Sold to the mafia

my books, talk to my clients, and engage with my group of readers on social media. Every hour I’m away from them kills the interaction rates. It’s fucking horrible for business. I breathe in deeply. My books and my work are my life. And he’s murdering both of them right now.

“Between every bite we’ll ask each other a question.” He lifts a silver dome off of a plate and a delicious scent fills my lungs. I inhale deeply, loving the smell of peppers and sausage and eggs. I eye the dish. Omelets. My mouth waters. “Does that sound like fun to you?” he asks.

No, I think, but of course I answer, “Yes.”

“Does it really?” he asks, immediately countering my simple answer.

“Fun? No, it doesn’t. But it sounds like something to do,” I answer honestly out of instinct. I don’t have time to be nervous about it. He barks a laugh at my answer and lays a gentle hand on my hair.

“Thank you, kitten.” He leans down and plants a kiss in my hair and strokes me gently. It’s soothing, and I hate how comforting it is.This content provided by N(o)velDrama].[Org.

I look his body over as he moves to cut a piece of the omelet. I still don’t understand why a man like him would do this. I want to ask him. But I’m not going there. I think I’ll stick to, What’s the weather like outside, since I can’t fucking see it?

“I’ll go first, kitten,” he says as he stabs a piece of the egg and puts the fork in front of my mouth. I obediently open and wait for his question. “I know what happened with the Cassanos. But I want you to tell me what you saw.” I chew the food slowly as my blood chills. I don’t want to talk about it. I also don’t know if this is a test. Maybe he really does work for them. Maybe this is all a ploy of some sort. Anxiety creeps up on me. As if reading my mind, he reassures me.

“It’s not a trick. I’m just curious how it happened.” He sets the fork down as I swallow.

“Would it help if I tell you what I know?” he asks. I nod my head, still unable to speak. Everything that happened fucking destroyed me. I may have been a sweet, shy, book-loving nerd before, but at least I was strong and confident. Going through that shit robbed me of that. I don’t want to go back to that fucked up place.

“You saw three of their soldiers kill Judge Hawthort. He was killed by Michael Davis, and Joseph and Brandon Becker. And later you were able to identify them all as well as account for their missing kilos of dope,” he says.

I shake my head no and say, “He was alive. I’m fairly sure he was alive.” I didn’t testify that I saw him dead, and I’m confident that he was alive at the time that I witnessed everything. His body was never found though. It’s a very real possibility that he’s dead simply because I saw them. Talking about this triggers the memory. I see the hammers in their hands and hear the sound of Brandon smashing his against the judge’s knee. He was alive. I hear his screams echo in my head. The bricks and the bags are there. My body turns to ice.

He holds another bite to my lips; my appetite is gone, but I take it. “What else did you see?” he asks.

“Nothing. I never saw anything else,” I say.

“They were charged with more,” he points out.

“Nothing that I testified to,” I answer quickly.

“But you testified to attempted rape and kidnapping?” he asks.

I look away and nod.

“I have another question for you and then I’ll lighten it up, kitten.” My eyes fall. I don’t want another question. This game fucking blows. “I want you to be honest.”

I wait nervously for his question.

“Did they touch you?” I know what he’s getting at.

I shake my head no. “They tried,” I answer, looking to the floor. “That’s when I left.” Not a single one of them did. Not even Lorenzo. He was having too much fun beating me for sport.

“What about your boyfriend?” he asks. I fucking hate that I ever called him that. Lorenzo helped me escape the pain of losing my mother. He made me feel free and wild. And then he destroyed me. I shake my head no, and I don’t realize until Anthony says something, but my hand moves to my cheek.

“He hit you?” I lock my eyes on Anthony’s. His voice is calm. He’s been calm the entire time. But his eyes spark with a darkness I never want to see directed at me. I give one curt nod in response. I’m ashamed that I let Lorenzo hurt me. I’m ashamed that it all ever happened.

He scoops a piece of omelet onto the fork and holds it out for me.

I take it simply to fill my mouth so I don’t have to talk.

“Your turn, kitten. Ask me anything.”