THE MAFIA LORD

The door barged open and Drake jumped up from his bed, the hair on his skin standing and his heart pounding in his chest as he wondered who it was. His eyes scanned the room in search of his gun and as he picked it up, he felt a sense of nostalgia: this had happened before and though he did not want to remember the details, he could not help but see the similarities. Holding the pistol he had gotten after that dreadful event that took his girlfriend away, Drake took shaky steps down the staircase, wondering if those guys were back to finish what they had started. Though it was ridiculous for him to think that because it had been two months since it happened, Drake did not know what else to think. Who then would be barging into his house at such an ungodly hour? It was late in the night — probably midnight — and everywhere was quiet as a graveyard. It was at times like this that his mother's pleas for him to leave this 'unholy city' — as she tagged it — made so much sense. Now at the foot of the stairs, Drake scanned the dark sitting room with his eyes for a shadow or anything that would give the intruder away but he soon yelled when he felt cold fingers around his neck: someone was standing behind him — how he had gotten there unnoticed, Drake had no idea. "Shhhh! Or I'll blow your head off!" The stranger growled, his breath reeking of cigarette and alcohol; it choked Drake. In fright, Drake raised both hands, the pistol he had been holding falling from his hand in the process, leaving him vulnerable and at the mercy of this stranger. Drake trembled terribly as the gun on his head sent chills down his spine. "Switch the light bulb on." The stranger growled again, pushing him forward with the muzzle of the gun placed firmly behind his head. "Try something stupid and you're dead." He had a strong Italian accent and from the tone of his voice, Drake knew he was not joking so he did as he was told, switching the light bulb on and remaining still with no attempt to look at his attacker. With his eyes on the floor, Drake could see trails of blood on his white tiled floor and he gasped. Surely, his assailant was injured but how bad was it? The stranger groaned as if answering Drake's silent questions and Drake wondered if the injury was bad enough for him to take advantage and overpower his assailant. But even that thought felt stupid to Drake. Judging from his lean build and frail bones, Drake was sure his assailant would have no trouble taking him down — injured or not. He was too thin, too weak and that was why they had taken her away from him. He could not help himself nor her then, why did he think he would now? "Get me forceps," The stranger was talking again. "Some cotton balls, and a toner. Move!" Drake's feet began to move as though he was being controlled by a remote. The sharpness and raspiness of the stranger's voice forced Drake to do as he was told even when he did not want to. Though he still had not seen his assailant, Drake knew he was a very dangerous person and from his little knowledge, he knew it was best to do as he was told to avoid trouble. He might just be lucky enough if he obeyed. So he walked robotically up the stairs and into his room where he kept his first aid box. He pulled out the tools the stranger had asked for and the stranger took them from him. He sat on Drake's bed, pulling his shirt with one hand while holding his gun with the other hand. Now that the stranger was sitting before him, Drake could finally see his face. He was truly a stranger — one whose face Drake had never seen. He looked to be about forty and he had a nasty scar just beside his eyes, a gash gotten from a knife cut. His rough-looking appearance — even when he was dressed in a suit — showed Drake that he had not been wrong about him being dangerous and as he sat on his bed, Drake knew he was standing before a killer. The stranger's eyes were dark and mere staring into them, Drake could get a glimpse of the horrible things the man has done. Above all, the man was badly injured. "You got shot," Drake stated the obvious and the stranger glared at him. "Just because I got shot does not mean I cannot break your face. If you value that pretty face of yours, you had better kept shut!" He snapped, his eyes twitching in anger and pain. "I can help you," Drake found himself saying despite the warning. The stranger was obviously finding it difficult to take the bullet out of his tummy. He had been shot by his side. "I'm a doctor. I can take the bullet out." The stranger looked at him the moment he said that and Drake took a step backward, wondering if he had gone too far by offering to help. "Then do it. Don't just stand there looking at me." The stranger snapped again and Drake found himself getting angry. But he knelt beside him, ignoring the gun which was still aimed at him, and got to work. "This is gonna hurt as hell." He told the stranger but the stranger ignored him. Holding a grudge, Drake refused to be gentle but the stranger did shout throughout the process. He reminded still, biting his lips hard and shutting his eyes tightly. Seeing how the stranger had stopped pointing the gun at him — even when he was still holding it — Drake wondered if he could ask the numerous questions he had in his head. He was dying of curiosity to know the man's identity and why he was in such a condition but Drake was too scared to ask. So he focused on his job, neatly wrapping the injury with a bandage. The stranger, who had been watching him intently, made his way to stand immediately Drake was done but Drake held him by the hand, his long slender fingers wrapping around the huge muscular arm of the man. "You can't stand now. You need to rest." "I don't have time to rest. I need to go." The stranger slapped his hand away and Drake winced in pain. Just immediately, the door barged open again and the sounds of heavy footsteps running up the stairs echoed loudly. Drake jumped to his feet, his heart resuming its pounding as he stared at the stranger. Unlike him, the stranger looked calm; rather than fidget like Drake, the stranger sat back on the bed and relaxed. Drake opened his mouth to speak but before he could, ten guys dressed in black suits stormed into the room. They all had their dark shades on and they looked menacing in their blazing suits and polished shoes. Drake cowered in fear as he took a step backwards on impulse, staring at the muscular men whose faces were marred with a deep frown. Unlike them, Drake was much smaller in body size — though he was just as tall. They were armed too and Drake raised his hands immediately, looking quickly at the man he had helped but the man remained seated, looking so calm and unbothered as he rested his back on the bed's headboard. Drake suddenly felt like a kid among bullies. "Boss! Boss! Are you okay?" One of the men in a suit asked, advancing to the bed with his gun still aimed at Drake who looked like he was going to pass out soon. The man was already ugly but his scowl made him look like a monster. Without waiting for a reply, this ugly-looking man rushed at Drake, pushing him violently to the floor. Drake landed with a heavy thud and he groaned loudly in pain. "How dare you try to hurt our boss?" The monster-like man asked but Drake was in too much pain to reply. His face contorted in pain as he writhed on the floor like a woman in labour. "Answer me!' The man advanced to launch another blow at Drake but before he could, the stranger Drake had treated stopped him. "That's enough, Cain. Let him go!" Cain turned around, still scowling darkly, but he left Drake and moved to the stranger on the bed who apparently was the boss. The other men at the door were still aiming their guns at Drake; they only needed to hear the order and they would pull the trigger. Drake shivered in fear, wondering if he was ever going to survive the night. "What happened, boss? I heard the shooting and when I came down, I could not find you." "Long story, Cain. I'll explain the details later." The boss remarked, before jumping out of the bed and standing to his feet. He was a very tall man standing at a height of 6'5 and also very bulky, more ripped than the men in suits. Now that he was standing, the tattoo on his back which Drake had not seen was visible. "The cops came when we least expected it. Someone must have told on us." Cain continued. "The don will not be too happy to hear that we failed. What do we tell him when we return?" "Leave that to me, Cain. I know how to handle my father. As for the one who told on us, I suspect that fat old pig." The boss replied. "The hotelier? Should we go back and finish him?" Cain asked. "No. We need him alive for now. But now, we must return to Sicily before it's dawn." The boss said and Cain nodded but soon turned sharply, scowling darkly at Drake, "But what do we do with him?" The boss also turned to look at Drake. From the expression on his face, it was clear he had forgotten about Drake and as he stared at the lanky man who was staring back at him, a small smirk formed on his lips. "I guess I have fully recovered, doc." He said as he walked to where Drake was sitting on the floor. "Thank you so much for your help, doc." He stretched his hand forward to pull him up. Drake took his hand — even when he did not want to — and with an effortless pull, the boss pulled him up, just as a father would pull his three-year-old son. "You need to eat more often, doc. You're as light as a feather." The boss chuckled, his bulging muscles shaking as he laughed. He was suddenly filled with mirth when he had been so cold earlier. Then he waved his hand to the men who were at the door and they dropped their guns. Drake relaxed, his eyes burning with tears as relief washed over him. He watched as the boss signalled to Cain and Cain in return, nodded to one of the other men who, without a word, walked towards the boss with a small box. The boss took it from him and handed it over to Drake. "This is my gift to you. It should pay for all your trouble, doc." The boss smiled. His face crinkled when he smiled; it was a charming smile but it did not erase the truth that he was dangerous. Drake could not tell who exactly he was but from their conversation which he had listened to, Drake knew they belonged to a gang. They were from Italy too so there was a high possibility that they were mafias — they looked just like it. Immediately a crazy idea sprouted in Drake's head and without thinking, he said, "If you truly wanna pay for my help, then you should ask me how I intend to be paid." This made the boss raise a brow: though he had a goofy grin tugging at his lips, his eyes were dark as a tunnel and It was obvious that he had just been provoked by Drake's words. "You fool!" Cain advanced but the boss stopped him with a hand. "I knew all this was not for nothing," The boss smiled, handing the box to Cain who handed it back to the man that had brought it. "But, let’s hear it. What do you want?" "I want you to rescue my girlfriend," Drake answered. Though he was scared, he tried to keep his face straight and maintain a bold front. He could not afford to mess this up. This was his last option. It was silent for a moment before the boss broke into a loud derisive laughter. His men joined him and together they all laughed at the doctor who suddenly looked embarrassed. "Did you hear that?" The boss asked his men amid laughter. "He said he wants me to rescue his girlfriend. Superhero, here I come!" the boss gesticulated and the laughter increased. "But I'm dead serious," Drake murmured. "I know that you belong to a mafia family. Someone named Riccardo took my girlfriend away. I've got to find her." Just as sudden as the laughter had started, it ended. The boss's face was as hard as a rock now; there was no trace of a smile on his face. "Do you want to die?" He growled and Drake took many steps backward. "Do you think I am foolish enough to get into a fight with Riccardo? I hate that man. Oh, I really do, but do you think I will pick up a fight with him and get into trouble with others just because a stupid doctor asked me to? Fight your battle and I'll fight mine." "Then let me join your family so I can fight this battle of mine." Drake found himself yelling too, refusing to drop his gaze despite the boss' dangerous stare. "This is my only option. I've got to save her." "Doctors are supposed to be smart, right? The boss turned to look at his men and they nodded. "So how did this fool become one?" The boss asked no one in particular. Then to Drake, he asked, "Join my family? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You're nothing but a sickly i***t. Why will I bring a liability into my gang? You should focus on your profession or put your pretty face into some other use. Just because you helped me out, I am going to let you live but watch it!" With that, the boss turned to leave but Drake fell to his knees and caught him by the ankle. A strong feeling of desperation had consumed him for he knew that if he let these men leave, there went his opportunity to rescue his girlfriend. "Please," he pleaded. "He will kill her. I need to save her. I have tried everything to save her but nothing is working." A tear dropped from his eyes. "I know I am weak and stupid but if only you can train me, I will change. I learn things fast and I will not bother you. You can kick me out if I do. Also, I’m a doctor. I will be a great help to you and the gang. Please." That seemed to get to the boss because he turned and stared down at him. But he soon said, "It does not work that way, doc." "I saved your life." Drake's voice was laced with strong emotions, "I did what all these men could not do. Won’t you help me this once?"