Cruel Paradise - A Mafia Romance Chapter 13

His eyes pop open. I’m usually not one for name-calling. But there are just some people who kick the Good Samaritan inside you until there’s no goodness left. He’s one of them.

“Relax. You barely use that card—”

“Because it’s for emergencies,” I snap. “Hand it over. Now.”

He stumbles to his feet. His belly seems to have doubled in size in the last few months. The rest of us are withering away, but Ben just keeps oozing in every direction.

“Goddammit, Ben, you reek!” I exclaim, stepping to the side as he bumbles past me to the floating shelves opposite his single bed. “Is that what you spent the grocery money on? More booze?”

“What’re you, the fuckin’ alcohol police? It was a rough night, okay?” He slides his hand over the topmost shelf and produces the card.

“Thank God.” I snatch it off him. “Please tell me you didn’t use it to buy more alcohol.”

“‘Course not.” I’m in the middle of a relieved exhale when he hits me with, “I needed it for Knicks tickets.”

I freeze. “I’m sorry—did you just say Knicks tickets?”

He grins as wide as I’ve seen him do in months. “Season tickets, baby. Courtside.” My stomach plummets. Every organ in my body feels like it’s been jolted out of place.

There goes my life raft.

“Ben… How. Much. Did. You. Spend?”

His forehead pinches together. “I mean, they’re primo tickets, Emma. They weren’t cheap.”

I take a step towards him. “How much? I want a number.”

“Twenty grand.”

My jaw falls open. My eyes bug out. My first and only thought is, Kill him.

Some murders are justified, right?

“Twenty thousand dollars on basketball,” I gasp. “Ben, you idiot. That was it. That was all my money. All my savings. All our savings.”

He shrugs, his bloodshot eyes wavering. “Don’t be a drama queen. You’ve got a fancy-ass job. Bane Corp., right? That company pays their employees a boatload.”

“Except that even a boatload isn’t enough when your expenses are a… a… ship load!” I turn towards the door. “I’m calling and getting those tickets refunded!”

“Uh…”

I circle around to face him, eyes narrowing with fear. “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say what I think you’re about to say.”

“They’re nonrefundable.”

I can only stare at my brother-in-law, wondering what kind of man, what kind of father, he might have been if Sienna was still alive. I want to believe that he’d have stepped up. I want to believe it’s the grief that robbed him of his sense of duty, his patience, his love for his children.

But there were signs even before Sienna died.

Ben was useless when he got back home after work. He’d sit on the couch with his shirt unbuttoned and a beer in his hand while Sienna ran around, getting dinner ready, taking care of the kids, tidying up the house. I’m tired, babe. I worked a long damn day. It never seemed to occur to him that she worked, too.

It’s funny, though—those things seemed so petty and minor in the moment. It’s only in retrospect that the warning signs are blaring red.

The one good thing I can say about Ben: he loved my sister. And for that, I’ve spent the last three-anda-half years picking up the slack for his shortcomings.

“Don’t be so fuckin’ selfish, Em.”

“Me?!” I gape at him. I know I shouldn’t let myself get sucked in, but my nerves are strung out and so is my patience.

“You had that fucking money just sitting there!”

“That’s the whole damn point! It was meant to sit there until we really needed it. Which we do!”

He rolls his eyes. “Convenient that you need that money right when I need basketball tickets.”

“No!” I snap. “You don’t need basketball tickets; you want them. There’s a huge, huge difference. Josh needs a new pair of shoes, but now, thanks to you, he’s not gonna get them. I get that you don’t give a shit about me—but what about your kids, Ben. Huh? What about them?”

His eyes flit around the room and his face screws up like he’s almost regretful. Then, just when I think he’s going to say something remotely helpful…

He burps.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Okay,” I breathe, peeling them back open reluctantly. “This is what’s going to happen. You are gonna get a job. You’re gonna start helping me around the house and with the kids. You’re gonna start pulling your weight.”

He turns around and bends over, giving me an unwelcome eyeful of his hairy ass crack. Then he straightens back up with a beer in hand.

“Oh, great.” I applaud sarcastically. “Another beer. Glad you’ve got your priorities in order.” He pops the cap and takes a sip.

“Ben! Did you hear me?”

He takes a long drag of his beer before looking me right in the eye. “No.”

My eyes bug out. “No? No to which part?”

“No to all of it. I don’t see the point anymore.” His lip wobbles when he speaks, but I’m long past the point of sympathy. I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel here.

“Your three children are the point, Ben.”

He shrugs. “They have you.”

“Ben—”

“And I know you’re gonna do everything in your power to keep those kids.”

Why does that feel like a threat?

“So I’m going out.”

He pushes past me, taking his beer can with him. A few seconds later, I hear the door slam. Now that Ben’s taken the overpowering scent of booze with him, I smell dirty socks and moldy carpet instead.

I back out of his room, but I misjudge where the door is and hit the wall instead. I let it take me down to the ground, sliding into a knees-to-chest puddle on the floor. It smells worse at this height, but the smell is the least of my problems.

Suddenly, the contract in my purse doesn’t seem quite as radical an idea as I first thought. In fact, it’s starting to feel very much like a replacement life raft.

I’d be able to provide for the kids. And I’d get a little something for myself, too.

Maybe this is not a desperate choice.

Maybe it’s not a choice at all.

It might just be the only option I have left.