Bloodlines and Bullets

seventeen

The colourful scenes of the movie flicker across the screen, casting a soft, warm glow over our faces. Sofia and I munch on popcorn slathered with butter, the salty crunch filling the air between us. Beside us, Marco and George clutch their beers like lifelines, their knuckles white as they insist they wouldn't survive the movie without them.

Pff, boys. I have to give them credit, though. We must be quite persuasive to have convinced them to join us for a Barbie movie. It's a small victory, but I'll take it.

I steal a glance at Oliver, who sits strategically near the only exit of the theatre. His gaze is as unwavering as ever, scanning the dimly lit room for any sign of trouble. It's as if he expects something terrible to happen at any moment, like a dark cloud hanging over an otherwise bright and carefree evening.

Andrea, on the other hand, sits at the far end of our row, a rigid presence in a sea of young girls dressed in pink. He might as well be a statue, cold and unyielding, completely out of place in this bubblegum world of Barbie. His hard features and stern expression clash against the lighthearted energy that fills the theatre.

I roll my eyes, unable to help myself. The absurdity of the situation is almost laughable. Here we are, watching a Barbie movie, and yet I'm surrounded by men who act like I'm some kind of threat. It's ridiculous. I'm not a terrorist, just a girl who's had more than her fair share of unfortunate encounters. But try explaining that to Luciano.

I shake my head, trying to dispel the unease creeping up my spine, and refocus on the screen. Barbie deserves her moment in the spotlight. My body relaxes, just slightly, as I allow myself to be pulled into the movie's bright and whimsical world.

After the movie ends, we drive back to the headquarters. The night has grown darker, the building looming like a silent predator waiting for its prey. As we step inside, the warmth of the theatre feels like a distant memory, replaced by the cool, calculated air that hangs heavy in the mafia's domain. Oliver and Andrea vanish into the shadows.

Despite the late hour, the common room buzzes with activity. The room is a testament to the opulence and power of the mafia - plush leather couches, ornate furnishings, rich mahogany tables scattered throughout the space. The soft glow of antique lamps casts warm pools of light across the room, creating a deceptive sense of comfort.

We settle into a plush sofa in the corner, and I let out a sigh, sinking into the cushions. On the other side of the room, a group of men huddle around a poker table, their voices low as they exchange banter and laughter. Nearby, a trio of women sips cocktails, their laughter high and carefree, as if nothing is amiss in this world.

I observe the bustling room, feeling a strange mix of familiarity and alienation. I've grown accustomed to this new life - found solace in the routine, in the camaraderie of my friends. But beneath the surface, a fire still burns, a relentless desire for freedom that refuses to be extinguished. The thought of escape haunts me, a constant reminder of the life I've been robbed of and the dreams that remain just out of reach.

But for now, I push aside those thoughts, burying them deep as we chat and laugh together. It's easier, safer, to focus on the here and now, rather than the gnawing doubts and fears that threaten to consume me.

Sofia leans in closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Have you seen that guy over by the bar? The one with the dark hair and the killer smile?"

I furrow my brow, trying to recall the face she's describing. "Um, maybe? I think I've seen him around a few times."

Sofia nods eagerly, her excitement almost palpable. "Oh, he's so cute! I've been trying to work up the nerve to talk to him all night."

I chuckle at her enthusiasm, the sound coming out more genuine than I expected. But Marco rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed by our conversation.