After I Cleaned Up Don Boyfriend's Rival for His Mistress, I Left
I was the odd one out in the Chicago mob.
Other men's women spent their time fighting for affection, clawing for power, watching out for the homewreckers. Not me. I spent mine cleaning up after my boyfriend, Don Vincent Maro.
His political rivals — I squared away. His brother's messes — I handled overnight. The women he kept on the side — I dealt with personally.
Last month it got worse. He asked me to go chase off a man who'd been hanging around Sofia, his new girl.
Sofia pouted. "Elena really can do everything."
Vincent said, "That's why I keep her around."
Sofia asked, "Won't Elena be upset?"
Vincent paused. "Her? She's used to it."
Seven years. No title in the Maro family. No public acknowledgment. Just one function — fixing things.
This time, I was tired.
I slid the last stack of documents across to Vincent. He signed them one after another without looking up. When he was done, he asked: Anything else?
I said: No. It's all handled.
What he didn't know was that at the bottom of that stack was the document terminating every identity I held inside the Maro family.
The moment his pen touched that page, I no longer belonged to the Maros. And I no longer belonged to him.