Repaying the Mafia’s Dept

Prologue of book 3

Candace

13 years ago…

I rest my elbows on the rigid wood of the window ledge, my hand at my cheek as I gaze at the boy who has always made my heart skip a beat.

He’s sitting cross-legged in the moonlit meadow, gazing out at the vast expanse of the woods and the lake.

He’s far, far away from me. A good forty feet and it’s dark, bordering on nine, but I can see him.

I always see him.

Dominic D’Agostino.

The youngest of the D’Agostino pack. The girls at school call them “the Godlike Boys.” There are four of them: Andreas, Massimo, Tristan, then there’s him… Dominic.

Against the silver moonlight, I can just make out the outline of his jet-black hair. He’s always had it longish on top with a lock hanging over his eye, making him look more alluring, and I can’t remember a day when I didn’t feel this way. Like watching him was an escape into a fantasy. A dream my heart wants.

He’s seventeen years old. Older than me by two years, eight months, and five days. Exactly. I used to count down to the hour and minute, but I stopped doing that a while back. Maybe about the same time I started trying to learn everything I could about this guy.

Like the way he tries to be as badass as his brothers-and he is-make no mistake about that, but he also tries his best to hide his intelligence.

People like me spot things like that straightaway. We’re the help. We see everything and notice things others might not.

I’m not sure how long he’ll be able to keep that up though, because he has the kind of intelligence which will overpower his desire to hide it.

Like today when Humphrey Damson, one of the Ivy league wannabes, insulted his intelligence and told him there is no way a Stormy Creek rat like him could figure out some difficult equation they were arguing about.

Dominic didn’t hesitate to put him in his place by solving the equation in seconds. The classic look of shock on Humphrey’s face was one I don’t think anyone will forget anytime soon.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

Now Dominic’s doing the usual Friday night routine. It might look like he’s just sitting there, but he’s not. The ritual is partly to avoid the sadness of going home and partly for reflection, a time to remember his mother.

She died when he was eight.

Ahead of him is the D’Agostino home. Inside it, his father, Giacomo, is playing that old jazz song he used to dance to with Dominic’s mother. Giacomo always called her his doll.

If I were to open my window and listen carefully, I’d be able to hear Billie Holiday’s melodious voice singing, “The Very Thought of You,” like a whisper on the wind. A voice singing a song filled with memories of his true love. When Sariah D’Agostino died, it was like the stars fell from the sky.

Everyone knows how much Giacomo loved his wife. He used to dance with her on the porch every Friday for date night. I know I wasn’t the only one who watched them. They brought life and light to this dark place.

Sometimes when I look down there, I still see them dancing. Like ghosts of memories imprinted on my soul.

My family has worked for the D’Agostinos for generations. In that time, the years of friendship made us as close as family could be. I know that is why my parents followed them to Stormy Creek when Giacomo lost everything and they still continue to work for him in some capacity.

We’ve lived here for eleven years. I would have been too young to remember what it was like to live in the lavish mansion they still talk about.

I’ve only known this life in Stormy Creek, a place reserved for the poor and destitute. It’s a place filled with broken souls trying to make their way in the world from one day to the next, one where dark things happen behind closed doors.

Or maybe… that’s just in my house. I don’t know.

Most of the people who live in this godforsaken place do all kinds of shady shit. But at least those people don’t pretend to be something they aren’t.

They aren’t like us, under the facade of the vanilla cereal box family. The Mother, father, daughter, and the uncle who seems to support them. All that’s missing is the white picket fence and the shaggy dog.

That’s how people see me and mine, and I wear the mask well. I do such a good job they can’t see I’m screaming inside. Outside, I’m Candace Ricci. The girl with her little princess bag and homemade cookies.

I’ve gotten so good at pretending no one will ever guess what goes on at night in the Ricci household.

Desperation is a terrible thing.

That’s what happened to us.

Desperation made Papa ask Uncle Lucas for a job. Then everything changed in a way no one expected. Ways he never expected. I know in my heart Papa never knew he was selling his soul to the devil or opening the gates of hell. Two nights ago, he got a rude awakening when he discovered what was happening to my mother when he was away working. We’ve been on edge ever since.

I’m pulled from my thoughts when Dominic gets up and walks in the opposite direction of his house. The ritual is over and like always, he’s completely oblivious to me.

He’ll never see me the way I see him, and he’ll never know the real darkness of my world.

The terrified girl who lives inside me wants to call out for his help and beg him to fight the monsters, save me. I want to scream and tell him what happens when the lights go out. But I can’t do that.

Only God knows how I wish I could take back the night when I disobeyed the rules and my eyes were opened to the truth behind my mother’s cries and the voices of those strange men in our home at night.

They come when Papa’s not here.

See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.

That was the one rule I grew up with. As the help, you know those three things. We know especially not to speak no evil.

I watch Dominic until I can’t see him anymore and accept there will be no one to save me. When I stand, my bedroom door flies open and Mom runs inside, her eyes wide with panic.

“Candace grab a bag quick, we have to leave.” The words tumble out of her mouth so fast it takes me a few seconds to register what she’s saying.

“What? Mom, what’s happening?”

“Please, just get a bag.” She rushes back out the door.

My heart lodges in my chest, too afraid to beat. What is happening now? What on earth could be happening?

Instead of getting a bag like she asked, I follow her into the living room where Papa is pacing around with a rucksack. He’s stuffing paperwork inside it.

A sickly green hue mingles with beads of sweat darkening his skin, and terror etches across his face, his shoulders, his body.

Mom walks over to the dinner table, brings her hands to her mouth, and starts crying.

“Mom, Papa, what’s happening?”

Neither answers me.

“William, are you sure they saw you?” Mom asks Papa.

“Yes. They know it was me who took the information. We have to leave now.” Papa looks from Mom to me and his gaze lingers on me.

I almost think he’s going to tell me what is happening, but he doesn’t say a word.

“William, what if they find us? They could. Where would we go to be safe?”

His gaze snaps back to my mother, who is now cowering into the wall like she can go through it. Like she can disappear, or it can save her. I’ve never seen her look so terrified, so I know whatever this is, is really bad.

“We have to try. We’ll leave here and never come back,” he answers, and it feels like invisible hands clamp around my lungs and squeeze. By the time he glances at me, I’m gasping. “Candace, sweetie, get a bag.”

My lips part to say something but the words freeze in my mind when I hear the loud voices of men outside on the porch. Seconds later our front door crashes open, smashing into the wall.

Mom screams and races over to me when masked men storm into the house holding guns. They all come in so fast there’s not enough time or the chance to do anything besides scream and run. But run to where?

A burly man grabs my father. A scream tears from my lips when he hits him with the back of his gun and Papa falls to the ground holding his head. The man sends a round of kicks to my father’s stomach and blood sputters from his lips.

Mom and I both scream out, pleading with the man to stop, but Papa becomes the least of our worries when I’m ripped from my mother’s arms and a tall man grabs her by her hair and places a gun to her throat.

I’m held against a solid chest, terror racing through me at such a rapid pace I can’t breathe.

There are six armed men in the room. One more comes through the door, his gun held out, ready to open fire. He too has a mask, but with his sleeves rolled up his thick forearms, I recognize his tattoo. It’s a black dagger with the word eternal written on the blade and a cobra wrapped around the dagger’s handle. The first time I saw that tattoo, I knew I’d never forget it. Nor his face.

I wasn’t supposed to see his face the night I caught him with my mother.

That same night when I heard his voice, I realized he’d been here several times before. As he speaks now, I recognize his voice the same way. It’s him.

I don’t need to see his stony face or his dark coal eyes to remember how evil he looks.

That night he didn’t see me watching him. No one did.

The man walks in, and a quick glance at my mother suggests she recognizes him too. I can see it in her eyes.

“William Ricci, I hear you’ve been up to no good,” the man intones in a singsong voice. The deep timbre and the air of menace in his tone linger like a bad dream.

“Please, let my wife and daughter go,” Papa begs, but his pleas are met with laughter. “Take me. You want me.”

“Tell me where the information is,” the man demands.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Papa answers.

“Fucking dog, you won’t lie to me. You pick the wrong method to save your family.”

Oh God… what does he mean?

What did Papa do?

The other night when Papa found out what was happening to Mom, I don’t know what he did after. Whatever it is, has resulted in this.

“Please, let them go. You want me. Let my wife and my girl go.”

“Tell me where the information is.”

This is about information. On what, though?

What information did Papa find?

“I don’t have it.”

“You dumb fuck. We know what you did, and the boss isn’t happy. Bring her here.” The man points to Mom who starts screaming when she’s dragged over by her hair.

“No, please. Don’t hurt her,” Papa cries.

“Where is it?” the man demands.

“I don’t have the information anymore. I don’t know where it is. My wife and girl know nothing. Take me, take me, take me.” Each plea that falls from his lips rises an octave higher and stirs more horror in my soul.

“Can you remember now?” The man taunts, cocking the hammer on the gun.

Click-Clack is all I hear. It’s all I focus on, along with the sight of Mom trying to break free.

“Please no, don’t. Don’t hurt her.”

“Tell me what I need to know.”

“I don’t have it. Please. Not my girl.”

“Yours? No.” The man laughs.

I know what he means, after all, I saw him in bed with my mother.

For a fraction of a second, there’s a shift of sadness and regret in my father’s eyes as realization dawns on him too. Everything, however, evaporates from my mind when the man takes out a little bottle from the inside of his jacket and throws some sort of liquid all over Mom. A whiff of the pungent smell burns my nose, and the instant I realize what it is, the nightmare really begins. It’s gasoline.

A snap of a lighter flickers on and suddenly my mother is on fire. The man holding her drops her as the flames cover her body.

The anguished cry that rips from my throat is so intense I think I might die from the sight of the flames on my mother. My screams mingle with those of my parents and tears blind my vision.

“Tell us where the information is, and I might put the fire out,” the man taunts.

“I don’t have it!” Papa shouts. “Someone took it. Please. Please, I beg of you, please.”

The man stares Papa down. The seconds that pass between them feel like lifetimes and there’s a moment something changes, and I just know it’s over.

It’s over and there’s no one to save us. Our closest neighbors will mind their own business and the only people who might be able to help live at the bottom of the hill.

Giacomo D’Agostino is, however, so engrossed with his ritualistic remembrance of his wife I’m sure he won’t hear a thing. He’d probably never suspect anything anyway out of the ordinary happening in the Ricci household.

Time stands still, my soul breaks, and the world stops when the man fires one shot into my mother’s chest. Before I can get over the shock, he pulls a long-bladed knife from his sheath and cuts Papa’s head off before he can utter another cry.

Like a scene from a nightmare, both my parents lay dead before me. Papa’s body, his head sitting next to it in a pool of blood and Mom still on fire. I can’t stop screaming and crying.

“Do what you want with her, make sure you dispose of the body after,” the man orders.

He means me.

Oh, God…

He’s talking about me.

I’m going to die.

The men file out of the house and I scream harder when the clothes are ripped from my body and I’m pushed naked to the floor.

I scream and scream and scream as the man who is holding me gets on top of me. I try to fight, but he’s too strong and fierce.

I can’t form words; I’m just screaming and crying. Wailing for help.

One second the man’s disgusting head looms over me, with his hot, raw breath husking. The next thing I see is his head falling from his body.

Before I can quite realize what’s happened, blood sprays into my eyes, and the man’s headless body collapses onto mine.

I blink and I can just make out Massimo’s face before me. He’s holding a long knife, blood is on his face too, and he’s looking down at me in horror.

“Candace,” he calls to me, but I’m screaming so much I can’t answer.

Terror sets in as my mind tries to process what happened, and screams continue to pour from my body, coming from deep in my soul.

What did just happen?

My mother… my father.

They’re dead…

“Candace, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Massimo says, pushing the man’s bulky body off me.

“Guys get in here,” he shouts. Footsteps echo on the floorboards outside.

I can’t see anybody. Tears and blood blind me.

My name is called again, and someone lifts me.

The tears and blood are wiped from my eyes, and I see him holding me.

Dominic…

His face looms before me, filled with panic as he looks me over.

“I got you, Angel. You’re safe,” he says and pulls me to his chest.

My head rolls to the side and my gaze meets my mother’s wide, dead eyes.

One last scream rips from my soul and the air leaves my lungs.