The Mafia Hitman's Captive

There was a pin-drop silence, a stark contrast from the noise that had just been emanating from the cramped apartment. Of course, the neighbors paid no heed to them like always; they were all sick of the constant fighting. She couldn’t blame them; anyone would be sick of it.

Violet stared wide-eyed at the lump figure on the floor, lifeless, blood seeping out unabated, soaking the dingy rug. The face of the man who had swept her off her feet when they first met was now a crushed skull and mangled flesh. Her nose crinkled at the rusty smell of fresh blood. Her dark locks were sticking out at odd angles. A purple bruise was beginning to form around her left eye.

The little girls began to cry. Soft cries turned to wails, and her heart broke at the fear in their voices. Nobody deserved to see the sight before them, not young children at least. She pulled the girls in for a hug, wiped the tears from their eyes, and wiped blood from the little cuts on their hands, paying no heed to the blood oozing out from her split lip and broken nose. It was not anything she was not used to.

It took her a moment to glance at the lanky eleven-year-old boy standing in the corner. He was no longer brandishing the ceramic vase in his small, frail hands; his hands were lowered, and his stance was relaxed. His overgrown black locks fell over his eyes. His bowed head was all the indication she needed to know that he was scared.

Unlike the girls, he was not one to show emotions at all. She had found it hard to understand him every time. So she gave her next words long thought; heavens know she had. She took a deep breath and searched her heart for the right words to say to her son, and she said, “What have you done, Nathan?” She regretted the words immediately.

He looked at her from underneath long lashes and hair. Emotions passed through his expressive grey eyes. The most prominent was fear; she knew it because it was all they felt only moments ago.

Her eyes watered as she held his gaze; he took a couple of steps backward. She stood erect, her hands outstretched towards him. “Nat...Nathan…” her lips quivered.

The vase dropped from his hands and shattered into many pieces. Then he was out the door. “Nathan! Nathan!” she rushed towards the door, but he had gone as far and fast as his small legs could carry him.

Violet reasoned he needed some time away, some time to be alone and clear his head. In all fairness, they all did. He would be back, she thought to herself, but it was the last time she ever laid eyes on her son.