CHAPTER TWO

How the hell did a gun get to my room?!

I pushed my hair back, my eyes never leaving my mother as she cocked the gun. My own mother, who liked to sit in the garden on sunny days, who loved to wear sunflower straw hats, was handling a pistol like it was nothing. 

"What is that doing in my room? How did that get there? How are you doing this?!" 

"Don't be silly Gabriella, everywhere in this house is armed incase of something like this." She pulled out another gun, and handed it to me. "You know who your father is. Everyone wants him dead everyday, and if you weren't away so much, you wouldn't be so startled."

I scoffed, stunned at the woman standing in front of me. Her mannerism and sweetness had suddenly vanished, replaced with a cold calculative persona. I didn't even notice when she moved closer to me and placed another gun in my hand.

I flinched at the feeling of the cold metal on my skin. "I don't…"

I got cut off by the sound of more gunshots and loud thuds. I tried to push my mind away from that fact that somebody was getting shot down there. 

"I'll go check on your father. You stay here, and if you notice things are going south, you run. Jump out the window, it's high, but if you're smart enough you'd use the window panes as stepping stones."

"Mum…"

She gave me a small smile. "I'm sure it won't lead to that, but just incase."

Before I could muster a reply, she was out of my room. 

I stared down at the pistol in my hand, not exactly sure how I was going to use it. I had only followed Dad to a couple of gun ranges when I was little, but I always refused to shoot because I was scared of the force. I didn't want that life, and moments like this were exactly why. I should have stayed in New York.

I headed to my window, and pushed it open, gaping at how far the distance was to the ground. Mum was literally sending me to my death. 

A couple of sighs, pacing back and forth, regretting why I came home, minutes later, the gunshots had stopped. Everywhere became suddenly quiet, until I heard the heavy thud of footsteps up the stairs. Room doors were being kicked open, and I could hear the gruff voices of men. 

Those were definitely not my father's men. The voices were getting louder, and I knew they were coming here. Fuck!

I hurriedly locked the door, and headed back to the windows again, thinking about how the fuck I was going to jump down without breaking my neck. I could see what my mother was talking about, but it was snowing and everything was definitely slippery, I won't make it past the first step. I was stuck. 

I debated hiding in the closet, or the bathroom, but that wouldn't do anything if they kicked the door down and searched the room. I was fucked, scared, and didn't know what to do. The footsteps were getting closer now, and I knew they were close to my door. 

"Closet it is then." I muttered and ran into my walk-in closet, locking the door behind me. 

I switched off the lights and stood by end of the room, getting a clear view of the door. Cocking the gun like I had seen my mother do earlier, I pointed it at the direction of the door. Never would I have thought that this was how my life was going to end, scared, in a dark, half empty, walk-in closet, with a gun in my hand. If I survived this, I'd think about writing a book about it.

I heard the door burst open and the sound of footsteps flooded the room. 

"Check every inch of this place and find the girl!" A man said.

"Boss, the window is open!"

He swore under his bed and hurried to the window side. "She's still in the fucking room. I doubt she'd be stupid enough to actually jump at this distance, even with the snow, and if she did, she won't get far. Now, search the room!"

There was lot of scuffling around the room, until one of them tried to open the closet. My heart was beating so fast in chest, it upset my stomach. Even with the air conditioning, balls of sweat still gathered on my forehead. The handle rattled the first few times, and then a kick, then another, and then gbam!

The moment the door flew open, my finger pressed the trigger, and I staggered back at the force of the shot. At first the man took uneven steps back, his gun slipping from his finger, before he dropped to the floor. 

"Oh my God!" I gasped. 

Everyone seemed to have recovered from the shock, because immediately the other men rushed in. I tried to pull the trigger again, but it felt stuck. 

"Shit!" I groaned. 

They were already around me, and without a hassle, I was overpowered, and dragged out, while they ignored my struggles and screams of protest. 

"Let me go!" I kicked and punched, but it was of no use. One of them threw me over his shoulder and headed down the stairs. 

In no time we were in the living room, and I was thrown to the ground like I was some bag of rice. I winced as I pulled myself up to a kneeling position, ignoring the stinging pain on my arms and knees.

My gaze locked on my father who was lying on the floor, bleeding profusely, and my mother who was knelt down beside him, her face bruised and swollen.

"Mum! Dad!" I cried out and tried to crawl towards them, but my hair was yanked back, putting me back on my knees. 

"Stay put!" The man growled. 

"Let me go!" I shrieked, trying to break free. "I said let me go, you stupid brute!"

But that didn't do me any good, because I immediately felt a slap across my face, silencing me immediately. 

My father's eyes flickered open, and he looked at me with a mixture of pain and regret. "I'm sorry, amore."

"Dad, what's going on?" I whispered, tears prickling my eyes. 

"How the great have fallen." A voice so cold sliced through the air. "The great Gabriel Russo, Don of the Miami Mafia, beaten up and blood soaked, on his knees. Now what do I call this?"