Scott—So she was a mobster

"So what exactly do you do for the mafia that has your dad calling you back every couple of months?" 

Stacy scrunched up her face, hesitating. By now she had detailed her father's entire operation. What was one more thing? I knew more details than I was comfortable with knowing. Was knowing this shit safe? Sleep would not come easily tonight. 

This was the last question I got to ask Stacy before Kenny and Willow walked through the door at one in the morning. 

"Parrrr-ttttyyy," they howled together, stumbling through the door. 

"Willow Eleanor Brady, are you drunk?" I asked, getting up from my seat at the island to follow her into the living room. 

"I guess that's my cue to leave," Stacy mumbled behind me, taking the opportunity to get up too and duck her head. 

"Full naming me, I see cool bro mode is not active," said Willow, dragging Kenny's inebriated body to the couch and dumping him onto it.

"I'll see you both tomorrow," said Stacy, her eyes pleading for me not to ask my question again. 

"Definitely picking the one tomorrow," Willow assured Stacy, which made the latter smile. 

Things remained tense between Stacy and I as I reluctantly watched her leave, then turned back to Willow. 

"What the hell happened to the two of you? Mom is never sending you out here again," I lectured her. 

Cool bro mode was indeed not active. I knew letting my eighteen year old sister go out with Kenny was a bad idea. At the time though, all my attention had been focused on having Stacy in my living room when she was supposed to be on a plane to Chicago. 

"Mom doesn't have to know everything. Ugh. Relax Scottie, I'm not drunk. We just hung out. At a club. With some new friends. No big deal. I'm going to get some water from the fridge. Feel free to watch me walk in a straight line," she said, strutting her way to the kitchen. 

My head was spinning as I followed her to the kitchen and then back to the living room, where Kenny was passed out. He was snoring and only half of his body was on the couch. It made me feel good that neither of us was going to have a good night's sleep tonight. 

When did my kid sister get old enough to hang out at clubs? Scratch that, she still wasn't old enough. The night had been long though and I was tired. 

"Well you don't seem drunk and you did get home in one piece," I conceded. 

"Glad that's all cleared up. I guess I'll crash in Kenny's room," she said, all but running to get away from me. 

The world post finding out just how much baggage Stacy had was disorienting. You know what they say, careful what you wish for because you just might get it. 

That night, there were no erotic dreams to worry about. Instead, I had nightmares about meeting Don Angelo. They all ended with me tied to a chair with missing fingernails and possibly body parts and organs too. 

After tossing and turning all night, I woke up to a note from Willow telling me she had gone shopping with Stacy. By this time, it was already after ten in the morning. 

"Get up," I yelled into Kenny's ear. "We're going jogging."

Kenny tumbled off the couch and fell on his back. He slowly dragged himself to his feet, groaning the whole way up. 

"You're not hungover, are you buddy? Because that would mean you took my eighteen year old sister to a place where there's alcohol and older men looking for loose women. You're not that stupid, are you Ken?" 

My voice was laced with malice. Even as he covered his ears, Ken shook his head. 

"Nope," he said, looking like he might hurl. "No alcohol was had last night," he said, making a run for the bathroom. 

When we left the apartment half an hour later, I wasn't sure Kenny wouldn't hurl again, but I was still too upset with him to care. Jogging would clear my head, so that's what I was going to do. I needed someone to talk to, so as penance for taking Willow to a club, Kenny was coming too. 

"So she's a mobster. Stacy's a full fledged criminal. Her father is a don," I said, dumbfounded that the former hadn't actually occurred to me before. 

"That tracks. I mean why else would her father keep calling her back home? What is she? A master tormentor? Does she make drug deals? Gun deals? Ooh, is she an assassin?" Ken asked, his hangover taking a back seat to his intrigue as a reporter. 

"I don't know," I said. "She bolted out the door after I asked her." 

"Maybe it's a sex thing. Maybe she's a madame," said Kenny, still on a roll about all the possible things sweet Stacy might be capable of. 

"She does not run a brothel," I said, smacking Kenny behind the head. 

"Hungover person here," he complained, holding onto his head where I had whacked him. "Okay, okay. Maybe it's something more lowkey. Like strip clubs. Maybe she even takes on some shifts," said Kenny, nodding his head approvingly with a crooked grin.

"I will punch you in the face," I said, Kenny's overactive imagination getting the better of me. 

"Sorry. You're right. I'm still a little drunk. Strip clubs aren't illegal. Unless she launders money through them," said Kenny, already a little out of breath. 

Nothing Kenny said was making me feel great. This was the person my sister was currently out with that we were talking about. Fuck letting Willow make her own choices. She was only eighteen. 

"We need to go and get Willow," I said, picking up the pace. 

"Speaking of Stacy, did you just say she's the daughter of a don? Because that's really going to complicate our follow up interview," said Kenny, now breathing hard as he tried to keep up with me. 

"They didn't fire you on the spot? That's not why you got wasted?" 

"Fire me? They loved you guys. Celebrating is what got me wasted. The ratings went through the roof. They want you back on the air. Maybe some more tongue action. Declare your undying love. Maybe second base this time? Damn, I might be more than a little drunk," he said, keeling over on the sidewalk. 

I made it a few feet ahead of Kenny, before reluctantly turning back around. 

"Sorry buddy, no interviews," I said, helping Kenny up. 

I helped him to the bus stop before making a run for it back to the apartment. 

Once there, I grabbed my car keys, wallet and phone. I was just about to call Willow to ask where they were when she and Stacy walked through the front door of the apartment. 

"Scottie," Willow's giddy voice yelled. "Wait until I show you what Stacy got for me. This is well and truly the one."

"I knew you would love it the moment I saw it," said Stacy with a small smile. 

"You bought my sister a dress? What happened to the money mom gave you?" 

Translation: the mafia bought my sister a dress? 

"Stacy said I could keep it for other prom expenses," Willow said slowly, sensing the charged energy between Stacy and I. "Is that okay?" 

"It's just a dress, Scott," said Stacy. 

"Today a dress, tomorrow a Lamborghini," I muttered, feeling a full blown panic attack coming on. "Just what do you do for the mafia to earn that kind of money, Stacy?" 

"The mafia? What is he talking about, Stacy?" Willow asked. 

"Fuck," I cursed, belatedly remembering that Willow didn't actually know anything yet. 

"You're an asshole," said Stacy, glaring daggers at me before she stormed out. 

"Sooo, your girlfriend's in the mafia but I'm the problem child?" said Willow, never one to miss a beat.

"She's not my girlfriend," I said with a sigh. 

"You sure fight like she is," said Willow setting her shopping bags down on the floor. 

"This whole mafia thing doesn't bother you?" I asked, glancing her way. 

"Depends, I guess. Is she actively in the mafia or was she in the mafia?" she asked with a shrug. 

"She was," I admitted. "She's not anymore."

"Then it doesn't matter anymore, does it?" 

In that moment, my kid sister sounded wise beyond her years. Certainly smarter than me. 

"You think she's cool whether she's in the mafia or not, don't you?" 

Willow bent over to pick up one of her shopping bags, her eyes sparkling as she pulled out her dress and held it up against her body for me to see with a squeal. 

"This dress might make me biased, but her backstory honestly only makes her cooler. I mean come on. I'm going to slay in this thing," she said, twirling herself around with the dress. 

"You sure are kiddo," I said and I meant it. 

Stacy had amazing fashion sense. 

"Does this mean I get to keep the dress? Omg, I have to show you how it looks on me. You are going to die," she said, not waiting for an answer before making a run for my room to change.