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 blo

He felt his pants pocket for the small gun fitted with a silencer. He liked the quiet kills, but he couldn’t deny the thrill of killing someone out in the open. He could already picture it; he would walk up to them and maybe do introductions. If he wanted to enjoy it even more, he could make small conversations with them, even get them to laugh once or twice. He glanced at the men, dressed in black suits and sunglasses walking inconspicuously in the room. He wagered he could strike two headshots faster than the time they would need to become aware of what had just happened, leaving him just enough time to blend in with the screaming group of terrified guests. He caressed his gun, or he could make it easier for them and maybe just slip something into their drinks. It might not be an easier death for them; death by a gunshot to the head will be pure mercy in comparison with what this small pill tucked away in the breast pocket of his suit jacket will do to them. It would be easier for

“I saw the reports this morning, Orlando. It was on the front page. Nightmare in beach house. Billionaire couple murdered.” He let out a pleased sigh. “My heart did a little leap.”Orlando had an impassive look on his face.Romano stopped in his tracks, almost immediately Orlando halted. He turned around to look at him, a wide pleased smile on his face. Orlando’s expression remained unchanged.His smile widened. This was what he loved most about the boy, a mindless killer, his mindless killer. “Come here, boy,” he opened up his arms to him.Orlando hesitated. It did not matter how many times Romano tried to be affectionate with him; it always caught him off guard.“It is okay, Orlando,” he urged him.He took hesitant steps until Romano closed the distance and pulled him in for a hug. Orlando stiffened.“That was wonderful,” Romano pulled away from him. “You have done a wonderful thing tonight. Come here…”Orlando followed him down the underground elevator until they got to the lounge

Elena lay sprawled on the bed as she watched Imani paint.“You know, there’s so much to do with so little time.”“Don’t fret, Imani, you have done so much already. Your pieces are really beautiful,” Elena encouraged her. “I promise you’re going to sell…in fact…” she raised her hand. “I’ll be your first buyer.”Imani spun around. “Are you for real? You’re going to come?”“You bet I will. If I don’t show up, it is definitely not going to happen. Why would you think for a second that I wouldn’t show up?”Imani sat down on a stool. “It is just since we got back home, we have never hung out, not as much as we used to, the past year.”Elena scooted closer and took her hand in hers, “Imani, I am sorry if I have been distant. My father has been unsettled since I got back, and as much as I understand it, I hate that it has come between us.”Imani leaned forward. “I get it, Elena, I do, and I am here if you need anything.”Elena gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You bet I will, and get the th

Orlando tapped his fingers along the steering wheel in a rhythmic pattern. He was parked on one side of the road, overlooking the tall apartment building. Watching the people go inside and out, as time passed, fewer people showed up at the entrance.He was all too familiar with this routine. After all, he had been Romano’s errand boy for only a few years. Romano, in a rare act of kindness, had picked him off the streets and offered him shelter and food, more than he had been offered all his life.At first, he had done all of Romano’s dirty work. Even then, they might not have agreed with him, but he did it anyway. He owed it to Romano for practically saving his life. So, on most nights, he was sitting in a car outside an apartment building, or he was taking a smoke, inconspicuously blending into the sea of people. Other times, he was sipping a coffee in the park, or reading a book. It did not matter what he was doing; his hawk-like eyes were always trained on his prize. He was observ