Married to the mafia King

We headed southeast, weaving our way around smaller islands. Our destination was a peninsula that formed a breakwater between the Venetian Lagoon and the Adriatic Sea. The goal was to find a town, ditch the boat, steal a car, and then drive north.

But first, I had to dispose of a body. Wouldn’t be a good idea to enter a marina with a dead man on board.

I checked his pockets for ID. Nothing.

I stripped all the ammunition and weapons off the corpse. In addition to another couple magazines for the automatic rifle, I got a Sig Sauer pistol and a long knife, both of which I set aside.

Then I had Lucia enter some marshes, and I heaved him overboard. He bobbed and floated, but his body armor was heavy. I knew he would sink as water filled his lungs, and it was doubtful the body would resurface. Plus, there weren’t any other boats within miles of us, so no one would see as we left him behind.

Next, I searched the compartments on the boat. No weapons, but there was a tarp that would be good for concealing the assault rifle. I figured I would hide it while we searched for a car, then double back around for it as we left.

Also, I found a jug for bailing out water which I planned to use for the exact opposite of bailing out water.

As we approached the peninsula, I had Lucia slow the boat to a crawl, at which point I used the jug to dump gallons of water onto the floor. Even if I left the blood untouched, nobody would see it until we were long gone but there was no need to leave behind clues if I could avoid it. I didn’t need the police looking for a tall man and a tiny woman in connection with a shooting.

The water diluted the blood, and an electrical pump in the floor sucked it out and spat it into the canal. It was still a mess, but at least everything looked slightly pinkish instead of bright red.Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

As we approached the mainland, I wrapped the assault rifle and ammunition inside the tarp and hid the bundle in the compartment under the seats. In case we couldn’t return to the boat, I put the Sig Sauer and knife in my jacket.

Then I found a rag and wiped down every surface we had touched other than the steering wheel. That would come last.

When we reached the mainland, Lucia docked us at a pier close to a town. I tied up the boat, Lucia wiped her prints off the steering wheel, and we set off for the next stage of our adventure together.

…God help me.

Lucia

We were headed for a little town called Treporti. It was small compared to Venice, but I figured it would have enough cars to choose from.

While Massimo dumped the body and cleaned up the blood, I concentrated on driving the boat

And tried not to think about my grandmother.

I didn’t understand why, but our last conversation really bothered me.

Not the bossing me around or expecting me to obey Massimo part (which was not going to happen, by the way fuck that noise).

I think it was the realization that…

That maybe it was the last time I would ever talk to her again.

(don’t think like that STOP it)

She’d already been attacked by assassins…

And if she didn’t think it was safe for me to come home… how dangerous was it for her, exactly?

(they might kill her next time they try)

(STOP it)

I kept flashing back to when I was six years old, sitting in the backseat of the car, right after the crash of metal and the tinkle of glass

(STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT)

I pushed all of that out of my head.

We had more pressing problems at the moment

Including what my dumbass bodyguard wanted to do.

“You’re really going to steal a car?” I asked as we walked down the dock where we’d moored the boat.

He smirked. “Does that offend you?”

The way he acted like he was a badass and I was some little church mouse shocked by the big, strong mafioso annoyed the fuck out of me.

“Uh, NO, idiot. After I snuck out the first few times, Nona had her thugs start locking our boats up so the only option I had was to steal somebody else’s.”

“Then why did you sound so surprised?”

“I was surprised you knew how to steal a car. Unless you’re planning to carjack somebody.”

“No, I’m not going to carjack anybody,” he said, sounding like he was the one who was offended. “And I grew up in the Cosa Nostra. Of course I know how to steal a car.”

“I grew up in the Cosa Nostra, too, and I don’t know how to steal a car,” I pointed out.

“Because you grew up on an island without cars,” he said in a know-it-all voice.

Which annoyed me even more, because… okay, yeah, it was an obvious point.

“I’m just saying, just because you grew up in the mafia doesn’t mean you automatically know shit,” I retorted.

“But you know how to hotwire a boat, apparently.”

I scoffed. “Nobody has to hotwire a boat in Venice. Lots of people leave their fuckin’ keys in the ignition.”

He frowned. “Wait a second have you even driven a car before?”

“No,” I said in a super-sweet voice laced with cyanide, “I grew up on an island without cars, remember?”

A brief flash of annoyance lit up his face, but otherwise he didn’t react to my tone of voice. “Not even on vacations?”

“What vacations? I lived almost my entire life with an old woman who doesn’t like the sun and was worried we’d get assassinated anywhere we went outside of Venice.”

“Oh.”

He sounded sad, like I’d just told him that I’d never had a pet.

Which was actually true, other than a couple of goldfish and a tiny turtle I’d named Henry (after the actor Henry Cavill, who I had a huge crush on when I was 12).

Nona hated animals. She said they left hair everywhere. Hence the turtle and goldfish.

I would have killed for a puppy growing up… or a kitten…

“If you never left Venice, have you ever ridden in a car before?” he asked.

It was a stupid question. Of course I’d ridden in a car I wasn’t from some remote tribe in the Amazon.

But before I could answer, I flashed back to when I was six.

The sound of the crash

The stillness afterwards

The roar of the motorcycle pulling up next to us

“Yes,” I said abruptly as I pushed the memory out of my head. “But… aren’t cars all electronic now? With alarm systems and computers and shit?”

“Some are,” he admitted.

“So, what are you some kind of computer hacker/car thief?”

“I’ll be looking for something older. Something without any computers.”

That probably wouldn’t be too hard. Treporti was a small town and not rich. Most of the cars would be pretty old.

We walked past the shop selling tickets for the ferry to Venice, a convenience store, and a tourist trap with a display of polished sea shells. We got some weird looks from the locals, which I guess was to be expected. It wasn’t every day they saw a giant in a designer suit and a rich chick with a Birkin bag just out for a stroll.

We left the tiny town and kept going until we reached a long row of cars parked on the side of the road. I guess it was for people who wanted to stroll the pedestrian we were walking along, because there wasn’t a beach. Access to the water was blocked by a chain-link fence.

Massimo passed by car after car, studying each one.

I guess he found one he liked because he crossed the road and went over to an ugly blue car. The paint was faded off in patches and the doors were all dinged up. The thing must have been 40 year old and not in a classic sports car good kind of way.

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” I complained as I followed along behind him.

“Why?” he asked as he tried both the driver’s side doors. They were both locked.

“Can’t you get something nicer?”

“‘Nicer’ means ‘newer,’ and newer is harder to hotwire. Stand in front of me.”

“Why?”

“To cover me while I break the window.”

“There’s nobody around ”

“Just do it.”

I sighed and got into place. Then I looked out at the water, which was only 40 feet away

Until I heard a crunch and the tinkle of glass.

I flinched

(I’m 6 years old and sitting in the back seat broken glass is everywhere and pieces are all over me )

(STOP STOP STOP)

and whirled around nervously.

Massimo had a key chain in his hand, but there was a tiny pointed spike on the metal ring.

Next to him, the car window was completely devoid of glass.

“What’s that?!” I asked, shocked.

“Tools of the trade,” he said as he unlocked the car from the inside. “A single point can break car glass with almost no effort at all. Go around.”

I went around the car as he brushed the broken glass off the seat onto the ground, got in, and adjusted the driver’s seat.

Even with it back as far as it would go, his legs were crammed up next to the wheel. He looked like a regular-sized person in a clown car.

He leaned over and unlocked the passenger door so I could get in. Then he took out the knife he’d pulled off the mercenary’s body and used it to pop off a plastic compartment under the steering wheel.

He fiddled with some wires and ten seconds later, the engine roared to life.

Well, ‘roared’ is a bit strong.

More like ‘coughed and wheezed to life.’

He looked over at me, oh so pleased with himself like I told you so.

“Wow,” I said in a flat voice. “Great. You stole a piece of shit on wheels. Congratulations.”

He glowered at me, backed the car out, and we started down the road.