Mafia Girlfriend by Matthew A. Hamilton

“They found my dad,” she said. “Near the swamp.” “So,” he said, throwing a rock out to sea. “Listen to me,” she said. “Please.” He looked at her, no expression. “It doesn’t look good,” she continued. “I mean, you did this, right?” “Come closer,” he said, ignoring her question. “Tilt your head this way. Yea, that’s it.” The right side of her face was swollen. Black and blue and pink swirled around her puffy cheek. A thin line of dried blood covered the crack on her bottom lip. “Sarah, you listen to me. It needed to be done. He would have eventually killed you. He can’t hurt you ever again. It’s over.” “Yea, over, I know. They’re looking for you and when they find you—” “They’re not going to find me.” “Dad isn’t— wasn’t,” she corrected herself, “a bad man”. “Wasn’t a bad man?” he said. “He was a mafia boss for Chrissakes.” “I made a mistake, so he hit me.” “Why are you defending him?” he said. He’s the one that made a mistake.” “Dad didn’t make mistakes.” “He did with me.” “He trusted you.” “His mistake.” “I trusted you,” she said. She leaned in and kissed him. Their tongues met in a swarm of obsession and spit. She squeezed the trigger. Robert’s eyes went wide with fear and pain. “I’m sorry,” she said.

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