𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐞 || A Mafia Love Story

ii

Later that evening, Marlee and her mother decided to end the day with dinner at their favorite restaurant. The cozy Italian place, nestled just outside town, had always been a family staple. It was run by Mr. and Mrs. Russo, a sweet old couple who had lived in the area their entire lives. Marlee couldn't remember a weekend that didn't involve a trip to the restaurant. Though she was barely a year old when her family first started coming, her mother, Elenore, vividly remembered the day Mr. Russo fulfilled his lifelong dream and opened the place. She could still picture the excitement on her father's face, back when his eyes were less tired, and his wrinkled skin still held a youthful softness.

As Marlee and Elenore entered the familiar space, a boy around Marlee's age greeted them and led them to their regular booth in the back corner. The seats were worn, the once-vibrant red leather torn and cracked from years of use. The restaurant's red brick walls bore the marks of time, tinged with stains and smudges that gave the place a well-loved, lived-in feel. A dim yellow glow bathed the room, the candlelight adding a warm, intimate ambiance to the air.

Their usual orders arrived quickly, and they ate in a comfortable silence, savoring the familiar flavors and the quiet hum of the restaurant's closing routine. As the evening wore on, the last patrons trickled out, leaving Marlee and her mother behind to wait for Mr. Russo, Marlee's grandfather, so they could give him a ride home. He was in the back office, counting the day's earnings before closing up. Meanwhile, Marlee was fidgeting in her seat, desperately needing to use the restroom after drinking glass after glass of sweet tea. Unfortunately, the only restroom was outside, attached to the side of the building.

With a quiet sigh, Marlee slipped out of the restaurant, the bell above the door chiming softly as she stepped into the night. The sky was painted in deep swirls of blue, the clouds mixing dark and light as they stretched across the horizon. The fields around the restaurant seemed to go on forever, a sea of grass rippling gently in the breeze. She hurried along the gravel path, eager to get back inside, but suddenly, the sound of footsteps crunching on gravel made her freeze.

She turned her head, startled, and her eyes widened as she saw a tall man striding toward her. His long, purposeful steps were confident, his crisp suit hugging his muscular frame. Shaggy blonde hair fell over his forehead, giving him a rugged but refined appearance. "I'm sorry, sir, the restaurant's closed," Marlee called out in her honeyed, southern drawl, her wide brown eyes curious as she watched him. But the man barely spared her a glance, walking past her as if she didn't exist.

Intrigued but unnerved, Marlee watched the stranger disappear into the restaurant, her heart quickening in her chest. She hadn't seen anyone like him before, and his cold indifference unsettled her. Gathering her courage, she followed after him, stepping back into the candlelit restaurant. Her mother was nowhere to be seen, so Marlee hurried down the narrow hallway toward her grandfather's office.

When she reached the door, her breath caught in her throat. Her grandfather was huddled on the floor, the strange man towering over him, his presence dark and commanding. They hadn't noticed her standing there, frozen in shock.

"You owe me money, old man," the stranger growled, his accent thick and unfamiliar.

Marlee's heart raced as her grandfather, his face pale and strained, slowly struggled to his feet. "I promise I'll have it this week, Mr. Sovetsky," he replied, his voice rough and weak.

The man, Mr. Sovetsky, gave a curt nod before turning on his heel and marching toward the exit. As he passed Marlee, his cold, calculating eyes flicked to her. A shiver ran down her spine, the air around him heavy with menace. But there was something else in his gaze—an odd fascination, as if he were studying her freckles, the way they dusted her nose and disappeared beneath the delicate fabric of her sundress.

Marlee couldn't move, her feet rooted to the spot until the bell above the door rang once more, signaling the man's departure. Only then did she snap out of her daze, rushing to her grandfather's side.

"Papa, are you alright?" she fussed, kneeling next to him, her voice thick with worry.

"I'm fine, my sweet girl," he rasped, his voice gentle despite the tremor in his hands. "Let's get your mom and head home now."

Marlee helped him to his feet, still shaken by what she had witnessed. The night had turned cold, and the warmth of the restaurant suddenly felt distant, replaced by an unsettling chill that lingered long after the strange man had left.