Married to the Mafia

The thumping bass from the club still vibrated in my ears, a phantom rhythm to Nessa's off-key singing. "You can find me in the club, bottle full of bub!" she belted, dancing her way into our apartment, Sofi grumbling behind her, already kicking off her heels.
I collapsed onto the worn couch, the day's exhaustion finally catching up. It was the familiar, comforting chaos of our shared life, a stark contrast to the unsettling news that had gripped me earlier. The TV, a dull hum in the background, spoke of Tamulipas, of drug lords and cartels, and a name that always sent a chill down my spine: Romano. My family.
Sofi squeezed my shoulder, her silent concern a heavy weight. Nessa, ever blunt, whispered, "It's okay to be upset, Gabby. It's your family they're talking about, after all." Family. The word tasted like ash in my mouth.
