Less Than Perfect

{23} Crash Course in Mafia Studies

Kanza Hadad

"There's no freaking way."

My husband sighed deeply for what was the thousandth time. "What part of this is confusing?" he asked, a bit weary.

"Everything!" I exclaimed, falling back against the couch. "How are you a part of the mafia? Like are we talking guns, violence, and gangs type of mafia or like 'oh, he's a bad boy' type of mafia. You know the ones they make romance books about."

"First off, you're talking about a gang, not a mafia. Gangs are less organized and informal than a mafia," he explained.

"There's a hierarchy to organized crime?" I all but yelled.

"Kanza, calm down," he said sternly. "As for your question, this is a real mafia. The only reason you haven't heard of it is because our leader has close ties with law enforcement and they hide what we do."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My husband, my quiet, reserved, one-of-kind man was part of a mafia. Granted, he told me he left it shortly before Amira went away for college and he started his job, but still the shards of his past haunted a part of him. The shadows of crime loomed over us, and it was only a matter of time before it caught up to him.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" I asked, voice soft and breaking around the words. "Did you not trust your wife?"

Tanwir came to my side at an instant, kneeling by my side with my small hands in his rough, calloused ones, thumb stroking circles into my palms. "Of course I trusted you," he told me in a hoarse voice. "Kanza, a mafia life is dangerous. Once you're in, it is almost impossible to get out. I risked so much to escape it, and the only reason I'm telling you now is because it would be more dangerous for me to hide it from you."

My brows furrowed in confusion. "Dangerous?"

His hand gripped mine tighter as if he was afraid of losing me if he let go. His visage contorted with pain, hurt flashing across his dark eyes, and the radiance of his golden skin dimmed. I wasn't used to seeing Tanwir look so fearful, so worried. The panic that laced his expression tangled with the knots of his past, choking him into silence.

"Dayyan wanted to join the mafia and force you to be with him."

A ice bucket worth of chills ran down my spine. "What?"

My husband continued to speak as if he was haunted by the memory of Dayyan, as if it was taking everything in him not to track him down. "Our mafia leaders rejected him and it drove him crazy. They had him on high surveillance for a while and they found out he was after you."

"Did they find out anything else?"

Tanwir shook his head. "They stopped looking into him once they saw that he was no threat to them."

"So... they let him go," I trailed off, disappointed that he could get away with being a complete jerk once again. It seemed that there was nothing that could tarnish his reputation, but Dayyan had the power to ruin mine. "He's free of all blame, isn't he?" I said, disgusted and hurt at the way society pinned me to a sin without knowing the whole story.

Were people like Dayyan always free to do whatever they wanted, regardless of the consequences?

My husband gripped my hands into his calloused ones. "He won't be free of blame," he promised. "In Shaa Allah (if God wills it), we're going to bring you justice, Kanza."

My eyes watered. "Why?" I whispered, wanting to hear him tell me that all this wasn't pity, that this marriage meant something to him, that I was an important part of his life.