Murdered Love

The Interview

"I killed him."

Well apart from the bloody obvious! "We have established that Mr. Bianco. Now please, just tell my what happened and why a mafia boss like you isn't getting away with murder," I almost screamed at him. I really didn't want to know the details of the petty criminal dealings of the mafia underworld. But of course, I'd be fired if I didn't listen. 

"Are you even listening to me Rosalyn?" he asked. I could kill him right now. I despised the name my parents gave me, and everyone called me Rosa. But him? No. "It's Miss Michaels, to you." Of course this set him off. "Miss? Wow, I thought you'd be a Mrs.," he laughed. And that did it for me. I swung my fist at his sharply sculpted jaw. Seemingly, he did not flinch. Probably because I didn't actually hit him. "Do you have spidey senses or something?" I asked. He was still holding my small fist in his large masculine hands, when I began to notice the coloured veins streaming along his hands as if they were about to pop. He must have noticed my staring, since he let go very instantly. 

"We really must get back to business, Mr. Bianco. Now please, for the love of God, just tell me what happened! Or else I won't be able to represent you. And you'll have the rest of your life to rot in cell in that case." I was now giving the bitchy death stare that I was famous for. However, up against a mafia king, it wasn't very intimidating. 

"First of all, Miss Michaels," he said with disgust, "you should not say the Lord's name in vein." Excuse me? I was practically screaming at him by now, "What would you know about religion?  You don't care about religion as much as you don't care about the last girl you played. Your a mafia boss who killed someone! You might wear a cross necklace around your neck to accessorize, but your not fooling anyone. And don't tell me that its a culture thing, a family thing, or a revenge thing, because actions speak louder than words." 

He gently lent back in the arm chair and let out a noticeable sigh. His blue eyes contrasted very well against his luscious black hair. He stared at me for a long second, before speaking. "I guess I should explain everything," he paused, before continuing, "I killed him because..." 

We spoke for over an hour, going on about the details, and I slowly sensed a soft, caring side of him. I couldn't understand why I wasn't still tense and mad. How could it be possible for someone to go through an intense argument then five minutes later be relaxed by the deep and brooding voice of a murderer. Throughout the conversation, I learnt more of the situation, the murder, but also of him. The small intricacies, like the wrist tattoo that would peek out of his black Armani suit every few times when he was expressing his story through body language and gestures. I noticed the sharp features of his face, the cheekbones and jaw were obvious, but also the crystal cut lines of his hairline and beard line. 

Eventually, a silence was formed between us once the story finished. But I broke it, typing notes into my laptop with my loud and long baby blue acrylic nails. In my peripheral vision, I could see him looking around my room. Even at the photos of my family. He started, "You know, the things you said earlier, it really is, is..." I looked at him. "I was forced into the mafia. I never wanted to be here. People called me weak. They thought I couldn't do this, but I knew I had to prove them wrong. My father pressured me to do well. Sometimes, I - I wish I had an easy life like yours."

My eyes widened. "Easy? My life, easy? Hardly. You don't know me. I had to work my way to be this good. This is New York and I am a young woman. My life has been far from easy. There were days when I had to work for 18 and even 19 hours just so that I could prove my worth to the wealthy of the city, so that I could have this life and job. I have sacrificed so much. And you sit here, and say that my life is easy?" I was so worked up and rolled my eyes.

"Look, that's not what I meant. Killing someone was a way of proving my worth. At no point did I think that I would be caught. The emotional and mental pressure that I face is beyond imaginable. Do you know what it's like to stand and see someone suffer at your own hands?" He was trembling now, "I am still young. I have ambitions too. You have gotten yours, but I will never have the chance to achieve mine. And at this rate, I'll be stuck in a small decrepit room for the rest of my life. I've never fallen in love, and never had children." He paused and sighed. "Do you know what it is like, to have some of the most powerful people look condescendingly towards you, to feel completely worthless." 

I never thought that I could ever hear and see such emotion, such sadness, from a man like Teodoro Bianco. I never knew someone could look so intently at me, shaking and scared. His name was plastered everywhere as the man to fear, but now, I think he is a man of fear. And one that can so perfectly cover it up. The security guard walked in to collect him. "Good day Miss Michaels," he said whilst shaking my hand. "Please, sir, call me Rosa."

A/N 

Hi, it's my first time writing a mafia story. Anyways, I will reveal the murder soon, but not just yet. Please comment and vote! It would mean the world to me.