Page 8 of Mafie Kings

Santino watches me admire his car before he slides his hand up my leg.

“Ah, ah, ah,” I tell him, “let’s go to the cliffs. Take us to a secluded area.” I bite my lip as I look him up and down. “I have plans for you.”

A huge grin spreads across his face as he starts the car. I have to reposition his hand multiple times during the drive. The little game we’re playing is already becoming annoying. He finally parks near the cliffs in what appears to be a private area.

Perfect.

I get out of the car and walk around to sit on the hood. He follows, like a perfectly trained puppy. The red of the car glistens in the moonlight; I can’t wait to see it painted with his blood. Men like Santino are the reason why I love what I do. Not only do I get to feel powerful, but I also get to feel a sense of justice as I seek retribution for all of his victims. Just this week his son was taken to the hospital with a broken arm and a fake as shit story about falling down the stairs. Apparently, Santino’s wife fell, too, because she was covered in bruises and had a set of broken ribs.

I look over at the disgusting fucker sitting next to me and smile angelically. This was so much easier than I thought it was going to be. I pull up my dress and slowly climb onto his lap. Placing my hands on his chest, I encourage him to lay back against the hood. It’s as if I’m setting up my canvas to paint the perfect picture, an artwork tinged bright crimson with the blood of an abuser. He places his grimy hands on my hips, and I can already feel his pathetic nub hardening under me. I slowly reach behind me like I plan to unzip my dress, but instead I pull out my blade from the small pocket I’d sewn into the dress.

Before he can think of touching me anymore, I strike.

The serrated edge of my knife slices and tears through his neck. The sweet sound of him choking on his own blood rings out like music to my ears. He grabs at his throat, looking at me with betrayal in his eyes.

“You should’ve thought twice about the people you hired to kill your brother,” I say. “They might also be watching you, and have a distinct hatred for wife beaters and child abusers.”

Recognition flashes across his face just before he succumbs to the blood loss. His limp body slowly slides off of the car, smearing the hood in deep crimson while I readjust my dress.

I pull his body to the edge of the rock face, pausing to take in the scene of blood flowing out of his mouth. It’s the last image I want of him in my head before I dispose of this pathetic waste of life. I search his pockets for the keys, and once I have them in my grasp, I kick his limp body over the ledge of the cliff, where sharp, pointed rocks rise from the water to greet him as his soul plummets to Hell.

As I head back to the car, I take in the state of my dress. The shoulder strap tore while I was dragging the fucker, and now my chest and dress are covered in blood. I hope I can find a good way to get blood stains out from the white leather. After admiring the artwork on the hood, I get into my stunning new car carefully and start the engine.

I need a fucking shower.

Hitting the gas, I peel off back down the mountain towards my hotel for the night. As I approach my exit, red and blue lights illuminate the road, and a small barricade blocks part of my path.

A checkpoint?

I'm covered in blood and don’t have my passport on me. What the hell am I going to do?

I slow the car as I approach the two police cars and come to a stop. One of the officers walks around to my door, and I crack the heavily tinted windows ever so slightly. A flashlight shines in my eyes, blinding me. My fists clench around the steering wheel in annoyance before I force myself to take a calming breath.

“Documents please.” A man's voice commands.

I put on my most innocent voice. “I’m so sorry,” I begin with a tremble to my lips, “I left my passport at the hotel and a friend lent me his car so I could run a quick errand.”

The man leans in closer, light still shining directly at me. Instinctively, I move my hand to block the light from my eyes causing the officer to visibly startle, reminding me a moment too late of the evidence coating my skin.

“Signorina, please get out of the car,” he says, stepping back for me to have room to open the door.

If I get out of the car, I’m screwed. What options do I have?

I glance around quickly, hoping for some kind of solution to appear out of thin air. Realizing I only really have one move, I throw the car back into drive and slam my foot on the gas, quickly maneuvering around the barricade in the road.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I think as I hit the steering wheel.

Flashing lights illuminate my rearview mirror. I’m so screwed. Police in Italy don't drive cars that can easily be outrun. There’s a Lamborghini Huracan on my ass that can not only match my speed, but is just as agile on these mountain roads.

I quickly realize I'm moments away from being caught. I look out the window and check my rearview again. I only have one chance to get out of this. I speed up and drift on the next turn before launching the car off the cliffs and out into the ocean, hoping I’m able to get far enough away to avoid the rocks.

The front of the car crashes into the water, and I’m jolted forward as the airbags deploy. I make quick work of undoing my seatbelt, ripping off the headrest, and using the metal bars to break through the window. I’m going to have a long swim ahead of me, and my whole body already aches from the impact.

I swim a few meters, staying under the water for longer periods of time until I can get far enough away. When I'm able to slow down and float for a moment, a cold reality begins to seep into my bones.

I failed the challenge.

As I swim to the closest beach, I find it crawling with police. I swim around the bend, surveying the cliffs nearby to see if they’re too steep to climb. They look to be only thirty meters high, but the depth of the angles can either make or break me. If I can make it up there, I can avoid the beaches for now and use the trees for cover. The climb is no doubt going to be painful, but it beats wading in the cool night water until the police thin out.

---