Chapter 4 FOUR

The roads shimmered in the heat of the midday sun. The sunlit skyscrapers pierced the hot, blue sky. Well at least that is what Frances thinks as she got out of the food farm two blocks away from the station. She extended her arm as she covered her face from the heat of the

afternoon. She had been carrying a brown paper bag she had placed on his forearm. Inside it was bread. She was on leave one day when her cousin told her about the family bonding. She rejected at first but gave up eventually. She was on her way to climb up on a taxi when a man snatched her wallet.

"Hey!" Frances dropped the bag, leaving the car door open and sprinted her way following the man. Pushing her arms at the crowd, she jetted tailing the guy, jumping over boxes and flower pots, dodging the individuals that blocked her view, pumping her legs as fast as they could go. The warm burning in her lungs as she runs faster as hard as she can. When the man reached the corner of the block, a knuckle met his face and he slumped down on the ground. He rolled over in pain. She came to standstill looking down at the guy. He tried to crawl to stand but Frances plunged him down.

"Stay down," she said, rolling the guy over. Frances was busy handcuffing the guy and didn't notice the man in front of him.

"I'm pretty sure there's no way he can escape with that," the guy said. Then the awareness came to her. She froze then looked up at him. He was handsome, tall and toned, the black shirt made him look more muscular. His jawline was so apparent that it looked like it was shaped by a sculpture. His high cheekbones added a carnivorous look on his face.

"I'm sorry," she apologized with a dazzle of embarrassment. She rose on her feet and pushed the guy closer to the ground with her foot.

"I didn't notice you," said Frances, and her cheeks dimpled. His beaming smile made him more attractive.

"It's okay," he answered.

"Benedict," the man said, extending his arms toward her. Her eyes fell down to his hand but then looked up at him.

"Frances," she replied, shaking Benedict's hand.

"Frances?" he repeated, contemplating her name.

"Are you French?" he asked.

"No, do I look like I'm from France? No, I'm an American. It was my mom who gave me my name," she retorted at the end as she plunged the man against the ground when he tried shaking his way out.

"You don't look like you're from France," he replied, tilting his head in an attractive way. She stared at him, waiting for the next words he might utter.

"You...you look like you just came down from heaven," he grinned. The words brought a smile on her lips and she let out a snort of embarrassment as she still pushed the guy with her foot.

"Thanks," she answered and she flitted a strand of her hair over her ear.

"He's shaking. Is he still trying to escape?" he asked when he glanced down at the man.

Frances followed his gaze and answered,

"Yup, but that wouldn't be a help. If he is able to outstand my foot, I'm sure he can not outrun me that easily," she responded with confidence. He giggled slightly, then he asked,

"Are you flirting with me?"

She didn't answer immediately, curiosity beginning to appear in her face.

"No?" she answered, shaking her beautiful head.

"Are you?" she asked.

"Not yet," Benedict answered with a mysterious smile on his face. He fixed her eyes with his, looking directly at her so that she would feel she cannot turn away. Slowly, a redness crept from her throat and bosom and into Frances' face.

"I should take him to the station," insisted Benedict.

"No, it's okay. I'm a cop, I'll take him there."

She bent down and helped the guy stand. Benedict then held the man's arm.

"You're not in your uniform so I assume you're not in duty," he replied, still smiling.

"You're right,"

"It's okay, I insist. You might have some errand to run,"

"Are you sure?"

Benedict shook his head up and down. She gave up and let go of the man's arm.

"You should learn to enjoy life. You should be on leave often and not always get soaked in work," suggested Benedict.

"Oh uhm...I have a day off,"

"Really? When?"

"Saturday and Sunday,"

"That's funny knowing that I have a day off too which is also Saturday and Sunday," said Benedict. She smiled at him as the awareness of what he meant darted through her mind.

"Do you know what's a proper way to spend the weekend?" asked Benedict.

Frances didn't answer and just shook her head.

"I know how. But too bad I can only teach you this weekend," Benedict uttered, pulling the guy closer to him. They locked each other's eyes in shared understanding.

"So what do you think about it? I know some good restaurants here," he grinned from ear to ear.

She hesitated to say an answer and contemplated if she could squeeze a time on her schedule.

"I'm free tomorrow, Saturday," she answered, scratching the tip of her nose.

"I should take your number," said Benedict. He reached down his pocket and took out his phone then he handed it to her. She pressed several buttons as Benedict stared at her. Frances then handed it back to him.

"Are you sure you can take care of him?" asked Frances.

He nodded and smiled. She slowly turned at her back and walked away but his voice stopped her.

"See you," he said. Frances didn't answer but just smiled. Then she walked away and disappeared from his eyes. When he was sure she was gone, he unlocked the guys handcuffed.

He took the bobby pin and bent it down, releasing the latches, opening the jaws of the handcuff. He slid out some cash out of his wallet and he gave it to the guy.

"Nice work," he said, patting the guy's shoulder. The cash disappeared from his hand and the man walked away. He wasn't expecting it would be that easy to get near Frances. He predicted in just a day or two, something is gonna happen to both of them.

Unlike any members of the Mafia who joined only for fun and power, Benedict joined to unveil his true colors. Since he was a kid he was always the troublesome son. He was violent, hot tempered and rabid. A mild-mannered kid who nobody expects of domestic violence could be

unveiled when no longer kept his calm. He doesn't want anyone making fun of him. If someone will, then that guy is expected to learn a lesson.

New York City, January 5,2005

He had been cleaning his seat, obeying and doing their part of cleaning. It was always like that since he got to school. He was fifteen that time and currently in fifth grade. He inherited his mother's eyes, his mother's brown eyes that would clearly show her pupils. He wiped the flat table with the wet and dirty cloth when the spoiled brats of his class stood in front of him. In spite of his knowledge that the kid was near, he paid no attention.

"That's a nice cloth," the tall kid said.

"It matches your shirt."

The three of them broke into laughter. Benedict remained silent, but it even made the bullies pissed. The fat and short kid glanced at his side where he found another cloth. He grabbed it and threw it to Benedict's face. Their laughter could be heard throughout the room. His jaws

began to meet in clenches and hands into a ball of fist. What made him angry wasn't the words, but the untidy cloth, untidy which he does not want. His temper began to boil, rage shot through his veins and breathing began to inhale and exhale rapidly. With swift motion, as though as fast as lightning, his fist met the fat kid's face and though he weighed a good twenty pounds he sprawled down on the floor.

The tall kid charged himself. He

tossed up his left forearm like an offensive lineman blocking a defensive back, but Benedict slid to the side, pushed the kid's elbow down and away, caught his head, and rolled him into the floor. It was not a doubt that he had defended himself considering his uncle taught him different

kinds of martial arts since he was five. Judo, aikido and karate were what made

him tougher than most.

The other kid rushed his way towards Benedict's back. A smile began to fix on his face, believing Benedict dropped his guard down. But Benedict was more alert than before. The kid threw a punch but missed when Benedict crouched. He pivoted his body towards the kid and

smashed an elbow into the side of his skull, the soft spot high on the temple. The kid dropped his head down to Benedict's shoulder. He pushed him slightly, grabbed the collar of his shirt, arcd his body and dropped the kid wildly. The tall guy rumbled like an aggressive bull. He threw

a punch at Benedict, rocking him on his side, which he planned to follow with another shot. But Benedict swerved his body swiftly, grabbed the nape and the upper part of the kids back and

threw a solid, penetrating knee to his abdomen which caused him to drop and the blood stained on his mouth. The whole room was crowded, followed by their teacher that controlled the situation.

The next day, his uncle paid for the cost of his aggression and he was suspended for a week.

He had always been the violent one. His mother knew it since he was three.

His mother glanced through the pane of the bay window of their house. She found Benedict, stamping his little foot down the solid ground. At first, it made her smile, as the sight made Benedict adorable. She got her way out of the house and walked slowly towards Benedict. She crouched down and smiled at him.

"What are you hitting your foot with, honey?" she asked. She was white, soft and the indication of best of breeding was spot on. Benedict paused and lifted his foot, revealing a pulped butterfly.

She lifted her body up, placing her hand on her mouth. She froze and stared at the insect without blinking.

"Why would you do that?" she asked over the thousands of questions inside her head. In an adorable manner which wouldn't indicate a violence or hatred in his tone, he answered.

"Because I like hurting people," answered Benedict. She remained frozen as the swelling sensation followed the gasping of oxygen. After a year, his mother died of breast cancer. His father died in an ambush. His father was part of a syndicate that dealt with narcotics. When he was alone, his uncle took him home and made him the most violent person he never thought he would be. But there was someone who was more violent than him. Violence caused by a mental illness he had been carrying since he was born. And that...was... the Godfather. The masked

Godfather who everyone fears not just because of the rumors but because of his violent acts.