Mina's parents have worked hard to hide their dark past from their daughter. But, what happens when Mina collides with Enrico: the ruthless heir to the most powerful Italian-American Mafia?
"HAVE YOU EATEN?" Mina asked Enrico as he stepped into her house, pulling his trainers off and lining it along the wall. He nodded.
"Too bad, follow me," she said, sauntering away, leaving him alone in the living room.
"Hey, Enrico, how are you? I'm good, thanks for asking. How are you, Mina?" He said sarcastically, his voice raised loud enough for Mina to hear, before sighing and following her to her bedroom.
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"Look at what's on my bed," she urged, staring up at him with glittering eyes. He tilted his body to peer behind her and his eyes was met with plates of food.
"You made pizza," he observed, "and cupcakes." He turned back around to face her, one side of his lip tugging upwards.
"I made it for us," she smiled, "we clearly need the energy."
"They look great. Thanks," he said, his voice as soft as his smiling lips.
"Don't feel too special," she scoffed, "I was going to make it either way." She spun around and hopped onto her bed, munching on a cupcake.
• • •
An hour flew by. They barely had enough time to study when Enrico's phone began to buzz violently. He plunged his hand into his jacket pocket, pulled it out and gazed at the screen. His eyes quickly scanned the text and he impatiently locked the screen of his phone, getting to his feet.
"I gotta go," said Enrico, running his slender fingers through his short, tangled hair as he pulled on his jacket.
"Oh," said Mina, frowning. "Okay. I'll walk you out." She dropped the poetry sheets onto her bed and stood up. "I'll see you again?" She asked timidly.
Enrico looked doubtful at first, but after seeing the look on her face, he suddenly nodded. "Yeah," he reassured her, smiling, "yeah, whenever you want."
She blushed involuntarily, leading him out of her house.
• • •
It was in the middle of the night when she jolted awake. Her insides lurched and her small hands shot to her stomach, clutching it helplessly. She tipped to the side, wincing at the painful cramps twisting her insides, then she rolled out of bed.
The kitchen cabinet was empty. There was no sign of painkillers. She threw on a grey jacket over her pyjamas and decided to leave her stuffy house, to indulge herself in the fresh breeze and to purchase some medicine.
She strolled through the quiet streets of her friendly neighbourhood, the lamp lights flickering in the darkness. The moon was her guide as she splashed through the pooling moonlight which poured down onto the pavement.
Once she bought the painkillers, she popped open a packet and gulped one down, before continuing to walk home, her hand wrapped around the small shopping bag—which also guiltily contained chocolate bars.
