The Mob Gave Me a Week to Leave, So I Took Over Dorchester novel · Chapter 4 of 24

Chapter 4: Monday at Eleven

Irena Kubiak fed me before she looked at me.

She put down a plate of eggs, kielbasa and rye toast, and then she folded her small hands and studied my face.

She was sixty-eight, five feet tall, with a white braid pinned on top of her head and flour on her wrists.

"The wall in that room is thin," she said. "Next time, tell him not to knock the pictures."

Marek, at the end of the table, put his face in his coffee.

"Mama."

"I am not angry. I am a woman with ears." Irena sat down across from me. "In this house there is one rule. No lies under this roof."

"I don't lie," I said.

"You told the emergency room a cabinet."

I put down my fork.

"You said what you could say," she said, more gently. "Here you say what is true. What you want, what you don't. If you want to eat, you eat. If you want to be alone, you say so, and nobody takes it personal."

"I want to open the bar tomorrow," I said.

"Then you open it."

She got up to refill my coffee.

On the high shelf above the stove sat a dented flour tin, and when I looked at it, her hand moved between me and it.

"Not that one," Irena said. "That was Józef's. Nobody touches."

"His army pistol is somewhere in this house," Marek told me. "My mother keeps it. Every old house on this street has one."

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