Mafia's Lost Princess

Elena "Dev'essere pazzo…” He spatial at me calling the attention of the closest chef beside me. No…I want mad. I kept my head down as the restaurant manager yelled at the top of his voice. The last time I had looked at him, as he spoke, his spittle that went flying out from his mouth ended up washing my face. "Once beaten, twice shy" was something I was quite accustomed to. I knew that my manager would take silence as a sign of submission. Men like him preferred ego play rather than being right. I said nothing, and he continued to fire rapid Italian at me. Of course, I had done nothing wrong, but the man just liked to make a mountain out of a molehill. Couple with my exhaustion from my classes earlier in the day, I was in no mood to argue. “Perché stai intralciando tutti? Sei così disoccupato? Perché devi starsene lì in giro sembrando un pomodoro! Sì, un grande idiota!” I was apparently an idiot and a tomato according to him. The large kitchen bustled behind me, but some of

Elena I could hardly believe my luck. Winning the fight had earned me over €3,000, making me glad that I had taken my large bag to fit my profits in. Edmond and Paul rattled me with questions on how I knew the tattooed man would win. I just smiled knowingly at them and put my hand on my lips, signifying that they should keep silent. "When we leave, I'll tell you," I said. Because the fight was over, the arena had soon become empty. I still stood on the table, however, hoping to catch a glimpse of Damon again. Perhaps if I had known the fighter, I would have been eager to talk to him at the restaurant. I whipped my head from side to side, checking the back and craning my neck to catch the tall man. I saw him behind the iron mesh that covered the circular cage. He was talking to someone and had his head bent in concentration. He suddenly moved slowly and a pale an wrapped itself around his shoulder. Oops. “Let's go too.” I said to the guys who looked just as ready as i was. Feelin

Elena "Get in. I insist," Damon said, his tone firm yet gentle. It wasn't that I was scared; I was mostly apprehensive and unsure of what I would do. I licked my lips nervously as I scanned the deserted street back and forth, as though another car or perhaps a bus would show up and take me home. But I knew it wasn't possible. Taking a deep breath, I exhaled slowly before opening his car door and sliding into the plush leather seats. The car smelled like him—woody and rich, with a hint of expensive whiskey and pine. As I settled in, a memory flashed in my mind: a veiny, large hand adorned with a wedding ring and another with a crest-bearing ring, pouring whiskey into a glass filled with ice. The hand then lightly shook the glass, distributing the chill of the ice, before lifting it up to a bearded chin. "Elena!" Damon's voice snapped me out of my reverie, and I turned to look at him, wondering what had happened. "Are you all right?" he asked me. I felt like he had asked me that too

Elena I stepped forward under then again the sound of Isabella still rang in my ears. “Mia Bella.” Damon said again behind me and I let out a breath of relief. “You dropped this.” He said. And his hand was the keys to my apartment. I snatched out of his hand and mumbled a “thank you”, before resuming my trip. The car that was moving slowly had also disappeared thankfully. I got to the arena on time and met up with Paul, Edmond, and Julian once again. This time, my three friends brought out a collective of €100. "We're going to give this to you and again, place bets for us," Julian had told me the night before on a phone call. "Whatever it is you did last time, do it again," he said. Together, we bet upwards of €300. Of course, I had contributed most of it because I still had quite a bit of money from the previous win even though most of it had gone to my stepfather's problem. I didn't really know much about the night fighters, but with a quick glance, I knew who was going to win

Elena Sicilia was an excuse. It was the perfect excuse to escape work and the ever nagging feeling at the back of my mind that I was being followed. However, going there would also mean that I was facing another problem, which was Pablo. Just basically from the pan into the fire in my case. And so once my paycheck came in I all but ran back home and hurried to pack a few clothes and also quickly made my way to the train station. I was so absorbed in my thoughts when I didn't notice I had bumped into someone. “I'm sorry,” I apologized as I picked up my bag. “No problem,” the man muttered with a strong Italian accent. The accent itself wasn't a problem, it was the twist. It was strong with some of the raises of the Avalian drawl. I looked up at him. He didn't seem to be someone I knew, but his face betrayed some form of recognition. He was elderly, and on his head was a cloth cap. “You should look where you are going, miss. You don't want to end up in trouble,” he said as he hande