The Mafia's Jewel (BWWM)

15

I woke up feeling like shit. I try to cover my face with my blanket, but early morning light filters through the thin curtains, casting a soft glow on the room, and slightly burning my face. My heart is pounding, a lingering echo of the dream I can't quite remember. I lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, feeling an inexplicable pull in my chest.

Without really thinking, I get out of bed and begin to dress. The motions are automatic, my hands moving on their own as I pull on a pair of jeans and a loose sweater. I don't bother with makeup or my usual morning routine. I simply tie my braids back into a low-ponytail and slip on my worn slippers.

I grab my keys from the dresser and head out the door, not bothering to tell anyone where I'm going. I don't know where I'm going. It's as if my body is on autopilot, guiding me through the familiar streets of Sicily without conscious thought.

The air is cool and crisp, carrying the scent of the sea mixed with the aroma of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery. The streets are still damp from the morning dew, the cobblestones glistening under the early light. I walk aimlessly, my mind a blur of memories and emotions.

As I roam, the familiar sights and sounds of the city pass by in a haze. The cheerful chatter of vendors setting up their stalls, the distant hum of traffic, the occasional ring of a bicycle bell. Everything feels distant, like I'm walking through a dream.

My feet carry me down narrow alleys and wide boulevards, past quaint cafes and bustling markets. I don't pay much attention to where I'm going until I find myself on a familiar route. My heart skips a beat as I recognize the path.

I stop in my tracks when I see it. The pizza place. The place where Elio was killed. The place where my life turned upside down.

The shop is boarded up, the windows covered with plywood, and the door secured with heavy chains. The once vibrant sign is faded and weathered, the cheerful colors now dull and lifeless. The remaining marks of flames are still visible, scorch marks marring the facade, a haunting reminder of that day.

I stand staring at the shop, memories flooding back with a force that nearly knocks me off my feet. Elio's laughter, his smile, the warmth of his embrace. The sound of gunshots, the smell of smoke, the sight of his lifeless body on the ground.

Tears well up in my eyes as I remember the chaos, the screams, the feeling of wanting to run, but the fear being too strong to even move an inch. I remember the numbness, the disbelief, the crushing grief that followed.

My legs feel weak, and I lean against a nearby lamppost for support. The world around me blurs as the tears spill over, streaming down my cheeks. I don't bother to wipe them away. I just stand there, letting the pain wash over me.

I don't know how long I stand there, lost in my memories. Minutes? Hours? Time seems to have no meaning as I relive that fateful night over and over again.

Eventually, the tears begin to slow, and I take a deep, shuddering breath. The pain is still there, a constant ache in my chest, but it feels a little less overwhelming. I push myself away from the lamppost and take a step forward, then another, until I'm standing directly in front of the boarded-up shop.

I reach out and touch the plywood, feeling the rough texture under my fingers. It's real. It's all real. The memories, the pain, the loss. It's all a part of me now, a part of my story.

For a moment, I consider ripping the wood off and entering the place, but I know it's not going to make me feel any better. Just as I'm about to turn away, I hear a small meow from somewhere, breaking my focus on the shop. I look around, but I don't see anything. The meow grows louder, still faint and weak.

I scan the area, searching for the source of the sound. Then I spot it—a black and white face staring at me from inside the shop. "Kiwi?" I blink, staring at Elio's cat. I crouch down, and Kiwi stands on her paws, slipping her thin body through the cracks in the boarded-up entrance.

She greets me with her tail up, her meows more desperate but still weak. I reach out and pick her up, her bony frame from the time she must have suffered on the streets. "You poor thing," I whisper, stroking her tangled fur. "Let's get you something to eat."

Holding her small close, I turn away from the shop, Kiwi's frail body grounding me. I walk back through the dewy streets, my steps more purposeful now.

~

The vet's office smells like antiseptic and animals, a sharp mix that clings to my clothes as I walk out carrying Kiwi in her carrier. What was supposed to be a time for me to relax and recover has turned into an endless cycle of vet visits, feeding schedules, and cleaning up after this damn cat.

I sigh, looking down at Kiwi through the carrier's mesh. She stares back at me with those big, round eyes, and I can't help but feel a tug of affection despite my frustration. She is Elio's beloved pet, and he would be happy to know she is safe in my arms.

The sun setting casting a warm glow over the streets of Sicily, warms my skin as I navigate through the evening crowd. My mind a whirl of thoughts about Kiwi's health and my dwindling free time. I should be at home, curled up with a book or watching a movie, but here I am, playing nursemaid to a cat.

I turn the corner onto a quieter street, a chill runs down my spine. Something feels off. I quicken my pace, but before I can react, a figure steps out of the shadows, blocking my path.

The man is tall and lean, with a scar running right over his left eye that looks blinded, giving him a sinister appearance. His gaze is cold and piercing, and I can tell immediately that he's not someone to mess with.

"Good evening," he says, his voice low,

I clutch the handle of Kiwi's carrier tighter, my heart racing. "Can I help you?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

"You need to be careful," he says, his eyes narrowing. "There are dangers ahead, especially regarding the mafia and Leone."

The mention of Leone sends a jolt of fear through me. "How do you know Leone?" I demand, raising an eyebrow. Most people here in don't really know how the leader of the mafia looks like unless they themselves are–

I take a step back when the man reaches into his coat and pulls out a gun, pointing it directly at my face. The cold metal glints in the fading light, and I freeze, my mind blank with terror.

"Listen if you want money, I can get you some."

The man chuckles. "Money? No, no, no, signora." He leans closer. "I just need your time."