ARELLA (A Mafia Story)

Prologue

"Please, I beg you. Just take her. I'll even give you a discount. I mean, the one leg thing is a little weird. I can promise you she's untried." The pitiful man on the floor in front of me begs.

His lip is busted and his left eye is already swollen. Not to mention the unnatural way his leg is bent. My men have already done a number on this piece of human scum. Sweat beads along his forehead, his middle too large for him to even wrap his arms around to protect his organs.

He points to the small girl in the corner of the room. She's curled up in a ball, whimpering softly. The poor child can't be more than four years old.

Crouching down so the man can see the anger flaring in my eyes, I grasp what's left of his graying hair, pulling his skull up off the floor. "If you think I would touch a child like that, you're even sicker than I thought."

Releasing his head so it flops back against the floor, I straighten, giving him a sharp kick in the balls. He groans, spittle falling out of his mouth as his eyes widen with pain.

Whistling to my men, I make a circle in the air with my finger. While my men work on grabbing that vile man off his stained carpet, I cautiously approach the small waif of a girl still huddled in the corner.

She whimpers at my approach, trying to back up. There's not any space between her and the wall by the time I crouch down in front of her.

"Hello, sweetheart. I'm Damon. Can you tell me your name?" I make sure to soften my voice as to not startle her.

Her tangled deep brown hair shakes when she starts to tremble. What did that man do to this poor girl? She's terrified. That could be due to me barging into her trashy apartment and tossing her father on the floor. But by the looks of her, she's been neglected for a while.

She's wearing a dirty stained nightgown and smells like she hasn't had a bath in months. Hell, her hairs so tangled that I doubt a brush could even move through it. From what I can see of her face, it's dirty and bruised.

The little thing also is unnaturally skinny. Her arms are tiny and her single leg is so bony that it looks painful.

"I'm not going to hurt you, darling. Would you like to come with me and get something to eat?"

She hesitantly lifts her head off of her arms, just enough that her deep blue eyes peak through. Her eyes widen when she sees me, immediately going back to her little hidey hole that she's made for herself.

I don't take offense. I'm a scary looking bastard. Tattoos line my arms, hands, back, and chest. Don't even get me started on my stark black hair and dark eyes. People have claimed that I'm the Devil incarnate. My wife would disagree.

"Do you like ice cream? I know a place that has the best ice cream ever. We could go get some." I coax.

Little by little, I bribe the small girl out of the tight ball she's wrapped herself in. I smile, holding my hand out to her as a sign of trust.

She looks at the appendage, to my face, back to my hand. Ever so carefully, she placed her tiny one in my own. It's so small that it doesn't even fill my palm. She's cold to the touch.

Slowly as possible, I extract my hand from hers and pull off my suit jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders. She snuggles into the expensive fabric, still looking at me with untrusting eyes.

"You ready to go get some ice cream?" I ask softly.

She nods, trying to stand. I get a good look at her nubby leg. The stump is right above where her knee would be. I don't even think she has a prosthetic. It makes me wonder how she gets around.

"Would you like some help, angel?" I don't think she could stand even if she was able.

Those deep ocean blue eyes look at me once more. For such a young child to be so distrustful is heartbreaking. It isn't fair. She should be laughing and smiling, playing with toys.

Wordlessly, she extends her arms out to me. Gently, I grasp her under her armpits and press her close to my chest. She's stiff for a second, before relaxing when she realizes I'm not going to hurt her. Her head rests against the left side of my heart, her eyes closing.

That's the exact moment when I know I can't let this small thing go. I don't even know her name. All I know is that her father is an abusive piece of shit. There's no way I'm going to let her go into the states custody. They'll just let her fall through the cracks.

No, she's coming home with me.

"Clean this up. I want him alive for what I'm going to do with him. Take him to the warehouse," I advise my men, "And text my wife."

With that said, I step out of the room and into the dingy hallway. Looking down at the girl in my arms, I see her clinging to my shirt. Leaning down, I press a kiss to her forehead vowing, "Don't worry, angel. You're never coming back here again."