"Tara?" I ask as the doorbell rings.

"Yeah, it's me," I hear her voice, at which I open the door.

"I brought burgers," she twirls the bag in front of me, making even her brown curls bounce along. I smile at her and cheer delightedly before laughing and grabbing the bag.

"You're the best," I sigh, giving her a welcoming hug.

"I know," she grins cheekily before running into the living room, from where Sheldon's voice can still be heard because the TV is on.

"The old man and the sea. I guess Hemingway did it to you, huh?" she reads out loud, then puts my book back on the couch as soon as she catches sight of it.

"A little bit," I grin, merely shrugging my shoulders. I think he's just great. Many authors write well, but Hemingway is one of my favorites. I love the longing, as well as the melancholy narrative passages that take the reader into the depths of his soul.

His style is paradoxical - he is paradoxical. He wanted to live and kill, love and fight - and everything excessively. But that's exactly how it became so perfect.

"Have you heard? There are two dead bodies again. And the Los Santos Mafia has been wiped out by the Serpientes. The Serpiente are a lot bigger now than they were anyway," explains Tara. Her eyes sparkle with concern, she bites her lower lip nervously and takes one deep breath, while I try to swallow my bite faster to respond something.

"They're so terrible. Sooner or later they'll still want to control us, I'm sure about that. I don't understand what their goal is. Why do they show themselves so obviously? The mafia usually acts discreetly, their threats remain implicit. But it seems to be different with the Serpiente. It seems like they want to show themselves, but for what? To provoke the FBI and the CIA?" I ask quietly once my mouth is finally empty. I hate that we have to live in constant fear. Meanwhile, I hardly dare to go out.

Even today I had to go home sooner because I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following me. For a moment, I stopped and let my gaze wander in irritation, blinking nonstop as I panicked, but even when I looked around for minutes, nothing greeted me but sheer darkness. No one was following me. It was just imagination.

"I'm really scared that Kian will somehow get into this."

"Tara, calm down. It's not going to happen," I try to diminish her fear, even though she has every reason to be. She is suppressing her tears, you can see it in her face. For a moment, the calm, level-headed mask falls and the circles under her eyes seem to stand out, her face pale with worry.

Her sixteen-year-old brother, Kian, has already started to welcome the police to his home. Her life is not easy. She lost her father much too early, who died of cancer. Her mother struggled through the debts he left behind, so Tara and her brother did not have an easy life. While I was able to go to school quite comfortably and all that stressed me was the homework, she had to go to work after school and couldn't get out of there before midnight. It hurts me to see her like that. So messed up.

"You're right. Kian won't be stupid enough to mess with the mafia," she laughs, but it doesn't reach her eyes. I nod. Well, hopefully, he didn't get those drugs from the mafia but from some crook on the street...

However, stop with the subject now, otherwise, she will really start crying and despairing.

"Okay, let's watch a mov-" I change the subject, but just as I'm about to finish my sentence, the ringing of the doorbell interrupts me.

And not just once.

"What's going on now?", I ask freely across the room.

"Who could that be?", I hear Tara asking in the same way. A shrug of my shoulders, before I leave the living room, walk to the front door and open it. It may be Mrs. Marley, our neighbor, who loses her key sometimes, which is why she left her spare in our house. Surely she wants this one now.

But it is not old lovely Mrs. Marley, it is someone else.

"Please!" A bloody man stumbles into my house, gasping. I suck a sharp breath and Tara is also struggling to hold herself back from screaming out immediately. What the hell?

"Close the door. I beg you, do it, please!" he shouts in complete panic, sitting down on the floor and looking at us with wide-open eyes. Tara reacts immediately and closes the door before running into the kitchen and quickly coming back with a glass of water. The man - who is maybe in his early fifties - greedily drinks his water, while I can't move for a moment.

"Thank you so much. Thank you so much," he gasps softly, breaking the brief silence in which he was calming down. "You may not believe me, but you two saved my life."

Blood still poured from his temple. Again, Tara reacts faster and runs to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. I, on the other hand, just continue to stand in front of the door while tears continue to fill my eyes. The man looks terrible. Deep scars decorate his face and his hair looks ripped out on the right side. I swallow as I see the chopped-off finger.

"The mafia?", I breathe, while Tara is trying the best she can to patch up the man. He doesn't want to call an ambulance. He panicked again as Tara asked him.

The man looks at me for a long time. Swallows, opens his mouth, closes it again, and swallows. Then he nods, barely noticeable. "But you can't tell anyone, kids. Otherwise, they'll kill me. I have a family. Please, I...-" he begins but I immediately interrupt him.

"We would never do that," I reply in a brittle voice.

What are these cruel people who torture someone like this? Why is this mafia boss doing all this? What has this man possibly done to him?

"Why did they do this?", I question myself. Clearing my throat, I run a hand through my hair. I think I need a glass of water, too.

"My daughter had an affair with one of his men. I didn't tolerate that relationship. I was shown that I had no say in the matter," the man closes his lids in agony.

"I have not been able to save my daughter from this violent man," he breathes, and suddenly a sob escapes his mouth.

"No, sir, maybe... Maybe he really loves your daughter. Just because he's in the mafia doesn't mean he's going to hurt her," Tara immediately tries to calm him down. Once again, I was in a trance. Don't move and just look at the tears from the distraught father.

"And her daughter? Does she know what her lover did?", I ask.

"No. And she won't. I'm sorry I scared you both so much, but the house caught my eye as soon as I regained my senses. By the way, my name is Charles. I'm leaving now, though. Thank you with all my heart."

Charles stood shakily on his feet and again we asked if we should call an ambulance, but he denied it.

"My wife is a doctor. She'll take a look at it when I get home. I'm going to get a cab now. Thanks again, Rina and Tara," he says, smiling slightly at us, then leaves. Sighing, I close the door and look at Tara, who is putting the bloody tissues away.

"Well, alright. I'll give you a hand," I mumble and help to clean up the mess. It goes faster that way. Once we're done, we sit back down in the living room. The TV is on and yet it feels awfully quiet right now. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I wonder what else has been done to him. We could see the physical wounds, but what about the internal wounds?

I wonder how he must feel to be beaten by what is seen as his 'son-in-law'? And how could his daughter fall in love with such an evil man? Have the men of the Mafia any heart at all? Compassion? Charles is pretty weak on his feet, so how can you bring yourself to beat such a person?

"Poor man," Tara breathes. I merely nod and swallow. Yeah, you can only feel sorry for him, with a daughter like that. I could never do this to my parents, and otherwise, I would lie to keep them safe and ask my boyfriend to never mention who he really works for.

"I hope he gets better soon and -", I interrupt myself as a loud bang erupts. Synchronously, we tear open our eyes and frantically get up to look out the window.

And what I see makes me scream out loud.

Charles is lying on the ground, the blood running all around his head.

☼ ❅

Poor Charles...

-