Chapter Four
1312 Words
THE WRONG BAIT
Don Marco's POV
My gaze swept over Rosalia's disheveled form, my expression unreadable.
"Madonna, take our heroine inside to the bathroom and give her something to change into," I ordered my maid, with my deep voice firm. "A top and blue jeans. Something practical, then accompany her back to this room." I sharply declared in a low but harsh tone.
Madonna nodded and tapped her shoulder. Rosalia stood up with her pale face and followed behind Madonna, all through the fully guarded corridor.
Rosalia's once beautiful white wedding gown now hung in tatters, stained with dirt and blood. The delicate lace was torn, and the silk fabric was splattered with mud and grime. The dress, once a symbol of purity and innocence, now seemed like a mocking reminder of her shattered dreams.
"Why would someone stoop so low as to request her own death?" This question kept on ringing in my mind since we left the church with Rosalia on her wedding.
I stood up and walked up to the big window of my dimly lit guest room. On the spot, I took out my pocket lighter, then lit my tobacco cigarette, puffed some smoke into the air, and then I gasped.
At that moment my mind never stopped playing its tricks on me. Every second, every minute, and every hour that I spent with Rosalia made my heart beat more than it usually
"Come to think of it, what prompted her to request her own death? Her decision is kind of weakening my rage for revenge against her father." I said in a low tone and paused to puff out another smoke in the air.
Then I continued, "Don Giovanni escaped with Don Fabian, and they left her alone to die in my hands." My mind was etched with confusion for a few minutes.
Meanwhile, as I was reeling on this, with my aching mind, Madonna's voice at the doorstep stopped me from thinking further.
"Boss, I'm back with the captive." She said with her voice barely above a whisper.
"Bring her inside." I commanded, and she opened the door,
Rosalia returned to the room with a simple white top and faded blue jeans on her, and long black hair straightened downward, complimenting her beauty the more.
"Uh!" I exclaimed in shock as I fixed my gentle gaze at her.
"Is this the same Rosalia that wanted to die? If I had killed her, then I could have ended the life of the most beautiful lady I've ever seen." I couldn't fling my eyes away from her heavenly body for a few seconds.
"You coward." She groaned at me, with her eyes etched with anger.
"I beg you to kill me, but you hesitated, and yet you call yourself a mafia lord."
I remained speechless. I'm still confused about her sudden behaviors, "so she really wanted to die." I whispered inwardly to myself,
Then I approached a wooden chair beside where she stood with her face plastered in rage; she was determined to devour herself or anyone that stood in her way.
"If you can't do it. Then give me your gun, and I'll do it myself." She became too desperate to end her life, but I wasn't there for her; I was there for Don Giovanni and Don Fabian.
"Here, miss," I said in a low tone, avoiding being angry like she was.
Rosalia's eyes flicked on me, and then all of a sudden she raced to a table beside her, with my fully loaded shotgun placed on it.
"Stop this stupidity and sit there." I yelled at the top of my voice as I held her right hand to stop her from reaching the gun.
"Let me go; you are hurting my hand." I refuse to heed her words, so I continue to squeeze her hand under my palm; within a few seconds, her wrist became red and a little bit swollen, then I dragged her to the table, picked up the gun, and gave it to her.
"Here, kill yourself and stain my marble-tiled floor with your own blood." I spoke sternly.
Rosalia summoned her courage and collected the gun; she pointed it inside her mouth, and then she gradually closed her eyes.
"Uhn!" She exclaimed softly, with her beautiful eyes filled with welling tears.
"Do it!" I yelled at again, encouraging her to kill herself.
And for 2 minutes she remained silent and calm, and then suddenly she collapsed to the floor, and the gun dropped down gently from her hand.
Her lost confidence awakened by guts, I walked up to her, took the gun from the floor, and held it on her head. Then a loud, hollow click echoed through the air of the room, the unmistakable sound of a gun firing with no bullet to propel.
"Ahh!" A surge of fear was plastered on her face as she blinked her eyes twice; immediately, she heard the gun click on her head.
I fixed my angry gaze at her and then said, "Your death has no importance to me or to my revenge scheme; I'll just use you as bait to kill the offender himself." I spoke sternly with my voice laced with confusion.
"Here, dialed his number." I gave her my phone and confusedly requested, as I sat down on the floor like a corporate beggar, trying to deceive the world that she's richer than everyone.
"Who?" She asked with her trembling voice,
"Don Giovanni, your father, call him now." I muttered, and she calmly collected the phone from me.
She began to dial the digit one after the other with her trembling hands, while she also fixed her gaze at me. She kept on watching me remove the gun parts into little pieces of metal without a bullet in it, and I thought, "Is this her first time seeing a man scatter gun parts?" I asked myself, and I felt it's a rhetorical question.
The daughter of a Mafia lord must deny that, if it's an accusation.
Rosalia's hands trembled as she dialed her father's number. She raised it up beside her right ear, and the phone rang several times before Don Giovanni's deep voice answered.
"Put it on speaker." I said with my eyes blazing fury.
"Rosalia darling, mia figlia...where did he take you?" he asked,
But before Rosalia could respond, my voice cut in, cold and menacing.
"Great! Don Giovanni. I never expected you to answer." I teased him into a quick joke and continued, "You see, I have your precious daughter, and I'm willing to let her go...under one condition."
Don Giovanni's voice barely above a whisper. "What do you want, Marco?" He requested in a low tone.
"I want you to come here, alone and unarmed. If you do, I'll release Rosalia unharmed. But if you refuse...or try anything foolish...she'll suffer the consequences." I was very strict about what I told him; my parent's death wouldn't be in vain.
Rosalia's heart was calmed. She knew her father would do anything to save her life. Not this dangerous demand will stop him from saving his only daughter. But Don Marco's next words made her blood run cold.
"It's not just a matter of coming here, Don Giovanni. It's a matter of trading your life for hers. You see, I've grown tired of searching for you... Italy, Chicago, and New York City; name the city, but now it's over." I growled loudly on the phone, and his response shows he felt it.
"Don't you dare lay your filthy hands on her, or else..." I cut his words short, "Or else what, you will kill me?" I mused thoughtfully and smiled.
"I believe it's time for you to pay the price."
The line went silent, and Rosalia's world came crashing down. Her father's life for hers? The thought was unbearable
- Writer
