Tarnished Tyrant - A Mafia Romance

BELLE This airport is an insane asylum. Crazy idiots zooming in every direction with no regard for human life or social decency. I squeeze my little sister’s wrist even tighter as we navigate around a couple sharing a very public, very graphic goodbye kiss. “You don’t have to hold onto me,” Elise complains, yanking her arm away. “I just don’t want us to get separated. Remember Silver Dollar City?” “I was six,” Elise groans. “And on a leash,” I remind her. “Yet you still escaped like fricking Houdini. I don’t want a repeat of that. We’re already running late.” I check the boarding pass for the millionth time. We have less than ninety minutes until our flight boards, and we haven’t even been through security yet. “We’re not late. It’s the Oklahoma City airport, Belle. Not Atlanta. We’ll be fine.” “When have you ever been at the Atlanta airport?” Elise rolls her eyes, the fourteen-year-old’s Bat Signal for even the most minor inconvenience, slight, or annoyance. I’ve seen it countless times since she moved in with me two months ago, but I can’t seem to build up any immunity. It irks me every time. “You know about the Eiffel Tower and you’ve never been to Paris, right?” she snarks. I let out an anguished sigh. “Just stick close to me, okay? I don’t have time to look for you. I have to keep an eye out for Roger.” “Wait. What?” I keep walking for a few seconds before I glance back and realize Elise isn’t with me anymore. She’s screeched to a halt in the middle of the airport, blocking a businessman in a suit and tie from getting by. I whirl around and tug her out of the way, apologizing to the man as we go. He grumbles something bitter about "kids these days” and stomps past us. “Maybe we should rethink that leash,” I mutter. "Come on, Elise. We just talked about—” “We’re flying with Roger?” she asks, her top lip curling in disgust. “Roger, as in the guy who made you work late and then tried to slide his hand up your skirt?” I inhale sharply. “How do you know—” “The walls at your place are thin,” she says dismissively. “I heard you talking to Georgia." I drag a hand down my face. “I should have had coffee this morning.” Flying makes me nervous, so I didn’t figure my body needed the extra caffeine-induced anxiety on top of the flying anxiety. But after a night of shitty sleep and now, the threat that my half-sister will say something damning in front of my admittedly super pervy boss… safe to say I need the world’s largest latte. Or maybe an IV of espresso, I’m not sure. "I don't want to travel with that creep,” she says with finality. "Me neither. That's why I'm being paid to do it." Elise's eyes bug out of her head. "He's paying you to travel with him?!" "Yes. Because it's my job. He's my boss." "Oh. Right." Elise frowns and then shakes her head. "Still, I wouldn't have come with you if I knew he was going to be here. You should really report him to… someone. I don't know. That's sexual harassment." I gawk at Elise, wondering when she got old enough to say things like "sexual harassment." When I left home, she was nine years old and into mermaids. Lots has changed since then. "You're coming with me because there's no way I'm leaving you alone in the apartment for a week," I tell her. "I’m pretty sure it's illegal." "I can take care of myself!" "Not according to the law. So you're coming with me and you're going to be nice to Roger and you're going to—" "You’re not my mom!” Elise isn’t quite yelling, but her voice is raised and people are taking notice. If I was her mom, I’d grab her hand and drag her after me, kicking and screaming. No one would give us a second look. But she’s right—I’m not her mom. I’m her sister. Yet I’m the one here dealing with her angst. As if I don’t have enough of my own. I take a deep breath and open my mouth, a whole host of regrettable things sitting on the tip of my tongue, when my phone rings. I glance down and see Roger’s stupid face smiling back at me. He looks so professional in his company headshot. Nothing like the red-faced mouth breather with tentacle-like arms that the rest of the women in the office have long since learned to avoid. “Hey, Roger,” I answer, turning away from Elise. “Sorry we’re late. We aren’t through security yet, but—” “What?” he yells. There’s aggressive music thumping in the background. It sounds like he’s in some kind of club. “Sorry, I can’t hear you. This club is really loud.” “Since when does the airport have a club?” He laughs. “They don’t. I’m not at the airport. I’m in Aruba!” “Aruba? What are you talking about?” I shake my head, trying to decide if I’m still sleeping. If so, this is a weird anxiety dream. “We’re leaving for New York in eighty minutes. Zhukova Incorporated? The audit?” “I didn’t forget,” he says, way too cheekily. “You’re going on your own. You don’t need me, right? Isn’t that what you said?” Memories of that traumatic late night at the office butt their way into my already-panicked thoughts. “If you want to move up in this company, you’ll need a recommendation,” Roger had told me, his hand sliding up my thigh. “I can be an asset for you.” I’d swiveled away from his touch. “I don’t need you.” Those words are coming back to haunt me now. “I’ve never done an audit on my own before,” I mumble. I hate how inexperienced I sound. I’ve been a fighter my whole life. God knows I’ve overcome plenty. But this feels cruel and unusual. Roger laughs cruelly. “First time for everything. Good luck!” He hangs up. I stare at my phone, trying to decide if I should call back and beg him to come with me. Then Elise sidles up next to me. “Was that Roger?” I run through the facts in my head real quick. I need this job. I need to watch Elise. Elise hates Roger. Roger isn’t coming with us anymore. In one way—at the very most—this is a blessing. Georgia is always telling me I need to focus more on the positive. Maybe today is the day to start. “Roger isn’t coming with us anymore. We’re on our own.” I pivot and start walking towards security. “Keep up.” Today was the wrong day to start thinking positively. Because now, I’m positive this plane is going to crash. I was sleeping. Or resting, at least. Trying to close my eyes and calm the twist of anxiety in my gut. It was almost working, too, which is obviously when the turbulence started. Take-off and landings are always the worst part. Once the plane is in the air, I can usually relax. But now, the screen in front of me is flickering along with the cabin lights as the plane shakes and trembles. “Of course, the one time I fly first class is the one that crashes,” I mutter to myself. Elise is in the row behind me, so there’s no hand to hold. I just white-knuckle the armrests and squeeze my eyes closed. When we were boarding, the flight attendant saw Elise and I were about to be seated directly in the middle of a rowdy bachelor party and upgraded us to two empty seats in first class. “Thanks so much,” I’d said, embarrassingly close to tears of gratitude. “I’m on a work trip and things aren’t going the way I thought they would. I just… I really needed this.” Elise was so embarrassed by my emotions that she pretended she didn’t know me. But the flight attendant patted my back and whispered in my ear, “Us ladies have to stick together.” Everyone around me in first class looks like they belong. The woman next to me has on a velvet sweatsuit with a satin eye mask. Everything from her fur slippers to her noise-canceling headphones screams luxury. The man sitting diagonally across the aisle is snarling something in Russian in flagrant disregard of the “No cell phones” rule the rest of us peasants have to obey. I don’t see anything beyond a broad shoulder and stubbled square jaw, but I’m glad I’m not in the shoes of whatever poor soul is on the other end of his rebuke. If the plane splits apart Lost-style and the first two rows are forced to fend for ourselves on some desert island, then it’ll be Elise, me, Velvet Tracksuit Woman, and Russian Guy.