The Mafia King's Ruthless Claim

a's

one arm thrown over the stuffed bear

watched the green numbers on the microwave cl

radiator bangs all night. The floor always smells faintly of fabric softener drifting up through the bo

ft ear is worn thin from years of Milo rubbing it between his fingers to fall asleep. He was the last thin

his forehead. He mumbled somethin

d didn't even take his coat. My mother kept that coat on the hook by the door for eleven years, like he

in my apron pocket and a mafia king's name on

small light over the stove. I took out

in fine detail, right down to the twist of rope around the shaft. I turned it over. On t

irst result was a jeweler on Harbor Street. Castel

f money for this. Someon

n my hand, and I

wn nu

times. Five. I pressed answer and lift

eathing, slow and even. A car engine running somewher

. I crossed the room on shaking legs

t always did. And across the road, parked in front of the closed bakery, sat a dark gray car wit

as inside. The windo

zed again. A

irls st

hit the kitchen table, and then I stood there with my hand ove

Luca meant.

arted packing. Milo's school clothes. His inhaler. The dinosaur socks with holes in both heels. My bi

llars. A bus ticket and a

om

orway in his pajamas, squinting at the

y. Go bac

me. His face changed, and I wa

g again?" he

at on the front steps with his backpack for three hours in November because he didn't know where els

theart. I was just clea

ded and padded back to bed, and I heard him whisper somet

th my back against the cabinet and

ppear into some city where nobody knew my name. And then I would spend the rest of

a murderer, and who had looked at me tonight like

. 3:40. 4:55. At a quarter to six,

ay car across the street started moving at the exact same moment, slowly at first, t

gray beard who always nodded to me at the gate. He looked up at my windo

rtment all night. And someone el

e kitchen table and uncapped a pen from Milo's pe

ver the empty lin

o on those front steps i

ndwriting looked

ith the license in my lap. Marcus didn't say a word the whole drive. When we reached the Moretti estate, the

ca. I should have handed him the

e stupidest thing

e Rosa was busy with the coffee, a

e from the lock. The

inging gently, as if someon

o hard it looked pale, and the air stung my eyes with bleach. The racks st

ast night had

ays left my cleaning things. My spray bottles were the

worn last night, the ones with my f