4
Antonio
The night fell around the white paneled house like a blanket. Vinnie and Huxley went to the back door, while I broke the lock at the front. It’s easier than people think. Just put a key in the lock, any key it doesn’t matter, and give it a smack with something hard like the end of a screwdriver—or in my case the butt of a revolver. Then turn and hey, presto, you enter. It’s as easy as that. When I go in, I can see straight through the house to my brother’s silhouette in the small window of the back kitchen door. He also opens the lock easily enough and enters with Vinnie. I put my hand up, palm facing Vinnie to tell him and my brother to stop. A glow of flashing light beams out of the room to my right, along with the sounds of gunfire and cars screeching. I peek my head around the doorway. The old man is sitting in an armchair in front of a widescreen television set. His back to the doorway, the stupid son of a bitch. I don’t see the girl though, so she’s probably upstairs. I gesture for the guys to take care of the old man, while I start to walk to the second floor.
A couple of cozy bedrooms, but no sleeping beauty.
Where the fuck is she?It only leaves door number three at the very end of the hallway, what I quickly understand to be the bathroom when I hear water running. She’s in the shower.
Meanwhile, I hear a small scuffle from downstairs, but it quickly gets quiet again. Either the guys have managed to subdue the fucker in record pace, or one of them has put him down for a nap before I get a chance to introduce myself. But I can’t worry about that now. I have to get the girl first.
I slowly open the bathroom door as it’s unlocked, making things a little easier. Inside, I can see her figure from behind the shower glass. Can see her curves, great fucking ass. It’s almost impossible not to get hard when seeing this girl—my God that body—but I have to keep my mind on the job, plus it’s unlikely she’s going to want anything to do with me after she sees me put a beating on her old man.
Oh well, that’s life, I guess.
When I start to move in, she turns off the water, I grab a towel from a rack by the mirror, point my gun. I already assume she’s going to scream when she slides back the shower door, so I prepare myself to give her a slap if I have to.
The door slides open, and finally, her big brown eyes lift to mine. They widen and there’s a sharp gasp from her mouth as she freezes in place, her gaze darting from my gun to my face and over my shoulder to where the door stands open. Remembering herself, she hurriedly lifts an arm to cover her breasts— but barely since she only manages to cover her nipples, while the rest of her tits are squeezed against her body. Her other hand shoots down in between her legs. Fuck, she’s too goddamn sexy. I realize that she’s covering herself up, but the positioning of her hands hardly hides anything, and mostly adds to her allure by making it look like she’s touching herself.
Stuttering, she asks, “Who…who the fuck are you? What do you want?”
I’m not wearing a mask, none of us are—no need, as we want them to see our faces, to know the shit they’re truly in. And she sees my face alright. She seems to make a point of taking in every detail as she stares with her chest heaving and eyes flaming with anger. I try my best to not look downward at that fleshy body of hers, and reluctantly keep my eyes on her face. I hand her the towel before I put my finger to my mouth, signaling for her to stay quiet. She snatches it out of my hand, holding it loosely in front of her body and refusing to obey me.
“We have nothing for you to steal!”
I want to chuckle. Look who’s talking about stealing. Instead, I remain composed and talk softly. We don’t want to alert the neighbors of anything happening here tonight.
“We have your father downstairs. Put the towel on, would ya? Me and your old man need to have a talk. There’s no need for you to get hurt.”
Downstairs in the front living room, the old man is holding his head with blood dripping down past his left ear.
“Leave my daughter alone!” He shouts when he sees her enter the room, which in turn causes Huxley to punch the man in the jaw. It was that act that finally got the girl to scream.
I grab her and throw her on the three-man sofa next to the man’s chair. She holds the towel tight around her body.
Vinnie moves to the entrance of the living room, my brother behind the old man. The television is still showing a rerun of some 80s cop show. I pick up the TV remote and mute the sound. “Stefano Gallo, I assume you know who we are?”
“Papa, what’s he talking about?” Her voice is desperate as her eyes fly haphazardly between all the men around her.
The man tightens his lips, his eyes jumping from myself to Vinnie.
“Mia, it’s okay,” he tells his daughter, turning to me. “Do what you want with me, but my daughter has nothing to do with this.”
“Papa? What are you talking about? With what?”
I smile. “I guess daddy’s been keeping secrets, sweetheart.”
“Who are you? What do you want with my dad?”
Huxley laughs at the girl’s confusion, her fear.
“What’s the matter?” I ask the man, his shame reflected in his face. “You’re not going to tell her why we’re here?”
“You leave him alone!” The girl jumps up, launches herself toward me, and I backhand her across the face with enough force that she falls back onto the sofa. I don’t like doing it–her face feels as soft as silk on my hand–but it’s necessary to show what I’m willing to do to get the point across.
“Alright! Alright, that’s enough!” The man shouts out. “That’s enough!”
“Go on, then, tell little Mia what you did,” I demand.