Page 1 of Enemy of Ours #1

ROMEO

“ K eep the kid quiet, or I will.” The harsh snarl is almost shouted; the crazed man is bursting at the seams. He peeks out between the curtains for the hundredth time before he resumes pacing, scratching at his temple with his gun. His wild eyes flicker back to the window every few seconds.

“Relax, Ed. Your paranoid ass is starting to make me twitchy. Just sit down and wait for the call. The brats won’t be a problem for us much longer.

Besides, they won’t find us here in the middle of upstate New York,” the one with yellow, snagged teeth tells the crazed one as he crosses his arms and leans back in the worn wooden chair.

It creaks each time he shifts around, just barely holding his weight.

My heart is racing, sweat building on my upper lip as my eyes continue to dart around the small cabin's open space before they immediately go right back to the two men who stole me out of my house last night. They woke me with a hand over my mouth while I was sleeping peacefully in my bed. I almost screamed until the familiar sound of a gun chamber sliding back right next to my head kept me silent. Emilio, my father, also known as the Don, has been placing a gun in my hands since I was eight years old, when I grew curious about the strange weapons I always saw coming in and out of the house. I remember him saying curiosity killed the cat, so he wanted me to learn how to handle a gun before I blew my foot off or worse. It’s a dangerous weapon.

I know this. But it’s even more dangerous when it’s placed into the hands of someone who either doesn’t know how to use it or perhaps knows all too well what it feels like when the gun kicks back after pulling the trigger.

Of course I never messed with one without an adult around to show me the ropes, but then again, there are always men in the house coming and going with weapon holsters tucked under their suit jackets.

The Don says it’s just the way of things, and I’ll understand one day when I’m a man.

I’m turning thirteen in a few weeks, and in my family, I’ll be considered a man then.

I glare at the restless asshat as he paces a few feet away with his hands over his head, gripping his brown, greasy hair.

The guy really has a death wish since the gun is still in one of his hands, and it’s only a matter of seconds before he shoots himself.

Hopefully.

“I want my papa.”

I look down at the small fingers gripping onto my sweater and the big, fat tears falling down the little girl’s red cheeks.

She can’t be more than four years old. I don’t know who she is or how she ended up here, but I was shoved in her direction the moment they took the burlap bag off my head and told me to take care of the kid.

I’m scared for my life, but she probably doesn’t understand what’s happening.

The kid just wants her dad, but she is surrounded by two strangers who keep shouting and look to have been living on the street.

Their dirty clothes have holes and patches, and they appear not to have bathed in a long time, as indicated by the streaks of dirt smudged on their faces.

The only expensive thing I can see on them is the gun.

Missing teeth, unkempt hair, and the paranoia…

I’m really beginning to wonder if I got kidnapped by two homeless men.

They both reek of desperation; one keeps checking his watch, and the other still hasn’t stopped pacing.

Do they even realize whose house they broke into and who they kidnapped?

“Shh. It will be okay. You’ll be back with your papa soon,” I promise the little girl as she starts to cry louder, quickly tugging her into my lap.

I sit on the cold, rough wood floor and shield her with my body as the one called Ed charges over to us.

“I said, keep her quiet. We really only need one of you brats alive. We're just waiting to see who calls first." He fists my hair and tightens until I have no choice but to stare up into his crazed blue eyes that continue to look more and more unhinged as the seconds go by.

I glare at him, holding the kid close to my chest, and hunch over her as much as I can so she doesn’t get hurt.

“I swear, Mick, we shouldn’t have taken both. Maybe we need to get rid of one of them,” Ed says, rattling my head with a fistful of my hair before shoving me down, forcing me to catch myself with my elbow on the rough, wood floor.

The little girl tightens her fists onto my sweater collar and starts wailing something fierce the moment I am knocked over.

I straighten up and hug her close, shifting my body slightly to the right so that he can’t see her while I rock her back and forth, mumbling the same thing over and over under my breath.

“It’s going to be okay. I’m not leaving you here alone. It’s okay.”

“Goddamnit, Ed! We won't do anything until we get a call! I want my fucking money, and I’m not getting rid of the brats until I’m swimming in cash.

You hear me? Calm the hell down!” Mick shoots up from his chair and grabs Ed by his dirty jacket, shaking him until he pushes him away with disgust on his facial features.

“Get off me, man; I can’t stand the crying kid. I can’t think; it’s too loud in here,” Ed yells again, gesturing with his gun around the room wildly.

“Then go take a walk about the fucking house. You’re going to end up shooting one of them before we even get our cash!” Mick shouts right back, spittle flying and landing in his beard.

“Fine! They better be quiet by the time I get back inside,” Ed threatens, and his heavy, dirty boots stomp towards the cabin door; he disappears into the setting sun as he slams it closed behind him.

We’ve been here for a full day. Their cellphone hasn’t gone off once. The only time they used it was to make threats and demand money from whoever was on the other end of the line.

The little girl sniffles and shudders in my arms, finally quieting down the longer I whisper to her that it’s going to be okay. Mick ignores us and goes back to sitting by the fireplace, moving the burning coals around, even though I can’t feel the warmth from the fire across the open space.

“You're going to die, you know that, right?” I mutter out loud and make sure I don’t blink as Mick looks away from the fire with a raised brow towards the corner I’m rocking the kid in. “Do you have any idea who my father is?”

He snorts and tosses his kindling stick before leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest, wearing an arrogant smirk.

“Yeah, kid. I know who your father is. I think he’ll pay up since you're his only heir. The same goes for her. Maybe we won’t have to kill you just yet and triple our money.

” He laughs, sucking on his teeth as he props his feet up on the fireplace ledge.

“Emilio Messina. New York's own Italian mafia don. So yeah, kid. I’m counting on your old man to pay the price for your life. Guess we’ll see if you are really worth it. ”

“So you know you won’t make it out of this cabin alive.” I raise my chin, glaring at him as he grins at me with crooked, yellow teeth.

“We’ll see.” He shrugs and stares at me for a long moment before slamming his boots on the ground, startling me.

He bunches his jeans at his knees with his hands and climbs to his feet.

“Or I could just kill the girl and keep you as insurance. Only need one of you alive, really. One less brat to look after.”

I twist my upper body, trying to shield the little girl as he stalks over to us, pulling a switchblade from his pocket. I scramble to my feet and push her behind me, blocking him even from seeing a strand of her red hair.

“You won’t harm her, you sick bastard. I’ll kill you myself,” I promise, spreading my legs and bending my knees slightly as I track his movements the closer he gets.

He laughs loudly, tossing the open switchblade back and forth between his hands, and stops a few feet away from our corner.

“Well, well. It seems we have a fighter on our hands. I doubt you would be standing in my way, boy, if you knew the rival was right behind you.” He smiles nastily; I can smell his foul breath from here.

He smells of cheap liquor and cigarettes.

“I want my papa,” the girl cries again from behind me, clenching at my sweater that suddenly feels too heavy for my body.

Sweat drips down my back as my hands turn clammy. She keeps pulling at me until she’s squished against the wood paneling of the walls and there isn’t any more room to move, but that doesn’t stop her from tugging at my arm and sweater as if to get me away from the bastard.

Too bad we are literally backed into a corner. I’m not going down without a fight. I have a duty to my family, and this little girl is innocent; she shouldn’t have to see the ugly side of this world playing out in front of her at such a young age.

“Danny O’Connor doesn’t need his spawn running around New York anyways. She’ll only cause more trouble the older she gets. I’ll be doing the world a favor.” Mick leans to the side, trying to get a glimpse of her, and the look on his face makes my stomach dip.

I’ve seen some men wear that same expression right before a raid. Adrenaline pumping, hungry for a fight. He’s looking at Danny O’Connor’s child like he enjoys playing with his food before he eats.

Wait.

Not… He can’t be talking about that O’Connor? Right?

I gasp, my eyes widening before a laugh bursts out of me, making the girl jump behind me and Mick lean his head back with a confused expression.

“Oh, man. You really are a dead man.” I chuckle, grasping at my stomach because it hurts to breathe. “You wouldn’t happen to be talking about Danny O’Connor, head of the Irish mob family?”

“Papa,” the little girl whispers against my back with hope in her voice, and that confirms it for me.

“What about it, kid?” Mick growls under his breath, baring his yellow teeth at me, and grips his switchblade in his right hand.