You see, there are these apps where anybody can write books, stories and the sort and one day, scrolling the FB (which I don't usually do but I kill time with it on occasions) my eyes fell on a title that made me scoff.
The title, 'Mafia in Love'...
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"I knew I shouldn't have fucking trusted you, figlio di puttana!" I hiss to Benito pulling the phone out of my pocket and dialing Charles.
"It's not me, Raffa. It wasn't my decision. My daughter needs time and I'm going to do whatever it takes to help her. I promised her."
"I don't believe you," I reply waiting for Charles to pick up, walking around the room and ignoring him.
"Put the phone down," he orders in a deep tone making me snap my head toward him, throwing daggers with a deadly look.
"You don't fucking get to order me around..."
"Yes, I do," he replies calmer this time, having my attention, and stretches an arm grabbing the cover of the wooden box revealing the gift he has for me.
My eyes widen in shock, glued to the content of the box, a severed head with eyes gauging to nowhere.
It's Michelle's head, with dry blood splashed all over his face and a lifeless stare in his eyes that nobody has thought to ever close after having been cut.
"Cazzo di merda!" I mumble while my hand holding the phone falls limp although my ears can hear Charles repeatedly calling my name. "Charles... come to the villa," I tell him trying to get rid of the call holding my eyes still glued to the gift and walking close to it.
"What the fuck is this, Enzo?!" I ask, horrified by the relaxed mood Benito has, smiling cockily at me, and sitting on the armchair next to the table where the trophy reigns.
"This, my friend, is the outcome of a stupid drunken night when I was younger, a night that brought me the sweetest daughter and the worst enemy," he speaks lighting a cigar and standing up to remove the suit jacket he wears them sitting back to his place, elegantly crossing his long legs, like a true Italian. "But, the Yakuza sword gifted to me years back by my Japanese partners served me well. I called the guy on the way here to thank him," he continues with morbid satisfaction displaying the most feared Don of Sicily in the splendor of his ruthlessness.
His black shirt is ripped and stained with dry blood, I'm guessing someone else's blood because he looks fine to me.
"I don't get it. Wait! I don't give a fuck! Where's Mia?"
"You sound like a broken record, kid. Mia left. And by the way, I know my son, she already knows the whole story. And you should know it, too."
"Why? What is my connection with it?"
"You like it or not, you came into my daughter's life at the perfect moment. You saved her life."
"How? And if saved her life, why the fuck she ran away?"
"Michelle Parma was the one to steal your shipment, sell it to me, and make sure you would find out about it. He hoped for a war where, most probably my entire family would be murdered by your hand, satisfying the revenge he wanted. Actually, the revenge his father wanted, fucking Santi," he hissed with clenched jaws and disgust on his face.
