The Cleaning Lady Was Your Wife

na

hoed sharply through t

e sofa with a squ

declared, alread

second glance, throwing o

k suit stood i

r one of the Syndicate-owne

, sprawling bouquet

tals were dozens of crisp, new

, vulgar display

ng with a practiced, deliberate langu

ed a mode

too much,

rs, inhaling deeply as a triumph

eveal Mrs. Russo, the wife of a neighboring mafia associate. She steppe

her hands to her cheeks

look at thos

in, her eyes gle

u flowers. I have never seen a

respectfully, adj

red these himsel

alentina with

act arrangement for you for s

st chuckl

s to suppress his severe pollen allergy just

brain like a hol

nsecutiv

rried to Cass

affair began in the sec

e I was ever deployed

d seemed to clos

a cold, empty kitchen o

io why he never

me with cold, c

had reprimanded. "Practicality is surv

ment he was never aga

against wasti

ery ounce of his devo

ing off the diamond bracelet and the

provides

though she made certa

o earnings and his offshore accou

a sighed

the Family. He ensures I n

e florist's bill. My mind, like a set of rusted gears, began to turn, fitting the memory of me sta

ruggling Capo w

nfluence, no gen

he elit

sinesses, the penthouses, and t

ur illicit operations separat

ystematically drained my legitimate funds

soaked ha

ned taking bull

venue stream for Cassio to fun

slowly gather the discarded wrapping paper from the floor. T

yndicate's dark wars-had been converted into peonies and diamonds for the woman who was now sleeping in my bed