Mafia Darling

15 | Theft (Ella)

When we prepare lunch the next day, I swipe some napkin rings one by one until I have a half a set stashed in my pockets. To whatever pawn shop I come across, this will be a full set from a dinner I never hosted, so I'm just looking to get rid of it. According to Bella, this is luxury kitchenware that will fetch at least a few hundred dollars.

Also, according to Bella, the Corleone family hasn't used these napkin rings in three years because they're too tacky. They prefer the other three sets, which I leave alone.

A few hours later, I'm dusting again. My pockets are already emptied; the rings are back in our quarters, along with a few brand-new and unopened Turkish towels with the imported seal of a luxury brand based in Istanbul. There's also a small crystal from their genuine crystal chandelier in the empty study nobody uses, but the maids have to clean it anyway.

I'm on the second floor during the least busy time of the day. Not a single soul has walked through this hallway. I take advantage of the emptiness and slide open the drawer to a decorative cabinet, and sure enough, there're are the humidors I remember seeing when I first dusted.

The late Mr. Corleone was an avid smoker, and so every drawer everywhere contained several humidors with hundred-dollar, genuine Italian cigars. No one removed them when he died.

I quickly open one humidor, stuff three cigars into my pockets, and close it again. The moment the drawer slides closed, I hear a gentle voice clear their throat behind me.

I freeze. My immediate thought is to fall down on my knees and beg for forgiveness and say it was a moment of weakness, but I swallow the growing lump in my throat and turn around.

Standing there, alone, is Marcine. The same Marcine who everyone says never leaves the first floor because she can't walk very well. 

Apparently, today is the day she decided to venture upstairs.

And she's seen me steal her late husband's cigars.

"I'm so sorry," I choke out. "I'm sorry, please--"

"Running away?"

My hands fumble with the duster. It's too late to pretend that she's wrong; my shock is clear as day. "How did you know?" I ask.

"You don't seem the smoking type," she teases, her eyes bright. "So either you're stealing to finance a drug habit, which you also don't seem like, or you're attempting to disappear."

I stare down at the floor. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I'll put everything back."

"Do they pay you?"

I look up. "I get free room and board and utilities, and I receive a small restricted allowance for clothes and hygiene needs."

"But do they pay you?"

I shake my head.

Marcine makes an exasperated noise, and then she suddenly slips a silver band off her pinky finger -- one of many rings she wears -- and holds it out to me. 

"This should be worth a decent amount," she says. "I'll keep your secret."

I don't move, I'm too shocked. Eventually, Marcine grows tired of waiting and sighs. She picks up my limp hand, places her ring in my palm, and curls my fingers closed over it.

"Why are you helping me," I whisper.

Her beautiful green eyes sweep around the grandness of the hallway, and she chuckles softly. "I never cared about all this that much anyway."

She walks away, humming a tune to herself, and I slip the silver band into my pocket. This will be enough.

Tonight, Bella will sneak me through a back door and walk me all the way to the closest town, and there, we'll say goodbye. I'll sell the crystal at the pawn shop and save the other stuff to sell later; I'm not stupid enough to sell everything at the same place and get arrested based on suspicion of theft.

Then, I'll catch a bus to take me far, far away from here.