IN THE CLAWS OF THE MAFIA

PTE

t realizing what was goint to happen next. I thought she was a strong woman, one of those that are like a nuclear bomb that devastates everything. But it wasn´t like that. And...I

ation. My eyes scan and check my tawny hair is neat and sleek in its high bun and I scrutinize my reflection again, to make sure it's precise

ll

of cold poise and gray tailoring that exudes authority, with no hint of the turmoil of emotion inside me. I narrow my

ight for my new role as personal assistant to my very high-profile boss. Professional and capable on the outside which I guess is what matters, cal

g my balance with one hand on the wall and hearing the move

rubs her eyes with the back of her fist childishly as watch her in the reflection behind me. It's unusual fo

gue and she's watching me closely with a silly smile on her face. A little too closely for my liking. "Good morning, Sarah." I smile lightly, I try to ignore the way she's looking at me and straighten up to stand tall. I turn, lifting my briefcase from the floor in front of

to the living room area, trying to distract her from the open gawking she seems to be doing. Running through my

expression. She looks much younger than her age and sometimes forget we went to school together. I'm more like her guardian than her roommate nowadays, bu

ne and my endless organization of our lives. She knows this is the way I do things

bright white and gray kitchen to the side of me and begins making herself a coffee. Lifting the mug I washed earlier this morning from the rack for herself

en I needed it, never aware of how I drew from that uncomp

e few open letters from the counter I've yet to deal with today. I know that I'm lingering and acting indecisively, compar

from behind the toaster and holds it out expec

dy taken care of them, as usual." Her sparkling

it from her slowly with careful fingers, eyeing it

iles brightly and sets about going back to making herself coffee

and mentally note down a memo to do so. I ritually pay our bills at the start of every month when I'm paid, havi

y head at her, fully aware that she prefers that I take control of our living expenses and always have. She's never been good with money and I doubt she would remember to pay the rent on

erful day." I turn from the breakfast bar and head for the main door of our apartment, lifting

r eyebrows; leaning out across the worktop so all I can see is her head popping out from the kitchen at a funny angle. She looks

tting my stomach hard again but ignore the sensation, swall

nd pull my outside jacket on over my suit. I frown back at her question, the tightening knot in my stomach intensifying somewhat but I shake

t wouldn't

ttle culinary world, oblivious to anything amiss in my behavior today. I smile again as I watch her

et Sa

bilities and cool,

old me at all. If she even associates me with

oment to be still. Refusing to let emotion get the better of me and crack my armor. Looking down at the cool silver kno

n do

traces of my adolescent Emma, to focus on the tasks ahead of me. The responsibilities I'll be taking on after today. It's heady and overwhelming, but I steel my nerves inwardly, stil

cting with my face. Each step strengthening my resolve, back to my normal practiced demeanor and that inner