Mafia Obsession

Scarlet

I wake at eight a. m., feeling groggy. I’m not sure what time I fell asleep. I didn’t think I’d be able to get any rest at all. But the second I felt the silk sheets and the soft pillows, I began to relax. My body was tired from the long shift, but my mind had different ideas.

Immediately, I reach for my phone-nothing from Mom. I left several messages last night once Elio left me. I try calling her again now. It goes to voicemail. Then I check my texts. There’s one from Elio.

Morning, my singing angel. I won’t be there when you get up. I’ve told my mom about the situation. She seems to think you’re my secret girlfriend, and I’m using the singing angle as a cover story for some reason. That works for us. You can go along with it if it makes things easier. I’ve got several people actively searching for your mom and dad. I’m going to chase down a lead myself right now.

He sent the text just a couple of minutes ago. I sit up and quickly reply.

What sort of lead?

It takes a few minutes for him to message me. The bedroom has an ensuite, so I grab my toothbrush from the suitcase and head in there. Nerves twist through me when I think about walking into the main apartment. Of all the ways I thought I’d meet my future husband’s parents, it wasn’t like this.

When I return to the bedroom, a text is waiting for me. I’m canvasing all the neighborhoods in the city that could be classified as worse than yours.

I thought you said that Mom’s note didn’t narrow it down.

Not much, but it’s a start. I hope you don’t mind. I’ve taken several photographs of your parents from your apartment.

Of course, I don’t mind, I type. Anything that helps you find her.

I bite my lip, wondering if I should mention the steaminess. I want to talk about it and explain that I won’t be able to give him what he clearly wanted before the interruption. However, now’s not the time. Mom and Dad need help. That’s all that matters.

The morning sun shining through the closed curtains makes the room look even more surreal. It’s almost as big as our apartment. The carpet looks brand new. The drawers and closets are carved, ornate, shiny wood. Everything even smells more expensive, somehow.

What should I do? I text.

Ask Sebastian to whip you up some breakfast. Or you can eat with my mom. She should be at the dining table around eighty-thirty.

I swallow. Does it make me a dork if this makes me wildly nervous?

Don’t worry. My mom’s a good woman. She might grill you some, but you can handle it. I’m sorry. I’ve got to head out. Stay strong, my singing angel. I’ll see you later…

I imagine him opening the door when it’s dark, creeping across the room, and slipping into bed beside me. I don’t have to wonder what it would feel like to have his hand pressed against my sex. The memory makes me shiver, but no, that’s not right. It wasn’t skin-on-skin. It wasn’t the real thing.

I flinch when somebody knocks on the door. “Miss.” It’s the butler from last night. I recognize his voice-the butler. I must be hallucinating. “Mrs. Marino would like to know if you’d join her for breakfast.”

It’s not like I have much choice here. She’s letting me stay in her home. It’s the polite thing to do. “Yeah, of course. Uh, give me a few minutes?”

“Very good.”

I put my suitcase on the bed, open it up, and look for something appropriate. I almost debate doing an internet search. What’s the right outfit to wear to meet your not-boyfriend’s mom the night after you share some crazy steaminess and he offers to save your parents? Somehow, I don’t think much would come up for that.

I settle on some fairly new-looking jeans and a shirt that doesn’t have holes, with the material mostly its original color. After a quick shower-the water pressure and heat are like Christmas gifts-I walk through the apartment. It’s mind-bogglingly big. I get lost twice, and then, by chance, I walk past the dining room.

“Angela?” a woman calls in an old-money sort of accent. It takes me a moment to respond to the name. Russel can’t learn that Scarlet is staying here, hence the name. Plus, I’m my man’s singing angel.

I poke my head through the door. Mrs. Marino looks intimidating as hell to me. She sits upright, her gray hair intricately woven, tapping her fingernail against the table. She looks more put-together than I’ve ever felt.

“Uh, hello, Mrs. Marino.”

Oh, God. I just curtsied. I’m not joking. I held an imaginary dress and bent forward. I expect her to laugh at me for being a complete weirdo. Thankfully, she seemed to like it, smiling and gesturing at the chair beside her. The table is long, with eight chairs around it. I sit.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” she says, offering me her hand.

I take it and shake her hand. She smells of perfume. Sadly, she reminds me of how Mom used to be, before Dad’s schemes, before her pills. “And you, young lady. How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I remember what Elio said in his text. Mrs. Marino-what the heck’s her first name-suspects I might be a possible girlfriend of Elio’s. Will she be shocked by my age? “Nineteen,” I tell her.

She smiles. “Oh, to be nineteen again. Savor these years. So young and yet so talented. My son says you’re a simply sensational singer.”

“I… uh, I try my best.” My cheeks are blazing red again. “I will try my best, I mean, for you and Mr. Marino.”Còntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

She waves a hand. “That can come later. For now, food! Do you like food?” She laughs in an almost unhinged way. “What sort of question is that? Of course, you do. It’s food. Do you like oxygen? How about water? Ha! We have to have our little jokes, don’t we? Otherwise, we’ll go simply insane.”

I laugh. I can’t help it despite everything. There’s something infectious about her energy. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“What are you in the mood for this fine morning?”

“Whatever’s convenient,” I tell her. “I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

“Nonsense. You’re our guest. Nothing is too much trouble.” She leans forward. “Between you and me, I like to keep the chefs on their toes. If you could dream up the most extravagant, unrealistic meal, you’d be doing me a favor.”

I laugh again. “Honestly, Mrs. Marino-” “Please,” she cuts in. “Call me Allesia.”

“Allesia,” I say. “I’m fine with anything. Cereal. Bagel. Water. Whatever you can offer.”

“But what do you want?” she asks. “Excuse my forwardness, but something tells me that’s a new concept for you. Asking what you want.”

“I…” Leaning back, I look closely at her. She’s got a shrewd look on her lined face. “I guess so. How did you know that?”

“Reading people is something of a necessity for me,” she replies. “Now, don’t make me harass you any longer.”

“Eggs and bacon?” I say. “Maybe some orange juice?”

“Done,” she declares, making me feel like I’ve done her a favor by accepting breakfast. She raises her voice. “Sebastian, darling.”

The butler appears in the doorway. “Ma’am.” “Two lots of bacon and eggs, please.”

“Of course.”

Once he’s gone, Mrs. Marino-Alessia-leans forward. “Are you okay, dear?” she asks.

“Uh, yeah,” I say, trying to hide my instinctual reaction. It’s not as if I can list all my woes about Mom and Dad or the steaminess constantly trying to break out of me when I think about her son.

“Are you sure?” she presses.

I lean back, feeling a little stung. Physically, like she’s punctured me. “You seem pretty sure I’m not okay,” I comment.

Her lips flatten, and her eyes narrow. She looks like she’s about to snap at me. I wonder if I’ve made a mistake by getting too familiar with her. I should remember my role, the deferential singer. Just because she’s shown me a little kindness doesn’t mean she’ll tolerate me actually having an opinion.

Then she nods, sits back, and folds her hands. “Fair enough,” she says. “I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just that, dear, sometimes I look at people, and I see their sadness and hopelessness. Or perhaps I’m projecting. Perhaps I’m just a sad old crone with nobody to speak to properly.”

“It must be hard,” I say quietly, “after what happened to your husband.”

“Ah, yes,” she replies. “It’s difficult. I won’t lie. My Leo was always so strong. He was my lion. Leo the Lion. He was so powerful, both physically and mentally. To see him like this is a true tragedy. I wish there were something I could do. I wish there were some spell I could cast.” She stares past me, but it’s like with Elio in the car when he was thinking about his dad, about Leo. She’s staring into the past. “But that’s life. It can be cruel, and I see the same when I look at you. Something’s troubling you.”

I shift in my chair, feeling spotlighted under her scrutiny. “I’m just trying to do my best,” I say, perhaps the vaguest statement I could’ve given.

“Aren’t we all?” she sighs. “Are you… in trouble, dear?”

It takes me a moment to understand what she’s asking. “No, I’m not pregnant.”

“But you and Elio… You’re not just a singer, are you?”

I remember what Elio said. It’s better to let his mom think we’re a couple- or involved, at least-than for her to know the truth. I look down at the table. It’s not difficult to seem shy. I don’t have to force it. “I’m not sure Elio would want me to discuss this.”

She takes my hands in hers. “You don’t have to say anything else. The meaning is quite, quite clear. Yes, if you don’t want to talk, it means there’s something to talk about, correct?”

I shrug, letting her come to her own conclusions. Soon, Sebastian brings the food. Even the eggs and bacon look expensive, and it tastes heavenly. As I eat the food, I’m able to forget about Mom, Dad, and even Elio for a few guilty minutes.

Once we finish eating, Alessia stands, holding her head. “I think I’ll have a lie-down. That’s the story of my life these days. It was lovely to meet you, Angela.” From her emphasis on the name, I wonder if she somehow knows it’s fake.

I return to the bedroom, sitting on the bed, waiting for a text from Elio. I need to know if he’s found Mom or Dad. Even if they weren’t missing, I’d still be eagerly gripping my phone, staring down, desperately waiting for any sign from him.