Letters To The Mafia Don

I

Present time

Charlotte Cole

The clanging of the metal door closing behind me brought me into reality of actually being in a prison. HM Prison Wandsworth, Category B men's prison, with a population of 1,488 people. Why did I sign up to do this for the final part of grade? I looked behind me at the door and thought about turning back and leaving, but the voice inside my head was telling me that I won't get my degree if I don't do this, was pulling me away from the door and over to the register desk. 

I stood in front of a slightly large, dark-skinned woman, wearing a black and white uniform, who was typing on a computer. "Visiting hours don't start until two." She said, not looking away from the computer.

"Oh, um, I- I'm not here for visiting." She sighed and looked away from the computer and turned her attention towards me.

"Then why are you wasting my time?"

"I'm here from the University of Greenwich. I'm doing training here for psychology." She raised her eyebrows and looked at me with her big brown doe eyes.

"Now why in the hell would you do that to yourself? You don't look prepared at all." I scoffed but agreed nonetheless. 

"You're right about that. It's to finish off my degree. They always need you to do some sort of training at a place you would like to work at. Unfortunately for me, I want to work in a prison, so I have to do my training here and this was the only place that would accept me."

"You do know that there are some of the most dangerous men in the world here, right?"

"I did know that." She took in a sharp breath and looked away before coughing.

"Sorry I didn't get your name."

"Cole. Charlotte Cole." I held out my hand for her to shake and juggled my files in my other arm. 

"Michaels. Glenda Michaels." She shook my hand and then buzzed me in. "Have fun in there. But not too much fun." She winked. I frowned slightly and slowly went over to the metal door. Once I was in I had to go through a magnetometer after taking off all of my metal, and placed my phone and files in a tray. 

"Thank you." I muttered at the officer who had passed me my phone. I turned around and was met with a youngish man, early to mid thirties, with blonde hair and brown eyes. His white shirt clung to the muscles under his clothes, handcuffs were locked onto his trouser belt loop along with a holster holding a gun and a baton, and what looks like a taser. 

"You must be Charlotte." His eyes raked my body and he smiled in satisfaction when his eyes met my chest. I immediately felt uncomfortable and cleared my throat pulling his attention back up to my eyes. "Excuse me. We just haven't had someone as young and beautiful as you work here for a while." I dismissed him by a wave of my hand and subtly looked at his hand. Prick, I thought when I saw the gold piece of metal on his left ring finger. 

"And you are...?" 

"Thompson, Devon Thompson."

"How old are you?" 

"32. How old are you?"

"22." He muttered something under his breath that I couldn't quite work out, but it made me feel a little sick knowing he had said something. We turned a corner and the first thing I saw was the cells, every cell we walked past I heard a wolf whistle or some very unpleasant comments. I felt something grab at my grey blazer and pull me back, I looked into some dark brown eyes that shook me down to my core.