Had you told me a week ago that I would be kidnapped and flown to Italy to deliver a briefcase containing $100,000 to a mob boss, I would have called you crazy. Unfortunately this was no fictitious scenario. My first trip out of North America to this beautiful country could have been scenic and breath taking had there not been a burlap sac over my head. The plane door opened and warm, humid air enveloped around me. Whether it was day or night was beyond me as my vision was constricted. Rough, calloused hands guided me from my left while long, clammy fingers guided from the right. The hands lead me down the steps of the plane. The sound of a low rumbling engine can be heard. I never intended to let my battle with addiction spiral so out of control. The things you have to do to satisfy the need are never done with good intention. A smooth leather handle was put into my hand by the calloused hands. The long, clammy fingers overlap mine and force my hand into a fist making my hand grasp the handle tightly. The hands had found their original position on my arms again and began to lead me forward. Advancing exactly ten steps, we stop abruptly. "What is happening?" slips through my lips. Instructions were made very clear that I am not to speak to anyone. I silently curse myself for speaking. The low rumbling from the engine has grown louder in volume as it nears. A metallic sounding click followed by a second click catches my attention. The approaching vehicle pulls up and stops in front of us, warming my legs with its exhaust. A sudden searing pain runs from the back of my head as the butt of a gun is brought down on me. Darkness comes over me and all consciousness is lost as my body makes contact with the ground.
We lift her, Marco holding her legs and me holding her by the wrists, to the rear passenger door. He drops her and slides the door open to reveal an empty back with the seats removed. He picks her feet back up and places them into the van. Following suit, I place her upper body into the van. Marco grabs the handle to the sliding backdoor and slams it shut letting out a bloodcurdling scream; his left index finger stuck in the door. This could have been avoided had he not had such long fingers. Scowling, I slide the door open and he pulls his finger out. I slam the door shut for a second time and walk around to the hired driver. I grab the gun out of my coat pocket and pull his door open. Shooting him in the head, I pull his body out of the seat and drop him on the tarmac. I get in the driver's seat and close the door. Shifting the gear into drive, I step on the gas pedal with a heavy foot. We can not keep the boss waiting.
