In the begining

There are two men. There are two made men. I watched as one killed a mobster. I depend on the other to save my life. There are two made men. And they both are the difference between life and death.

There are six men.

There are six tall men.

There are six tall men in suites and all of them are Italian.

But only two of them are made.

It had been a long time since I'd prayed, probably sometime before my teenage years. I couldn't even recall the last time I had asked Mother Mary for anything even though I wore her rosary around my neck every single day. But tonight, my mind screamed out for her, begging for forgiveness, for a way out of here, and to un-see what cannot be excused. Unfortunately for me, I knew there was no way out and not even Mary herself could save me from the fate that awaited.

Four of the six Italian men were guards. Two of those guards stood on either side of me, sandwiching my body between theirs while holding tightly to my arms. The other two protected the entrance to the office where I currently found myself. It lacked any feminism, except maybe the blood red carpeting on the floor. The walls were beige and plain, vacant of any portraits or clocks or shelves. The only furniture that really occupied the room were two chairs that faced a large desk, and of course the leather seat to match. This office was no doubt the last place a person see's before their execution. Whoever designed the place must have not wanted to waist the money for such a haunting room.

The thought brought on a new surge of struggle within me. I had been struggling profusely for the last ten minutes, thrashing about and wringing my limbs in awkward directions, small winces escaping my clenched teeth. That is until first of two made men seated at the large oak desk twirled around in his oversized leather seat, a cigar lit between his fingers and said "will you please shut the f**k up?"

My struggling ceased immediately as his ivory green eyes and messy black hair rooted me to the spot. His dark Italian skin and masculine cheek bones and jaw displayed a beautiful entourage of unshaven facial stubble. The lack of lighting throughout the red office deeply intensified the daunting shadows under his eyes. I swallowed hard and when he seemed satisfied, he spun the chair back and faced away from me.

His names is Marcello Badadonchi, the youngest of the Badadonchi brothers. He took over the family business, Famiglia di sangue, "Blood Family", three years ago after his father was killed by a group of Russian mobsters who were poisoned by evil and thirsted for blood.

Instead of attacking the rival gang, Marcello drew up a treaty and called a truce to keep from more blood spilling in his streets of Brooklyn. The Russian leader accepted and kept true to his word, never unleashing his soldiers to raid the Famiglia di sangue. And all was well for years until tonight when I left the club two blocks from the Badadonchi casino. When I took the ally for a shortcut at one in the morning and drunkenly stumbled across an execution of a Russian mobster by one of the Famiglia soldiers. I shook away the memory of brain matter exploding out of a human skull.

"Well, tonight has been quite a night of f**k ups." Marcello said to the second made man in the room.

His name is Geo, short for Geovani Badadonchi. The oldest son, and the person I had witnessed at the crime scene. He was broad chested and deeply tanned. His gleaming white teeth and dusty brown eyes were no doubt impressively attractive. He shared his little brother's high cheek bones and razor sharp jaw line. Those devilish eyes cut toward me angrily as he crossed one leg over the other before pulling a book of matches out and lighting his cigar. He finally broke eye contact with me to blow a thick cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. It leaked from his mouth in a large puff that swallowed his face, only adding to the suffocating aroma of smolder in this airless office.

He looked forward at his little brother before answering, "Indeed it has been. And how do you plan to handle these issues, brother?"

"Well I suppose we could start with the thief." Marcello sighed. He gave a quick gesture with his hands and the two guards who stood post at the entrance left briefly, returning less than a minute later with a man whom I assumed was the thief.

They escorted a very heavy man to the front of the room and shoved him down in a vacant seat next to Geo. The heavy man was damp with perspiration, his white undershirt was soaked all the way through. His skin was extremely pale and his brown eyes were alight with fear. He looked at me momentarily, sandwiched between these two men and probably wondered how I ended up in this mess.

"Look at me." Marcello snapped his fingers angrily. The heavy man cut his eyes straight ahead and swallowed.

"I'm not going to beat around the bush, Mr. Ridale. I know you've stolen from me, and if you admit it like a man, I'll let you live."

"I-I" The heavy man, now known to me as Mr. Ridale, stuttered. Suddenly the two guards who had originally escorted him in came forward. One of them held down his right arm to the chair.

"You have three seconds." Marcello stated.

Mr. Ridale struggled against the guard but it appeared to be rather useless.

"Two seconds."

"Okay! Okay! I counted a few cards at the table. Who hasn't? I'll pay every penny back I swear it!" He bellowed out in irrational fear. All was silent except for my breathing that doubled in heavy gasps as the second guard pulled a serrated hunting knife from the back of his suit. I could feel the curdling feeling of vomit as it burned a vicious cyclone around the pit of my stomach. The second guard looked to the Marcello, who nodded, and without waiting another second, sliced downward and completely severed two of the man's fingers, partially amputating a third.

I could no longer hold it together.

I screamed.

I screamed with everything inside of me as a pointer and middle finger fell to the red carpet and blood sprayed out in various directions. Mr. Ridale wailed loudly and instinctively cradled his mutated hand to his chest. A river of velvet stained his shirt as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Shut that girl up." Marcello shouted over his shoulder.

I caught the distinct sight of a muscle twitch in his jaw before he redirected his attention forward.

The unmistakable presence of a gun dug into my hip by the man on my left. I clinched my teeth together until they felt on the verge of cracking. I inhaled sharply as the sickening burn of vomit licked my throat with acid.

"Mr. Ridale, let this be a warning to you. Everyone that you come in contact with from this point forward will know of your discrepancies against me. You have one month to return all the money you have stolen or I will be back to collect your entire hand and other parts of your body until it is completely unrecognizable."

Hot tears rolled down my face as unadulterated fear drove a hot iron straight into my gut. I found it harder and harder catch my breath as anxiety threatened to drown me.

"Seferino, Arnaldo, please escort our friend back out the way he came." The two guards lifted Mr. Ridale from his seat and roughly accompanied him out of the office.

"You let him off easy, Marcello." Geo spoke on an exhale of smoke.

"I allowed him to live. Now his debt is twice its worth and the rest of the world will see him for what he truly is, a thief." His fingers brushed back his thick ebony hair as he exhaled smoke from his cigar. One of the guards, Arnaldo I think, poked his head in the door.

"Krasnoff is ready to see you sir." He said.

Marcello gestured for them to come in with a wave of his hand and then relaxed against his leather seat. Suddenly the office doors opened and in walked a pale man, well over six foot, with an expensively tailored suit and slicked back blond hair. He walked with a certain authority, holding his well-defined chin up and his massive shoulders back. He took a seat where Mr. Ridale had sat just seconds ago. His blue eyes cut downward at the bloodied fingers. Without much care he shuffled them away with the flick of his shoes.

The silence that followed was almost unbearable. The blonde man eyed me suspiciously before beginning.

"I hope you are going to pay me for the man you put down tonight. He was one of my best." His Russian accent was thick as he pronounced every syllable.

"We do plan to pay you for it, Mr. Krasnoff. It was an honest mistake, I swear it." Geo spoke. He smoothed out his tied and continued. "We get about nervous when we see some of your men sniffing around these parts, with our deceased father and all."

I shut my eyes tightly. My head began to spin and my lungs burned with lack of clean air. Not only had I witnessed a gruesome murder and been captured, kidnapped, and held hostage, now I was face to face with the largest drug lord outside Brooklyn and the ruthless leader of the Russian mafia. These were the last people I was ever going to see.

This office was going to be my final destination while I was alive.

"I signed your treaty years ago! You killed one of my men simply because he was Russian and he was on your streets. For that, Geovani, you will pay me."

"I have your money right here." Marcello opened the bottom drawer to his desk and retrieved a black suit case. He laid it across the surface of his desk and pushed it toward the edge. "There is twenty thousand in there." He said. Mr. Krasnoff ground his teeth together before scratching his jaw. Then he reached forward and took the briefcase, handing it to one of the men who accompanied him into the office.

"I'll take your twenty thousand. And the girl, too." He strutted his jaw towards me. Promiscuous eyes glinted with untold dark promises. A chill ran down my spine at the sudden thought of being an Italian left at a Russians mercy.

"Deal." Geo said all too quickly.

"No deal." Marcello over ruled.

"What do you mean no deal?" Geo shouted. "Give him the girl and after a day or two he will be rid of her. Saves us the trouble of getting rid of her body."

"It's your fault she was a witness in the first place, which makes it our responsibility to tie up loose ends. I'm sorry Mr. Krasnoff, the girl is ours. Please help yourself to the abundant selection of women downstairs." Marcello crushed what was left of his cigar into a crystal ash tray before folding his hands and placed them on the smooth surface of his desk.

Mr. Krasnoff exhaled angrily.

"Don't let this happen again, or you can forget the treaty." He stood and exited the room.

"Well that was exciting." Geo said. He put his cigar out also and leaned back in his seat. "That just leaves one more problem." He yawned sleepily. Suddenly I was moving forward against my will.

I felt the shove of my body as it hit the seat.

It was still warm from the two previous men who had sat here.

And now it left me facing Marcello Badadonchi. There was no more hiding.

He was completely silent, his green eyes studying me very intently. I felt bare, naked almost, as I waited for him to say something. Perhaps there would be no further conversation. He would just shoot me now.

My bottom lip quivered as I struggled to find the right words to say. "I won't say a thing. I swear it. I'll pack everything I have and leave this city far, far behind." My words were almost inaudible. Marcello licked his bottom lip and halfcocked his head to one side. He opened one of his drawers and pulled out my clutch I thought I'd lost in the ally after fighting the men who snatched me.

"Ms. Isabella DiAngelo. Twenty-four years old. Living in Brooklyn. Five foot and six inches." He read off my license. He tossed it to the side before digging around in my clutch. He pulled out the ticket stub that had gotten me into the club just down the street tonight.

"What is a woman like you doing walking around the dirty streets this late alone?" He asked without looking at me.

"I know these streets. I trust them."

"Well, Isabella, that is very foolish of you." He finally locked eyes with me. My heart thudded so loudly there was no question everyone in the office could hear it. My skin was visibly shaking and my lip quivered so terribly that my bottom teeth began to chatter into my top.

"I'm sorry. Please let me go and this will be the last time you ever see or hear of me again."

"Ms. DiAngelo, if you hadn't heard by now, we do not do loose ends." This time it was Geo who spoke up. His light brown eyes trailed their way from my face to my neck. He licked his lips slowly. I adverted his stare and looked back to his brother for mercy.

"My brother is right. In this business there are no loose ends. Not even for beautiful women like yourself. So that leaves me in a delicate position." Marcello said gently. He reached behind himself and retrieved a jet black gun and laid it on the desk, its barrel facing right at me. A tearless sob ripped through my entire torso.

"What you say next will determine your fate, Isabella. So my suggestion to you is to listen closely."

Reviews

[Merlin Wiz]

WOW, a beautiful thriller.