CAPTURED BY THE MAFIA KING

Sienna's POV 11pm was bedtime, and that was law. Mom and I knew that, and Dad enforced it strictly. Anything after 11 pm was silence, so loud it ravaged the whole house and dragged everyone to sleep even against their will But then I heard something—something louder than silence. It split the air suddenly, sharp, reverberating, swallowing up the silence momentarily. I snapped up from bed, my heart slamming against my chest, as another gunshot split the air again. A harsh guttural cry of pain sliced cleanly through the silence like a hot knife through butter, echoing after the loud ring of the fading gunshot. What the hell was happening? I stared into the darkness of my room, unable to think, unable to move. Then a double bang of gunshots, and this time, the scream of pain was familiar and clear. Mom. This wasn't the kind of scream she would let out when you’re scared. No—this was ripped from her soul. I jumped crazily off the bed, dashing for the stairs. The stench of blood hit me hard even before I reached the stairs. Warm. Metallic. It clung to the hallway air like perfume, thick and suffocating. My heart thrashed against my ears now, and the only thing I could hear was my own heartbeat. I froze on the stair, clutching the banister. The chandelier above me trembled from the slam of a door as one of the attackers shut the kitchen door. They filled the living room, all wearing dark suits and armed with a gun. They strolled about, digging into the drawers, looking behind the paintings on the walls, and turning everything around in search of something. “Where did you hide it, Simone? The secrets you were trying to sell to the enemy.” One of them yelled at Dad while he clutched his bloodied arm, kneeling in our living room. I wanted to believe Mom was sleeping as she lay on the floor, unmoving. Then I saw the blood leaking from beneath her. One of the attackers walked past and kicked her body, turning her around to me. I gasped, a massive ice consuming my veins. I instantly went numb. “No. No no no.” I screamed. “No, Mom.” She lay beside Dad, unconscious, lifeless, with a pulpy hole on her forehead, charred and bloodied flesh making a ring around it. Her white and glassy eyes stared blankly into space. Bile rose fast from my stomach, staining my whole mouth with a bitter taste. I bent over the stairs, throwing what was left of my dinner to the floor, wrapped up a massive string of slick, wet saliva. My eyes were partially blurred by my tears and nausea when I lifted my head at the noise of stomping boots. Some of the men were running towards me. “Get her,” one of them ordered. A man dressed in an elegant tuxedo. He had a thick, jagged scar that split his cheek, the kind one could only get from a bottle wound. He was the only one sitting. “Get the damn girl.” He ordered, throwing his arm to me on the stairs. Instantly, the whole room sprang fast for me. Dad spun fast on his knees. His eyes were jittering in their sockets. “Run, Sienna, run, run.” He screamed. “Don't worry about…” He didn't get to complete the sentence, because the man on the chair pulled the trigger on his gun. The next thing after the blast was Dad dropping to the floor hard on his back, blood splattering the sofa near him. "Dad!" I screamed, tears stung my eyes, and my chest radiated with so much pain, it felt like it was being ripped from me. I should cry. I should stay and mourn him and Mom, but I couldn't. I held my mouth, muffling my tears as I stumbled back on the stairs, feet scratching on the polished wood. I tried not to think about it and just run. Yet that couldn't shake off the pain threatening to split me open from the inside. My bare heels squeaked against the floor as I made my way as madly as possible to my bedroom, into the suffocating silence—into the bitter truth that I was now an orphan. Their shoes stomped hard on the floor, the floorboards creaking hard, the whole house vibrating like the belly of one giant organism, as they came for me. I cleaned off my tears with the back of my hand, and I searched hurriedly around the room for something to defend myself with. I wouldn't let them kill me as they killed my mom and dad. Someone had to be alive to avenge them, to murder these bastards that cruelly took my parents from me. It must be Lorenzo De Luca, don of the De Luca Mafia family, the biggest don in the city after Don Emilio of the Lucentinis, who Dad worked for as a consigliere. Obviously, the Lucentinis wouldn't send men to kill us. Dad was one of them. My eyes fell on a pair of scissors on my makeup desk, and I snatched it. I clutched it tight in both hands, and I pressed myself on the wall beside the door. The memory struck then, like a huge blow to the gut. I stiffened against the wall, cold tremors dancing through my veins. The man earlier had mentioned something about Dad giving something to the enemy—could these men actually belong to the Lucentinis and not the De Lucas? I grunted through clenched teeth. Whoever it was, Lucentinis or De Luca, they won't catch me. The door burst open. I didn’t scream—I swung my arm fast in the direction of the door, and I stabbed. The blade of the scissors dug into the collarbone of the first man. Not deep enough to kill. Just enough to make him bleed and curse, blood splattering from his shoulder. I swam past a host of hands, fingers tearing off my clothes. But I was too fast for their aging speed. I bolted through the side of the room as fast as my leg could carry me, and I threw myself out the balcony window and hit the ground with a thud that knocked every ounce of air from my lungs. I didn’t stop to think. I ran barefoot across the garden Mom used to spend her whole morning tending. Thorns cut into my feet as I reached the woods behind the house. I ran until my lungs begged for mercy. Gunshots cracked behind me, zipping past my head. I heard multiple thuds behind me. The bastards had dropped down the window after me. God! They were chasing me. I glanced back to see over twenty men stumping down the garden, grunting and cursing. That brief lack of concentration cost me everything. My legs caught on a couple of ropelike roots, and I fell face-first into the mud, the breath knocked from my body again. The crunch of leaves was loud behind me, the ground vibrating under the weight of so many running boots. They were getting nearer. I groaned, clenching my teeth tight, trying to pick myself up, but my limbs just wouldn't give in. They felt like lead around me, too heavy to carry. I curled into myself. Like if I made myself smaller, I’d disappear, and they wouldn't find me. Suddenly, cars engines screeched to furious halts, tyres scratching the ground. A car skidded across the gravel towards the woods. Voices shouting—low, commanding. Then gunfire. Plenty of it. It sounded like firecrackers going off. I covered myself with my arms, as I thought I was being shot, and I screamed. Screamed as loud as I could. Yet, no bullets pierced through my skin. I looked around then to see my attackers dropping fast like flies, like dominos stacked together. The shooting died around me, like someone hit the reduce volume button on the world, only for the gunshots to resume in the distance—in the house. The silhouette of a man stepped out of a black SUV like he’d walked straight out of hell—his suit dark, unwrinkled, and out of place in the chaos. He walked over the bodies on the ground, like they were stones, a rifle dangling just beside him. The strands of moonlight that slit through the leaves flushed his face as he drew nearer. I gasped, my eyes widening slowly as I recognized the calculating and piercing steel grey eyes from the city's magazines and the lean but muscular body powerfully packed in an elegant three-piece suit—Lorenzo De Luca. The man Dad called a devil in Armani—worse than the one that resides in hell. His eyes locked on mine. Steel-gray and soulless. I curled tighter, like a cornered animal. Still clutching the stupid scissors. I shook, Mom’s scream playing on a loop inside my skull. I glanced at the bodies that littered the dirt floor. Judging by the way he killed those men, the bastards must be the Lucentinis. Turns out Dad got betrayed by the very people he calls brother. Still, this was far from over. Lorenzo De Luca wasn't here to save me. He was a devil. The devil doesn't do rescue. “You’re Sienna Moretti,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like velvet over a knife. I didn’t answer but shifted away from him on the ground, clutching myself tighter. He crouched beside me. His hand hovered near my face but didn’t touch. His eyes still looked soulless, his expression impassive. “You know who they are, darling.” He asked, nudging his chin at the corpses. “They were the Lucentinis, and they were going to kill you.” "I figured out who they were. They killed my parents." I lifted my head, looking into his soulless eyes. "Why are you here?" I choked out. Holding his gaze. “I know you didn't come to save me.” He sighed and rose gently to his feet. “You are right, I didn't come to save you, darling. I came to collect on a debt your father owes me, and since he is unable to pay now, you will have to pay on his behalf.” He smirked. I laughed. Bitter and broken. “My father hated you. He owes you nothing.” His lips curled into a sad grin now. “No, darling. He did. I am the reason he lives thus far, and he owes me for that and more, and you, darling…” He paused and leaned low, thrusting his face at me. He threw the rifle behind him, his lips stretching to enlarge his sad grin. “...are going to help clear that debt until I find what the Lucentinis killed him for.” I glared at him, grinding my teeth so hard I could feel murder on my lips. Without thought, driven by impulse and hate, I swung the scissors for his neck. He caught my wrists midway. “Feisty, huh.” He grinned. He shook my hand hard until the scissors fell. “I like that you are. You are going to need a lot of that spirit in the coming days, darling. Your dad offended so many bad people, who are waiting to claim or kill you. I just happened to beat the others to the prize. Make no doubt about it, darling. You are mine, my slave now.” He threw my arm away and leaned back on his feet. Boots crunched over the dirt around me, and I was snatched from the ground, like I was some packet of cereal on a*****e shelf.