Author's note; So, here we are. A new story …
I tried to pick up one of my stories on hiatus, but it didn't go well! Then Fran shared an idea with me that I absolutely loved, and inspiration hit. I'm thrilled she trusts me with this story. She's so much more than a beta. She, and my incredibly talented pre-reader, Lily Jill, have gone far and beyond to get this story off the ground. Believe me, when I say, this story would be nothing without their help.
Disclaimer; Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Original creations, including, but not limited to plot and characters, are copyright to the respective author. No copyright infringement is intended.
Now we've got that out of the way, let's get to it.
~Prologue~
My stomach twists, my eyes widen in fear, and my heart pounds frantically in my chest as I stare at the guns in their hands, one of which is pointed directly at me.
"You said this would be an easy job … no witnesses … no problems."
His eyes don't leave mine - he doesn't even spare his partner a glance; he only glares at me with bitterness and hatred.
"Don't do anything stupid, okay? We'll get what we came for; then we'll leave." His accomplice's voice has a sense of urgency, and is that desperation I detect?
"No witnesses," the man with the gun grounds out, repeating his words from earlier as his eyes jump from me to the gun, back to me again. He's sketchy, maybe nervous.
"Put the gun down. Let's go before this gets any more out of hand!"
Surprisingly, he complies and lowers his weapon, but I don't release the breath I'm holding even then. He seems edgy, wired, and too unpredictable to assume I'm out of the woods yet.
I'm right to be cautious.
Moments later, he turns and starts waving the gun around again, shouting.
"No loose ends," he mutters under his breath before his cold gaze finds mine.
"Don't do this," my voice cracks. I never beg ... I refuse to cower to anyone, but right now, I don't care how desperate I sound or how terrified I look. I'll do whatever it takes to survive this nightmare.
The balaclava covering his face makes it impossible to judge if my words have any impact. Yet, the coldness in his eyes makes me think perhaps they haven't made a difference at all.
"I have a family."
It's a whisper ... a plea into the darkness.
"Your family is what got you here. It's why we're here."
There's a long pause.
The room is eerily quiet. The only sound comes from the clock ticking on the wall. Every second feels like a lifetime. Before I can open my mouth to protest, I watch in horror, and my eyes widen when he releases the safety catch, raises his gun, and aims it directly at me.
"Let's think about this!" His accomplice shouts, now sounding desperate.
"Fuck that; we came here for money; they said there would be money, and we got nothing! Where's the money, bitch!"
My voice is weak .. wobbly .. nothing like my own.
"I don't know ..."
And just like that, he pulls the trigger, the sound in the hallway so loud, it deafens me.
It happens so fast; at first, my brain doesn't register what happened—that I've been hit.
A sort of numbness washes over me. I feel nothing until a few seconds later when that feeling of shock gives way to an extreme burning sensation coursing through my body. I can't compare it to anything else I've ever experienced.
My legs feel heavy, dead weights before they give out completely, and before I can reach for the handrail, I fall down the stairs, hitting the floor with a loud thud. Blood rushes to my head; my hand reaches instinctively to where I've been hit so I can assess the damage. When I pull my hand away, it comes back slick and stained with blood.
The smell makes me nauseous, and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from gagging.
There's blood everywhere; on my clothes ... on the floor … all around me.
Terror threatens to take over, but I force myself to focus; to stay calm; I need to be smart. Using what I can, I create a makeshift bandage from the arm of my hoodie, trying to stem the bleeding, but the blood seeps into it straight away, staining the fabric.
The smell, please make it stop.
The room starts to spin.
I try not to panic, but my mind is fuzzy, my vision blurry. I've never felt pain like this. Nothing comes close to the agony, the pure terror I feel when I try to force air into my lungs. Is this how it ends for me?
Do I die alone?
I'm in so much pain I barely notice the raised voices, the arguing, followed by heavy footsteps, and the door shutting while I lay in a pool of my own blood, struggling for breath on the cold marble floor.
With my last bit of strength, I fight to get my phone out of my pocket and dial 911 before losing consciousness. I struggle to hear the dispatcher on the end of the line, but my words are trapped in my throat. I fight desperately to get my voice to work, but it's no use. I struggle to draw breath into my lungs, and any sounds I make come out as a moan.
I feel my grip on the phone slipping; my hand feels weak … not my own, and the rest of my body feels so tired … so weary… lifeless.
I can't fight it anymore.
I let my head fall back against the floor, but then I feel myself falling. My eyes are closing, the pain is unstopping, as is my descent, and the darkness makes every attempt to consume me.
And then, everything goes black.
But even in darkness, there is no peace, only more pain and heartache.
I'm no longer in my home ...
No, where I am now is even more terrifying, more confusing. It makes no sense. It takes me a moment to catch up ... to realize I'm lost in a memory ... reliving the nightmare that has plagued me for so many years.
I'm trapped in a car, bleeding, surrounded by half a dozen firefighters trying desperately to get me out. However, none of those things matter, not when I turn to the side and see the person beside me; the battered and bleeding body next to me ... dead.
Author's note; I hope you like the opening chapter and would love to hear your thoughts.
I've not given many details about this story, but yes, this is another mobward story. It will be more about what happens inside the homes of two mafia families. How they live, love, do business, and exist when their lives are thrown together. And it's a slow burn too, so strap yourselves in …