Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
My hands are sweating and shaking, and I feel like puking. I want to run to my mom, I want to be enveloped in the safety of her loving arms. But I know I’ll never feel her warmth again, and that hurt so badly. It brakes my heart.
Tears slip from my eyes and run down my face. I let them go freely, knowing no one will see.
I hear the bad men enter the closet. The door flies open and hits the wall with a fierceness that shakes me to my core. The sounds of them ripping down my clothes from the hangers and throwing my boxes of prized possessions across the room fills the space.
“He’s not fucking here,” one of them growls. I listen to them shuffle around in my room as I force my breaths to slow down. The darkness surrounds me, banishing all the light that I had in my life.
A million questions run through my mind all at once. How could these people come into my house and kill my wonderful mother? What did they want from me? How did they get in here? Who else did they kill? We had security, didn’t we? Where are the maids? Were the bad people still here? Why did they leave me all alone?
As the house settles and the events filter through my mind, I continue to sit in the small crawl space in the dark. I am terrified to leave and discover that my life really has been ripped away.
I don’t know how long I sit in the darkness, but at some point, a steely resolve settles in my heart and soul as I make a promise to my mother.
Someday, when I’m a grown-up, I will make those bad men pay. I will find them and hurt them like they hurt my mother.
They owe me their lives, and I will make sure they pay their debt.
1
Enzo
Present
I watch him squirm in his seat. He is nervous. I can smell it on him. His eyes watch me carefully, trying to figure out what I will do next.
“You realize that borrowing money from the mafia without the intent of paying it back is the same as saying, come and get me, I’m ready to die?” I keep my voice calm and cool. I could mean business without showing it. That’s how I work.
“Enzo, I thought I could pay you back. I swear! I thought I could get a second job, but I haven’t had any luck. I keep trying. I’ll come up with the money…” His voice is shaky and broken, he is so scared he can barely utter a word. I don’t care about his excuses for not having his payment. I only care about him giving me my money, even if that means I have to do something ugly to get it.
“Lorenzo,” I correct him. I hate it when people who don’t know or care about me call me Enzo.
My closest friends and family were the only ones allowed that privilege. When it comes to business, you call me by my full name out of respect.
“Lorenzo,” he quickly sputters. His chest is heaving and sweat forms on his forehead. I can tell he thinks he is going to die, and he will eventually, but dead men can’t pay.
So, I have something else in store for him right now. I want my money back, and I will do whatever is necessary to get it.
“I was afraid this would happen, so I went out of my way to dig up some dirt on you… Guess what I discovered? I found out you have a daughter. A very, young, naïve, innocent, daughter. I bet she’s very capable of handling dear old dad’s debt, don’t you think?” My voice is sinister, calm, and deadly. His face is a mask of confusion until what I’ve said hits him square in the chest.
“No. Please. Amara has already suffered and lost so much. I borrowed the money for her to go off to college and lead a normal life…”
“So it’s really her debt to pay anyway?” I raise my eyebrows at him as I question his words.
His eyes bulge out of his face in shock. “No! No! This is my debt to pay, not hers. Please, I beg of you. Please, don’t bring her into this.” His features pale as his eyes brim with tears. He is at my mercy, begging for his daughter’s life. I should feel sorry for him, yet his pleading means nothing to me.
I would love to say that I have a heart somewhere underneath my hatred, anger, and coldness, but I can’t. I know who I am, and I make no apologies for it.
“I didn’t bring her into this, old man. You did,” I hiss out, shoving his words back at him. He is trying to make me feel guilty, but situations like these never make me feel bad. If anything, it fuels the inferno inside of me and makes me feel more powerful.