PRINCE OF WRATH

It's funny how your life can change in a few minutes. Funny how everything you believed in and knew turns out to be complete lies. But that wasn’t the funniest thing in my life. What was funny was knowing that my dead parents were still in my life. Their mistakes and mishaps still haunting me and that’s why on an early Monday morning I was sitting in one of the tallest skyscrapers in Manhattan.

I was summoned here like a king would his servant. There was no way I could refuse. I was here to clear the confusion, even though logic told me there was no chance of clearing anything.

“This way,” the assistant said, and I followed close behind her as she led me forward. We stopped outside a door; she knocked softly, and someone called for us to come in. The assistant opened the door and motioned for me to enter; the door closed behind me with a gentle click. The room was spacious, with a thick mahogany table and two chairs. On the other side of the table was a chair and, in that chair, sat the most handsome man I've ever seen. For some minutes, I stared at him. Wavy black hair that was close to reaching his shoulders, high cheekbones, a straight long nose and full lips. His striking blue eyes were trained on me, never wavering. Goosebumps spread all over my skin. Taking a deep breath, I sauntered towards the empty chair and almost fell in it.

“Welcome Miss. Jones,” the man said, a smirk gracing his angelic face. He might look like an angel, but there was nothing angelic about him. My heartbeat increased a notch, my hands shaking in my lap.

When I didn’t reply, he motioned for me to read the papers sitting on the table. After another deep breath, I took the papers, opened them, and started to read. For some time, I let my eyes wander over them. With each phrase I was reading, my erratic heart pounded even harder. It became painful. I thought today would be different, but everything was the same.

What have I done in life to deserve this?

Even in death, they were still tormenting me. It looked like life wasn’t enough for them. I read the papers for the second time. This time searching for a way out of this that didn’t exist. But it was all the same and something died inside of me.

“Done already?” Enzo Vittori asked as I placed the papers back on the table, this time the tremble in my hands in my hands noticeable.

“Yes,” I replied. A thousand thoughts were running through my mind. This wasn’t happening. Not to me, not when the ones responsible for it were long dead, dead for five years now.

“Then you know you owe me,” his deep voice said. I took a minute to think about it. I didn’t owe him a thing. I didn’t owe anyone a million dollars.

“I don’t,” I said, my voice weak.

“What did you say?” he asked. I lifted my head, staring right into his abysmal eyes. He was composed, his face devoid of any emotion, but if I pissed him off, he was going to kill me here and now, and I couldn’t afford that. I had a little sister to take care of.

“I said, I don’t owe you a thing.” this time I said the words with a confidence that I didn’t have rather pretended to possess.

“Then you clearly missed the point of those papers,” he said with a hint of an Italian accent in his voice.

“It's crystal clear, but I never borrowed money from you.” I could feel anger blooming inside of my body. How could they do this to me? Now I remember how this came to be. They tricked me. My parents tricked me into signing those papers that now deemed me to this cruel fate. They told me they were medical papers, but that wasn’t the case. They signed their debt in my name and not just to anyone, but to the mafia. I spent the entire weekend surfing for ways to get me out of this predicament, but there was none. I was stupid for believing their words and now here I was, paying for their mistakes, my mistake.

“Come with me,” I said, getting to my feet.

"Now, Amelia, I don’t like to be ordered.”

“You want your money or not?” he raised an eyebrow but got up, and buttoned the jacket of his charcoal suit. He narrowed his eyes, smiled and followed me out of his office. The assistant threw a curious glance our way, but she said nothing.

“I believe you have a car,” I said.

“Of course,” came his deep tone. He fished a phone from his pocket, called someone, and told me to follow him. Once we were outside, we found a waiting car. Climbing in, he did the same, too.

“Where to, boss?” the driver asked. Enzo turned to me, obviously telling me to answer the driver with a hard stare.

“Downtown,” I said. The driver nodded as the car purred to life. He drove really smoothly. Maneuvering us around. I kept giving him the directions until we reached our destination.

I stared out through the window, and without a word, climbed out of the car. Enzo followed, and he furiously turned to me when he saw where we were.

“What the . . .”

“Come on,” I beckoned. His footsteps followed me as we went deeper into the cemetery. I stopped when I reached my designated destination.

I gazed at my parents’ tombstones and grimaced. Even now, I failed to find it in me to summon the tears. It was the same when I learned of their deaths. It felt like I knew that one day it was going to be the news I was going to hear. My premonition came true. One Sunday morning five years ago, my parents were found dead in a dark alley with bullets in their heads.

“You want your money Mr, Vittori? Then ask them, you’ve my permission to dig them out.”

“I strongly despise being taken for a fool?”

“What will you do, kill me?” his jaw ticked as those blue eyes darkened.

“That’s possible,” he said through a clenched jaw.

“Then shoot me.” I spread my arms wide, giving him all the chance. I knew I was playing with a lion, but who the hell gave a damn?

“Death will be too easy for you. I like to punish people first before I end them,” he whispered, his threat sending a jolt of fear down my spine.

“As I said, dig them out and ask for your money.” I gave him one last look and stomped away. I could feel his glare behind my back, but I did not care. What's the worst he could do? A lot, but not to me. I didn’t owe him anything, and he knew it.

I lifted my arm and stared at my wristwatch. I was going to be late for work and knowing Evangeline; she was going to give me hell for it.

I picked up my pace. Sandra and Bernard Jones were out of their minds borrowing money from a mafia family and they were monsters to mention that their daughter was going to repay their debt. A million dollars, really?

I shuddered. Where was I going to get that kind of money? I ought to feel triumphant, but all I felt was a feeling of foreboding. I just pissed off Enzo Vittori, the heir to the Vittori Mafia Family. And what was worse was that Manhattan was their playground and if they chose to murder a single woman, it wasn’t going to many turn heads.