Blood and Roses

Marco Rossi

*

Isabella nervously clutched her notepad and pen as she made her way between the tables of the small Italian restaurant. The smells of garlic and tomato sauce wafted through the air, and the sounds of clinking cutlery and quiet conversation filled her ears.

The restaurant, La Bella Vita, was a high-end, exclusive establishment located in the heart of the city. The interior was adorned with elegant decor, featuring dark mahogany wood, soft ambient lighting, and plush velvet seats. The walls were adorned with beautiful artwork and the tables were topped with crisp white linen.

The owner, Giuseppe Romano, was a man in his late fifties with a distinguished air about him. He was always impeccably dressed in tailored suits, and his salt-and-pepper hair was always neatly styled. His presence in the restaurant commanded attention, and he made it his personal mission to ensure that every customer was treated like royalty, and his staff like members of one big family.

Giuseppe was a master of his craft, having spent decades perfecting his culinary skills. The menu was a carefully curated selection of Italian classics with a modern twist, using only the finest ingredients. The wine list was equally impressive, featuring rare vintages from all over the world. Isabella had sometimes left for the day with a few vintage bottles which Giuseppe had given to her for a job well done.

Bella had been working here for a few months now, trying to make her own way in the world and distance herself from her family's dangerous connections. It had been three years since she became completely exiled from the Rossi family business, and these had been the most amazing years of her life. She no longer had to go anywhere with someone hovering over her shoulder, or be forced to follow the rules which were laid down for her since childbirth. She was a free woman now, and she wouldn't have had things any other way.

Pushing her hair out of her face, she smiled warmly at an elderly couple enjoying their pasta and then scribbled down their dessert order. As she made her way to the kitchen, her thoughts drifted to her father's business and the constant stress it brought into her life. She had grown up hearing stories about the Rossi family and the violence that came with their territory, but she had always tried to distance herself from it. Marco Rossi never allowed his daughter to see the true nature of their business, or the extent of brutality that came with it. Bella didn't know any of this until she reached 15 years of age, when she was introduced very harshly into the mafia world. And that was when she decided it wasn't the life for her.

Now, she spent her days working at this little restaurant, trying to make enough money to pay her rent and keep her life as far away from the mafia as possible. She knew that her father's enemies would try to use her against him if they ever found out who she was, but she tried not to let that fear consume her.

As she picked up the plates of pasta from the kitchen, she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the stainless steel counter. Her long, dark hair was tied back in a messy bun, and her apron was slightly stained with tomato sauce. She didn't look like the daughter of a powerful mafia boss - she looked like any other struggling waitress.

Isabella took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand, delivering the food to the table with a smile and a friendly word. She knew that the restaurant was just a temporary respite from her father's world, but she would take it for as long as she could.

"Bella?" Sandra called from behind the counter as she carried a tray of empty dishes back to the kitchen.

"Yes?"

"The boss wants to see you in his office," she said. "It sounded serious."

Bella's heart pounded as she made her way to Giuseppe's office. She couldn't shake off the feeling that something was off. She had never been called into the boss's office before. Was she in trouble?

But as she walked in, she realized it wasn't just Giuseppe in the room. There were two large men standing on either side of the door, and she recognised them immediately. Tony and Vincent, her father's soldiers.

Her father, Marco Rossi himself, was there as well, sitting across from Giuseppe with his arms crossed.

Bella's heart skipped a beat when she saw her father. Her hands trembled and her body went rigid as fear surged through her veins. She couldn't believe her eyes, and her mind raced with possibilities of what could be happening. The look on his face was enough to send shivers down her spine, and she could tell that he meant business. She swallowed hard, trying to muster up the courage to face him, but she felt like a small child again in his presence.

"Bella," Marco said without even looking at her. "Take a seat."

Bella sat down nervously, fidgeting with the hem of her uniform. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen her father. It had been months, maybe even a year. To be honest, a part of her had completely forgotten what he even looked like. But now, as she stared at him, it all came rushing back.

Marco Rossi was a tall and imposing man with broad shoulders and a powerful build. His sharp facial features were accentuated by piercing blue eyes that seemed to stare straight through anyone who met his gaze. He carried himself with a confident and commanding presence, and his deep, gravelly voice only added to his intimidating demeanor. Rossi was always immaculately dressed in designer suits and polished leather shoes, and his meticulously groomed salt-and-pepper hair was always perfectly styled. His presence exuded a sense of wealth and power, making it clear that he was a man who was used to getting what he wanted.

"That will be all, Romano," Marco said. "You may leave us now."

As Giuseppe hurried out of the room, Marco was silent for a while before he turned to face his daughter, his expression hardened.

"You've been avoiding me," he said in a thin, cold voice.

"And yet here you are," she replied dryly. "It seems I couldn't get far away enough."

"Watch your tongue, girl," he snapped. "You may have fled from your home, but you're still a Rossi. And you will show me the respect I deserve."

"What do you want, Dad?" she asked.

"I want you to come back home. This instant. There will be no argument about it," he said in a cold and authoritative voice.

Bella's face contorted with anger at her father's demand. "I'm doing fine on my own," she retorted, her voice laced with defiance.

Marco's eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to her. "Are you, really? You were mugged the other night just a few blocks away from here, Bella. What if something worse had happened to you?"

Bella gritted her teeth. She knew her father was referring to the incident when Salvatore had saved her from getting mugged. "That was a one-time thing, and I can take care of myself. I don't need your protection or your money," she said through gritted teeth.

Marco's expression remained stern and unforgiving. "It's not just about protection, Bella. It's about family. You belong with us. Your place is at our side, not here, working as a waitress in some restaurant."

Bella's eyes flashed with anger at her father's words. "I don't want to be a part of your world, Dad. I'm happy with my life the way it is now. You can't force me to do something I don't want to do," she said, her voice trembling with emotion.

But then, quite suddenly, it struck her.

"Hold on, how do you even know I was mugged?" she asked.

"Don't be ridiculous," Marco said. "You expect me not to keep an eye on you after all these years?"

"You were spying on me?"

"I was protecting a valuable asset," he replied. "You are my most prized possession, Bella. I cannot allow any harm befall you."

Bella was seething with anger and disbelief as she glared at her father. She had been so caught up in her own world, so confident that she had been able to detach herself from the Rossi family and their dangerous dealings. But now, here was her father, right in front of her, reminding her of the mugging incident and how he had been keeping tabs on her.

"How dare you," she hissed, her eyes blazing with fury. "You have no right to watch me like that. I am an adult, I can take care of myself."

Marco's expression remained calm and collected, almost as if he was expecting this reaction from his daughter. "I am your father, Bella," he said in a stern tone. "It is my responsibility to make sure that you are safe and sound. And after what happened to you, I cannot let you continue living your life like this."

Bella scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "So, what? You want me to come back home? Back to the family business?"

"Yes," Marco said, his voice steady and unwavering. "You belong with us, Bella. You are a Rossi, and you have responsibilities that you cannot ignore."

"I am not a part of that world anymore," Bella retorted, her voice trembling with anger and fear. "I have made a life for myself, away from all of this. I will not go back."

Marco's eyes narrowed as he took a step closer to his daughter. "There will be no argument about this, Bella. You will come back home, and you will do as you are told."

Bella's fists clenched at her sides as she fought to control her rising anger. "No, I will not," she said through gritted teeth. "I am not some puppet that you can just manipulate and control. I am my own person, and I will not be a part of your world again."

But Marco wasn't finished yet. "You may think you have been living your own life, Bella," he said, his voice taking on a menacing edge. "But the truth is, I have had more influence in your life than you will ever know, even after you left. You just didn't know it."

Bella stared at her father, feeling a wave of disgust wash over her. "What are you talking about?" she demanded.

Marco's lips twisted into a smug smile. "Let's just say that you have some debts that you didn't even know about," he said cryptically. "And now, it's time for you to pay them off."

Bella's heart sank as she realized the full extent of her father's control over her life. She had thought she was free, but now she knew that she was just a pawn in a dangerous game that she couldn't even begin to understand.

"Think about it," he said, rising from his seat. "I will be back in three days for an answer. And it had better be the one I expect, or there will be trouble."

*