Ch.5

Olive

The last few weeks have been rather quiet. Usually in Boston, there's a murder every other day. But since Bianchi, there hasn't been a single one.

I also haven't been visited by any of the neighboring families. My father had meetings often with several of them. I had one. And out of all of them, it was fucking Timmothy Bianchi.

"Miss Semone, He's back." I looked away from the book I had been pretending to read. Clarence was standing in the door way, hands behind his back. He was too serious.

"Ill deal with him." I sighed and stood. This Detective was beginning to become a nuisance.

As I approached the front door, I could see his black cruiser. Gross.

"Miss Semone," Clarence called as I opened the door. I turned towards him and my eyes widened.

In his left hand was a Colt .38. It was bright red. That was my Colt .38. My father gifted it to me.

"Clarence, What the fuck?" I was expecting my voice to be shaky, but it came out normal. Not even an ounce of surprise. Maybe my subconscious knew he was a goddamn traitor.

"Im sorry, Olive. I really am. But Im going to get whacked if I don't do this." He had tears pooling in his eyes.

"You won't. I'll have Rodrick take you to the safe house. You'll be okay, kid." I took a very slow and cautious step closer to the door frame. If I was outside and he pulled the trigger, the two looneys in the cruiser would hopefully see. Maybe I wouldn't die at 22.

"They'll find me. I have a baby on the way, Olive. I want to be there for her." Clarence held the gun a little higher. It was now pointed directly at my heart.

"Aim lower, Clarence. The gun will pull up and you'll miss." I held my hands up and took one more step. I was in the door frame now.

He nodded and lowered it at my abdomen. Unless you were a small child, you could handle the recoil. But Clarence is simply a house boy. He doesn't work with firearms to understand that I'm playing him.

"Im truly sorry," I heard a loud bang. My ears rang and a few seconds later I began to feel the horrifying pain of the bullet. I looked down and back up and Clarence was gone.

"Fuck," I gasped as I slowly fell down.

"Call for backup, Richmond!" I heard the familiar harsh voice of the stalker who sits out front.

A few blinks later and I'm laying flat on my doorstep, Detective Vasquez leaning over me. I could feel the pressure of his hands on my stomach.

"Hey stalker boy," I groaned in pain.

"Hey," He kept his eyes trained on the wound. Only for a second did his hands leave it. He quickly removed his blazer and pushed it to the wound.

I moaned in pain as tears began to slide down my cheeks.

"Aren't you Italian? This should be like a paper cut to ya. Stop being a baby." I didn't notice his accent until now. He was born and raised in Boston. No doubt about it.

"Where's that fucking ambulance?" He shouted behind him. I turned my head ever so slightly. I noticed a younger officer standing behind him, eyes wide. Has he never seen someone get shot before?

My head felt like it was spinning and my eyes felt heavy. If I see a goddamn white light, I'm going to be pissed.

"Olive," I felt tapping on my cheek, "Keep your eyes open." I blinked a few times and saw about twenty of Detective Vasquez.

"You have," I coughed, "Shit colored eyes." I felt something warm pooling underneath of me.

"Doll, You have the same colored eyes." He cocked an eyebrow at me.

I finally heard the sweet sweet sounds of the ambulance.

I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer.

***

Carmine

I tapped my foot as we waited in the hospital lounge. The bright lights made my blood boil.

5 and a half hours ago the ambulance brought Olive Semone in. She was rushed into surgery and has remained there.

Normally I wouldn't wait around, especially for a criminal. But we needed to know who did this, although I doubt we would find out. Mafia members very rarely told the police who put them in the hospital.

They have a code of silence for that. No matter what, you don't snitch. You don't give any details. And If you do, you're given the kiss of death.

And if you're given that, there's no going back.

"Detective Vasquez," I quickly stood as a man in green scrubs approached me.

"Miss Semone made it through surgery, but she is still in critical condition." The doctor, who's name I didn't bother to get, walked me through the surgery.

The bullet broke into tiny fragments upon impact. This wasn't uncommon for basement made bullets.

There were seven pieces and they managed to get six. The last one was too close to her heart for them to even attempt. In other words, they're cowards.

They don't want to be the ones responsible for her death. The 5 families wouldnt be too happy and we would be up to our ears in murders.

Olive would be awake within the hour if all went well. She was to remain calm and avoid movement for a few days. Increased heart rate would cause the last fragment to move.

I prayed it didn't for Boston's safety.