As the taxi drew to a halt before the apartment complex, Marcus Santini handed the driver a dollar bill and, seizing his bag, alighted. The vehicle departed, and Marcus made his way towards the building's entrance. The instant the door swung open, a little girl of around five years old erupted in joyous shouts.
"Papa's home! Papa's home!"
Marcus scooped her up and showered her with kisses, pressing his lips to her forehead. "How's my precious princess faring?"
"I'm good, Papa," she beamed, but her smile faded as her tiny finger brushed against a cut on his cheek. "What happened to you, Papa?" she asked, concern etched on her features.
"'Tis nothing, my dear," he assured her, his voice gentle. "And where is your mother?"
"She's in the kitchen," the young child answered.
At that moment, a woman with curly brown hair stepped out of the kitchen, an apron of green cloth wrapped around her. Her expression was one of anger as she fixed her gaze upon him.
"You've been fighting again, Marcus, despite our conversation," she accused. "What message does this send to our daughter? What if something happens to you?"
"I'm sorry Sofia " he replied. "We require the coin, love. The wage from the garage is insufficient, our rent is nearly due, and we are in need."
Marcus Santini maintained a small mechanic's shop in town.
Sofia moved towards him, taking their daughter from him.
Marcus followed after his wife, trying to convince her that he was only doing it for them.
"I'm doing this for our sake," he murmured, his voice thick.
Sofia turned to face him, her eyes flashing with a fierce intensity. "No, Marcus, you do it for yourself. I have told you, I will be resuming my job and contributing to our finances."
Marcus shook his head, his jaw set in stubborn resolve. "I do not require your assistance, my love. I am a man, and I will set our lives to better. I vow it."
Sofia sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She took their daughter by the hand, leading her gently towards her bedroom. "I do not wish for her to witness our disagreements," she murmured softly.
Marcus retreated to their bedroom. He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the cool embrace of the shower, the water cascading over his body. The numerous scars that adorned his skin were a testament to his history, a history that Sofia despised. It was the very reason they had left Chicago and sought refuge in Los Angeles. But the cost of living here was high.
As the frigid water washed over him, he winced, but a soft hand brushed against his hip, another reaching for his chest. Marcus's heart swelled with love as he recognized the touch of his wife.
Sofia's naked form pressed against his own, her firm and perky breasts pressing into his back. Her hand traced a gentle path over his chest, her touch soft and soothing. She laid her head on his back, her voice barely a whisper.
"Swear to me that you will abandon this path of violence," she pleaded, her voice trembling with emotion. "Vow to me that you will find another way."
With a resigned sigh, Marcus steeled himself, knowing he must deceive his beloved wife for her own happiness. "I swear it," he declared, turning to face Sofia. Their foreheads met, and he kissed her deeply, his strong hands gripping her ass and pulling her close, so her womanhood pressed against his thigh.
Their lips moved in a frenzy of insatiable desire as they kissed with unbridled passion. Marcus' hand wandered to Sofia's breast, gently cupping it as she moaned in delight. He broke the kiss, taking one of her nipples into his mouth and suckling deeply, eliciting a gasp from his wife.
He continued to kiss her softly as he moved downwards, kneeling before her and placing her leg over his shoulder. She reached out to steady herself against the wall as Marcus spread her womanhood with two fingers, circling her most sensitive spot with his index finger.
Sofia writhed in pleasure, and Marcus rose, turning her to face the wall. He entered her from behind, thrusting deeply and with increasing speed, until they both reached the pinnacle of their passion.
**************
As the dawn broke, Marcus found himself facing the most startling sight of his life. His garage, his sanctuary, lay in ruins. Shattered glass littered the floor, expensive spare parts had vanished, and the remainder lay destroyed. A wave of disbelief washed over him as he surveyed the havoc wreaked by unknown assailants.
Wasting no time, Marcus contacted the local authorities, hoping for some resolution to this distressing situation. But his hopes were quickly dashed when he remembered he had neglected to insure his garage shop.
Overwhelmed with despair, Marcus found himself unable to return to the comfort of his home. His thoughts raced, contemplating the possible culprits behind this heinous act. His mind immediately leapt to Paul's enigmatic employer, a shadowy figure to him.
Fueled by anger, Marcus sought solace in the bottom of a glass, drowning his sorrows in a bar until the stroke of midnight. With unsteady legs, he hailed a cab and made his way back to his apartment.
He arrived to find the building ominously quiet, the silence only broken by the sound of his own knocking. Puzzled, he knocked again, but no answer came. Frustrated, he rummaged through his pockets for his spare key, stumbling through the door and into the darkness of his apartment.
As the electric lights spluttered and flickered into life, Marcus was met with a sight that would haunt him to his dying day: blood, crimson and vivid, splattered across every surface. His heart, which had already been hammering in his chest, seemed to stutter in its rhythm, as if unsure whether to continue beating at all.
"Sofia?" he called, his voice hoarse with fear and panic. He hoped against hope that this gory sight was nothing more than the product of an overwrought imagination, a nightmare from which he would soon awaken. But the blood was all too real, as real as the ragged sound of his own breathing.
With trembling hands, Marcus followed the trail of blood, his heart pounding in his chest like a frenzied drum. It led him to his daughter's room, the place where she should have been safe and sounds. He reached for the doorknob, his fingers slipping and sliding on the blood-slicked surface, and pushed the door open.
What greeted him was a sight beyond his worst nightmares. His wife, Sofia, lay crumpled on the floor, her body a grotesque and twisted parody of the woman he had loved and cherished for so many years. She was holding the body of their daughter, Elena, both of them drenched in blood.
Marcus's knees gave way beneath him, and he collapsed to the ground, tears streaming down his face like a torrent of rain. He reached out, his hands shaking so violently that he could barely control them, and cupped the face of his daughter. Sofia's eyes were closed, her chest still, and her skin as cold as the grave. She had several stab wounds, and her throat had been slit, as if the killer had wanted to ensure that she would never draw another breath.
The room spun around Marcus, a mixture of pain and despair, and he felt as if he were drowning in it. But then something flickered in his mind, a tiny spark of hope in the darkness. He quickly stood up, his heart racing like a frightened rabbit's, and stumbled out of the room.
He rushed to his bedroom, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and made a beeline for his laptop. He had installed security cameras throughout the house, a necessary precaution in his line of work, which had brought him into contact with some of the most dangerous and ruthless criminals in Chicago.
Frankie, the drug lord and mafia king, was at the top of that list, a man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. And what he wanted, more than anything else, was Marcus's head on a platter.
Marcus's fingers flew over the keyboard, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the events of the past few hours.