Page 22

Amelia---Mafiosa

Duncan had secured a meeting with Jimmy, and now three days later, I’m getting ready to meet the man. I run my fingers through the bath water, plotting my strategy. I find I do my best scheming while soaking, my hair up, with all my expensive bath salts and bubbles lapping against my skin.

Jimmy Costa is older than my father was and is far more of a staunch traditionalist when it comes to the ways the Mafia operates. Duncan also informed me that Medina’s younger brother will be attending as well. I’ve never met the man and I could care less if we have an audience. My business is with Jimmy. However, I have to be on my best behavior today. I cannot show an ounce of weakness.

I step out of the bath, leaving my bubbles and the warmth of the water behind. I wrap a large, white towel around my body and leave my hair as it is. I’ll tackle it in a moment. Making my way to my closet, I know I can’t wear just any old thing; I have to be the most powerful person in that room, and doing so calls for clothing that makes me feel invincible.

My hands run along the racks, the tactile feeling of various fabrics eliciting excitement. It isn’t very often I get to play, and while I usually prefer to stay in the shadows, today calls for a certain skill set. A particularly delicate touch.

I stop in front of what Parker calls my power suit. The pantsuit is the truest red I could secure, the lines seamless against my body. The top is a suit-vest, with three brass buttons running down the front, and the neckline highlights my breasts. It screams masculine while the pants are wide-legged, full of movement, and there are pockets for my knives. A girl can never have too many pockets.

I feel powerful when I wear this, no matter the situation.

I pull the outfit from my closet, grab a pair of heels to add height to my frame, slip a pair of underwear from my dresser, and return to the bathroom. I hang the pantsuit on the back of the door and start the process of transforming myself from Amelia into the Fox. Every inch of my body is lathered in lotion, my hands shaking when I graze parts I’d rather not see. I shake my hair out, gently toweling until it’s mostly dry before adding my leave-in conditioner and a styling creme. My hair typically has a mind of its own, and today calls for a tamer mane.

While it sets, I start my makeup. My eyes will remain simple, but I go for a bold lip. I want the focus to be on what I’m saying, and not my body; drawing attention to my mouth ensures this. I swipe a deep ruby matte color on them, blotting before applying a final coat. I love having a signature lipstick color that also is the same color as my blade when I swipe it against flesh.

I dress in a sheer bra and panty set, the pale blue a contrast I adore, and the style makes my full breasts look phenomenal. If I turn just right, my areolas are visible through the blue, and the stitched flowers cover my nipples in an effort to conceal them. I forget the demons that lurk upon my skin when I wear this bra. The panties rest snugly on my hips. The cut is high enough to allow a little buttcheek to be visible, while my thighs are fully exposed. They're soft along my love handles and are fitted against my skin so not a single line shows through my clothing. I hate panty lines almost as much as I hate men telling me what to do. I see the edge of a scar I keep hidden tucked along the hem, feeling my chest expand as I breathe deeply. There are parts of my body I refuse to show the world, and I find myself thankful I can wear these beautiful pieces while maintaining that resolve. I shake my head, telling myself that I don’t have time to slip into the past.

There are men who need to be reminded of their place in my world.

I slide the pants off the hanger, stepping into them, one foot at a time. Pulling them up over my thick thighs, I do a little shimmy to make sure they sit perfectly on my hips before fastening them. I shrug the vested top on, pulling it over my shoulders and buttoning it closed.

Men are predictable, in an almost pathetic way. They’ll focus on my breasts, and my mouth, while I scheme and walk circles around them. I reach under the vanity, grab my hair dryer with a diffuser attachment, and finish blow-drying my hair. My hair is voluptuous, the purple shining against my natural deep brown.

I look like temptation personified. Excellent. I’ll be the last vision they’ll see before they fall.

I’ll send them straight to hell.

/////////////

“Amelia, I think we can negotiate a trade in exchange for your allegiance to our partnership. Alonzo understands that you’re doing this alone. He is willing to help,” the elder of the two murmurs, clearly wanting to display a dominance that he is severely lacking. He assumes that by speaking quietly, I will trust him to handle such matters. “I’m sure that there is something a woman in your position desires. Perhaps some assistance in the politics of things?”

“Assistance.” I roll my eyes, scoffing at the men. I sit back in my chair, desperately wanting to cross my arms over my chest but I refrain. Jimmy Costa is no longer in a position to make asks or demands, and yet here he sits, trying to slip in like a snake.

“We know that you’ve had a rough couple of months, bambina .”

Bambina. Little girl. I haven’t been a child since I was thirteen.

My eyes narrow, intently focused on Jimmy. Time has not been kind to him. He is nearly bald, save a patch of hair around the base of his skull. Age spots dot his face, and the skin there has lost its tightness. His hands shake as he speaks, as if he can barely hold them up. I watch him with careful eyes. Jimmy may be fighting with his age, but a made man never stops living for the Mafia. He isn’t the threat, however. I don’t trust the man beside him. His eyes are far too eager, his posture too arrogant. He would love to take his brother’s seat, to usurp the current Don, but tradition holds him back.

For once, tradition is to my advantage. I cross a leg, the hem of my pants showing both my ankle and the studded stilettos I’d chosen to wear.

Do they kill my feet? Yes.

Could I kill a man with them? Also, yes.

“I know that this life isn’t meant for a woman. It is much too dark for you to navigate, the waters muddier than you should have to handle,” the younger man interrupts.

“No.”

I sit straight up, crossing my arms against my chest. If this fucker wants to play, all decorum goes out the window. I don’t know anything beyond this man’s name. I don’t need to. He wants everyone to ignore the way he is just a pawn in the larger chess game–-a player with no power.

“Now, now, Amelia. Don’t be rash. Your father would have wanted to ensure your territory was secure. This is the best way to do that.” Jimmy’s tone is cautious, his hand resting on Medina’s brother’s shoulder. A warning, I’m sure.

I tilt my head, running my middle finger across my bottom lip to give the illusion I’m actually considering this. What my father actually wanted was a son instead of a daughter, but we don’t always get what we desire.

“What do I get out of it? You get my men, my businesses, my pipelines. Where is the benefit for me?” I ask, my forehead wrinkling as my brows furrow.

“Me,” the young one answers. My finger stops its movement on my mouth. I sit for a heartbeat, letting him settle in his answer, unaware of the fatal flaw he’s just revealed to the woman sitting across from him.

“You?” I scoff at his audacity. “Tell me. What can you do that I cannot? You actually aren’t a stakeholder in this conversation, are you? No, you’re not even a Capo.” His eyes widen, confirming my statement. “You are merely a boy who happened to be born to the right asshole. The man next to you?” I nod my head toward Jimmy, emphasizing who really matters. “He’s the actual keymaster, isn’t he? You can’t deal with being second though, can you? You’ll never lead—not with your brother as Don.”

I watch as his face turns red, the arrogance becoming rage. Perfect.

“Here’s the deal,” I lean forward and drop my voice to just above a whisper. “I don’t actually need you. What was it you said?” I snap my fingers together a few times. “Ah, yes. This bambina is a fox. Did you know that foxes are actually docile creatures? They don’t attack and are known for their cunning mind.”

I stand, putting my hand in the pocket of my pantsuit, and feel for my beloved blade. I start to walk toward the old man, a plan formulating in my head. The sound of my heels clicking against the tiled floor is like a calling card to the demons that haunt me. I feel the mask slip over my soul, and the transformation into The Fox is second nature, as easy as breathing.

“But, when you corner a fox, and they have no other option? They’ll bite.” I flick my blade open, running it up Jimmy’s arm. “What did you think would happen? I don’t deal in bodies, I don’t deal in drugs.” I round the side of Jimmy’s chair to stand behind him. I can see the sweat dotting his bald head, and it gives me so much satisfaction. “I also don’t deal well with men.”

The blade reaches Jimmy’s neck as the younger leaps out of his seat, hand reaching for his gun. I tsk. So predictable, men with their guns. I wrap my hand on Jimmy’s forehead, pulling it back slightly before addressing Medina’s brother.

“I wouldn’t do that. I’m just a little girl, right? Surely you aren’t threatened by little, old me.” He hesitates, and I push my blade against the man’s neck with just enough pressure to be uncomfortable. I want them to squirm, to understand just who is in charge. “You wanted to negotiate, right? Fine, I’ll negotiate and you’ll sit down.”

I watch as the young man stands his ground, finger on the trigger despite not having a clear shot.

“Sit. The. Fuck. Down.” I repeat, pushing my blade deeper as beads of blood dot the aged skin. “Do not test me.”

I feel Jimmy motion to the younger man, the widening of eyes apparent on the aged face, and I know that he’s telling him to stand down.

Medina’s brother sinks into the chair, his eyes not moving from the weapon in my hand. That’s right. You are in my city, fucker. I plaster on a saccharine grin and address him directly.

“Here is how this will go. You, piccolo uomo , are going to go back and tell your brother that I want nothing to do with him. In fact, tell the whole Outfit that I absolutely do not care what they think is beneficial.”

He starts to speak.

“I didn’t say you could speak,” I tsk. “Do you know the repercussions for insulting me? For saying you know more than I do? You are lucky I haven’t killed you for the disrespect.” I pull the head laying against my chest back further, exposing just how vulnerable the man within my claws is. The feel of a neck column against the steel blade is soothing to a dark piece of my soul.

“Here are my fucking terms. One, you don’t step foot here ever again. I don’t care if you need medical attention. If I find you, I will kill you. Two, you’re going to go back to the Family and tell them exactly what happened here. Make sure you tell them you hesitated to shoot me.”

I see the young man’s throat bob and hands clench. His eyes are laced with anger and embarrassment.

“And third,” I say as my blade swipes across Jimmy’s collar, the sound of him choking on his own blood filling the room. “Don’t try to get retribution. I’ve played this game longer than you have. You can’t outsmart The Fox.”

I watch as he stares at the slumped body in the chair next to him. I see the cacophony of emotions flit across his face. “Tell your brother to come and find me himself.” I take my knife to Jimmy’s pant leg, ensuring not a speck is left on the honed blade. I love this pantsuit too much for it to be tainted with the blood of cowards. Turning on my heel, I saunter out the door, letting it slam behind me.

My pulse is fast, the adrenaline mixing with my anxiety over what I just did.

Duncan is on me immediately, concern permeating his gait as we leave the building. I don’t say a word until we reach the car. He’d insisted on driving today, and I’m grateful. He opens the passenger door, and I slide into the seat, buckling myself as he walks around the front of the car. His face is grim. I slip my shoes off, the feeling of being able to wiggle my toes is really nice.

“Did you have to kill him?” Duncan asks as he puts the car into drive. “You just made things messy, boss.”

Boss. This is how I know he’s angry.

“I didn’t have a choice, Duncan. Medina’s brother is an arrogant asshole who needed to be reminded of his place, or the lack thereof.” I stare out the window and start picking at my cuticles. “I had to send a message.” I can feel the anxiousness coursing through my body, and I understand the gravity of what just occurred. I also know that I could not tolerate the disrespect shown not only in that room but by Medina himself.

Duncan’s hand flexes on the steering wheel, and I hear him sigh before he speaks.

“I cannot imagine the way you have to navigate this life, Ames. Parker talks about the way she had to walk a fault line just to exist. You have to lead an entire Outfit.” He pauses and I feel his eyes on me. It is unnerving. “But killing Jimmy only serves to incite Medina into a response. Are you prepared for the fallout?”

I look at him, contemplating what to say next. I feel like Duncan isn’t trying to overstep or to tell me I was wrong. He is only looking out for me, both as his wife’s best friend and his boss.

“There was only one way I was leaving that room. We wanted to find Medina, and now?” I return my gaze out the window, continuing softly. “He’ll come out of hiding to hunt me.”