The Mafia Man's Trophy [On Hold]

Chapter 03.

I suck in a sharp breath as my body arches up off a soft surface. My eyes fly open and widen as my chest expands painfully to accommodate the large mass of thin clean air I sucked in.

My body crashes back down onto the bed, and I start hyperventilating and trembling.

My mind rapidly playing a screen roll of what happened hours ago before I passed out in the walls of my home.

A piercing headache slashes through my forhead, and I cry out in pain. I could hear voices in my head, telling me repeatedly to protect my sister.

Reminding me that I was in danger and that Scarlette was now in danger too.

I was breathing heavily, a crazed glaze covered my eyes as I stared ahead, not seeing the stoic, unmoving face that gazed at me through confused eyes.

Instead, the only thing I saw was a rerun of my fucked up life and all the bullshit I had been through, all playing out and quickly leading up to the moment I watched my mother get shot it the head.

It was as if in that moment everything stood still, and suddenly I was having an out of body experience where I saw what took place from a third person perspective.

Everything was in slow motion; the bullet that pierced my mother's skull, the droplets of blood that splashed across the floor, hitting Scarlette in the face, the pause that had passed between us before our simultaneous scream that could wake the dead, and send men running for the hills.

Then suddenly, everything was back to being fast paced. Except this time, I was screaming too, not only in the reruns that my mind provided.

I laid crippled on the bed, feeling like my head was being torn off as I screamed my lungs raw, hot tears streaming down my face.

My body was numb, and my senses were lagged. However, I scathingly sense my body being shaken and a handsome face peering down at me in what seemed to be extreme confusion.

The image of my father's bloodied, tortured and crippled body laying limp and half dead on a cold concrete floor was the last image I saw before my body once again arched dramatically off the bed.

When it finally slams down on the soft surface of the bed I was laying in, I was once again passed out cold.

-Three Days Later-

I felt, cold.

My body felt cold, my insides felt cold, the breath from my nostrils that fanned my upper lip felt cold. However, the room was - warm.

I peel my eyes open to stare into the unfamiliar ceiling that had intricate designs on its concrete surface.

My eyes wonder to the left of the room where a thick curtains was hiding the blinding glare of the morning sunlight, it then sweeps to the right to observe the items that were stocked in the room.

A sofa, love seats, a large dresser, and what seemed to be a walk in closet, all polished in a shining burgundy color.

My eyes then rest before me, and my heart skips a tiny beat as I stare impassively at the man that sat comfortably in an armchair with his legs crossed at the end of the bed before me.

He leans forward slowly and the sunbeam that escape the curtains, gleams on his shiny, messy black hair, square face, and strong jawline that housed a 5 o'clock shadow, and highlighted his stormy grey eyes, his crooked nose, and his small pouted lips.

His narrow eyes observe my immobile body.

Sweeping from my messy, tangled hair, to my lifeless eyes, to the hallow rise and fall of my chest.