Mobster's Little Girl

Chapter 1: Curiosity Got the Cat Kidnapped

"Mama? Here, take your medicine. Mama? It's time to take your medicine." I lightly pushed the spoon towards the unblinking woman's chapped lips. Stubbornly, she refused to comply, or even respond. She just sat there, unmoving, her pale green eyes staring at some unseen object in space. Sighing, I gently sat the spoon down on her nightstand. I remember when my mother used to be so pretty and full of life. Those were the good times, when my brother wasn't off trying to prove his worth and my father would pop up every once in a while. When was the last time I even saw that sorry excuse of a man? Maybe seven, eight years ago? Well, it didn't matter now. I probably wouldn't be seeing him for another ten. But hey, that's what happens when the police catch you with twenty thousand dollars worth of stolen guns in your trunk. I wasn't even supposed to know information like that, but I had convinced an associate to spill it. Of course, with the swearing of my life that'd I'd never talk about it. He could get his tongue cut out for speaking about family business, or even worse. It was one of the codes of conduct, and even a non- member such as himself would get it for talking. I got tired of standing and sat down next to my mother's feet on her bed, pushing my ankle length skirt down under me. I absent mindlessly caressed her hand. These were the only moments I got with her.
"Henry?" she called out, eyes growing wide as she tried sitting up. That was the most I had seen her move all week.
"No, mama. It's me Carina. Your figlia, mama," I reminded. Seeing this as the perfect opportunity to get some medicine down her throat, I quickly picked up the soon, almost spilling some of the red liquid on my scarf.
"Medicine, mama. Please, take your medicine." Her eyes filled with disappointment at hearing my voice instead of my papa's, but she let me push the spoon into her mouth. Instead of cringing at the disgusting metallic flavor, she just plopped back down and returned to her previous zoned-out state. A rap at the front door made me jump up from the bed and rush down the hall. It could've been anyone, really. The doctor. Somebody from the family. The police. I opened the door to be meet face-to-face with the one person I didn't want to see right now. He cockily walked in without being invited and plopped down on the living room couch. Closing his eyes, he leaned back, stretching his arms and putting them behind his head. His feet were obnoxiously on the glass table I just cleaned. He opened his eyes and stared teasingly at me. I glared daggers at him.
"Hey sorella," he cheerfully greeted. He knew just how to pick at my nerves.
"Get your feet off of the table, idiota. Who raised you?" I scolded, shooing at his feet until he removed them. I took a seat in the recliner across from him.
"Madre and padre, of course. Speaking of which," he pointed his thumb in the direction of our mother's room," how is mama doing?" I stared uncertainly at him, unsure myself. His green and brownish eyes stared expectantly at me.
"She's.... somewhat improving. She spoke today."
"Really?" he asked, suddenly becoming much more interested and leaning in so close our noses could've touched.
"Si. But, she called out papa's name," I finished, knowing he wouldn't be exactly thrilled. He hated our father as much as I did. Maybe even more.
" What? Instead of her dear figlio's? Aw, phooey!" he cried as he threw himself back into the couch, not bothering to hide his signs of disappointment. He was too emotional for his own good.
"You know, you're just too emotional for your own good, Giovanni," I retaliated. "How can you be in the mafia with such a big heart, fratello?"
"Excuse me? You act as if you're so high and mighty! Think that just because you don't have to get your hands dirty, that makes you better?" he growled, obviously offended. Of course, he would jump on the defense and completely ignore my compliment.
"Of course not. And what do you mean, get your hands dirty? What have you been doing in there?" I questioned. He looked at me in embarrassment, all traces of his anger vanishing in the flicker of an eyelid. He was so bipolar sometimes.
"None of your business, that's what! Code of family secrets protects me!" That's when I began to get annoyed.
"Will you stop bringing all of that ridiculous mafia talk in here? Do you have no respect for mama at all? And how date you say that a code that could very well kill you is protecting you? Is all boloneey, I tell ya!"
"Oh please, don't try to pull that over on me! Mama married into this life, that was all her choice! We were born into it, not our choice! I'm just trying to cope with, instead of running away from my problems like a certain vigliacco I know!"
"Vigliacco? How dare you! You better take that back or else-"
"Or else what? You gonna tell papa? Well, forget about it! He's in jail!" he yelled. By now we were both red faced and angry, and at some point had left our seats and were in each other's face. The room had grown dead silent. I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes. Quickly wiping them away with my scarf, I plopped back down in the recliner. Planting my eyes on the floor, I spoke up.
"Fine. What did you come over for, anyway?" He finally sat back down on the floral couch, letting out an exasperated sigh.
"I came to give you this," he exclaimed, pulling out a wad of cash from his coat pocket. It looked like it could easily have been about five thousand. "For groceries and what not." I took one good look at it.
"I don't want it," I stubbornly refused. He looked at me with a mixture of shock and annoyance on his face.
"What?! Why not?" he inquired.
"Because that's dirty money, and I don't want it. You did the crime, you spend the money." I crossed my arms against my chest, a sign that I had made up my mind. He sighed, sadly shook his head, and got up.
"Women," he muttered as he walked towards the door, but not before stopping by the kitchen counter to leave exactly what I said I didn't want. I opened my mouth in protest, but he quickly cut me off.
"Look, just take it. I won't sleep well at night until I know you and madre have some money for food. Ti amo, sorella." He waited until I grumbled a " ti amo anch'io" before leaving, quietly closing the rusty screen door. In an angry fit, I kicked the wood that made up the pillar of the counter, putting a chip in it. My brother was such a idiot! What made him think he was the only one who couldn't sleep at night if he didn't know they were safe? He had no idea how many nights of sleep I had lost, and was still losing, after he decided to join papa's business. Did he really think he was the only one suffering? Angry and frustrated, I ran into my room and threw myself on my bed in a huff. I shoved my face into my pillow and began to cry. I began to cry for my mother, who suffered from a broken heart. I began to cry for my brother, who had to join the mafia just so he could provide for us when my dead beat padre couldn't. But, most of all, I cried for myself, because I knew deep down inside my brother was right. I knew I could never be strong enough to handle this life, and I didn't know how to deal with it. I had to get out of this house, for the sake of my sanity. Picking myself up and wiping my wet cheeks, I grabbed nothing but my little baby blue shoulder stap bag and my jacket. I checked on my mother. Sleeping like a frail baby. I went over to her bed, cutting off her lamp and giving her a goodnight kiss on her pale cheek. I made my way to the front door, cutting off all of the lights I passed. We had enough problems without a high light bill. I stopped as I came across the money fratello left on the counter. I still didn't want it, but I hid it on the top shelf of our pantry anyways. Opening the front door, I took one good look around the house before exiting, gently closing the door being me as to not wake up mama. The night air quickly engulfed me, and I welcomed it with big, deep breaths. Then I began to walk down the busy street, putting on my jacket and making sure the hood covered my face. I didn't need any made-men or associates following me. Not exactly knowing where I even wanted to go, I aimlessly wandered around the New York streets like a lost antelope. I had to admit, taking lonely walks through the busy city like this was a huge stress reliever. There were lights on in almost every building, and you could barely hear anything over the honking of cars and radios. I passed a nearby house that had their radio in the window, so I could clearly here the song. Recognizing it instantly, I began to sing along, even when I was out of far reach.
"Take me down to Constantinople!" I crossed a random street after the light turned red.
"No, you can't go down to Constantinople!" I zig zaged down a neighborhood. It began to loose its familiarity, but I didn't care. It was nice not having to see the same houses.
"Now it's Istanbul not constantinople!" I immediately stopped, realizing I had no idea where I was. Breaking into a nervous sweat, I quickly looked around, trying to figure our which way I had come. I didn't like this at all; it was pitch black, and the neighborhood was abandoned. Anyone would've known this was bad, and I wad no exception. I tried to run back down the street, when I heard it. A stomach churning scream, definitely male. Stupidly letting my curiosity get the best of me, I slowly walked over to the alley it had come from and peaked my head around the corner, just in time to see them chop off his other hand. Just in time for them to notice me.
"Hey!" one yelled out, but I didn't wait to hear the rest. I ran as fast as I could, screaming for help. Apparently not fast enough, because one quickly caught up with me, catching me by the collar and throwing me to the ground. I coughed for lack of air, only to have it knocked out of me again when he kicked me square in the gut. I curled up in a fetal position, trying to get past the pain before he picked me up by my amber curls and screamed in my face.
"What'd ya see, Bowsie?" he barked in a thick Irish accent.
"I- I didn't see nothing! Zip! Nada! Zilch!" I pleaded. He grabbed me by my arms before dragging me into the alley as I screamed bloody murder.
"I didn't see anything! I swear!"
"Oh shut your cake-hole!" he barked. I tried to struggle, but he just kicked by side in retaliation. I let out a painful cough as he pulled me over to his partner in crime. He took one good look at him before sighing.
"What the bloody hell did ya bring her over here?" he asked. His Irish accent was also obvious.
"She saw something! I'm sure of it," he explained. He rubbed the bridge of his nose in deep thought, before letting our another exasperated sigh.
"Ok, ok. Just... Throw her in the trunk with this one," he instructed, motioning to the victim with no hands who had bled to death, his limbs surrounded with large puddle of blood. I gagged as the stench filled my lungs. The man holding me let out a snicker.
"Ya better get used to the smell, toots. You're gonna have to spend quite some time with this gentlemen right here." He dragged me to what looked like a black Buick Riviera parked at the end of the alleyway and began to tightly tie my hands and feet together with some nearby rope, while his buddy carried the dead man over his shoulder, his decapitated hands in his own mouth. He popped the trunk, and without further objections, tossed him in like a rag doll. I was next, thrown in over the deceased, landing uncomfortably with my face on his chest. Then they slammed the trunk down, leaving me in total darkness with a corpse. Tears began to roll down my face as realization hit me like a pound of bricks: they were going to kill me. I felt the roar of the engine as the car sped off down some unknown street. I bit my lip, trying to ignore the strong smell of blood and anchovies that came from the man I was currently on top of. Then, they began to talk. I listened closely, only being able to make out a few words here and there, until I heard a phrase that made me wish they would've killed me.
"Hell's Kitchen..."

Oh no.
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A/N: Hey guys! This is a story I was inspired to write after watching GoodFellas. I know, kinda ridiculous. I did a lot of research, and tried to make it as accurate as I could. Tell me how I did, hm? So yes, the Irish and Italian mafia were mortal enemies for a long time, and what not. I just how this mafia story isn't too... cringe worthy. Ok then, bye!

Translations:
Madre = mama
Padre = papa
Sorella = sister
Fratello = brother
Figlia = daughter
Figlio = son
Vigliacco = coward
Ti amo = I love you
Ti amo anch'io = I love you too