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Rosario Costella is not only the most feared mob-boss in New York, but the slyest. He is in ultimate control all of the time and disapproves of anyone who goes against his morals. When he thinks he will get the item that will...
empathy /ˈempəTHē/ n. the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.
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I stormed into the house. Why I didn't just try and run away? I had no idea. Maybe it's cause I was tired and just wanted sleep. I wanted to think it was a nightmare to be waken up from. Or maybe it's because I wasn't stupid. I knew he had people on every inch of this lot, knew he would use them to track me down.
Opening the door to the room I'd been brought to when I had just arrived, I kicked off my heels and tore off what remained of the dress. Exhaustion took over me and I fell to the floor, my hands not bothering to catch my fall as tears flowed down my cheeks. As soon as I felt one escape, I let them all drop. I couldn't help it, and I didn't need to. The shit I had gone through tonight was enough to let myself break open for a split second.
But the truth was, it wasn't tears from just this night. It was from loosing my brother, loosing the stability in my household, slowly seeing my mother disintegrate right in front of my eyes and having to do everything I could just to keep her from turning into ash as well.
I rolled onto my back and looked up at the painted ceiling. Haziness was what I felt. It was like I was stuck in between a dream and reality, not knowing if it was real or just a fragment of my haunting imagination. The cold floor chilled my raging skin and it was the only thing bringing me into the present moment. That and the sound of the door creaking open slowly.
Quickly, I scrambled myself into a ball, remembering that I was half-naked, exposed almost entirely. I wasn't sure how much more discomfort I'd be able to experience before I completely blacked out.
Rosario stepped into the room cautiously. He stood against the door, closing it with his back, taking away my only exit in the room. Watching me close, he put his hands in his pockets, continuing to observe every inch of me. I knew I probably looked like a fucking mess but I didn't care. Why would I?
"How are you feeling?"
Was he serious? I spat, "You must be joking."
"I'm asking a genuine question."
A blank expression and empty tone was all I got out of him. As if he felt compelled to check-in on me instead of actually caring. I just rolled my eyes and placed my head in my lap.
"Look," he exhaled. "I'm not good with this...type of situation. I don't rescue people. I don't help people. I work for myself and do what I need."
