Vincent

I woke up to an unfamiliar painting in front of my face, on the wall. I blinked, glancing around. I was panicked.

Memories came rolling back and I scowled, sitting up. A glossy living room was wrapped around me, sitting on a sofa. Flashy paintings were hung up on the vacant walls.

"She's up!" I heard some man say.

I turned my head around as I stood from the sofa. My vision blurred for a second. My eyes landed on the man who was on his phone on the plane. The one who drugged me.

Was that even healthy? Someone could only take so many narcotics in their system. Drug users had to build up their tolerance. I didn't do drugs.

Occasionally, I'd smoke a cigarette but I very rarely did it. It was a far stretch to say occasionally.

I gave him a cold look.

"I wouldn't be giving attitude, il tesoro, the Don requested to see you once the drugs wore off," he advised, "now, are you going to be a little bitch again or did you learn your place?"

I rolled my eyes but bit my tongue.

Truthfully, if my dad told me why I needed to go here instead of keeping everything a secret, I would be a lot more compliant. But he had a habit of keeping me in the dark when it came to the 'serious side' of the mafia. I understood why; my mother was involved and she died- I knew my father blamed himself for her death as he allowed her involvement in the business.

But I just wished that he realized it was a lot more dangerous to keep me out of it. I always had someone watching me no matter where I went, whether I knew them or not, my father's men were always watching me.

To 'keep me safe'. It was tiring.

"Il tesoro," he started walking towards me, "I wouldn't," he referenced my eye roll.

I was tempted to do it again but held myself back.

"Come along," he ordered.

I started following him.

I wasn't going to bitch to this guy. I had no clue who he was to the organization. He looked about thirty but I doubt age played a role. Most Don's were older. Like my dad.

If I was supposed to see the don, then I'd just yell at him. What would he do? Shoot me? Hit me? Drug me again?

Wasn't I here to be protected? If any of that happened I could just call my daddy, complain, and go straight back to Brooklyn.

Sounded pretty solid.

The man knocked on the door.

"Si?" a voice sounded from the other side.

"Ho la ragazza, Alexis," the man answered.

"Si," the voice responded, "tu entri."

He didn't sound old. Maybe I was just used to the Sicilian accent.

The man opened the door, walking in before me.

Um, rude much?

I rolled my eyes and followed in behind him. I took a look around the office. It looked like I was at a law firm.

"Grazie," the unfamiliar voice spoke.

I averted my attention to him and almost choked on my own salvia.

Holy fucking shit.

I didn't even notice the man left us, closing the door. I was too busy staring.