Chapter 3 3.

Olivia's P.O.V.

The museum was still; the paintings and sculptures had gone into a deep slumber, restoring their beauty throughout the closing hours of the night. Only our tremulous breaths could be heard as our eyes scanned the many galleries, searching for the hidden presence amongst us. What I once thought was a beautiful statue, was now a dark, grim silhouette, who stepped into the spotlight of the moon and revealed itself as a violent man.

He had suddenly reached out towards the artwork surrounding him, smashing delicate pieces against the ground and tearing paintings from their frames. The artworks, which have served as a source of inspiration and creativity for others, have now become his own personal pleasure of destruction, and my greatest nightmare.

This man is in need of medical attention, he is mentally ill.

"Patrick, you need to stop him before he hurts himself," I said in a whisper as I flinched hearing another statue shatter into pieces.

"Stand behind me, Olivia," he said with his eyes and gun focused on the deranged madman.

Suddenly, at the sound of our voices, the man directed his attention towards us, and I placed my hand over Patrick's shoulder, gripping his jacket, wanting to pull us back, away from this lunatic's line of sight.

"Where is it?" the man yelled out, releasing a vase from his ruinous hands.

"Tell me where it is!" he demanded while scowling at us.

I stood in complete shock, not understanding what the museum could possess that this man was in dire need of. As his growing impatience grew more terrorizing, he reached for a gun in the waistband of his pants and fired multiple shots into the air, forcing Patrick and I to take cover behind a stone column.

"We need to call someone. We need to call the police," I gasped frantically.

"The police will not help us here, Olivia," he spoke calmly and unloaded his gun, counting the bullets that remained.

I looked at him in bewilderment with tears streaming down my face. His words were of the same irrational degree as the madman's actions, and I feared for my life as I now felt alone in this troubling situation.

Unexpectedly, the shrill of tires screeching outside of the building had pulled me away from my dreadful thoughts. I placed a shielding hand in front of my eyes as the bright headlights from the cars pierced through the windows and illuminated the interior of the museum, forcing the unsettling shadows to go into hiding.

We are being surrounded. Panic rose within me at the sound of car doors slamming shut, but Patrick acted as if this was just another ordinary evening of his life. He muttered words of frustration to himself, and protectively stood before me as a group of men barged through the entrance doors.

I stood on the tips of my toes and peered over Patrick's shoulder, seeing that this new group had weapons of their own. Their sharp-eyed glares landed on the two of us, but they soon diverted their attention to the crazed madman, who was now shouting harsh words in Italian.

"Figlio di puttana!" The madman raised his gun once more, but before he could pull the trigger, a gunshot rang through the air. I watched with horror as the man took his last breath before collapsing and joining his scattered mess along the ground.

"Get this body out of here," a man from the group spoke and redirected his glare towards us.

"She has nothing to do with this," Patrick defended and held out his arm in front of my trembling body.

"Are you lying to me, Patrick?" the man asked with a smirk while slowly approaching us.

They know each other?

"It's a shame that you are here trying to infiltrate our business, but bringing one of your filthy whores along with you, to do your dirty work? That's something new," the man laughed in our faces.

I stared at the blue-eyed person who stood beside me, this was not the amicable and mellow acquaintance who took me out to the café, this man was different; he was dark and menacing. Who are you?

"Just let her walk away. That is all I ask," Patrick begged and shielded me from their weapons as I became trapped between him and a wall.

"We'll let Louis decide what we should do with her," the man smiled smugly and stepped aside as the echoing sound of footsteps emerged from the entryway.

The dark figure was accompanied by shadows until it stepped under the fluorescent lights, and my gaze widened in disbelief, seeing that unpleasant familiar face, who I had encountered hours ago. For a fleeting moment, as he caught a glimpse of me, an evanescent look of shock was displayed across those cruel brown eyes, sharing the same feeling of surprise as I.

"There are three of them, Boss, but we killed one," the man informed to the face that I can finally label with a name. Louis.

"Thank you, Chris. I will handle these two," Louis spoke to his partner in crime, but never once peeled his eyes away from mine.

Following orders, Chris stepped away and rejoined his group, who was now dealing with the dead body. Louis's eyes had narrowed against my own, studying me deeply with a spine-chilling curiosity. I had shifted my weight and gulped down a burden of fear as his gaze trailed down from my face and towards my body, observing the blood along my clothes and skin.

He was a man who operated on a time of his own, as he leisurely spent these frightening moments studying every inch of my being, and completely ignored his group who await for more commands. I was terrified under his gaze, and undoubtedly, he had sensed so, but he continued this intimidating observation of his, surely finding satisfaction with the fear that he inspired within me.

"Louis, I've identified the intruder who triggered the security system. He's one of Carlos's men." A voice announced from the wrecked gallery, leading Louis's eyes to find their way back towards my face, but I quickly looked away as I could not bear the sight of him.

"Bring the body to the car, John. I want to send our friends a message," Louis replied, and I could almost sense a cruel smile against his lips.

I hid behind Patrick's back once again and bowed my head, refusing to witness the gruesome sight of John dragging the body of a man who I had seen alive, just minutes ago. I felt a warm tear slide down my cheek as it has been thirteen years since I have encountered death, but it is here with me once again, and I worried that I was now next.

"Patrick, lower your weapon. You aren't going to shoot me in front of her, she has seen enough today, no?" Louis spoke in a taunting manner. I raised my head as he had mentioned me, but I furrowed my brows at the continuance of his mind games, watching him pull out a box of cigarettes from the inside of his suit.

"I had thought that I caught a glimpse of you in these halls this morning, but I refused to believe that you were foolish enough to step foot in my territory again," Louis sighed in disappointment while bringing a lighter towards the end of his cigarette.

"I see you have brought an accomplice with you this time," he added and turned to look at me, but an exhale of smoke had prevented our eyes from meeting again.

"Now, explain to me why I shouldn't let the two of you join Jackson down there on the floor," he provoked and raised his brows at us, impatiently waiting for a response.

Even if my mind had tried its hardest, it would be difficult for me to form a reply. The state of affairs between these men was beyond my knowledge and I was truly perplexed to understand what situation I had gotten myself into. I turned to Patrick with an apprehensive look across my face, expecting him to answer for us, but his jaw was clenched, only responding with a scowl of anger.

"Or, if you have nothing to tell me, you could just start begging for my mercy," Louis shrugged, narrowing his eyes at me. My shoulders heaved through alarm at the sound of his threat, but Patrick was neither frightened nor concerned, he was completely unbothered.

Finally, his weapon was lowered, although he still kept a baleful finger against the trigger. I was relieved with his compliance, but Patrick scoffed and shook his head, almost laughing to himself, which had only made matters worse.

"You Italians come up with many shitty rules and traditions, but you never follow through with them," Patrick said while shaking his head.

"You honor family, yet yours is falling apart. There are rumors that your father had multiple mistresses, but they've slowly disappeared. I'm assuming you have killed them all so that your mother wouldn't find out."

"Am I correct?" Patrick asked with a raised eyebrow.

"And, trust is very important to you Italians, yes? It's unfortunate that you have a mole amongst you; this person has been causing you problems with other mafia families. The Carlos's have always been one step ahead of you lately," Patrick chuckled while shaking his head.

They are a part of the mafia? I wondered, my lips now separated through shock.

"So, Louis, I'm curious. What makes you think that I'll give up any information to you? There is a word that you Italians live by, something that you hold so close, near and dear to your heart," Patrick spoke in a condescending tone.

"Hmm, what is it?" he contemplated in an imperious manner. I watched with a quizzical look as Patrick started to pace around slowly, tapping the muzzle of his gun against his temple, pretending to think of the word that he obviously knew, but enjoying every second as he taunted Louis.

"Ah, yes," he sighed, and stopped in his tracks with a sly grin displayed across his mouth before speaking his final word.

"Omertà."

Before the last syllable could roll off of Patrick's tongue, Louis's wrath was quick to take control. Patrick dodged a powerful punch, but another fist had unfortunately made strong contact with his jaw. In retaliation, Patrick attempted to hit Louis with the back of his gun, but his wrist was suddenly caught, merely inches away from Louis's face.

I stood there in shock as Louis knocked the gun out of Patrick's hand and kicked the back of his leg, causing him to fall and kneel onto the ground. My heart was racing as I looked at Patrick's face; a lump was starting to form on his forehead, and I was certain that he had difficulty seeing as his left eye was beginning to swell, but just like me, blood had now stained his skin.

Louis took the cigarette from between his lips and pressed the hot burning end against Patrick's neck, scorching his skin, while gladly watching him wince in pain. He then revealed his possession of a gun and dug the cold metal tip into the back of Patrick's skull, towering over him with power and dominance. My heart cried out for him, seeing the pain that he was in, but it shattered as he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, no longer having the strength to fight back.

Louis is going to kill him.

"Stop," I tried to yell, but only emitted a soft mutter.

Please, do not kill him.

"Stop!" I shrieked as my voice cracked and lips trembled. The group of men instantly turned their attention towards me, astonished by my audacity to speak out, but I cowered under their glares and stumbled backwards in fright.

Louis's jaw tensed as he scowled at me, but soon, he turned his attention towards Patrick and shoved his body towards the ground, leading his enemy to bellow in pain as he was too weak to save himself from the fall. Followed by his men, Louis began to walk towards the exit, but as he passed by, those brown eyes had shared a murderous glare with me.

"Place Patrick in the van, but bring the girl to me," Louis demanded over his shoulder, ordering the two guards who still remained in the gallery.

1

I quickly rushed over to Patrick and gently turned him onto his side before the brawny men made their way towards me. He was beaten badly as I moved his hair, now sticky with sweat and blood, away from his face and saw that he had multiple cuts and bruises.

"Patrick," I breathed out with tears threatening to fall from my eyes.

"Are you going to be okay?" I asked softly and reached for his hand, but I was suddenly ripped away from his grasp and yelled out in pain, feeling one of the vile men pull me by my hair.

"Don't fucking touch her!" Patrick yelled through gritted teeth, with spits and splatters of blood painting the floor beneath him.

The man forced my hands behind my back and held my wrists tightly as he bounded them together, with what felt like hard plastic against my aching skin. I turned my saddened gaze towards Patrick and saw him struggling against his own guard, but before I could call out to him, my vision went black.

What is happening to me?

I blinked furiously to assure myself that my mind was not playing games with me. I shut my eyes tight and opened them, but all I could see was darkness. Moments later, as I was trying to make sense of this all, I felt a burning, itching and tightening discomfort around my neck. This wretched pig has placed a burlap sack over my head. I started to breathe heavily as panic and realization settled within, leading me to choke and cough up my own spit, while my rapid heart refused to ease.

I started to thrash against the man who held me captive, wanting to fight back as I was afraid of my peace being stolen from me once again. When his grip became tighter on my arm I forcefully stepped my heel against his foot, making sure that the stiletto dug into his shoe. He had grumbled in pain, but it was not enough for him to let go, instead, it had only angered him more.

"Vaffanculo puttana," I heard him seethe next to my ear.

He pushed me towards the exit where wickedness awaits, forcing me to leave my untroubled life behind, something that I had worked so hard on. I had no other choice than to surrender to this torment, but the thought of a desolate future caused tears to fall from both pain and horror.

Breathe. Just breathe. I repeated to myself many times but failed to regain my composure.

As the front doors opened, a rush of cold air sliced at my skin and welcomed me into this miserable night. Although, I was satisfied that I had shared this misery with someone else, as the guard behind me dragged his injured foot along the pavement with a slight limp to his strides, due to the pain that I had proudly caused.

God bless Louboutin.

My staggered steps along the uneven sidewalk came to a stop as the man suddenly held me still before shoving me inside of a car. My tainted skin, covered with the dried blood of a dead woman and an injured man, came in contact with cold leather seats just as I heard a door slam shut beside me.

The burlap sack, still tightly placed over my head, obstructed my view, but I did not need to see to know that Louis was nearby. The faint scent of a cigarette mixed with a crisp and aromatic cologne lingered in the car; the air around me was frigid and filled with tension, but the feeling of being watched caused my skin to burn, and a familiar, but harsh and forbidding voice had made my lungs ache after holding my breath.

"Bring us back to the estate," Louis uttered apathetically, as if the events that took place moments ago never happened.

The estate, I repeated those daunting words in my head.

He is leading me into his possession and control; forcing me to leave my freedom and sense of morale behind; dragging me into his barbaric world of violence, inhumanity, and death. I was no longer surrounded by silence; the lonely void that I once felt was now filled with the presence of despicable men: felons, criminals, murderers-- the Italian Mafia.