Wicked Games (Bishop Mafia Series 1)

Chapter 3

Copyright © 2014 by Athena Heart

The house stood stripped of its former glory. Built in the early 1970s, it had once boasted of wealth and glory. The wide windows with dark purple curtains, looked out on the surrounding lake covered the interior from any prying eyes. The house had once been under the scrutiny of camera flashes and media attention. Inside, the furniture was old but comfortable - rich dark colored leather couches, priceless antique tables bought from merchants trading in Tibetan carpentry. The red velvet deep - stuffed armchairs had held their weight down since the change of owners. It was only not too long ago, that the house was returned to her former and rightful owners, the Triglia family.

With the gentlest of touches, Michel Triglia carried his shivering nephew. Young Pascal looked into the dark eyes of his uncle.

"Papa," the boy's lips trembled. Tiny hands clung tightly to his uncle's shoulders.

Gently, Michel soothed down the unruly red curls. For a five-year-old, the boy looked exhausted and fatigued. Pascal's eyes darted as though he was expecting someone to jump out from the darkness.

"He hasn't been sleeping well, has he?" Michel asked the man who had cared for Pascal since the night, Renzo was murdered by Dean Bishop.

"Si." The man replied.

Michel's guest wore a dark brown long - sleeved shirt and black jeans tucked into army boots. His hair was hidden under a black cap. He stood in the shadows. No one, but Michel knew who he was.

"Kept having nightmares. Woke up in the nights and would keep crying. I would have come sooner but I didn't want to raise any suspicions. I have to be careful." The gold skeleton head earring on his right ear glistened in the warm orange lights.

Pascal began to sob. Michel kissed his forehead. He walked further into the house with Gold Skull following. The house was quiet as Michel made his way up the staircase, to Pascal's room.

Pushing the door open, Michel tried to sit the boy on the bed but the child wouldn't let go. "Pascal," he patted the boy's back. Seconds later the red head moved and dark brown eyes now looked at him. "You are safe. I am here."

Pascal didn't reply. He rested his palms on his uncle's broad chest, leaned back in his uncle's muscular arms.

Michel was dressed in a black shirt with the top three buttons undone. The little fingers reached out and touched the silver crucifix hanging around Michel's neck. He sobbed again remembering the same crucifix his Papà used to wear when he was alive.

"Papà fell and I fell with him." The boy's balled fists rubbed his own eyes to stop himself from crying.

Michel sat Pascal down on his lap. Taking the small hands in his larger ones, Michel kissed each hand. "Your papa didn't want you to get hurt."

"That man had a gun." Pascal's lips quivered and the sobs began once more. He remembered those blue eyes - how they were filled with such hatred. "He killed papà!" His frantic cries filled the entire room.

"Pascal." A shout came from the hallway.

Michel, looked over his shoulders and saw the hall lights switch on.

Living the ordeal in his head made Pascal distraught and hysterical. He began to slap his own cheeks. His mind began to see the blood from Renzo's body and how it had splattered onto his own face. The coppery smell and the warm liquid on his cheeks, felt so real now, that it seemed it was happening all over again.

"Papaaaaaà!" Pascal screamed seeing his father's bloody body lying on the ground. The boy began to gasp for air as the shock of the killing snapped in and seized him once more.