The Mafiosa's Thorn

Shakedown

"I swear on my mother's life I will get you the money!"

A scowling, over towering man with a small scar under his right eye hits the hooded man in the face. His ring engraved with the symbol of a symmetrical violet orchid continues to reacquaint itself with the hostage's face.

"Stop, Tomasso. It's a waste of time," a woman's husky voice makes the hostage tremble.

His hood is removed to two pin stripe suited men with stern faces. Beads of sweat crawl down his caramel face as he scans around. He finds his hands and legs tied to the wooden chair, but something else makes his heart jump.

The roaring of flames enclosed in a horizontal space.

The men's eyes tell him that he should pray for whatever god can save him from the hell awaiting him.

Her stilettos stalk towards him from behind. The sweet musky fragrance makes him regret the day he was born. A short black dress with violet vertical stripes is caught in his peripheral vision. Her legs traveled for days leading up to a mature, olive-skinned woman who's not afraid to show the top of her cleavage.

Red lips that can swallow him whole. Her emerald eyes can almost stab him from a distance. The silky brunette's hair trails down to the golden ring engraved with the flower symbol.

"Signora Orchidea! I beg of you! Show mercy!"

The 5'8 woman struts towards him with wrath in each click. The purple of her index nail traces against his neck. He squirms from the sharpness. She then gets behind him.

"Matteo, Matteo. Why. do. you. lie?" She taps him on the shoulders with each word.

"I swear on my mother's life. Just-"

She pulls him by the back of the hair. "Your mother died three years ago," before letting go.

Matteo is speechless.

"Swearing on a dead mom makes you horrible. How much money do you owe me?"

"$10-10,000," he stutters out.

"Actually, nothing."

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise as she gets in front of him. She gets out a pack of cigarettes from her purple Gucci purse. She lights one up and inhales slowly while glaring at the man.

She exhales. "Because it would be a waste of time getting it from you. Information is priceless. I know that you tried to run off with the money my late husband gave you to pay off numerous gambling debts. Instead you kept gambling....poorly. It would have been better to give it all to a blind man."

"I-I will give you the money! Just-"

She taps her cigarette. "I tried to find one person in NY who spoke good of you but found none. I will give you a choice, sfigato (loser). Concrete shoes or chopped up."

"PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!"

"Not an answer, Matteo."

Tears flood his face, attempting to reach past her black heart to gain mercy. He begs and swears on almost anything to pay her the money back by next week at the latest. Despite his whimpering, she stares at him with a frost that could kill the fire behind her. She opens the hatch to the cremation chamber to throw in her cigarette.

"The only mercy I will give you is that choice."

"Will-Will it be quick?"

She nods.

"C-C-Chopped up."

A dazzling white smile greets him. "Splendid! But the thing is....you also did something else."

He looks at her in puzzlement. She digs her heel into his knee. He winces from the pain.

"You also dealt cocaine in my area. One hand passed to another until someone overdosed. Someone I love."

"I-I-I didn't know!"

"Neither did the kid when I shot him," before snapping her fingers.

Tomasso's tree trunk arm locks him in a sleeper hold. Matteo struggles, but air keeps escaping with every squirm. His feet stop kicking with a final exhale leaving his lips. They load him into a casket before pushing him into the hellacious flames. For the next two hours, Orchidea looks on with vindication.

The mortician later comes out with an urn. She hands him a roll of $100 bills totaling $1,000. More than twice the amount for the service.

"Thank you, signora."

"Prego."

She leaves with the urn until they get onto the George Washington Bridge overlooking the water. She takes into account the wind before emptying the urn's contents. The wind blows it away from her, leaving no trace behind. She takes the urn and throws it into the trunk.

No one will ever hurt you again, Isabella. I promise you as your mother.