Falling Angel | a Mafia Story

Chapter XVIII

"All my friends are heathens take it slow, wait for them to ask you who you know,

please don't make any sudden moves, you don't know the half of the abuse"

It had been a few days since I had left the Caressio Manor and my life had not quite reassembled itself, yet.

I still woke up in the morning convinced it had all been a dream and that I would be working alongside Ellie once I would get out of bed.

But instead of the grand window to the garden I was greeted by a train rushing past outside, causing the whole room to rattle in response.

And instead of the busy house, always swarming with chattering people, I was sat in an empty flat listening to the clock ticking away on the cracked kitchen wall.

When I had arrived, nothing seemed to have changed, nothing but myself.

There was no indication that the past two months had happened at all, except for the lingering bruises on my skin and the wielding houseplants that had not been taken care of for too long.

I had found a large envelope lying on my kitchen counter when I had arrived. In it was a work contract from St. Thomas' Hospital, ready for me to sign and post back to them, offering me a permanent position as chief resident of oncology.

I did not know which board member Antonio had paid or threatened to get me this job, but on a note stuck to the envelope there was a message written in cursive lettering.

Keep saving them, Azrael - A.

My shifts would start in a week, bringing with them double the pay and almost half the workhours.

It was the dream of every medical practitioner to reach this position, opening opportunities at work but finally offering time and money to start building a personal life.

However, I could not help but feel reluctant to sign the contract, knowing that it had not resulted merely from my own hard work. But I also realised that I could do more, help more people, if I accepted this position, and it would be a one-way ticket back into my old life.

So here I was, sitting in my flat, waiting for the days to pass by until I could fall back into my old routine, unsure of what to do with myself in the meantime, when the sound of post sliding in through under my front door shook me out of my apathy on the couch.

I got up lazily, dragging my feet towards my door where a crème coloured envelope laid on the floor, my name written neatly on the front.

Anabelle D'Angelo.

It struck me like a lightening as I realized that nobody except for Antonio knew of my real name under this address, so this was not just a normal letter delivered by the Royal Mail, no this had to be from him.

Ripping open the door I ran out into the hallway, my bare feet making a soft tapping noise on the cold stone floor of the old staircase landing.

But there was not a soul to be seen, and the only thing to be heard was my pounding heartbeat.

A small part of me had wished to see Antonio, as proof to myself that I was not mental, and that the last two months were real and not just ghosts in my deranged mind.

To see his face, and remind myself that he really was the devil, because from time to time I had doubted myself, unsure about what was right and what was wrong.

All my life I had been sure, that the power-hungry people that were a product of the Mafia were nothing but bad, every cell in their bodies despicable and untrustworthy.