The woman walks to the back of the parking lot, her long toned legs encased in tight Capri pants that stop just below the knee. The denim is faded and frays at the bottom, her bronze skin practically glows with radiance as it pokes out beneath those sinfully tight pants. Her feet and pressed and polished and presumably shoved into the three inch heals she is wearing. Her hips sway to the beat of some unheard American club music, her feet cross before her like a model. The dark brown suede of her shoes matches her outfit of a light green and white striped camisole and light weight, white jacket. The camisole hugs her toned stomach and medium sized breasts nicely, the jacket fluttering behind her as she walks away from me. Her bronze hair flows behind her like a waterfall, jumping with her every step; one hand reaches up to brush hair out of her face as she searches for the car where her husband and daughter are waiting. She reaches for the large purse hanging on her left shoulder and plunges a perfectly manicured hand into the bag rummaging around for a moment she pulls her hand out.
Holding the newfound cell phone she pokes at the touch screen carefully and decidedly. She turns her face to wind and I see her piercing green eyes, button nose, the luscious lips stained red from her favorite lipstick, and her beautiful high and defined cheek bones. She turns back for just a second to readjust the suitcase she is pulling along, then holds the phone up to her ear she speaks rapid Italian to it a few swears thrown in for good measure. She glances back and spots me just walking along, I am her biggest fear.
I am the leader of the Russian Mafia, and she, Lovina Vargas, is the head of the Italian Mafia. She wanted to rule Italy but she drew the short stick, her grandfather passed away five years ago right before she decided what she was to do with her government sway. The now twenty three year old runs the whole Italian Mafia while her little sister, Feliciana, two years her junior, now holds the highest place a woman can have in the government. Her husband of a year is Antonio, a former Spanish farmer. Lovina had taken college in Spain before her grandfather died, picking up the doting man while over there, when she returned he begged to follow her, which he did. They lived together for a year, engaged for three and married a mere week before Lovina went into hiding in Japan. She stayed for a month living with Kiku a man who offered her a safe house, a drunken party somewhere in there resulted in what her other fear was, bringing another child into this "mafia mess" as she called it. She finished her time in Japan with little incident and returned to Rome a small custody battle later and Kiku relinquished all custody of Danielle, or Danny, and only asks that she be able to visit. So now that her dreams have been shattered she keeps Danny sheltered from mafia life.
Lovina is on the move again and takes a sharp left, the opposite direction, away from the little blue Fiat. I glance over and see Antonio in the driver seat with Danny lying on his chest asleep just like the former. I turn to the car and pull the little revolver from the inside of my coat and aim it at the daughter. I hear nothing and turn to make myself known only to hear rapid fire Italian, when I hear a gun cock. With a gasp I spin to face her, seeing her brilliant green eyes and red lips pressed to a straight line.
"Don't touch my family," she quips in Italian. Her emotions are never out like this, her eyes shining with tears and lips quivering just a bit. She always covers her feelings over with her anger, never showing any sadness or empathy, just malice and rage. I backed off. Letting the gun fall and sprinted for my life. She stoops to get the gun and puts it in her purse along with her own and climbs into the small vehicle and wakes her family. A large smile graces her face, brightening her previous rage filled persona. Maybe she isn't all bad, Mafia Mom and all.