simon hafez-pacetti
S.H.P.
{THIRD PERSON}
The boy ran through the dark streets of "underground" Italy.
His t-shirt was soaked in the blood that clung to his skin. Blood that wasn't his.
He breathed hard and rapidly, checking over his narrow, boney shoulders. The haze his mind was trapped in didn't do him any good for his sight. He could barely focus on the figure chasing after him as his head spun.
His mother had always warned him to stay away from this side of town. Being born in the depths of Columbia taught his older brothers and sisters that already. They were fortunate enough to escape the violence, refugeeing to a home only a mile away from where he was at this second.
Little did they know, you cannot escape this type of war.
"Pequeño robo!" the man behind him raged as he ran. (little theft)
Tears pricked the boy's blue eyes as his skin blistered the faster he went. What was he going to do?
Nobody was there to save him.
The man kept screaming about a supposed 'boss' and how the child's sins would catch up to him. The boy hadn't met too many people who knew as much Spanish as that man.
He turned a corner, shortly realizing it was a dead-end.
He was barely seven, not even knowing what he wanted to be when he grew up.
But he was old enough to come to terms with his fate. And before he could spend the last minutes of his life thinking of his future, something hard hit him over the back of the head. His small, frail body fell limp to the ground, but he saw the second figure walking towards them as his eyes closed permanently.
"Non necessario," the second figure stated, walking towards the shop owner who stood over the dead boy. (not necessary)
The shop owner sucked in a sharp breath as he looked at Alphonzo Di Maggio, the boss who demanded more fear out of his actions than respect.
"Leave him, I'll take care of the message," he said to the scared man.
The man stood slowly, not knowing how to retreat from the situation like he was being preyed on by an animal.
Within two seconds, the man was off, sprinting in the opposite direction, not once caring about the tiny bag of bread the little boy walked off with.
He left Alphonzo alone with the small corpse, his worst mistake.
{THIRD PERSON}
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Zhara stared up at Zion with wide eyes and parted lips, sucking in a quick apprehensive breath. She felt the gazes of the other men, making her skin prickle in distaste.
Zion looked at her with such disgust in his gaze that it actually caught her off guard, but it wasn't his time to get offended.
Zhara lifted the maps in her hand, waving them with an unimpressed face.
"I'm trying to figure out if all you do is lie, or if you actually know how to tell the damn truth," she snapped, ripping her wrist from his grasp like he was poison burning her flesh. Her tone affected him visibly, and his face immediately tensed in anger.
"You have no right-"
"Oh, bullshit!" she shouted, "I found this fucking map, I should've been informed before you dragged me all the way here, across the entire world!"
Zion did not appreciate her making a scene in front of his men. It was really starting to build up inside of him, but he held himself back from lashing out and really hurting her. He didn't know if he would be able to control himself this time.
"You need to make up your mind, Zion. Figure your shit out."
Zhara threw the papers to the concrete, shoving Zion away from her. She didn't want him near her. What else was he lying about? Was he just using her again to get this information? How could she be so blind?
"Why didn't you tell me about the map?"
Zion grabbed her by the chin, yanking her close to him so he could shut her up for a second. She looked him in his eyes, they showed no emotion at all. Nothing. He really did feel nothing for her.
"First of all, I don't owe you any type of explanation," he gritted, anger bubbling under his skin.
"It has his initials on it, Zion! It sure as hell applies to me!"
He shut his eyes, trying to imagine himself containing the madness inside of him. It was the only way to stop the urge.
"Second of all, it isn't any of your fucking concern," his hand tightens around her jaw, causing her to wince. She hides it quickly, masking it with a glare.
"It is my concern when it's my father," she rasped, her upper lip curling into a snarl at the mere thought of seeing Alphonzo.
Zion moved fast, handing his gun to Liam and telling them to get inside the car. Zhara watched carefully as the men left her and Zion alone, and she knew she was in for it.
He turned back to face her, narrowing his eyes before speaking.
"You don't know the meaning behind them," he assured deeply, his voice hitting a spot in her nerves.
"Obviously," she stated clearly, "you avoid telling me everything like it's a disease."
"Maybe that's because you don't need to know."
She furrowed her brows, not understanding whatsoever.
"Then why are you mad at me for finding out about the maps?!"
"Because you're so persistent on knowing every single detail. You can't stand being under the control," he responded, "My control."
His control...
She almost wanted to gag.
"No one controls me, Zion. No one," she asserts, crossing her arms as they stand on the sidewalk. The sun was going down. Her bare arms were freezing, but she wouldn't tell him that.
"I thought we already confirmed this, Zhara," he argued, closing in on her, "You belong to me. No fucking contract can tell me different."
Zhara hated the way his words made her feel. For all her life, she hated the idea of being owned, but the way he made it out to be was some sort of commitment. It wasn't a property claim or some package. It was him and him only. He was there in the hospital with her, showing her what he really meant. He was helping her walk. He displayed vulnerability. He was kissing her skin. Worshipping her body.
Why did it feel different with him?
"And the reason we are here is far more than you can take right now," he assured, looking down at her as she avoided his eyes.
"Come on, Zhara. Look at me."
She glanced up at him, pursing her lips so she wouldn't break. She leaned in closer to him, standing on her toes to reach his ear.
"How do you know what I can take?"
Her fingertips grazed his inked hand, and it twitched under the pressure running through his veins. He lifted his index and middle finger to the spot above her throat and under her jaw. She wasn't weirded out by the fact he could feel her pulse spike when he touched the nerves. He wanted to see how fast her heart was beating, and damn was it quick.
"One day, we'll test your limits," he whispered back, applying pressure with his fingers to force her face one way. His thumb caged the other side, her breath hitching at the easy access to her air flow. He could kill her right now.
He liked her too much to do that, though.
"But trust me, when the time is right, I'll explain everything," he pecked her soft neck momentarilly, pulling away from her to get back into the car.
He fucking better.