Chapter 6

Mila's POV

The loud buzzing of the burner phone in the kitchen jolted me out of sleep. 

I had fallen asleep on the floor, and despite the cold weather, the warmth from the white rug kept me warm. 

Dragging myself sluggishly towards the kitchen, the phone rang again before I picked it up. 

Ma was on the phone, her voice cold and impatient. 

"It is past 10:30, why didn't you call us?" she demanded. 

When I did not respond for what felt like hours.

She continued, 

"How did things go, and why the silence? 

I could tell she was worried; she despised a job gone wrong. 

"One question at a time," I insisted, eager not to reveal the full extent of my meeting with the general. 

How could I tell Ma that, for a split second, I wanted to throw myself into my target's arms, or that he brought me to life in a variety of ways? 

"Maybe if you had answered and not deviated from the inquiry, then I wouldn't have to ask them all over again, and to think you didn't report back to me sooner, for God's sake Mila, lives are on the line here. I expected more from you", she yelled. I could imagine her voice echoing in the hallway. 

"If you are unable to return Sartorre's money, he will not only kill your sister, but he will also pursue you and dare us if we escape his wrath," Ma warned in a menacing voice that sounded like steel to the ears. 

"Everything went well, I was able to connect with him on a personal level, and he appeared to be drawn and captivated, which is the essence of the whole meet-up", 

I emphasized taking a leftover sandwich and some fresh yogurt from the mini-fridge. 

"Have you heard anything from Sartorre recently?" Ma inquired, relieved. 

"An email was sent yesterday, I tried tracking down the sender, but it was barely traceable", I asserted, clicking some buttons on my laptop. I checked my email for the third time. To concentrate on my conversation with Ma, I flipped the laptop closed. 

"I would be surprised if he had not already sent threatening notes," Ma said quietly, as it appeared that Pa had returned. He always went fishing on Thursdays, which happened to be today. 

When we were younger, Helen and I accompanied him while Ma planned the larger pictures. She was the mastermind behind our schemes, and she had someone for every job. 

We were closer to Pa as we grew up, and he was more friendly and less hostile, but he has recently changed. A bad omen. His rage was expressed through brutal blows and injuries. 

Interestingly, Ma presided over him, and he satiated her by obeying her every wish like a muse. 

Being a former CIA agent most likely had its advantages. 

"How did it go", I heard Pa ask Mom over the phone. "Were errors made?" he inquired, which made me wonder if he expected me to make mistakes.

After the outcome of the last theft, I think he had to be concerned.

Because I was doubting myself in the same way he was. 

Our motto has always been 'A criminal leaves no trace' but I did otherwise, leaving far more tracks than necessary, so I didn't blame him anyway.

"Not that I am aware of," Ma assured him.

Suddenly, there was a tapping.

As someone gently rapped on my apartment door.

I grimaced because I was not expecting anyone, did not have any friends, and had not stayed in one place long enough to make any. 

"It is late, and I had a busy day, and my muscles ache from all the tension the day had caused," I muttered in a forged, exhausted tone. 

I didn't want to bother them or raise a false alarm. I knew Mom would be here in a twinkle of an eye if I did. 

The call ended abruptly, and I tiptoed to the bed from underneath, drawing a 'Glock 17 Gen 5 Mos'. 

My heart stopped beating in that suspended moment, with the incandescent rays of the bulb above shining brightly from the revolver. 

My face furrowed into a deeper scowl as I held the gun behind my ass like the cops in TV shows. 

Despite the fact that I was armed, my heart rate increased, and I inhaled deeply, summoning the courage to confront who was on the other side of the door. 

It could have been Sartorre's men, and I did not want to be a victim if things got out of hand. 

My gaze shifted over a pair of green eyes through the peephole. He wore a red baseball cap with a fat turkey and a similar cap interwoven in the center, with the word 'Burger' boldly inscribed underneath.

Okay, that appears cynical; I did not order anything, simply placing the gun on top of a wooden drawer near the entrance, close enough to be useful if necessary. 

Turning the key on the latch, I opened the door by a quarter, and then skimming past his shoulders, I surveyed the hallway and felt relief when I was sure it was empty. 

He raised his eyebrows at me, but I ignored them. 

"I did not order anything," I blurted out. 

He takes out a small black spiral pocket notepad and flips it over several times before focusing his attention on a specific page. 

"This is 107, right?" he asks, returning his gaze to me. 

"It does not appear to me that you are lost," I had had enough of his little games.

 Nobody had ever ordered meals for me before, and it seemed strange that it should come today, at the riskiest time of my life. 

Ma and Pa did not care how we ate; we got an allowance and that was all. 

Ma would say, "Money was the game changer, and once had, nothing else mattered," but I always questioned that. 

Helen: No way, she was much busier than I was, going to clubs and parties and all that girly stuff. 

And presently she was being held hostage because of my carelessness. 

"A call had come from a mister," he scrutinized his notepad once more before enunciating. 

"Yes, Jonathan Meiland," he says, a smile spreading across his face. 

"That is the name," he says cheerfully, handing me a box of pizza, white poly nylon, and a classy branded white paper bag. 

I rolled my eyes, unable to believe what I heard. 

"Ordered around 9:40, I suppose," he says, showing me the notepad this time. I did the math, which was around the time Jonathan dropped me off.

"Thank you," I sighed convincingly, taking the orders from his hands.

When I released my grip on the door, it slammed shut. 

"Now what is this about?" I wondered, placing t

he bags on the kitchen table. 

My appetite vanished as I discarded the sandwich in the trash bin. 

So much for meeting a billionaire whom I intended to steal from in less than a month.