"You're insufferable."
"Maybe," he says softly, "but you still can't keep your eyes off me."
"Maybe I don't want to."
♥___________♥
𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢
Playboy, arrogant, and egoistic-sounds like a typical jerk, right? But there's more to Marco th...
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"Come here, boy. Don't hide from us," a voice taunts in a sing-song tone. I press myself against the back of the closet, trying to disappear.
My heart pounds so loudly I'm sure they'll hear it. I can hear my breathing; I just hope they can't.
"Marco, we know you're here," the voice continues, feeling closer now. "There's no use hiding."
I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping they'll pass by. Tears well up as the closet walls seem to close in on me. My fingers clutch my clothes, trying to feel something, anything, to calm myself. The door handle rattles, and I bite my lip to keep from screaming.
The door creaks open. I hold my breath, every muscle in my body tensed, ready to run.
"Found you," the voice hisses.
A rough hand grabs my arm, yanking me out of the closet. I thrash and struggle, but it's no use. He's too strong.
The man looks at me, his face too close to mine. His breath smells of cigarettes and alcohol. Had he been drinking again?
I need to find a way out, but I'm too terrified to think clearly. I'm too terrified to breathe properly. I know I can't do anything because I'm just a kid and they're huge compared to me. So I just stare, paralyzed.
"You're not going anywhere, boy," he growls. I whimper, my body trembling as he drags me by the arm, painfully.
"Look at him, crying like a little baby," The woman taunts
"Real men don't cry, Marco, right?" the man sneers. I just nod, terrified, my throat too tight to speak.
"That's right," he says, his grip tightening. "Real men don't cry. They face their fears." His brings his face close to me, his breath reeking of cigarettes and alcohol.
"Get him here. Let me teach him a lesson," the woman suggests.
"No, please," I finally manage to croak, but it's too late.
The woman reaches for my pants, and I scream, but she shoves a cloth into my mouth. "You are going to take it, and you are going to enjoy it, boy, unless you want him to do it instead?"
I shake my head frantically, tears streaming down my face. My heart races, and I feel like I might pass out. The man's grip tightens, and I feel completely helpless, not being able to do anything against the two of them.
"That's better," she sneers, "Be a good boy for me now."
I wake up, gasping, drenched in sweat. The room is dark, and for a moment, I'm disoriented, the nightmare in my mind. My heart is pounding, and I can still feel the their hands on me. I sit up, running a trembling hand through my hair, trying to steady my breathing.
I glance at the clock
3 a.m.
Salem- my cat- stirred beside me, her soft sound breaking the silence. I reached out and stroked her fur gently. "Sorry, baby," I whisper, my voice still shaky from the dream. She nips at my skin, blinks, and then goes back to sleep in her cozy spot on the bed.
I shake my head, "Ragazza matta."
(Crazy girl)
I run a hand over my face, trying to shake off the dream. It wasn't just a dream; it was a memory, one I can't escape no matter how hard I try.
***
Mayor Romano's wife, Eleanor Romano, sat across from us, her posture rigid but her face composed. I could see the makeup on her face which made her look like she hadn't slept in days. It was clear she was putting on a show
James and I took our seats. James cleared his throat before speaking. "Mrs. Romano, thank you for coming in. We're hoping you can help us clarify a few details about the night your husband was murdered."
Eleanor nodded, her expression neutral. "I'll do whatever I can."
James leaned forward, his gaze steady. "A witness, reported seeing a woman in a black dress around the time of the murder. Can you think of anyone who might fit that description? Any visitors, perhaps?"
Eleanor's face remained the same. "I came home late that night—after midnight. When I entered, I found Vincent already dead. I didn't see anyone else."
James continued, pressing for more details. "Can you recall anything unusual leading up to that night? Any people or events that seemed out of place?"
Eleanor maintained her calm demeanor. "Vincent had been stressed and distracted, but he didn't share specifics. He was very secretive about his business dealings, so I wasn't aware of any unusual visitors."
I could sense that her answers were carefully constructed, too perfect, too practiced "Did Vincent mention anyone named Elias King?"
I noticed a subtle change in her eyes, a hesitation. "No, I've never heard that name before."
As the questioning continued, I observed her face. She seemed rehearsed, almost mechanical in her responses. Just as I was about to ask another question, Eleanor turned her attention towards me.
"Sorry, do I know you? Have we met?" she asked me.
I met her gaze. "I don't believe we've met before, Mrs. Romano."
Her expression briefly showed surprise, but she quickly masked it with a smile. "Oh, I must be mistaken."
"Must be."
"Well, that's all we need right now. Thank you for your cooperation. We assure you, we're trying to find your husband's killer," James said, his voice sympathetic.
Eleanor nodded and stood, her movements hurried. "Thank you," she said, and with a final, glance at me, she left the room.
As the door closed behind her, James muttered under his breath, "She's definitely hiding something.
I looked back at the door," Hm, she was definitely suspicious."
