The Mafia Kings Deadly Sin

She had just killed a man.

Not intentionally, though. She would never kill a rat, not even the one that pillaged her shabby apartment every night, let alone a man-even one as awful as him.

Her heart raced in her chest as the gun fell from her shaky hands. She waited, expecting someone to barge into the exclusive room and discover the body of the nightclub's highest-paying client on top of her.

But no one came. Why would they? The gun had a silencer, which stifled the sound of the bullet as it pierced through his skull.

Serena managed to push the body off her, and it landed on the floor with a thud.

Again, she waited for the fat guard at the entrance to burst through the door, but he didn't. The pounding music from the club drowned out everything else. She could barely hear her own sobs as she stared down at the lifeless body. The wavy purple and dark blue lights in the room barely illuminated him, but she could tell he was young.

She hadn't meant to kill him. He had tried to rape her. The torn pieces of her stripper clothes were proof of that. But who would believe a stripper?

Oh God. She started hyperventilating.

Serena knew it was a terrible idea to take this gig, but it was supposed to be a one-time thing. Just enough to cover her overdue bills and rent. Her landlord was already threatening to kick her out of the apartment.

But sleeping on the streets was still better than spending her life in a jail cell. Serena bit her nails nervously as she contemplated her next move. She could report everything to the manager, but who knows what she'd do.

Serena recalled the manager's cold words when the man had picked her for his "entertainment."

"Mess this up, and I'll take your head."

She wasn't sure if the woman meant it, but Serena didn't want to find out. There was only one thing she could do.

First, though, she needed to look decent. The thin piece of clothing covering her ass and boobs had been ripped during the struggle. Her eyes darted around the room until they fell on the dead man's jacket. She hesitated. She already felt guilty about killing the man-now she was about to steal his jacket?

But on second thought, he wouldn't need it where he was going.

She threw on the jacket and took deep breaths, trying to calm her racing nerves. It didn't help.

The overwhelming guilt of leaving him in a pool of his own blood gnawed at her. But she reminded herself over and over that it wasn't her fault.

When she finally managed to silence the tiny voices in her head and turned to leave, she tripped over something and fell onto her hands. She craned her neck to see what had caused her stumble.

A black briefcase.

She straightened up and opened the case. Her jaw dropped as the contents stared back at her: it was filled to the brim with hundred-dollar bills.

This money could change her life and her sister's. She bit her lower lip as she considered her options. Serena glanced at the dead man, as though seeking his permission.

She wasn't about to add theft to the list of crimes. She hurried over to the vent and removed the lid. Crawling through the vent wasn't exactly her first choice, but she couldn't risk running into the fat man outside.

She slithered through the vent until she reached the restroom. She peered down into the toilet through the holes in the vent cover. In the first cubicle, a young woman had her face buried in the toilet.

She must be wasted, Serena concluded, as she kicked open the vent and jumped down into the third toilet cubicle. Her heart was still racing. What if the guard had already checked the room? The club management might be looking for her already. She wasn't safe until she got to her apartment.

Serena stepped out of the cubicle and paused in front of the mirror. Her face was stained with mascara, and her red lipstick had been smeared terribly. The image of the dead man pressing her against the couch, one hand on her neck, the other trying to pry her legs open, flashed through her mind. She shoved the image aside. She was safe now, she told herself as she splashed water on her face.

Serena shoved her trembling fingers into the jacket pocket as she stepped out of the restroom. She would be home free soon.

---

Serena sat crouched on the sofa, nursing a cup of coffee. She hadn't slept a wink since sneaking home the previous night. She switched from one news channel to another, waiting for the inevitable report of the dead man at the club, but there was nothing.

By noon, she gave up and poured the rest of her cold coffee down the sink. There was no way the hotel management hadn't found the body by now. Maybe they didn't want the police snooping around. She once heard that the club was a front for an underground drug business. Police attention would be bad for business.

Maybe they sent out henchmen to track her down and kill her. That was less messy and kept the police out of it.

Oh God. She was hyperventilating again.

"Jesus, Serena!"

Serena jumped, and the glass fell from her hand, shattering on the floor. Her sister, Rita, quickly turned off the faucet.

"Are you alright? You look pale," Rita asked, her blonde eyebrows knitted in worry. Rita was her younger sister-the pretty one, with her slim model body, long blonde hair, and piercing green eyes. She always knew how to wrap men around her perfectly manicured finger.

"Uh, I..." Even her voice trembled. She had to get it together or she'd expose herself. Clearing her throat, she said, "I'm fine."

"Good. Can I borrow fifty bucks? I'll return it, I swear."

"I don't have any money," Serena replied quietly as she cleaned up the broken pieces from the kitchen floor.

"I'll pay you back."

She never did.

"Rita, I honestly don't have any money. I thought you had a modeling gig last week."