I was alone again today, another boring lonely day.
I was still cooped up in this house, and it took everything in me to not just pack up my stuff
and go.
But I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Why?
I'm not sure, and I hate myself for it.
Currently, I was in the kitchen, trying to make a recipe that Rose taught me.
I groaned into my hands, watching as the mixture bubbled.
I quickly washed my hands and took off my
apron, grabbing my keys and heading
out the door.
I unlocked my car, grabbing the handle and pulling it open, but a strong hand made me
stop, pulling me back down towards the concrete below.
I immediately got back up, using both hands and feet to push myself up.
I whipped around, coming face to face with a masked man, a knife in his hand.
"Who the fuck are you?" I said, catching his
punch.
"That's none of your business," he said, a thick Italian accent visible in his voice.
"Italian," he whispered, slightly backing up as he stepped forward.
"You have no right to marry our mafia," he
hissed out, gripping his knife tighter as he walked towards me.
"You Americans are filthy."
I kicked him in the side, moving my body
around and grabbing his waist.
I yelled as I ran him into the rock behind him, making him groan and thrash in my hold.
He took the knife to slam into my back, but I turned around, grabbing a hold of his wrist and pulling upwards.
I pushed away from him, wiping the blood off
my nose.
"You bitch," he gritted out, standing up from the rock and running towards me.
I ducked down, kicking my foot to take out his ankles.
He fell to the ground on his back, landing with a thud.
He pushed himself up, taking his knife and thrusting forward.
I jolted to the side, the knife zooming past me.
I hissed out when I felt the sting in the side of my body, the knife just nicking the skin.
I took my foot and kicked him in the face, picking the knife and slamming it down on his chest.
"Why are you doing this?" I whispered out as he groaned, trying to take the knife from its place.
"You know why," he whispered, "we will not stop until you and your mafia are dead."
I plunged the knife in deeper, and blood was now pooling from his mouth.
"See you in hell," I spat, taking the knife from
his body.
I backed away, leaning against the car and holding my side.
"Shit," I muttered, grabbing my phone and dialing the one person I knew could help.
"What is it," I heard him say from the other side, the sounds of gunshots coming from his end.
"Someone came to the house and tried to kill
me," I said, groaning as my finger pressed down onto the slash.
"What happened? Are you hurt?" He asked.
"I stopped him," I said quietly, "but he-" I groaned again, leaning my head against the car.
