ARELLA (A Mafia Story)

One

Securing my jacket tighter around the girl, I step into my car. My driver shuts the door behind me, straightening his jacket before getting in behind the wheel.

The child sleeps soundly on my lap as I pull out my phone, texting Marco to get all the information he can on the man in the apartment. I need to know the girls name. I can't call her nicknames forever.

"Where to, sir?" My driver, Paul, inquires.

"The nearest children's hospital. I'm also going to need you to go back out once we're there and grab some ice cream. Any flavor works," Pausing, I think about any allergens she might have, "Scratch that. No nuts and try to get lactose free."

He nods, taking the car out of park and cruising down the busy streets of New York. I can't seem to take my eyes off of the toddler in my lap. She seems to be in even worse condition now that we're in daylight.

She whimpers when we hit a particularly roughy pothole, jarring her.

"Carful!" I snap at the driver, pulling her closer to my body. My white button down is now covered in filth from her body. I could care less. The only thing I care about is getting her medical attention.

My stomach twists with nausea when I think about what that man could've done to her. If he was willing to offer her up to me for sick reasons to get out of trouble, then he probably offered her to other people. I can barely control my urge to vomit.

"Sorry, sir." Paul apologizes.

Grunting, I turn back to the small tyke. She mumbles something in her sleep, shivering slightly.

"Turn on the heat."

Paul nods his head in acknowledgement, reaching over to click on the heater. It's summer in New York. Sweltering and muggy. I would rather sit in this sauna of a car than have her freeze.

I anxiously tap my foot on the ground as we pull up to the front of the hospital. Several nurses are already in waiting, yellow gowns and blue gloves on.

One of my men must've called them and warned them that we were coming. I'm sure I look suspicious, stepping out of the car with an abused dirty toddler. Money is the language of the world. I'll pay them off if any of them dare to speak a word of this.

"How old is she?" One of the nurses asks as I set the child down on the gurney. I have to pry her hands from my shirt.

"I don't know," A lie is best for now, "I found her on the streets."

An older nurse raises her eyebrow at me, skepticism in her gaze. I shut it down with a murderous look of my own. She cowers under my gaze, choosing to help wheel the girl into a triage room instead.

I'm about to walk in with them, but am stopped by a firm hand pressing on my chest. Looking down, I glare at the gloved hand, raising my eyes to meet it's owner.

It's a youngish nurse who's trembling. It's clear that she's afraid, yet she doesn't cower. I admire her bravery, but nows not the time.

"You can't go in there. You're not family."

Sighing at the annoyance, I pull out my phone and make a call. Ten minutes pass in the standoff while I talk to several people. Finally, a man appears and steps up to the nurses side. He leans down and whispers something in the nurses ear.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I wait for her to step back. She does so almost instantly. A million dollar donation to hospital will do that to a person. Like I said, money in the language of the world.

"I'm sorry about the hold up, Mr. Maddon. You're free to enter." The man who spoke to the nurse nods, gesturing for me to enter the small room.

Nurses bustle around the bed in the middle of the room. The lights are bright, shinning directly down on the girls emaciated body. Her eyes are open and wide with fright, moving rapidly. It's like she's looking for something.