White flakes of frozen rain fell from the sky in flurries, but that didn't stop Jackie from wanting the best banana pudding in New York City—and for dinner, no less.
"You can't have banana pudding for dinner, Jackie." Russell chuckled, knowing his wife was going to get banana pudding for dinner no matter what.
"The baby wants it," Jackie whined.
Russell and Jacqueline Hughes were expecting their first baby, a daughter who would turn out to be the light of their lives. In just a few weeks, Baby Rae would become her parents’ pride and joy, and Jackie knew that Russell would do anything to make the girls in his life happy, even taking his eight-month pregnant wife out in the snow to get a dessert that she was craving.
"I'll get it. Why don't you stay here where it's warm?" he suggested.
"You know I need to walk daily for the baby. It will be fine," she retorted, already grabbing her coat, and without another word, the couple dressed in their winter coats, gloves, and hats, bundling up to stay warm. They didn't have a car because it was much easier to get around the city on the subway, even taking it from where they lived in East Harlem to Lexington and 59th where the bakery was located.
By the time they arrived at their stop near the bakery, the snow had let up slightly but not the chill of the winter air. Jackie shivered, and her husband wrapped his arm around her, bringing her against his side to warm her up. At just twenty years old, Jackie had found her soulmate. Russell was older but only by five years. They met at a Fourth of July party two years ago, married six months later, and now they were expecting their first child. Life was good for the couple.
Until a black limo pulled up to the curb.
The back door opened, and they heard, "Get in."
Jackie looked up at her husband, and he briefly closed his blue eyes and breathed, "Fuck."
"Who is that?" she questioned.
"My boss."
"Your boss?" Russell worked as a delivery driver for a food supply company, so she didn't understand why his boss would pull up to the curb and order him to get into the car.
"Fuck," Russell groaned again under his breath before stepping up to the car and leaning in. "Can I walk my wife back to the subway first?"
"No," Frank Russo said sternly. "Both of you get in."
"But she doesn't—"
"Now!" Mr. Russo barked.
Russell grabbed Jackie's hand and led her into the warm car. The scent of leather and sweet tobacco filled their noses, and Jackie tried to hold her breath in fear the smoke would hurt her unborn child.
"What's going on?" she questioned, looking at her husband for answers and then at the man across from them. He didn't look much older than Russell, maybe thirty at the most, with black hair, dark eyes, and olive-toned skin.
"Your husband's a thief," Mr. Russo answered.
"A thief?" Her blue gaze moved back to her husband, who was looking down at the floorboard as the car pulled away from the curb.
"Are you going to tell your wife, or should I?" Mr. Russo asked.
Russell swallowed and looked up at his boss, not wanting to meet his wife's stare. "I'd prefer it if this stayed between us, and we leave my wife out of it."
"You should have thought about that before you tried to make me look like a fool."
"I didn't try to make you look like a fool."
"No?" Mr. Russo smirked. "Then tell me what you think I look like when one of my men tells me you're selling for more than the going rate and pocketing the rest?"
Jackie's gaze was still on her husband, wondering what was going on. What Jackie didn't know was that Russell hadn't thought Mr. Russo would find out that he was selling an 8-ball of coke for a hundred dollars instead of the eighty he was told to sell them for.
"It was one time. I needed the extra money," Russell argued.
Mr. Russo gave a sinister laugh and then took a puff of his cigar. "Don't bullshit me. I know it's an ongoing thing."
Jackie pulled her coat up to cover her face, and Mr. Russo looked at her, his head tilting slightly as though questioning what she was doing. "I'm pregnant. The smoke is bad for the baby," she said, answering his silent question.
Mr. Russo cracked the window. "My apologies."
Jackie noticed that he didn't care enough to put the cigar out. Asshole.
"So, Russ." Mr. Russo blew out another puff of smoke, this time toward the tiny crack. "What are we going to do with you?"
"I needed the money, Mr. Russo. Just like my wife said, we're having our first child," Russell answered, hoping his explanation would be enough. "It won't happen again."
"That doesn't give you the right to steal from me."
"I wasn't—"
"You were!" Mr. Russo yelled. "My father built this business from the ground up before he died, and everyone knows that the Russo name is king. I can't have people thinking they can cheat me."
"I'm sorry," Russell apologized, "but starting a family is expensive."
"Not my problem," Mr. Russo stated. "I'm done." He pulled a gun with a silencer on it from behind his back and shot Russell square in the forehead without skipping a beat.
Jackie's breath caught as she looked over at her husband, her eyes wide as she saw a trickle of crimson blood roll down his forehead. It seemed to happen in slow motion as she watched Russell slump to the side against the door, having died instantly. As soon as the realization registered, Jackie screamed and then tried to open the door of the moving limo.
Mr. Russo tsked. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
"You killed my husband!" Jackie shrieked.
"I killed a thief."
Tears started to roll down her cheeks, and she didn't know what to do. "Are you going to kill me too?"
Mr. Russo bit his bottom lip. "No, I have other plans for you and your unborn child."