My Mother's Boyfriend

Mafia Advise

Maya

Everyone in my married household treats me with human decency. Whether they approved of me or not for their loved one, Alejandro. They do not refer to me as ‘b*tch’, ‘daughter of the sl*t so she might be one too’, or ‘useless’ or anything remotely similar to those words.

I think I will miss them when I go to New York.

It took some months to adjust to this ‘normal environment’- imagine the house of mafia is normal in my new world. I now roam around the massive mansion a bit more comfortably and Gabby has even taken me shopping with her and Tami a couple of times. Gabby might not be approving of my move to New York and away from her brother, but she bought me ‘New York’ clothing and footwear.

None of the Niomichaels wanted me to leave and tried to talk me out of it but in a very healthy and non-toxic way. Very much unlike how my blood relatives would have handled it.

Tami took the opportunity to shop for herself. I got Tony, an ant farm that he loves, and called me today to show me how they had grown, proudly.

Hanging up the phone, I remain on the couch that I usually hang out with Thomas on when Marcus decides to speak up. He’d been watching me while I spoke with Anthony, and it made me a bit uncomfortable, thinking he was reporting to Viv, although there was nothing to report about.

Marcus said to me, “Just tell your father that Alejandro had a camera set up in your mother’s apartment.” His words affected me, but I did not show it. And I feel my cheeks flushing at the mention of Alejandro’s name. For two days, we were couped up inside his- our bedroom, before we came out famished and only for food and drink and to disappear back inside until this evening.

Alejandro received a call from Angelo that he told me was of the utmost importance, otherwise, he would live in his bed with me until my flight. His words had me blushing then as well as now.

The tall lean man in front of me now, words rattled me a bit. Marcus had overheard me questioning my father about my grandmother’s whereabouts the days before my mother’s murder. My father had only just come on the video call a few seconds when he ran out of words to say to me after the regular pleasantries were exchanged, so I sprang it on him.

“Remember when mum died?” My father had stared at me when I continued along as if it was as easy as asking about the weather. “Do you know where dadi-ma was? Like if she was home or went out unexpectedly?”

My father just walked away. He didn’t even insult me by saying how crude my behaviour was, or anything. He just walked away. And the phone remained with its camera facing the empty space he had been in until Anthony came back.

I had almost hung up the call thinking our father had said something to him about it or me, but my brother came on and continued as if nothing was wrong until we hung up.

“They already showed the camera footage of the apartment, and my father was never there,” I returned to the man scornfully and Marcus pats my shoulders lightly. It’s not that I do not like him, but I recall him as the man who broke down my father’s front door.

Ironic, isn’t it? That I hold him responsible and not his boss Alejandro, whom the orders came from. Whilst his boss's touch had me in embers and his had me in fear.

“Hear my words, in her apartment. As in inside.” His tone is sober.

Inside? They spied on my mother?

To my feet in a flash, eyes wide, I spin around and glare at the man who could flatten me with a simple flick of his finger- exaggeration is my middle name here, and snarled, “Give it to the fcuking police then, pendejo.” (*sshole)

He smirked at my use of the Spanish word. “You do not listen properly. And watch your mouth when you speak to me.” He comes over to me and stops one foot away to deliver his next words. “You might be warming the bed of Ale, but that’s it.” He turns his head to the entrance and bends his head a bit, but I can tell the move is not to see if anyone is coming, but a move to intimidate and consider me so.

“I’m being courteous to you because you are part of the family now, girl. I will look out for you. Your best interest is in my job description, so when I say something to you, take heed.” His eyes are steely.

My insides are quivering. He is right. I might be bedding Ale, but that’s it. Marcus’s words ring true. He is loyal to the mafia and if they want him to hurt me, he will. And right now, he is protecting me.

Marcus straightens up and pulls at his cuffs, one after the other. He is jacketless as many of the staff are when indoors. His crisp white shirt and moss-green pants are of a similar cut to the Noimichaels and dresses the same as them. All of these men dressed classically and were attractive, very much unlike what I would think a typical ‘gangster’ type, should appear to be.

I often wondered, in the past months here, if they were chosen because of it, or if they were made to look the part. Did they doll themselves up to appear that way?

Turns out- no. Part of it was just good healthy eating and working out. Wearing good clothing had a significant role as well. Well-fitted, clean and stylish, affected the confident and competent feel that deluded us.

They shaved and aligned their beards, tattoos that were done by someone with the precision of a God on needlework. Marcus, much like a typical man in his line of work, has inkwork on all his fingers and a skull on the back of one hand. Neck tattoos as well.

It’s something I noticed with them. Most of them had their fingers and necks tattooed. Alejandro did not have finger tattoos, but Paolo did. Angelo had neck tattoos and Gabby had an entire leg inked with barbed wire, a face of someone, a dragon, a wolf, a tribal triangle, a vine of thorns and roses, a sun face, a maple leaf and a Harry Potter space- a five-inch coverage on the calves of one leg. The hat, Harry’s glasses, and forehead scar, with dots surrounding it, to have a magical effect, finish. It was art, that piece.

Thomas has a clock in black ink on the inner part of his forearm only. And if Angelo and Tami have tattoos, I have not seen them.

“Now,” his voice is soft but now a bit edgy. “The world does not run on good intentions but on respect. And disrespect, well, Maya, it comes with consequences.”

My jaw slackens.

“Don’t disrespect me again, is all I am saying.” A broad smile formed on his lips and his tone went lighter. “Now, I was saying to you because I have your best interest at heart- for now,” he adds that part when only his eyes harden, and then he shifts it back to normal. “If you want information on your father, lie. Tell him you received camera footage, and you can make out another person attacking your mother, but say it’s blurred. Since your mother was found in the kitchen, say that is where you can make out in the video. You can add that it was sent anonymously because he will question you deeply.”

Frowning at his words, I wonder if they did indeed have such footage.

“Give details like it was one minute long or something, and stick to your story to be convincing. You’ll get answers if you lie. The trick is, Maya, you have to lie so well that you believe it yourself.”