Falling Angel | a Mafia Story

Chapter IV

"Welcome to the Jungle, it gets worse here every day,

You learn to live like an animal in the Jungle where we play"

And just like that my life changed overnight.

My days were almost identical to my childhood. Cooking for moody Mafioso and cleaning after them, fearing for my life every time I opened my mouth.

But Ellie was being the motherly figure I had been missing for almost twenty years and I quickly realised that despite her lively spirit her body was run down by age and there were many everyday tasks she could not do anymore.

So, I was more than happy to relieve such a good-hearted woman of some duties even if it meant more sweat inducing work for me. 

The first week was the hardest.

Every morning I woke up shaking and sweat soaked from yet another nightmare, and for a heart breaking second I almost believed everything to be back to normal, that I was getting up for a long shift at the hospital, but instead of my dark blue walls I was looking at the stark white ceilings that were painfully reminding me of my hopeless situation.

I had to admit, however, that it did have its perks living under the same roof as London's most powerful Mafia Boss. I had a king sized bed for myself, even if I didn't get much sleep in it, I had a bathroom where I could spin 360 degrees with my arms outstretched without hitting my hand on the sink or the shower, and I definitely got better nutrition than the hospital cafeteria or my instant noodles had ever provided me with.

But I was still a slave to the people I so deeply despised, and I could tell that my name was not well spoken around this house.

Because every time someone passed me while I scrubbed the floor or served dinner, I would get dirty looks and the occasional snarl in my direction.

After all, I was the direct blood of Silvano D'Angelo.

Of course, this did not mean that I lived by his beliefs and acts of cruelty, but in their minds my heritage linked me directly to the blood of their people that had been spilled by the hands of my father.

Antonio and his clan of well-dressed brutes never failed to make me feel downgraded, constantly reminding me of the fact that I was stuck here for good, since my father apparently had a lot of debts built up over the last few years.

It was a scarily familiar environment that I found myself in.

The feeling of constantly walking on delicate eggshells never quite leaving and I felt like an alien species in an exhibit, curious but slightly disgusted eyes following me wherever I'd go, the faceless spectators pointing fingers while I had no shelter to hide behind.

I was painfully aware that Antonio didn't trust me to stay put, suspicious of my every move and expecting me to try and make a run for it. But it didn't need the bulky figure of a man to follow me around over the first week to remind me that there was no point in even thinking about escaping this hellhole.

There was no way to run from these people, no place to hide where they wouldn't find me, and Antonio had made it very clear that if I should try to step foot off his grounds, he would not hesitate to send his hounds after me.

Because this gang of Italian brutes was nothing more and nothing less. Just brainless dogs dancing to Antonio's tunes and jumping into action at his smallest command.

And one of them had been sent on guard duty, patrolling around me and not letting me out of his sight for an instant while I was trying to learn my new work schedule.