The Mafia Boss

Part 1: The Kidnapping

After school, always the best time of the day. I can just fall on my bed and relax all day, but of course my stupid Italian teacher had to give me so much fucking homework. As I walk home from school it is already dark. The sun has set, and the streetlamps have been lit. I was held back after school because of detention; the English teacher said I was disrupting the lesson. It's not my fault she can't teach for shit. If a teacher won't teach properly, she does not deserve my attention. I had to spend an hour after school because of her. Anyways, it's over now.

I take step after step, letting the wind blow through my golden hair. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the cold night air. I release it letting the fog that left my lips float into the sky tainting the air with a puff of white.

I am so sick of school, of everything actually. After dad died life has gotten so hard. Everything reminds me of him. And even after all of those year i still have nightmares about the moment mom told me he was gone. I still remember that moment and the feeling of my heart getting ripped out of my chest when the words left her mouth: "Dad isn't coming home." I still hear it echoing in my ears. I still here the echoing of the door closing at night. And then I hear nothing, the emptiness after my mother left me, all alone

I love this walk, especially at night. I love looking up at the stars and moon visible and bright against the dark sky. I think of my dad as one of the stars, watching over me, keeping me safe. This walk during the day is so familiar but at night it is unknown. The streets are empty of both cars and people. I walk on the sidewalk sticking out my hand to touch the leaves of the bushes next to me.

I hear rustling from behind. I turn around. Nothing, nobody to be seen. I guess it was just the wind shuffling the leaves of the trees towering over me.

All of sudden somebody comes up from behind and grabs by my elbows pinning my arms to my side. The mysterious figure passes something below my nose. I try not to breathe through my nose, knowing if I do it won't be good. But I start to feel faint anyway. My eyes slowly close until all I see is pitch-black.

I wake up to the feeling of a soft mattress under me. I slowly sit up, the memories come flooding back into my head. I need to get out. I look around. The curtains cover huge windows. A small trickle of light comes through the small gap. The bed takes up half of the space in the room, it is round and could fit at least 4 people. The sheets are pink, matching the curtains. It seems like a room in a castle, but to me, it seems like a prison. A prison from which I need to escape.

I jump out of bed and run to the first door I see I open it to reveal a pink bathroom, with the same color marble tiles. Too much pink, I hate the color. I close the door and run to the second and last door in the room. I push down the handle and try to pull the door towards me, but it doesn't budge. It's locked, if it's locked it must be the exit. I take a few steps back and I run towards the door, throwing all my weight onto it. Once again, nothing. I try again and again until my left arm is sore and will for sure bruise.

Once my hope of opening the door vanishes, I stop and think. How could I escape? I turn to the window and run towards it. I pull the curtains aside and try to open it. Locked as well. I have no choice. I ball my right hand into a fist and swing it towards the window. The glass breaks and a sharp pain takes over my hand, I ignore it. Blood trickles down my arm. I look out of the window and realize I am not that high up. If I jumped it wouldn't kill me, it will hurt me for sure, but it would be worth it. I put both hands on the ledge, loose glass piercing through my skin. I push myself up and lift my leg up and over the ledge through the window.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." a deep voice comes from behind me. I get so startled I fall back into the room on my back and quickly get back on my feet. I face the man. Recognition shoots me like a gun. Its him. Hate sets the blood in my veins boiling.

He left when I was at my weakest, he left me alone when dad died. He hurt me mentally yet physically he never laid a hand on me. Now he wants me back. And he takes me hostage?

Anger takes over my movements as I leap towards him and tackle him onto the floor. His face shows no sign of fear or shock while it should. He should be scared of me. I lift up my fist and bring it down in rage, with extreme velocity and strength. Just before my fist reaches him his arm grips mine stopping it right in front of his face. I should have pinned down his hands. Stupid move. He stands, pulling me up with him by the arm, lets me go and moves his eyes from my face down my body stopping at my bloodied fist.

"We should get your hand patched up." he states ignoring the fact that I almost broke his perfectly straight nose five seconds ago. He walks into the pink bathroom. Dumbass. Does he really expect me to follow him? Once again, I sprint towards the window and lift myself up feeling the sharp glass penetrate through the bottom of my hands. Strong hands grip my waist and pull me away from the window.

"Oh no you don't, not again" he says picking me up, putting me over his shoulder and bringing me into the bathroom. He sits me down next to the sink and turns the knob of the tap. He takes my bloody wrist and dabs it with a wet towel. Red staining the white cloth. I try to pull away from the sting of the moist fabric on my wound.

"Sit still" he grunts, tightening his grasp on my arm.

"Why am I here, Lucas?" I plead distracting myself from the discomfort.

"That's not my actual name." he replies, disregarding the question. I shoot a confused look at him.

"My real name is Matteo Marconi; I have kept some secrets from you in the past. My name is one of them." he answers confusing me even further.

"What other secrets have you been keeping from me then?" curiosity gets the better of me. He presses the damp towel to my arm with more force than he had before causing me to try to pull away from his grasp once more. But just like before he doesn't let me go and tightens his grip on my arm.

"I am the son of the most powerful man in Italy: Paulo Marconi the mafia boss" he says averting his gaze from mine by looking down at my arm. A gasp escapes my lips, my eyes widen, shock fully overcomes my body.