can meet at the library if you like,” he replies. “I just meant that what seems like a good deal to you is also a good deal for me. I’m willing to take a chance, and honestly, it’s not my money.”
“Whose is it?” I ask, curious.
“It’s family money,” he hedges.
“So you’re rich?” I guess, trying to find a convenient category to fit him in so that I can decide whether to take the deal.
“Would you prefer two thousand a month?” he asks.
“No,” I say quickly. “I just don’t want to make a big mistake.”
“Help me memorize the case law,” he says. “That’s all I’m asking.”
“All right,” I answer with a sigh. “Let’s do it.”
“Great,” he says. “Now, tell me about yourself.”
I launch into my prepackaged job interview question mode, telling him all about my studies and my interest in teaching.
He stops me every now and then to ask me to elaborate, which I do.
It’s kind of like a job interview, but also kind of like a date.
I’m not getting any bad vibes from him, although I can tell there is something he’s keeping from me.
“What’s your phone number?” he asks, pulling out his phone.
I give it to him without hesitation. He thumbs through the buttons and opens his cash app.
A moment later, my phone buzzes with the information that I’ve just received two thousand dollars.
Hallelujah! I’m in it now, for better or for worse.
I just hope I’m not making a mistake. But I need that money, and I’m about eighty percent sure he’s not going to kill me.
“Can we start tomorrow?” he asks.
“Sure,” I agree. “At the library?”
“Actually, would you mind coming to my house?” he hesitates.
Great. I knew this would happen. “What about safe, neutral territory?” I remind him.
“Believe me,” he responds, “there are plenty of people at my place. We won’t be alone.”
“Oh,” I find myself saying. “Like roommates?”
“More like servants,” he answers.
“Hm,” I respond, chewing over that for a moment.
If he’s rich enough to have servants, plural, then maybe I will be safe.
I decide to bite the bullet and go ahead.
How bad could it be? It’s not like my childhood was all shopping malls and birthday parties.
My dad ran with a rough crowd—not that I have any plans to share that bit of information with my new client.
No one knows my real last name, not even my best friend.
“Okay,” I relent. “Give me the address.”
He smiles, holds up his phone, and texts me the address.
Glancing down, I see the zip code is right where I would expect it to be for a large house with multiple staff members onsite.
It looks like tomorrow will be a very interesting day indeed.
But at the moment, it’s time for me to go home and pay my rent before spending what little I have left on groceries.
I thank Frankie for the opportunity to work with him, and leave the café in high spirits.