Seventy Five

Isabella

These mafia motherfuckers, always kidnapping me.

The trunk opens suddenly and bright light floods my eyes. Have we stopped? I have been too scared and too buried in my own thoughts to even notice. My chest heaves as I desperately try to suck air through my nostrils, which are clogged from crying and fear. Deep in the back of my mind I know I hyperventilate if my panic didn't subside, but I couldn't control my body.

"Calmati," I hear Marco say as he leans over, the phone in his hand pointing at me. Jesus. Now he is taking pictures of me? What, is there some mafia social media, where they brag about their killings and kidnappings?

He moves to a different angle and snaps more photos. "I apologize, Isabella. This is necessary, but it's over."