"𝑨𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑰 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐?"
___________
⚠️sᴛɪʟʟ ᴇᴅɪᴛɪɴɢ⚠️
___________
Haunted by the night when me and my mother were forced away from our daily lives in Mexico...
NOTICE: Just to avoid confusing you, in this chapter, if the speech is not in italics or has not been specified otherwise, then it is in English.
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Twelve Years Later
For the third time this week, the news has reported activities involving the Galletti men. "Well, some shocking news from New York, police say it is a mafia-related hit caught on camera. Take a look." The ebony news reporter spoke through her perfectly outlined, plump lips before the broadcast of the CCTV footage.
She continued as the video played. "This happened earlier this afternoon. The suspect was seen firing several shots at 45-year-old Francesco Esposito, the owner of a local supermarket and confirmed associate of the crime family Greco. The victim was seen desperately trying to escape the gunman, but to no avail, as he unfortunately died on the scene. Authorities say that the victim's family is not cooperating with their investigation to uncover the gunman's identity, which currently remains unknown."
Of course, they're not cooperating. They've already killed him and sent him to the Galletti as a "lesson," unaware that they were only able to catch him because the Don's consiglieres indirectly sold out his location to whoever was looking for him.
On my way to the kitchen to prepare dinner, since it was my turn for dinner duties, I saw him being wrapped in plastic sheeting while another man mixed cement. Marco was on the phone, commanding someone in Italian. I didn't catch all of it, but from the few words I heard, it was clear that this man was the wanted suspect and that he was about to be tossed somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. Well, RIP, I guess. In your next life, I hope you live an honest life and die an honest death.
"Those onions look too big; cut them smaller," Patricia, the current head maid, said over my shoulder.
Ignoring her, I continued to cut them the exact same way I had been. She clicked her tongue in disapproval. Possibly too scared to say anything more to me, she turned on her heels, storming off to lecture another girl.
My eyes were already stinging from the onions, and cutting them into larger chunks would let me finish faster. But chopping through fifty onions is no easy task.
The news reporter's voice faded into the background as I spotted Marco walking past the kitchen doorway, just finishing his phone call. He stopped mid-step, lifting his head to see me there in my maid uniform, eyes watering as I chopped onions. His whole face twitched, and he immediately pursed his lips, covering his face with one hand.
