DeLuca (Mafia Romance)

Carlo

There was something wrong with Mia. It’d been two days since her trip to Chicago and something felt off. She’d been on the phone with Mouse quite often in the past few days, saying she was finalizing plans for the transport but I wasn’t buying it. Angelo had said she’d snuck off to see Mouse alone. I knew with complete certainty that Mia would never cheat on me but she was definitely up to something. I just had to figure it out before she did something stupid like start a war.

“Yeah, boss?” Frankie’s raspy voice filtered through the phone line.

“I need you do look into someone for me.”

“Sure, name?” That was one of the things I liked most about Frankie. When it came to her job she didn’t waste time, she got straight to the point.

“Mitchell Keller, he goes by Mouse. He’s a hacker, lives in Chicago, originally from the Eugene area.”

“Okay, what do you want to know about him?”

“I want you to track his computer, find out what he’s up to.”

“Sure, it might take a couple of days, especially if he’s any good. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Good,” I said, and ended the call.

Sitting back in my chair I stared up at the ceiling. “What are you up to, Mia?” I wondered aloud but the empty room didn’t have a response.

Mia

Tucking in the last few strands of brown hair into the wig I watched the woman in the reflection. Her face distorted in the cracked vanity mirror, detached brown eyes giving nothing away as she brushed yet another layer of gloss across her lips. This woman wasn’t me. She didn’t have a heart, she didn’t think about consequences, she didn’t know fear. She was vengeance incarnate.

Tearing my gaze from the woman in the mirror I methodically gathered my discarded clothes and makeup. Stuffing my belongings into a small backpack that I placed on the center of the still made bed. I inspected the room to make sure I’d wiped away any trace of my presence.Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

Beneath the bleach and pine scented cleaner the heavy stench of mildew lingered in the rundown motel room. The carpet was worn, walls yellowed from years of smoke, and the curtains were riddled with cigarette burns. It wasn’t pretty or even sanitary but it suited my needs just fine.

The attendant at the front desk hadn’t even batted an eye when I’d shoved a hundred dollar bill at him without saying a word after he’d asked for my name and ID. Instead he’d reached behind the desk and placed a key in my hand. His sweaty palm had lingered on mine, with the way he’d been licking his puffy lips since I’d walked in I could only imagine what was going through his mind. Before he could say anything I’d fisted the key and made a beeline for the front door.

The dingy white keychain marked with a black seven had led me to a door on the first floor of the two story horseshoe complex. I’d chosen the derelict motel right off the MAX line because it was the kind of place that hosted hookers and drug addicts on a regular basis. The common person wouldn’t look too closely, instead choosing to avert their eyes and pretend that seedy places like this didn’t exist in their town. Everyone else, the homeless, prostitutes, and meth addicts, were too busy with their own problems or too far out of their minds to pay any attention.

I pulled out my pre-paid burner phone and checked the time. It was 9 o’clock, right on schedule. I needed to catch the MAX downtown and it would take at least a half hour to get where I needed to go. Leaving all evidence of myself on the center of the bed, I headed out. It would seem suspicious to be carrying a backpack around where I was going, especially the way I was dressed. I’d just have to come back for it before going home.

Making my way across the street, I kept my eyes alert. Even though the bottom feeders that frequented this area wouldn’t think twice about a girl in a short dress walking out of a dirty motel they would definitely take notice of a seemingly unprotected girl walking the streets. I picked up my pace as I crossed the overpass and started to descend the stairs to the light rail platform. I could see my breath coming out in puffs in front of me, the frigid winter air causing goosebumps to breakout along my bare legs and arms.

Coming to a stop in front of the ticket booth, I slipped a few bills from my purse and fed them into the machine. I was careful not to pull out my wallet since there were a few people lurking in the shadows. I’d ridden the MAX enough times with Gina when we were teenagers to know without looking which line would take me into the heart of downtown Portland. I also knew from my experience that the platform was isolated and an optimal place for muggers to strike. I could handle a thug trying to shake me down on my own but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, and a woman in five inch heels and a clubbing dress kicking a grown man’s ass would definitely draw attention.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait long for the train to pull up to the station. I opted to stand, holding onto a pole for support as the train started to move. My position at the front of the car gave me a prime view of the occupants. Stepping onto the MAX at night was like walking into a portable melting pot. There were people from all walks of life, gangsters, teenagers, tweakers, homeless people trying to keep warm, and a lot of drunk people. Arriving at my stop I stepped back out into the icy night air but this time I didn’t feel it. The only thing I felt as I walked the two blocks to my destination was the buzz of anticipation humming through my body.