Mafia's African Rose

Flicker

After the brutal beatings, I knew I had to change my approach to survival. Anger and defiance would get me nowhere in this dark world, so I resolved to keep my head down, no matter how much it stung to be belittled. It was hard to accept, but I needed to adapt if I wanted to live longer.

When Head Maid Samaya summoned me, her words dripped with a cold satisfaction. "Hope you've learned your lesson," she said, eyeing me like a predator sizing up its prey. I simply looked down, my swollen eyes barely able to hold her gaze. My body ached; my ribs were definitely bruised, and the memory of my time in that cell haunted me.

"Take care of the flowers," she ordered, as if that could somehow atone for my alleged disrespect. I nodded, feeling weak and defeated, but I couldn't protest; I had learned that such defiance only led to more pain.

As I walked back to my room, whispers followed me like shadows. A few maids laughed openly, their voices dripping with mockery. "Look at her, the black whore thinks she can survive here," one snickered. I felt a deep pit of shame form in my stomach, but I forced myself to ignore them. I was weak, but I had no choice but to do as I was told.

Zoe and Glory rushed to my side, their expressions filled with concern. They helped me clean up, their silent support a small comfort amid the chaos. "You'll be okay, Angel," Glory whispered, squeezing my hand gently. I appreciated their presence more than they could know.

Dressed in Zoe's gown, which was two sizes too small and too tight against my bruised body, I made my way toward the garden. Each step felt like a painful reminder of my situation. The garden was vast, its beauty starkly contrasting the darkness of my life. Holding the gardening supplies, I winced with every movement, my ribs protesting against the task ahead.

As I entered the garden, the sunlight filtered through the leaves, and I felt a fleeting sense of peace. This was the one place I had found a small sense of solace during my brief moments of freedom. But today was different. Today, I noticed men in suits gathered at one end, deep in conversation. My heart began to race as I recognized the imposing figure of The Don.

He was hard to miss; his presence filled the space, demanding attention and respect. Panic surged within me, and I wanted to retreat, to disappear into the shadows. But it was too late; he had seen me. His piercing gaze locked onto mine, and I froze, the gardening supplies slipping slightly from my grasp.

I wanted to look away, to avoid the weight of his scrutiny, but something in his expression made me pause. He clenched his jaw, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—was it pity? No, it was anger. That flicker disappeared just as quickly as it had come, and he dismissed the men he was talking to, striding over to me with purpose.

"Angel, come here," he commanded, his voice laced with irritation. My heart sank; I thought this was it. I braced myself for the worst.

As I approached him, my legs trembled. "Who did this?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "You look like shit."

I hesitated, unsure how to respond. Why would he care about my injuries? "Nobody," I finally muttered, forcing myself not to meet his eyes. "I disrespected you and got a chef killed. I deserve this." My voice cracked as I spoke, the weight of my shame crashing over me like a tidal wave.

His expression darkened, and I could see the fury simmering just beneath the surface.

"Sto sicuramente uccidendo chi lo ha fatto,"

(I'm definitely killing whoever did it.)he said in a low, menacing tone. I didn't understand the words, but the intensity in his voice sent a chill down my spine.

As he walked away, I sighed, the weight of my reality pressing down on me. I forced myself to start working, digging into the soil with shaky hands. Each movement sent sharp pains radiating through my body, but I pushed through it, reminding myself that this was my new life. I needed to find a way to exist in this world without drawing attention to myself, even if it meant keeping my head down and accepting the pain.

With every flower I tended to, I felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to navigate this dangerous life. I wouldn't give in to despair. I couldn't afford to. So I buried my pain deep inside, knowing that I had to survive, for Nora, for myself, and for the small flicker of defiance that still burned within me.

WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS? 😇