Precarious

Prologue

DISCLAIMER: This is purely a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people, places, (personal) events, is purely coincidental. With that, please enjoy the story!

It was a cold day on March 22nd. Michael Rossi, the Crime Lord of the Italian Mafia was at the bar, drinking away his sorrows. A few days after his wife, Natasha gave birth, the driver was killed in cold blood while she was abducted by the rival mob on the way home from the hospital. Michael was overseeing a drug shipment and wasn't with her. To say the least, he was enraged when the news came back that the only thing that could be recovered at the accident was his driver's corpse, the dismantled car, and traces of blood that proved that his wife was taken. Unfortunately, the doctors were unable to collect a small sample from it, because the blood had already dried. Moreover, it was likely his wife's blood. Thankfully, his newborn twin-sons were in his house and out of the rival mob's reach while their mother wasn't so lucky. Nevertheless, he still longed for his wife to come back, for it had been a few weeks since she was last seen.

"What can I get you sir?" asked the bartender. He was a slender man who knew an upset man when he saw one. Michael Rossi was no different, from tears developing in his brown eyes, to his posture, which suggested that perhaps, he was feeling a bit vulnerable. It was highly likely that something personal had happened to him. After all, this was his fourth night at the bar in a row.

"I'll have a double scotch on the rocks please," Michael sighed. If his wife was around, she likely would've argued with him for going to the bar. In her childhood, her mother had a severe addiction to consuming alcohol and doing drugs, even with her children around. In the morning, she would always drink a whiskey before going to work despite receiving warnings from her husband about "drunk driving", consume a weed brownie at her lunchbreak, and smoke a cigarette before dinner. It was astonishing how Natasha's mother never got fired from her job as a bartender nor did her father try to get a divorce. Her parents had a toxic relationship, but Natasha always assumed that they stayed together for the sake of their children, to perhaps, grow up in a 'normal' family. 

Michael snorted at the recalling of the memory where Natasha told him about her parents. He remembered hugging her tightly and promising that he would never get addicted to malignant substances nor would he allow his children to become addicted; if they did, then an appointment to rehab would be immediately made. But now, he wasn't sure about his promise. Michael wasn't one to excessively drink, but given the circumstances involving a shipment coming up, his wife at the Russian Mafia's mercy, and tending to his children, it seemed that alcohol was the only escape from this tiring lifestyle. He wasn't planning to get addicted, but there was nothing wrong with seeking comfort in something as little as a drink. 

While guzzling his third glass of scotch, a woman walked to where he was sitting and sat on the stool next to him. She was wearing a rather revealing outfit – shorts meant for a 5-year-old and a crop top that only covered her chest. She flipped her long shiny, platinum blond hair and radiated beauty, despite showing a plethora of skin. She was indeed stunning and Michael, who was already beginning to get drunk, complimented her. She thanked him, showing her pearly white teeth and signaled the bartender.

"Good evening ma'am, what may I serve you?" asked the bartender. From his perspective, it seemed that the lonely man could have some comfort later in the night. He only had to play his cards right and not make himself look like a fool in front of the stunning woman. He obviously had the correct set of desirable traits that any woman, especially this one would desire. Now if he had known that Michael was already married, he probably wouldn't have thought something as ludicrous as that. Even though Michael was wearing a wedding ring, it was too dark to notice it and the only parts of his hand that did not have a ring, was his thumb.