Page 20 of Filthy Little Lies

I’m rambling. And he lets me continue as he cleans the cut for a second time.

“He doesn’t want drama; that’s what he says. So if I can’t come up with something plausible, he’s going to boot me out, too. And then I’ll have to move. Do you know how hard it is to pick up and move?”

He smears the ointment onto his fingertip then applies it to the cut. His touch is gentle and precise. Not something I would associate with the big brute who has barreled his way into my home.

“Why won’t you just leave?” I breathe out the question when silence falls between us.

He finishes with the ointment and places two Band-Aids side by side to cover the superficial wound.

“I don’t want to,” he says simply, dropping the Band-Aid wrappers into the small trash bin. “Now, you’re going to listen to me.”

He squats down in front of me, placing his huge hands on my knees.

“I don’t want to.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at the side of his mouth.

“I don’t care. Do it anyway.”

I want to argue, to demand he leave, to make him stop all of this madness, but he launches into his own tirade before I can open my mouth.

“Ricci isn’t going to come looking for you, so you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“Why?” I cut him off before he can move off. “How do you know that?”

“Because I paid him what you owed him. And made sure he wouldn’t be bothering you again in the future. Your services are no longer available to him.”

“Why would you do that? No. You can’t do that.”

He lifts a shoulder. “I already did. Now, onto the next bit of business. Your debt to me.”

“My what?”

“You’re going to work off the money I paid Ricci by working for me.”

Of course there’s a catch. There’s always a catch. No one does anything without wanting something in return.

“What does that mean, working?”

“You’re good at what you do. The fake IDs, the certificates of authenticity. If I hadn’t already seen them before, they would have fooled even me. My family does a lot of business; sometimes we need papers.”

“I’m guessing there isn’t an option to say no.”

He flashes an arrogant smile. “No. Not an option.”

I nod and lean back against the tank of the toilet. In the grand scheme of things, I suppose it’s not a horrible idea. Although I had promised myself I wouldn’t be working with organized crime anymore.

However, I’m nothing if not flexible. You don’t grow up in a system that brings nothing but uncertainty without learning to pivot at the last minute.

“I guess I can do that.”

He chuckles. “You guess? You haven’t heard the rest of it.”

“The rest of what? I’ll work for you until I’ve made back what you paid Ricci. That seems fair enough. I can do that while I’m still working on my own.”

He’s already shaking his head before I even finish speaking.

“No.”