Mafia Darling

20 | Bonnie and Clyde (Ella)

Not a single word is exchanged on the long, long drive home. Not even between Marco and Luca. The last I heard from either of them was Luca whispering something into his phone back at the motel.

I lean my head against the window, drifting in and out of sleep. Before we left, Luca had gestured to my bloody arms and the sink in the bathroom, but my glare was apparently bad enough for him to leave me alone, and Marco led me straight to the car, dirtied arms and all.

The blood has dried and is starting to flake off all over their fancy, plush backseat, and out of spite, I scratch and flake off more. If they notice, they didn't care.

When we enter the mansion, it's been almost two days since the murder. We didn't eat anything but the water packed in bottles in the back, and we didn't stop except for Marco and Luca to switch as drivers. It's clear they want to put as much distance between the motel and us as fast as possible.

I'm exhausted. My knees hurt from being bent so long. My bladder is bursting. As soon as the front door is closed behind us, I try to turn left toward the stairs to the basement and the maid quarters, but Marco stops me by gently placing his hand on my back.

His warm touch sends a shudder up my spine. "You're not a maid," he says softly. "You've been promoted to my assistant. Luca, show her her new room."

Marco's hand leaves my back, and he leaves me as well. I follow Luca up to the fifth floor, the floor Marco lives on. He leads me to a room at the end of one of the hallways and pushes the door in.

I've cleaned this room before, so it isn't anything unfamiliar. What is unfamiliar is the fact that I'm allowed to curl up on this bed now. I can sit on the plush loveseat. I can use this bathroom.

"Luca," I say when he turns to go. "Come back."

He pauses in the doorway. "I have to--"

"Luca," I snap. "Come back, or I swear to God, I'm jumping out the fucking window."

Alarm flashes in his eyes, and he closes the door after he comes back inside. I hold up my arms. 

"Help me clean this off."

I don't need help. Cleaning has become my specialty. What I do need is for him to answer some questions, and I know that once Marco finishes whatever work he's gone off to do, he'll likely restrict any and all talk about what transpired.

We go into the bathroom, and I sit on the edge of  the tub as Luca runs warm water over a soft washcloth. He rolls up my sleeves and starts wiping the blood off, gentler than I expected. The entire time, I'm staring at him, wondering how he can be so calm.

He notices me glaring at him and blinks. "Do you want me to apologize for killing him?"

"No," I say flatly. "Because you won't mean it."

He shrugs and goes back to swiping off the blood. "Got me there."

"It doesn't bother you at all, does it?" I spit.

"Sure it does. It was a meaningless death. I wish it didn't have to happen, but I won't be losing any sleep over it. Neither should you. You're safe now."

I snort. "Do you actually believe that, or do you just believe what your master tells you to believe?"

"Antagonizing me isn't going to get you anywhere," he says, smiling. "I'm not hotheaded like Marco."

The insult catches me by surprise. It's clearly a jovial jab at his friend, but that he can say that at all, it makes me wonder what kind of delusion these people live in. They live with murder and drugs and slaves and joke around like a regular family.

When Luca's done wiping off the dried blood, I take myself to the sink and start lathering up my hands and arms with soap. He leaves without another word, closing the door behind him. I watch the pink mixture of blood and suds swirl into the drain, waiting for the tears, but they don't come. I'm all spent.

I can't even begin to think what will happen tomorrow. The day after that. The week after that. The month. God, the year. I'm an assistant now to a man I simultaneously love and hate.