The Mafia Man's Trophy [On Hold]

Chapter 01.

— Two Months Ago —

A harsh slap bounces off the wall, as my head snaps violently to the side.

My body freezes at the contact, and my eyes swell with hot tears instantly.

"SEI FOTTUTAMENTE STUPIDO?" Screams my father in my face, angrily shoving me away from his computer before dragging me roughly by the scruff of my collar, away from his desk, then chucking me outside his office.

Silent tears fall as I hang my head in shame, the door to his office slamming shut in my face.

I unfurl my fist to look down at the small hard-drive hidden in my palm, then squeeze it to my chest protectively, before walking away.

'This will be the last time you hit me ever again you pig!'

I fume mentally, gripping the drive tightly as I went. Finally, after all this time, I had gotten the evidence I needed to sink this animal, permanently. And I would do so without regret or remorse — sinking him and his accomplices so deep, that they'd never hurt me, mom or my little sister ever again.

For as long as I could remember, Pierre has always been the abusive dick he was known to be.

Our family was constantly in debts to dangerous men because of his drug and gambling addiction. Many times mom and I were the ones forced to bail him out by doing disgusting, and grossly illegal things for him and the men he owed money.

Sometimes, I was forced to traffic cocaine and other hard drugs in order to pay back the money he'd owe after losing at the corrupt casino he frequented.

Other times, he would offer me or mom up as sheep to the slaughter to the men he owed – to complete sexual favors for them in exchange for money, he owed.

And these men, took advantage of this everytime.

I've been raped, molested, scarred and tainted — abused by men I didn't even know and my father, the man that had a part in creating me, allowed it.

Over time, my heart became frozen, and my hate for the opposite gender grew with each passing week. Stemming from the abuse of my father, to those of his associates, to those of the general public.

In my eyes, they were all corrupt and dark.

Whenever a man touched me, my body would tense up and I would subconsciously recoil from the contact. It had become a very bad habit of mine, one that I could not break nor had any interest breaking

I once believed in prayer, and that praying changes things, changes people.
It seemed I had been fooled into believing such myths, because as time passed –  my life only became devastatingly worse.

My search for a God, or a higher power was futile, and this only became more evident, when my mother got critically sick over three months ago with a lung disease, and her condition became gradually worse with time.

Pierre hadn't even bat an eyelid when I begged, and pleaded with him to take her to the hospital.

Without the money needed to take her to visit a doctor, I had to put her on bed rest and care for her as best as I could, with what little medical knowledge I had, and what small information the Internet would give me about her condition.

I was increasingly becoming an emptier, colder, hollower shell of the person I once was.

Everytime the thought of giving up and ending my life crossed my mind – my little sister would show up, and the insufferable guilt I felt at the mere thought of leaving her to grow and mature into a woman, with the monster she had as a father left me wheezing and breathless.