Mafia Love

CHAPTER 1

CLARY'S POV

I woke from lurid shouting coming from downstairs. I could hear mommy's angry voice, getting louder and louder. And another voice. A voice I didn't recognise, but from the deep tone, I could guess it was a man. I couldn't make out their words. Just muffled screams and shouts echoing off of the apartment walls. As the voices rose and a few more unknown ones started bellowing, a vigorous crash wailed coming from- what I assumed- the living room. Mommy?! More shouting ascended and a torturous high-pitched yell started. That made me jump. So much I leapt out of bed and flung my bedroom door open. The hallway was dark, but a faint light came from the direction of the living room and kitchen; the bawling and shouting extremely louder than before. "Mommy." I whimpered, knowing full well that she couldn't hear me. There was another crash, making my legs scurry to my brothers room next door to mine. When I opened the door, I found Jonathan sitting on the edge of his bed, quilts pulled back, wearing grey pyjama shorts and a dark blue cotton t-shirt. Jonathan's eyes swiftly turned to mine, sad, angry, and once he realised it was his little sister they boiled down to a calm and weary protectiveness. "J-Jon? What's g-going on? I want mommy." I snivelled. Jonathan turned his body fully so he was facing my direction, and extended his arms. "Clare. Come here." I rushed over to his welcoming embrace, tucking my head under Jonathan's chin as he wound his arms around me.

"Jon. W-what's going on? I want mommy. I need to see if she's okay." I wept.

"Clary. Come on Clare-bear, don't cry. Everything's okay. Its ok-" Jonathan paused from gently wiping my tears away, from yet another round of deafening yelling and another scream coming from our mother. Jon quickly but with care, placed me beside him and stood up, alert and clearly angry with the violent expression on his pale face.

"Clary. Stay here, okay. I won't be a sec. I need to go and check what's happening." Before I could answer, Jon hurriedly kissed my forehead and rushed out of his bedroom door. I sat stock still from shock, 5 seconds ticking by, until my stubborn self, bolted out of the room and into the open planned living room where 15 people stood. All of them must of realised my presence, because the uproar almost instantly halted. Everyone's eyes rested on me. Mommy was standing directly from me with Uncle Luke, tears streaming down her red face. But what caught my attention was the man standing in the centre of the living space, wearing a sharp and elegant, black suit. But what caught my attention the most was the resemblance. Of this man. And my brother.

They had the same white-blonde hair, surprisingly in a long style just like my Jon's; dark chocolate- almost black eyes; high cheeks bones and square jaw with a little stubble rimming the edges. I've never seen this man before, but Jonathan must of because he darted toward me covering my body with his own, shielding me from everyone's gaze. "Clary, I told you to wait in my room. Go back. You'll get hurt-"

"Clary?" I peered behind Jon's arm, finding the man kneeling down, a sad expression on his face. "Clary, its me." The man said.

Jonathan hid my face. "Stay away from her." He growled. I've never heard my brother speak like that. So livid.

I cringe as two burly men start toward Jonathan, my heart rate jumping over maximum speed as I realise what the men are holding. Even a six- year-old like myself knew what it was. The guns were a metallic black; glossy and ready to shoot.

"Jonathan," My mommy's stern voice interrupted the scene playing. "Jon, come here."

"Mom! No! Clar-" Jonathan starts, but mommy soon cuts him off.

"Jonathan. Please sweetie. Come here." Mommy sniffles, but her eyes are strong and confident. She knows the men won't hurt me unless we do what they say. And somehow, I'm not afraid. Jonathan obeys, walking to mom and standing in front of her but turning to face me. Mom wraps her pale freckled arms around Jonathan's shoulders, lightly kissing the top of his head.

Turning my attention back to the man who looked identical to my brother, his eyes were still fixed on me.

"Clary?" He asked.

"Y-yes?" I pull the slightly too big sleeves of my woolly pyjama top down.

"Come over here." The man held out his big hand, his eyes calm and in awe. I flash a glance at mommy, and she nods her head at me. Mommy wouldn't let me walk over to this man if she didn't think it was safe. Or would she?

I make my way over to the unfamiliar figure. Even though the man was kneeling down, he still towered over me- which wasn't that hard. I was quite short for my age.

I stood in front of him. Close enough so I could give him a hug or place a hand on his suit cladded shoulder. The man studied my face, taking his time noting my vibrant red curls and large green eyes. He smiled. A large perfect-toothed smile. "Hey, Clary." He says, extending his hand. He brushed a few stray curls and tucks it behind my ear, then with both hands places them on my freckled cheeks.

"Do you know who I am?" He asks keeping his gaze in fine-line with mine.

"N-no. But you look a lot like Jon. Why do you look like Jon?" I sweetly ask.

The man chuckles, and I can see the love and awe in his eyes. But what about all the commotion only minutes ago? Why was everyone shouting?

"Yes. We do look alike don't we?," The man's eyes travel to Jonathan's who scowls back. The man looks back to me. He stares at me for a while, his eyebrow furrowing like he was thinking hard; like I do when I concentrate. "That's because I'm Jonathan's daddy." He states quietly, gauging my eyes for my reaction. I furrow my brows. "B-but. But who's my daddy?" I timidly question.

The man smiles a sad smile. "I am." He says.

"But everyone at school- their daddy's live with them. Sometimes they pick them up from school and- and last month, it was 'Take your daddy to school' day and everyone in my class brought their daddy's in and the daddy's talked about their jobs and-"

"That's enough." Mommy buts in.

"But mommy. I-"

"No, Clary. Come here. Everyone will be leaving-"

"NO!" The man yelled.

The man stands up and a few of his goons step beside him, looking awfully intimidating standing at their over 6 foot height. "You will not take my children away from me, Jocelyn. They're as much as my children as they are yours! You know you can't take them away from me!" The man clenches and unclenches his tight fists.

"Where were you when Jonathan was born?! WHERE WERE YOU, VALENTINE?!" Mom screams at the man, whose name is- what did she say?- Valentine? My daddy? "The whole reason I left was because of you- the Mafia- all of it! You really think that's a safe place for a baby? I was nearly shot from one of the Idrisian men while pregnant with Jonathan. All you did was insist I was safer with you. NOT A CHANCE! There is no way in this world, you'll be taking my children with you." Mommy puts Jonathan aside Uncle Luke, who pushes Jonathan defensively behind him. Valentine watches the movements like a hawk. "I left when I was pregnant with Clary because I wanted her and Jonathan to be safe," Mommy's voice quietens a level, "a defenceless child does not belong in your world, Valentine. It's not safe. You're not safe." Mom lowers her head.

"Come here, baby." Mommy speaks to me. "These people are just about to-"

"Like hell we are!" Valentine bellows just as I took to steps toward mommy.

"If I'm leaving my children are coming with me! Blackwell, get my children. Now." He shouts.

Blackwell comes up behind me and hoists me over his shoulder, his shoulder painfully digging into my ribs, making me cry out.

"No. You are not taking them!" Mom roars, running over towards Blackwell with me on his shoulder. Mom try's to yank me down, crying my name over and over again. Tears are spilling a waterfall down my cheeks as I cry out for mommy, and through my hazy vision, I can see Luke and a few of his friends make a protective circle around Jonathan.

"Let her go!" Mom shrieks.

Blackwell pushes mommy to the floor, knocking her side onto the dining room table.

"Mommy!" I squawk, pulling out of Blackwell's hold with all might. Mommy stands up swiftly wiping a trail of blood from her forehead, tears running down the side of her button nose. The scene behind me was terrifying behind my six-year-old eyes. Punching and kicking; the pounding with flesh on flesh.

Then I hear mom's shriek and yell; words that scare me.

"SHOOT HIM! SHOOT HIM!"

There's a loud gunshot, and then a deafly shrill of a scream comes from mommy's mouth. And then I feel the pain. Coming from my side. Blackwell's face turns white, his eyes ghostly as he lowers me to the floor. I cry in pain as I feel the floor come to contact with my back, the pressure searing into my side. My mind whirls around with answers to why my side hurts, but I know the answer. I just wish it wasn't true. I then see two pale faces; mommy's with tears rushing down her red cheeks and Valentine's- daddy's- white as paper with eyes watery from tears yet to fall.

"Clary. Clary, baby. Come on baby you're okay. You're okay. You're going to be okay." Mommy whispers while stroking my curls from my face. I watch my mommy's green eyes and Valentine's coal ones watch my still form until I couldn't hold my gaze open anymore. The last thing I hear is my mums heart wrenching wails as darkness takes over me-

I gasp heavily as I instantly sit up in bed, the dream I dreamt on unwanted replay. The flashback of that day was 12 years ago, but still haunted me. The only physical reminder, the scar on my side where my ribs meet. That day was all but blurry. A haze of images. But the images were still gruesome. And I wish I could forget.

I push the quilt back from my legs, the shock of the cold hard wood floor seeping through my toes.

The clock on my night stand read 7.00am. An hour to get ready for work; shower and dress. Hopefully today will be better. Hopefully.