"We shouldn't have brought her back here, Lucas said the don… in an hour, and he's not in a good mood, apparently some fool tried… double cross him."
"Fuck! Fuck! She's here already, we'll have to face the co... don't… choice."
I could hear faint voices, but I couldn't really pick up on the words being spoken. Everything felt excruciatingly slow, even my thoughts. My mind was hazy, and my eyes felt as though it was carrying the weight of the universe.
I wanted to open my eyes so bad, but I couldn't, I couldn't even move any part of my body, everything felt heavy. What is happening to me? I know I'm not dead, I'm breathing, so what the fuck is going on?
"Capo, liberiamoci di…."
The voices are back, but they're not familiar.
The unfamiliarity of the voices, made a deep fear settle within me, the zeal to become conscious felt urgent. I tried to force my eyes to open again, but I got the same result, the fear is becoming more and more prominent now.
Why can't I move my limbs? What did they do to me? I'm trying to remember how I got here, but even that seems to be a hassle.
"Wha-" finally I was able to move my lips, but I still couldn't form a proper word or sentence, but I was gradually gaining back my consciousness, and the first thing that I became aware of, was the extreme tightness of something around my wrist.
The only thing I could currently feel was the burning sensation in both my wrists. Of course, I tried to wiggle out of the tight grip, of what I could tell was a very thick rope.
The slowness was beginning to fade, my thoughts were becoming clearer as well as my memories. The last thing I remember was going home from work, before turning a corner, and then… shit! Shit!
I witnessed a fucking murder!
My heart hammered in my chest, every single nerve cell in my body coursed with electricity, but not for the usual purpose, no, it was as a result of the primal instinct of fear that overwhelmed me.
I desperately tried to wiggle out of the tight grip of the rope, that has refused to budge.
"Let me go! Please! Please!"
I screamed as tears streamed down my face. I wasn't gagged nor blindfolded, they only tied my hands behind a hard steel chair.
"Her mouth will be the end of her when he comes back" one of the men said.
He was the one who ordered the other man to knock me out, I would recognize that voice anywhere.
My vision was still a little bit blurry, but I could make out his features, and my goodness does he look like a Greek god. Jet black locks swept up in a majestic pompadour, framing his chiseled face with effortless swagger. His physically fit body, very evident through the thin black fabric of his long-sleeved shirt, paired with cream colored silk pants, and black loafers. His piercing green eyes portray pity, as they scanned my 5'7 frame that is bounded to the steel chair.
"Please" I whispered again, my lips trembling in fright, and my eyes wouldn't stop watering, but none of that seemed to move him, although a hint of something showed in his eyes, regret.
"Il don e qui" the second man said, as he moved the phone away from his ear to disconnect whoever was on the other side of the line.
Seeing him clearly now, he looks… a very low-cut hairstyle, almost bald with piercings all over his face, his nose, ears, eyebrow, and even lips. Muscles that looked like it'd spill out of his brown shirt any moment from now, and he was covered in tattoos, even on his head. Whilst the first man looked calm and approachable, this one looked like he'd snap your neck if you so much as looked at him the wrong way, and his height only enhanced his demeanor. I headbutted this person? Dear Lord!
"Dovresti chiudere la bocca, se c'e alcunna speranza che tup ossa rimanere vivo per piu di 30 minuti" he said in their native tongue. The look on his face was one of irritation.
I looked towards the approachable man for help of translation, but he only kept his mouth shut and eyes void of any emotion. The way he was staring at me, as if analyzing me, it made me nervous.
Anxiously, my eyes scanned my surrounding, we're in some kind of basement, an overused basement, it was in that moment, the pungent smell of disinfectant reached my nostrils. It smelled fresh, and that fact sent another chill down my spine.
The sound of an iron door being ripped open, before slamming shut, snapped me out of my thoughts, and also made the two men in the room with me, straightened their backs, and maintain a stoic poise, their stance, as that of a statue and face completely void of any emotion, their breathes became shortened, as if breathing in itself was a sin in front of whoever was coming, and the slight waver in their breathes did not go unnoticed by me.
How could just one man wield this much power, even in his absence? Heavy footsteps trailed after each other, the echoed sound, drew near and near and near until the metallic door of the basement swung open, and he strode in.
His presence radiated like a palpable force. The room seemed to shrink, as if the very air molecules were being pushed aside by his imposing figure.
His aura, a living, breathing entity, suffocating in its intensity, every breath caught, as he claimed the space with an authority that brooked no challenge. His eyes scanned the entire space, their piercing gaze like a cold wind that left no corner untouched, you didn't need to see his face to know he is a force to be reckoned with.
Finally, they landed on me. If I thought the approachable man was hot, I sure as well wasn't prepared for this.
The don embodies every single cell of handsomeness within him, from his long dark hair, pulled together in a bun, to his neatly trimmed beards that framed his jaw to perfection. Some tattoos prod out from his rolled up long-sleeved shirt, painted snow white, and few of them, visible on the left side of his neck.
A particular one stood out, it read LUCIEN in a very pleasant and neat calligraphic writing style.
His muscles weren't hidden either, you could tell the man loves his gym. The black pants he wore to match his white shirt fits him faultlessly, and his dr. martens' boot only emphasized his height, which seem like it's 6'2 if I'm not mistaken.
I actually don't know where the confidence came from, but I stared back at him. His hazel eyes held my brown ones for what felt like an eternity.
"Put your fucking head down!" the approachable man gritted out, in a low growl. I wanted to discard his advice, but I knew not to push it, seeing as the don didn't bother to mask his anger, I slowly lowered my head.
"Che cos'e questa incoscienza?" he growled, but somehow managed to maintain a low octave.
I hate the fact that they speak in a language I can't understand, but I sat still, and still listened to the conversation.
"The lady witnessed the murder of Carlos, we had to… retain her" The approachable man responded, casting a fleeting look at me as he talked.
"Romano, se sei stancio del tuo lavoro, dimmelo e ti solloevero' dallo stress. Perche cazzo non l'hai uccisa?" The don growled out again.
Somehow, he looked angrier with every word he uttered and of course, he still managed to maintain that octave. How the hell is he doing that? And what the fuck did he say to the approachable man, whose name I think is Romano, because the way he just looked at me now made a feeling of doom settle over me.
"I… Don we have a lot of bodies trailing behind us, especially in the US, any more, and it wouldn't be just dead bodies on our trail" Romano said. For some reason, his eyes held plea.
"Che ci importa della vita di una stronza sconosciuta che finisce nella spazzatura, Romano?" The don retorted.
In the corner of my eye, I could see the rugged man's bruised lip slowly form an arrogant smirk, his eyes darkened as they they pinned on Romano and seem to say I told you so.
I swallowed the thick lump stuck in my throat, as silent tears streamed down my cheeks that felt swollen. Romano didn't respond to whatever the don said, but his clenched jaw, did not miss the don.
"O mi manca qualcosa? Ha valore?" The don added, his eyes never leaving his conversant.
Romano shook his head.
"None" he simply said.
His stance shifted a little as if preparing for something, like a command, and the way he automatically did it only shows that he wasn't new to whatever would come next.
"Ucciderla" the don said, more out of boredom.
I have no understanding of whatever he just spewed out, but I knew it wasn't good, because the rugged man's sick snarl came back, and this time, bolder as it displayed on his freshly shaven jaw.
"Lasciami fare gli onori di casa, mio caro don." the rugged man butted in the conversation, all too eagerly might I add.
I frantically tried to wiggle out of the tight grip of the rope, even if my legs weren't tied, I still couldn't do much seeing as the chair itself was tied to a metal floor to ceiling rod that looked fitted to the core. The steel chair was positioned far away from the metal rod, so that its rope stretched, and if you tried to stand up, you'd only be fruitlessly pulling the chair away from the rod.
Just as he drew out his handgun from his waist band, and pointed it at me, I knew this time was for real, I could feel it deep within me.
The sound of the trigger being pulled back successfully acknowledge the fact that the don commanded for me to be killed.
Fresh tears streamed down my face, and the echo of my pleas would have gone up the room, if Romano hadn't stuffed my mouth with some rag, that had a metallic taste to it.
Romano looked towards the rugged man in disgust, he was trying to hide it, but I could see the anger in his eyes, his next words made the don stop in his tracks on his way out of the basement and the rugged man to completely freeze up.
"You're just salty, because she bested and headbutted You! Tu figa!"
I don't think Romano meant to say that, because the next thing he uttered with his eyes closed in regret and a heavy sigh was "Fuck!" but it was a little too late, because the don immediately stopped and turned towards the rugged man in an instant, and his words did not only boom throughout the space, but they were spoken in English.
"She did what!?"