The Blood Bank

5

It was the early hours of the morning and John, Nathan and I were sat facing the man with the busted knee.

The other men had been... dealt with but John said he wanted to keep this man alive for a quick 'chitchat'.

It was guaranteed, a chitchat with John Romano was definitely not just inconsequential conversation and definitely not quick, either.

He was tied up to a cheap, plastic chair with wheels in the meeting room- as John called it- which was just a long room with a bunch of chairs, table and a large screen at the front.

Unfortunately, the grey tiled floor and walls reminded me of a school classroom which made my stomach twist in anxious nostalgia.

John said it was for convenience, wiping blood off tiles was easier than replacing carpet.

He was currently prodding the man in the side until he woke up, which I think was just for his own amusement as a smack to the head would have been a much quicker and effective way to bring him round.

He shrugged his shoulders and gave me a half smile when he returned to sitting next to me and I shrugged back at him, if poking someone in the side made John Romano happy, then so be it, he sure had the power and the money to do whatever the hell he wanted.

John, like me, was wearing the same suit as before and again I noticed how out of place he looked. I couldn't put my finger on it but for a man with such intense energy it was strange that a suit seemed to wear him. He looked tired.

Nathan looked... pissed off.

The man in the chair groaned in pain.

John Romano laughed.

"You work for McLean, correct?" The man nodded, "what was your purpose last night?"

"He wanted money.. we were told to take the girl so you would pay us to get her back.." his voice was groggy from whatever liquid had been held under his nose to knock him out, John said it was a mixture of chloroform and nitrous oxide.

He also said it was more efficient to keep whacking someone in the temple, but using the liquid made him feel more like he was in a spy film or something.

John Romano was definitely a man who enjoyed the small pleasures of life.

"He sent five men to kidnap one of my employees?"

"Well, on the TV she looked like a family..."

"You wasted a lot of my time and you cost me a limousine driver for this bull," he approached the man again, bending down so his lips were parallel from his ear, "I'm now going to waste even more time paying one of my men to kill you for attempting to kidnap a member of my team, then bring you back to life just to kill you again because your boss disrespected me by sending such incompetent fools to do his dirty work. Understand?"

John gestured through the glass window for security to wheel out the man on the chair.

I found it oddly amusing.

"At least the public believed our little love story, I'll give Mark some credit."

Nathan muttered something incoherent.

Standing up with John he gave me a gentle pat on the back and a half smile,

"Good first day, kid."

"Thank you." He left me walking to my room with one of his usual half smiles.

"Bella." A strong, clear voice called and I turned to see Nathan in the middle of the hallway.

Hung on the wall where he stood was a seemingly endless row of portrait photos of men in suits. After reading the plaque underneath the one closest to me, I realised they were previous leaders of the Romano family business.

Business being organised crime, not the family friendly, charity giving, airbrushed 'Romano: Jewellery' store business.

Looking at Nathan Romano was like looking at a piece of art that you couldn't quite get your head around. His face was nearly always frowning as though he was practicing twenty four seven for his turn to have his photo hung on the wall.

Perhaps the wind blew the wrong way when he was younger and the frown stuck?

"Yes?" I so badly wanted to flip him the middle finger and tell him to never say my name again but technically, I work for him as well,

"What if you had missed? When you shot that man, what if you had shot my father?"

It was strange seeing his face change into an unreadable expression, it made him almost appealing.

"I don't miss, Nathan."

Two AM at the Romano household was the busiest time of day, so I'd been told. The previous night I had heard them loading up vans for a weapons deal and the chatter of the staff downstairs who were cleaning up whatever mess the men were bringing back to the house.

Tonight, however, the only noise I heard was a scream. Followed by the deafening silence of a man who had stopped breathing.

Sobs racked through my body as I clutched my gun to my chest and my mind turned to the nights shooting targets in the dark and that one dreadful trainer, who stood with his lips to my ears, spitting out the consequences of missing my targets.

"You miss then one of those men die, whore."

Searchlights would repeatedly flash over the faces of the men stood in between the targets, the adrenaline not allowing my hand to still as I rose the gun.

I didn't count how many times I missed.

After completing the task every night for a week I learned not to miss, I learned the consequences of missing and I certainly learned that I was not made out for this life.

I checked my gun was loaded and placed it under my pillow, almost certain I wouldn't sleep the few hours left of the night.