"I won't go to heaven, so why not raise a little hell?" - Marilyn Lopez.
I'm 18 and the daughter of Freddie Lopez, a single play boy/millionaire and mafia leader.
Let's just say ... the apple doesn't fall far from the tree when it comes to papa and...
2 days later. It's a nicer day today, the white clouds cover the sky in straight lines and the sun hurts my eyes quite a bit. I have another little job tonight with a man called Johnny Pietre ... my papa and his papa have been enemy's for about 20 years. I look at the photo of him. At least he's not really my sisters type anymore, he's more like ... my type.
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Tall, muscular, just right face shape, doesn't dress like the usual arrogant mafia guy and to be honest doesn't look like he wants to be noticed by a lot of people. I read information about him, it's pretty interesting- He isn't a playboy, he doesn't have a girlfriend because the last one he had was a whore. He isn't the type of mafia guy that talks about it a lot and brags all the time. He keeps to himself unless his dad makes him do something. He's 21 which isn't bad.
Hmm he doesn't sound that bad to be honest. I better start getting ready. "Marilyn I found this ... it kind of goes with what he wants in a woman so that you can catch his eye" Georgia says. "Fine I'll go put it on" I say getting up and taking the bag to the bathroom to get changed.
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It's cute. It's something I usually wear when I have free time. It kind of proves he's a guy that doesn't care what someone wears. "Where will I find him?" I ask my sister taking my makeup of.
"The motorbike show at the end of town, he has the triumph Bonneville 1965" she says laughing. Nothing funny about that, I love motorbikes so going to this is going to be fine.
I sit for half an hour picking out a chain necklace and a bracelet. This should be fine. "Papa wants to..."
"Yeah I know Georgia" I say getting up and sighing.
I walk down the stairs looking at all the portraits of my family. My mum only has one photo. Me, her, my sister and my dad. She's sitting on a seat because she was ill holding me in her weak arms when I was 1 years old, my sister stands beside us holding her hand and my dad stands on the other side holding my mums hand. She was very pretty with blonde hair, but she was ill meaning was very skinny and pale. She died when I was 2 years old and was buried on our estate.
