Chapter 1
"It's time to get up, Don," Kloe, my best friend and roommate, woke me up that morning, just like she had done for the past three years. We were as close as sisters, with complementary personalities. I was the calm one, while she had a fierce presence.
In our twenties and our final year of college, we were determined to succeed and earn the hard–earned diplomas we had been working towards.
"Yeah, I plan on sleeping in today because there's no way..." I yawned.
"No, Donnica, we can't afford to be late for class!" she exclaimed, pulling the covers off me.
Donnica Smith, I, a dedicated student pursuing a degree in telecommunications and journalism, with a future full of promise.
Kloe and I arrived at the amphitheatre bright and early that morning.
The professor, always punctual, began the class smoothly. Towards the end, he assigned us our usual projects.
"Alright, class, today's task is to venture beyond the campus grounds," he explained. "I want you to interview individuals who are unexpected or influential. Surprise me. Exceed my expectations."
The students squirmed with excitement.
"Quiet!"
Silence fell.
"As I was saying, I want you to explore places outside of your comfort zone. Challenge yourselves. Choose your muses and persuade them to answer a few questions for your final paper. Maybe the governor? Or a mayor? A tycoon? A billionaire? Go out there and achieve the impossible. Can you do it?"
"Yes!" the class responded in unison.
"Remember, this final assignment will determine whether or not you earn that coveted diploma. Consider it a vital part of your thesis. Impress me."
The students brimmed with motivation.
"Class dismissed."
The professor left the room, leaving behind a buzz of excitement as students eagerly discussed the plethora of possibilities for this assignment.
"So, Klo," I turned to Kloe with a smile, "what's your plan?"
"Girl, my father is a tycoon. He knows influential people. Don't worry, I'll simply ask him to connect me with one of his acquaintances from the country club," she replied, effortlessly packing her bag. "And what about you?"
"I have something in mind," I responded, grinning mischievously.
"Donnica, please don't do anything reckless."
"You've always been the voice of reason. You know I never hold back. Remember my uncle, the chief manager of the central prison?"
Kloe paused, her eyes widening.
"No."
"Yes."
"Donnica, no. Why on earth?"
"The infamous Antonio Caruso was transferred to his prison last week. Yes, the convicted terrorist and mafioso who spread fear throughout the entire country and who was recently arrested. Can you imagine the honours I'll receive if I manage to convince my uncle to let me interview him? All it takes is five minutes."
Kloe stared at me, disbelief etched on her face.
"That's dangerous and foolish, Donnica."
"Well, you've always been the wiser one, so it only makes sense, doesn't it?" I chuckled, rising from my seat. "Let's go."
"I see you've already made up your mind. I hope you have a change of heart halfway through, because uh–uh."
I laughed, and together we left the amphitheatre, heading towards our next class.
"Don't worry. I'll do some research before stepping into the lion's den."
True to my word, later that day, after school, I delved into some research. Seated in the comfort of my bedroom, I scoured the internet in search of a picture of Antonio Caruso. To my surprise, there was no trace of him online.
"No results? Absolutely nothing? Not even a photograph or sketch?"
It made no sense that his appearance was a mystery to the public. Furthermore, aside from his criminal activities, his personal life remained shrouded in secrecy. Who was this man, and why was the government concealing his identity despite his acts of terrorism?
I perused a few online forums discussing him and other criminals, stumbling upon comments that resembled unsettling rumours.
"I've heard he's around fifty years old."
"He's a deranged individual who has been in and out of rehab countless times."
"He's Italian, without a doubt."
"He holds racist beliefs."
"He'll be turning fifty this year."
"Approach him with a smile, and your death will follow shortly."
"He has connections to the Italian Mafia."
"He's a terrorist."
Some of these statements were undeniably true, while others seemed absurd. Yet, a few held a hint of possibility.
‘Hmm, so he's around fifty. At least, that's what it appears to be.’
"I'll uncover the truth myself."
Closing my laptop, I joined Kloe in the living room.
The following day, Kloe and I decided to venture out and give our assignment our best effort.
I dressed in jeans, flats, a T-shirt, and a jacket.
I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and gathered my notebook, pen, recorder, and bag. I was fully prepared and eager to begin.
"Good luck, Donnie," Kloe said while adjusting her hair.
"Thanks. I'll need it. Off to Central prison, I go."
"Here I come, Kenneth & Co. Let's tackle this challenge once and for all."
