NINETY-SEVEN

I had lost my touch. That's what happens when you become docile after years of being on guard.

"Do exactly what I say or you die."

I could feel my heart racing despite my best attempts to compose myself.

I knew I was walking into a trap but I had no choice. I wasn't entirely sure that the letter came from Syrius, maybe it was only a silly joke being played by some crazy maniac but what I was certain of was that whoever sent the letter had my son and I was willing to do anything to get my child back.

The accent was masculine and Eastern European. There was no quake or tremor in the man's voice. His tone sounded calm and detailed. This was no hoax, if I went out of line, I would die.

I tried to remember if either Alessandro or myself had any issues with any mafia from that part of the world but I couldn't come up with anything.

"What do you want?"

I asked fearfully as the cold steel of his gun pressed into the small of my back.

I needed a distraction.

My first instinct was to lean into the barrel and spin sharply to his right, turning the barrel away from my body. The man was probably left-handed, he would need a second or two to adjust his aim and that was enough time.

He would be exposed on his right-hand side and I could land on a blow through that exposed gap giving me enough leverage to break his arm and bury a bullet into his forehead.

Old memories.

But the woman who could do those things wasn't around anymore.

She was consigned to the grave along with my past.

"I know what you're thinking, Gianna. And I want to assure you that there'll be no need for that."

He knew my name.

Slowly, I lifted my head up and looked into the mirror. His face was unfamiliar, I had never seen him before. He was a gigantic man, with tattoos stretching over his shaved head, running down to his neck and disappearing underneath his black coat.

His face was partially charred making him look even more lethal.

I wondered how he had gotten past the security at the front door.

Sam's kitchen was one of the best food restaurants in Los Angeles and it was exclusively for the rich and successful. A meal here cost more than what some people earned in a month and I had dinner here anytime I needed to put in a night shift at the office. From my observation, men like him weren't welcomed here, it was bad for business. And knowing how strict the employees were, there was no way he would have gotten past the security guards. Except, if he had gotten in through the back door.

I had tried to set a small trap, a rather inconspicuous one but it was clear that whoever they were, they'd done their homework.

Someone had tipped him off about where I would be. There was no need to check if the CCTV cameras were working, they wouldn't. You wouldn't risk coming into one of the safest restaurants in Los Angeles without taking care of every little detail that mattered.

"Who are you?" I asked again. More composed this time.

"You don't remember me, do you?" His tone was more chilling than the cold during the winter months in Russia.

A slight shake of my head gave him the answer he needed.

"You messed with the wrong people in your past. It's time for you to answer the murders you committed."

I gripped the faucet, my fingers wrapped around its porcelain composition as I stared hard at his reflection on the mirror directly above the faucet.

"I don't know what you're talking about, you've got the wrong person. All I want is my son and I'm willing to do anything to have him back but if this is all a sick joke, you're going to regret this. I promise you."

The man said nothing at first, it was eerily quiet. He narrowed his eyes, deep in thought. He just glared at me quizzically. There was no sound, other than my heart jackknifing in my ribcage.

"We have your son, Gianna."

My stomach clenched. My mouth hung in awe as salvia trickled from it. I covered my mouth and coughed. I fought to regain control over myself as waves of fear coursed through me repeatedly.

All traces of my composure vanished.

Time, motion, breathing - everything stopped.

I tried to remember where I had gone wrong since I left everything that had to do with the mafia and tried to find my way in the world but I could think of none. I had managed to build a reputation for myself as a thriving young bodyguard in the city of Manhattan without having any skeletons in my closet. I knew I had enemies, it was part of the job. People would definitely hate you for being more successful than they were but never in my wildest dreams did I think someone would physically threaten me and my family.

"If you so much as hurt a strand of his hair-"

The words died in my throat as he brought out a cellphone from his coat and showed me the picture on the screen.

My son was sleeping soundly in a dimly lit room, fighting the harsh cold.

"You have to do what we want or you will lose your son and there'll be nothing you'll be able to do about that. So I advise you to take a trip down memory lane and remember the very day you destroyed my family because yours depends on it." His voice was filled with anger as he spoke.

There was something about the way he addressed me that made me feel like I knew who he was.

His movements were so sudden, I didn't expect it. I felt his large hands as they gripped me and pulled me towards his large body before slamming my head into the mirror as I sunk into oblivion.