Chapter 2 - The Burner Phone in the Hallway

~1,050 words

The subway ride back to Brooklyn was a blur of fluorescent lights and the rhythmic clattering of metal on metal.

My shift at Romano’s had ended, but the exhaustion I usually felt was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, vibrating panic.

“I’ll know it when he sees me.”

Dante Castellano’s final words echoed in my ears with every stop the train made. He wasn’t just a wealthy customer making a polite observation. He was a man who commanded a violent empire, and he had just placed a target squarely on my husband’s back.

I didn’t want Marcus dead. I just wanted to be free.

I wanted to take my six-year-old son, Leo, and disappear to a place where we didn’t have to walk on eggshells.

When I finally reached my apartment building, the hallway smelled of stale cigarettes and boiled cabbage. I stood in front of unit 4B, my hand trembling as I slid the brass key into the lock.

The apartment was pitch black.

The silence was heavy, thick with the kind of tension that made the hairs on my arms stand up. Usually, if Marcus was asleep, I could hear his heavy, alcohol-laced snoring from the couch.

Tonight, there was nothing.

I locked the deadbolt behind me, moving with practiced silence. I slipped my shoes off.

“You’re late.”

The voice came from the kitchen shadows.

I flinched, my purse slipping from my shoulder and hitting the cheap linoleum floor with a thud.

Marcus was sitting at the small dining table. He wasn’t drunk. The single streetlamp shining through the blinds caught the sharp angle of his jaw and the cold, unblinking focus in his eyes.

“I had to close out the registers,” I lied, my voice remarkably steady.

“Did you?” Marcus stood up slowly.

He didn’t stumble. He moved with a terrifying precision.

“Where is Leo?” I asked, my maternal instinct immediately overriding my fear.

“He’s asleep in his room,” Marcus said, stepping into the dim light of the living room. “Mrs. Gable watched him until an hour ago. He drew you a picture. It’s on the fridge.”

He was too calm. After what he had done to me this morning, he should have been aggressive, defensive, or passed out. This cold calculation was entirely new.

“Did you have a good shift, Mia?” he asked, stepping closer.

“It was fine.”

“Just fine? Nobody special came in?”

My stomach dropped.

How could he possibly know? Romano’s was in Manhattan. Marcus was a mid-level logistics manager for a shipping company in Queens. Our worlds never crossed.

“Just the usual crowd,” I said, looking down at the floor, avoiding his gaze so he wouldn't see the panic in my eyes.

Marcus stopped a foot away from me. He reached out.

I braced myself for a strike, squeezing my eyes shut.

But the blow never came. Instead, his rough fingers gently brushed the hair away from the bruised side of my face.

“Did he notice?” Marcus whispered.

My eyes snapped open. “What?”

“Dante Castellano,” Marcus said, saying the name like a prayer and a curse. “Did he notice the bruise, Mia?”

I couldn’t breathe. The air in the apartment felt as if it had been entirely sucked out of the room.

“I don't know what you’re talking about,” I stammered, stepping backward.

Marcus smiled. A cold, terrifying smile that didn't reach his eyes.

“Don't lie to me, Mia. I know he sat in the private dining room. I know Giuseppe assigned you to his table. I need to know exactly what Dante said to you.”

The reversal hit me so hard I felt physically sick.

Marcus hadn’t hit me this morning because he was drunk. He hadn't hit me because he was angry about the bills.

He had beaten his own wife specifically to put a bruised, broken woman in front of the most powerful mafia boss in New York City. He had used my pain as bait.

“Why would you do this?” I breathed, tears finally spilling over my lashes.

“What did he say, Mia?” Marcus demanded, his voice dropping an octave, the violent temper beginning to crack through the calm facade.

“He didn't say anything!” I cried out. “He just ordered his food!”

Marcus grabbed my upper arms, his fingers digging into the fresh bruises he had left that morning. I gasped in pain.

“You’re lying! Dante Castellano has a soft spot for battered women. Everyone on the street knows it. His own sister was beaten to death by a rival capo five years ago. He wouldn't just ignore it!”

I stared at the man I had married. The man who had held my hand in the hospital when Leo was born. He was completely gone. Replaced by a desperate, cornered animal.

“Let me go,” I hissed, struggling against his grip.

Suddenly, a small voice broke through the tension.

“Mommy?”

Marcus instantly let go of me. We both turned.

Leo was standing in the hallway, clutching his stuffed bear, rubbing his sleepy eyes. He looked at me, his gaze lingering on my swollen cheek.

“Go back to bed, buddy,” Marcus said, his voice instantly softening into the loving father routine. “Mommy and I are just talking.”

“I’ll tuck him in,” I said, rushing past Marcus before he could stop me.

I scooped Leo into my arms, holding him impossibly tight, and hurried into his small bedroom. I laid him in bed, pulling the covers up to his chin.

“Is Daddy mad again?” Leo whispered.

“No, baby. Everything is okay,” I lied, kissing his forehead.

As I stood up, my foot brushed against something heavy on the floor near Leo’s toy box.

It was Marcus’s heavy winter coat. He must have tossed it there when he brought Leo into the room earlier.

I reached down to pick it up, intending to hang it in the closet. But as I lifted the heavy wool, something fell out of the inner pocket and clattered onto the hardwood floor.

A cheap, black prepaid burner phone.

I glanced toward the slightly open door. I could hear Marcus in the kitchen, opening the refrigerator.

My hands shook as I picked up the phone. The screen was cracked, but it lit up when I pressed the home button. It wasn't locked with a passcode.

I opened the text messages.

There was only one active conversation. The contact name was simply the letter “G”.

Marcus: "Is he there?"

G: "He just walked in. I assigned her to the room."

Marcus: "Did you make sure he saw her face?"

G: "Yes. Castellano is asking questions. It worked. The debt is clear, Marcus."

I stared at the screen, the words blurring together.

Giuseppe.

My boss. The kind, fatherly restaurant manager who always made sure I had a safe ride home. He had orchestrated this with Marcus.

I backed away from the coat, my mind racing. Giuseppe owed money? Marcus owed money? They had used my bleeding face to manipulate a mafia boss into... what?

Before I could piece it together, the burner phone vibrated in my hand.