Page 23 of Revenge on the Mafia

Sesame.

That would be the death of me.

Why would he tell me that? Was it a trick? Or maybe he wasn’t allergic to sesame. Maybe it was a test?

My head throbbed with the million questions rioting inside it. The more I thought about them, the more agitated I became. Behind it all, another fear had made an ugly appearance.

Am I turning into Mamá?

Magda was in the other room giving instructions to Isidora on how to deep clean the mattresses as if she were making a live YouTube video of a complicated manual for dummies. Nothing brought her down. Not even the beginning of a flu she clearly carried. She was both calm and stressed. Something that could apply to Magda alone.

El gilipollas had taken off four days ago, and no one knew where he’d gone. Maybe Magda did, but she wasn’t sharing.

She emerged at the door, as if I’d summoned her. Her keen gaze took me in as I worked the mattress on my hands and knees, sprinkling baking soda onto it. I dusted my hands on my jeans and slipped my headphones off. Magda nodded approvingly. “Don’t forget to vacuum underneath the bed after you’re done.”

As if I would dare to forget.

She turned to leave, and I blurted one of the questions in my head.

“When will Signor Martello be back?” Also, where is he? Why did he leave? How allergic is he to sesame? Is he even allergic to sesame? Did you take my underwear?

She let out a long-suffering sigh. Her gaze was almost maternal. “Allora, I like you, Anna. You’re hardworking and easy to work with. But if you have questions about Signor Martello, you should ask him yourself. Unless you don’t want to?”

I popped my mouth open to answer, then closed it again. I didn’t like the shrewd expression on her face. Realization dawned. My face turned the color of bougainvillea.

“I’m not thinking of him like that,” I exclaimed.

“Then why do you ask me these questions every day?”

Because I want him dead! I have a ninety-day visa. A mother whom I want to see. Instead, I looked away before answering, “I was just curious.”

“Don’t be.”

I bit my frustration, blinking back tears that were building up to a catastrophic release. I was losing my mind. Inhale. Hold it in. Release.

When I turned back, Magda was gone, and Isidora had taken her place, a devilish grin on her face.

“You’ve got the hots for our boss.”

“Ew… no!”

“Come on.” She strolled into the room, looking over her shoulder and pretending to fluff the pillow in her hand. “If you don’t think he’s hot, then you’re playing for the other team.”

Eyes that turn the shade of cold metal or the shallow depth of the Mediterranean, depending on his mood.

I got off the mattress and picked up the linen on the floor. While walking past her to the hallway, I told her casually, “I haven’t noticed his looks.”

“Right.” She scoffed. “Like you didn’t notice the Statue of Liberty yesterday.”

I dropped the sheets into the linen basket in the hallway and walked back. We’d gone sightseeing the day before. Instead of killing the man or looking after Mamá, that’s what I’d done on a Sunday.

“We were sightseeing, and we went looking for it.” I stopped in confusion. “Why are we even comparing him to a statue?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because they are both majestic, cold, and attract all the attention.”

I shook my head. “You’re weird.”

“Besides, you’re single. You’re always,” she held up her hands and air-quoted, “sightseeing.”