~CHAPTER 2~
With the gun still pointed at my head, I watched as the masked man slowly took a long drag of his cigarette and when he exhaled, he drawled out a question.
"Kid or prostituta?" His rich Italian accent was thick with his husky voice.
I understand the first part but the second word sounded unmistakably like "prostitute". My mind recoiled in horror as I realized what he was asking. Was I a kid, or was I a prostitute?
I tried to answer his question, but it seemed I had taken a lot of time as a gunshot rang near my ear. My eyes got wide as I realized how close the shot had been.
I stared at the masked man's indifferent face, expecting to see some reaction or emotion. He didn't even flinch or blink. He just stood there, his gun still trained on me and his eyes boring into mine.
"I'm... I'm..."
"Boss." A voice from the hallway interrupted my stammering words.
The masked man tilted his head slightly to the side, but his eyes never left mine. "Sì?(Yes)" he replied.
And the voice spoke again but in rapid Italian. "È la figlia del bastardo e abbiamo invaso con successo. Boris è legato. (she's the daughter of the bastard and we have successfully invaded, Boris is tied up)"
I couldn't understand a word of what was being said, except for one. "Boris." My father's name which still sent a shiver down my spine.
"I see," the masked man said before he walked closer to me and pressed his gun directly on my head.
My eyes closed on their own in fear as I felt paralyzed with terror, "Turn around," he growled.
I didn't need to be told twice, I quickly turned around, facing the stairs as my legs began to move mechanically, carrying me upward. The masked man followed closely behind me.
And as we reached the top of the stairs, I was met with a sight: the hallway was littered with bodies, some of them belonging to the masked man's cohorts, but most of them were my father's men.
The masked man's gun pressed against my head, urging me forward, and I continued my walk, trying not to look at the bodies.
We turned a corner, and I saw two men standing guard outside my father's study. It was a room I had never been allowed to enter, a place where my father conducted his most private and secretive business.
The two men spotted us and bowed slightly while opening the door. "Don," they respectfully said in unison, and I assumed they were addressing the masked man, 'cause who else? The title seemed to suit him, and I found myself thinking of him as the Don.
But it seemed Don's patience had finally dried up as he pushed me forward, sending me crashing to the ground.
I landed hard on the polished wood floor, the wind knocked out of me. I struggled to get my balance and I looked up to see the Don striding past me with his eyes now fixed on my father, who was tied up to a chair.
Gosh, his face was a mess, with one eye swollen shut; he looked up at me with so much hatred, like I was the curse.
I snapped my eyes out from his and looked to the side to see a man who was covered in tattoos from head to toe, or at least from the skin I could see beneath his suit. He was a hulking figure, holding onto a hot rod.
I looked back at the Don, who now sat on the edge of my father's study table, his eyes fixed on my father's battered face. "We finally meet, sì?" he said, lighting up a new cigarette.
"Romeo". My father acknowledged him with a single word and The Don's eyes flicked to me.
I thought he had forgotten I was there but then, his gaze returned to my father, and he began to speak again.
"it's been ages" I took advantage of the distraction to push myself up from the floor, scanning the room for any sign of escape. But with the two guards that were standing like sentinels outside the door. I knew I couldn't get past them, not without a fight. So, I retreated to the corner of the room, trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible.
It didn't take long before I watched as Mr tattoo strode towards the Don and bowed.
He straightened up and handed the Don the rod, which was very hot and was emitting a faint wisp of smoke from its tip.
The Don took the rod with a grin and he turned to my father again, the rod held loosely in his hand.
I watched as my father's eyes shifted from the not-so-scared man to abject terror as he realized what was about to happen.
"Remember this, sì?" the Don said, playing with the rod. "Remember how wonderful you said the smell of burnt meat is." He stood up from the table and walked closer to my father, who shook his head -No-
"Now Remember," The don mercilessly swung the hot rod down onto my father's face and I didn't know when a scream left my lips, but I felt it tearing through my throat. The Don's eyes moved to me, while my father groaned in pain.
Oh no, I said to myself, my mind racing with fear as I saw the Don move away from my father's side and walk towards me. I wished the wall could just swallow me whole, hide me from the Don's menacing presence, as he loomed over me.
"This your daughter, sì?". My eyes moved to my father, and I felt a pang of pity for him, despite all the things he had done to me. His jaw was broken, and he couldn't speak well, his words slurred and indistinct. I saw the pain and I forgot about all the hurt he had caused me. He was my father, after all, and seeing him like this was almost too much to bear.
"Akh," The Don's fingers dug into my cheek as he suddenly held my face closer to him, his breath hot against my skin before he muttered words that no one would want to hear.
"She would make a good prostitute.....for sale"
My body and mind began shaking uncontrollably, Was he going to take me and sell my body? Was I going to be taken from one hell to another?.
The Don's grip on my cheek relaxed, and he stood up straight. He moved towards the door, but before he passed through it, he called back to Mr tattoo, who was standing at the corner.
"Take her to the car," he ordered, his eyes flicking to me before going to the my father "And old man, tell my parents I said... Ciao."
It was a mocking farewell and with that, the Don threw the rod at my father's face, making a sickening crunch.
My father's head snapped back and the don finally walked out of the room, leaving me alone with the tattoo man.
Mr. tattoo walked over to me and grasped my arm, harshly dragging me up and away from the safety of the wall.
I stumbled to keep up with him as I looked over to my father, expecting to see him show some empathy or concern for my well-being.
But what I saw was him sitting there, his broken face, jaw, and burnt skin a testament to the brutality he had endured. And yet, despite all that, he was smiling.
It was a faint, twisted smile, but it was unmistakable, it looked like he was telling me I was doomed. And in that moment, I realized I didn't have a father, he was not my father and all the pity I had for him vanished.
Even if my situation would be much worse than his. Even if I was the one who was going to be taken away, sold into a life of slavery and abuse. My father's face was not one I would ever wish to see again.