The Mafia Revenge Novel
PRELUDE
There's always more than meets the eye.
One minute she was totally fine, cheeks steaming with warmth, mouth gleaming happily at the bald American, Willi; the yellow cab driver who had been all too eager to drive her downtown. Welcome To Kansas, playing on repeat.
The next minute, she was lost. It all happened so fast: shock, tough hands, blindfold, and finally paralysis.
She had no idea what had happened to her; more correctly: why it had happened to her, why those men had taken her and where to. All she knew was what she felt: heart-splitting fear!
Her mind was working, her sight was gone. Sore wrists— she was trying to force them free of the ropes that were holding them in place. The cuffs felt different than ropes, they were like wires with spikes digging into her skin, and eating up a portion of her flesh. They stung.
Elma's breathing had become unsteady; she was panting and gasping for air; something fresh. But the staleness of that place could not offer her as much. In her head, she was screaming her lungs out, praying and hoping. None of it made sense; nothing was fun about being tied up to a chair, hands thrown behind your back for that purpose. Her limbs were equally strapped against the legs of the chair. The blinder over her eyes was not helping. Her nose had gotten far too sensitive, they could pick up the stench of decaying diesel from a mile away! Her ears would perk up to the sound of anything, and her hair would not just stay.
"AARGH!" Elma screeched, scraping her sore wrists against the other. She was losing it. If anything, she needed to get out and run to him, into his deep embrace; fluffy and sweet, she had only wanted to run home to him, to kiss him and have him know that everything was alright, that they were alright.
Fuck it! She was going to take a fall for it, Elma thought.
Shouting at the top of her lungs, grating her heels together, she did it!
She careened hard enough, crashing onto the floor. Her body collided with the wooden chair, her head bouncing with a rebound effect, and her mouth stayed gaping after the fall.
AH! WHAT A RELIEF, she thought.
But was it?
Having her nose pressed roughly onto the hearth, she smelled it: dried wood, burned-out coal, and 100-year-old fuel residue.
For heaven's sake, where the hell was she?
Her insides froze, thinking the ground ahead vanished, but it was really a kick to her gut that had sent her sprawling face up on the floor.
"Get up! You, bitch!"
That person was a man, and he was tugging at her hair to lift her off the floor; her and the chair.
"Let me go!" Elma barked, twisting and turning but the chair was too much of a restrictor.
"Quiet, Mifflin!" the man's crooked voice tore into her ears as he grabbed her chair, hard, stabbing the floor with it.
Elma was wincing now; she was in pain because of how her butt painfully slapped the stool.
"Who are you and why am I here?" she yelled.
"Shut up, and stay still," the man shouted angrily. The girl's shoulder was working the odds against his might, shivering like a spasmic chicken. He had had enough.
SMACK!
Elma's hair, full and soft, tumbled over her face, hiding the scar on her cheeks where his slap had bruised.
"That would teach you to behave!" the man bawled, pulling her hair again.
Elma's heart thudded as his garlic breath crashed onto her face. "I don't pity you," the man said, "you are a thief! A nasty little THIEF!"
"I'm not a thief!" Elma cried out, yanking her hair off his hold, her skull cutting open in the process.
That man's ridiculous laughter fired up the containment in the process. The entrance door burst open along with it.
"Good news!" the man snickered away. "The boss is here to handle you himself."
Boss? What boss? Elma thought, her chest pounding faster. She could hear countless footings mashing against the floor. When she listened closely, she was able to pick out six agitated footsteps, and a familiar cologne.
"Boss…"
That was the last word Elma heard because the speaker suddenly trailed off with an incomprehensible Italian accent.
What was he saying?
In submission, her head twitched frantically in several directions. She guessed that it was something along the line of him calling her a thief.
Cold hands suddenly bruised against her thighs holding her in place. Her neck stopped swinging and her eyes stationed at him, only that they were still blindfolded. Her heart was already gutted up to her throat that swallowing her own spit would not afford her relief. The man sniffed off scent from her ruddy hair, before spitting some harsh words in her face. Again, in Italian. Except this man was different from the first.
"Enough!" said a more dominating voice.
Elma's heart broke a split at the sound of his voice. But why was it beating fast, very fast, too fast? Her chest was about to burst into flames. Why was that?
"You! Enzo, take off her blindfold. I would want her to see the face of the person she has been lying to all this time."
In her head, Elma could imagine the man hooting a snort. She was inexplicably too uneasy, she could not fathom the reason yet.
The instant the bandage flew off her eyes, her beady red eyes flattened at what she saw. Not what. Who.
"You?" Elma said, throwing her head back. Shock braiding up her features together. "I don't get this, how can it be — why did you let them do this?"
Elma felt her face flush, veins throbbing in her neck, she clenched her fists hard enough. Eyes squinted.
That person, the boss, kicked out his foot, arms clasped behind his body. Standing tall with a jutting chin, he said. "I believe it is my turn to return the favour."
What favour? Count!
"I am going to say this as nice as I can," he wasn't smiling. "Where did you hide my 2000-carat-gold- gem crystal, Thief?"
Thief.
Elma's world started to spin all over. Like fireworks, the pain shot up and detonated inside her throat. It cut off the air supply.
She fainted.
Welcome to my latest work on Web Novel. This book is replacing the other one which I first published for the WSA (Web Novel Spirity Awards Springs Contest), 2022.
Good News: This book is equally joining in the WSA competition. I would appreciate it if you, my lovely readers, voted, and gave gifts and golden tickets to my book when the time comes.
I have a whole slab of adventure mapped out for Elma's journey. Now that you've decided to join the train, hop on with me to the next chapter.