Third Person POV

Dante shifted, the bed creaked under his weight. He stared at the photos of his twin, Dontavius. His facial muscles clenched as he stifled his emotions. The suppressed tears stung his eyes. They are a fraternal twin, but as they grew up, their features became very unmistakeable.

Dontavius looked bigger in the picture. The woman dwarfed next to him. He's probably taller than him, he could be wrong, but Dontavius always taller than him as far as he remembered.

How long has it been?

Twenty-four years?

The last time he saw him was when they were 18. Dontavius ran away after that heated argument with their father that had him beat by their cruel father to almost to death.

He could still remember that word that riled up his brother and attacked their tyrannical father.

"Tu non sei mio figlio! Tu sei una vergogna per me!" Igor roared in outrage at his son, Dontavius. You are not my son! You are a disgrace to me!

Dontavius didn't blink nor cower. He met his father's livid gaze with the same ferocious stare. Igor's muscles tensed, hands clenched tightly at his side in suppressed rage.

"Avete guardarsi allo specchio?" Dontavius sneered, his voice dripping with disgust. Have you looked into the mirror, Father?

"Si, pezzo di merda! Proprio come la tua cagna di una madre!" he seethed. You, a piece of shit! Just like your bitch of a mother!

Dante wasn't surprised when Dontavius attacked his father. Known for his impulsiveness, his recklessness, he didn't blink and charged their father, but Igor quickly dodged it. Known for his tyranny, Dontavius held a deep hatred against their father. Dante saw his father flung his iron fist towards his son's jaw without a second thought, nor remorseful when he beat his son until he was flat on the floor, unconscious.

He just watched it, unable to help. He's not at strong, as brave as Dontavius. Apparently, they are opposite in every ways. His poor mother couldn't do anything but wailed. Just like him, she was restrained by Igor's buffed men.

The next day Dontavius awakened, he was gone, and their cruel father didn't bother finding him.

Dante was left to his father's care, took all the responsibility that they supposedly share and Dontavius. And now that he found him, he's dead.

Dante felt the moisture welled under his eyelids. He blinked it away and stared at the next photo.

His eyes glued to the kid and her mom. She's probably about ten or eleven. He knew the kid ever since she was born, but he never thought of it related to him. His brother hid from them so well, he was just right under his nose, but then again, he never tried hard finding him. At some point, he held a grudge against him. He left him alone under his father's wrath.

But four years ago, he called him, and all that hatred he felt for him vanished. Before the day of their meeting, Dontavius got killed. Dante's lips set in a hard line as the thought of his brother's death.

He quickly blocked all the negative thoughts out of his head and stared at the photo once more. The woman was wearing a yellow sundress. She looked despondent, the spirit in her eyes are gone. She was staring at her daughter with hopes and overwhelming love. They looked so much alike, except the girl's eyes. She took it from the Torrino, like the Browallia in the spring. Dante's sweet mother loved to collect and filled her garden with different hues at the back of their estate in Rome.

The next photo was Dontavius and the woman. They look happily together. Unlike the other photo, the woman looks glowing. Her eyes sparkled like a diamond under the light. Dontavius's hands wrapped around the petite woman, her back against his chest. They were both looking at the camera with the same glowing face, the love in between them is unmistakable, until Stefan came into the picture. He stole his brother's life, his wife, and his unborn child. Stefan killed him and took everything he had.

If only he knew, but his brother was so stubborn and egoistic. He should still be here with him. Dante's jaw went slack. Staring through the photos, he wanted to kill Stefan again and again. He did it, but he felt like his life wasn't enough.

Dante turned to face the old woman, Corazon, who took care of Dontavius. She treated him as her own.

"Grazie, Corazon." Thank you, Corazon.

Folding the fading brown albums where all of his brother's photos, memories are kept, he got up from the edge of the bed where he perched.

He came back to take whatever memories his brother left, after four years mourning his passing.

Sadness clouded Corazon's features. Her eyes held deep sympathy, but Dante doesn't need that right now. "Mi dispiace per la tua perdita." The sixty-four short and curvaceous old woman muttered. I'm sorry for your lose.

Dante only shook his head with his shoulders stiffed. "Vi lascio ora, Corazon. Grazie per prendersi cura di mio fratello." I'll leave you now, Corazon. Thank you for taking care of my brother. After giving her a single nod of his head, he turned on his heel and left.

....

Angel

I unzipped the black Samsonite luggage and lay it on the floor. I started filling it with a few pair of jeans, tops, underwears, and bras; anything a little bit fancy for this trip. I rummaged back through my drawers, all was left are fading tees and jeans.

The luggage was half-filled. I just realized I don't have many clothes.

Before I met Isaias, I was never bothered about my clothes. I wore shirt and jeans every day, and I care less.

Perhaps, it's time to do some shopping when I get settled in Italy.

I don't remember going to a mall by myself, nor went shopping by myself before. The thought sent thrill in the pit of my stomach.

A rap on the door interrupted my thoughts.

I zipped the luggage, then stood up. My gaze directed to the door as I dragged the luggage to the corner.

The door opened, and Tristan peaked his head through. "You need anything?" he asked, widening the door as he stepped in.

Tristan walked across the room, shoved his hands in his pockets. Clad in a crisp gray suit, black shirt, and with no tie, he looked devilishly handsome.

I shook my head in agreement. His brooding, mysterious eyes darted to the dark luggage. "You're done. That was fast," he commented, dragging his gaze back to me. A deep, deep drawl that reminds me of my love.

A sudden overwhelming sadness washed over me.

"Yes." My voice dropped into a murmur.

He gave me the once-over, oblivious of my gloomy mood. His brows veered into a deep frown. "You're still in your clothes from yesterday?" he pointed out, hot flushed creeping up from my toes to the roots of my hair.

Turning swiftly, I headed towards the washroom door. "I'll just have a shower," I said, hoping he didn't see the flush that covered my cheeks.

"Alright. I'll see you downstairs." I stopped without turning my head back, I heard his footsteps retreating until it faded. The door clicked, just then I continued walking towards the washroom.

I took my time washing my body, reveling in the warmth of the water that felt like palms caressing my body. I willed myself not to think of Isaias. It will be temporary.

I wore faded blue jeans, black top from Abercrombie, and black converse. I just tied my hair in a messy bun, then took all my stuff from my black sling back, and stashed it all in my new Celine purse Tristan gave me.

A small smile graced my face as I stared at the expensive bag. I saw the tag, and I quickly cut it off, using my nail clipper I've been carrying with me.

I hoisted the purse on my shoulder, then grabbed the handle of the luggage. The door swung open before I could make a step.

Tristan strode in with a long gait. "The car is here," he announced, closing our gap, he took the luggage from me, and carried it effortlessly, like paper.

I followed him to the door. I held the doorknob and gave my room one last glance before closing it behind me.

Zia rose from her seat when she saw me coming down from the stairs. Her shoulders sagged, unshed tears glistening her eyes directed at me. "Call us when you landed," she said as she opened her arms for me.

As soon as I got down the last step, I narrowed our gap and threw myself into her arms. I'm going to miss her terribly. She gave me a tight hug. "Please take care of yourself, Rose. Your mom and dad will never forgive me if something happened to you," she muttered, her voice quivering of mixed emotions.

"I will, Zia. Thank you!" I pulled away, and she forced a smile. "Call as often as you can," she pulled her lips downward, into a frown, her hands rested on my shoulders. "I don't know if your parents will be proud of me or hated me for letting you on your own," she mused.

I forced a reassuring smile. "I'm sure they'll be proud of you, Zia. Besides, they can't keep me locked up in the house forever," I smiled.

She nodded her head as she dropped her hands to her sides. "Is that how you feel? Locked up?" she asked, a tinge of remorseful.

I shook my head vigorously. "No! No, Zia!" I assured her. "I didn't mean that way. I never felt it like that. Forgive my word," I promptly apologized.

She smiled, embracing me again. "Take care always!" she muttered, her voice quivering with suppressed emotions. She pulled away. "I want to come and drop you off at the airport, but Tristan said, it will be harder for you to leave, and me, too," she sulked as we walked side by side towards the front door.

Tristan is right. I'd rather not want them there when I embark the plane. I might change my mind and forget all about it.

"I'll be fine, Zia. I'll call you often," I promised. Tristan appeared from the door just I gave Zia a peck on her cheek.

"The car is waiting. It's half past six," he commented. I bid Zia goodbye, then headed out of the door. Tristan followed me. He helped me climbed into the rear seat.

"Have a safe flight, Rose. I'll see you soon," he muttered. Leaning in, he gave me a kiss on my right cheek.

I frowned. "You're not coming?" I asked.

He nodded his head. "Yes." He gave me a reassuring smile. I gape at him. He's really letting me go by myself. He probably realized why I want to go, why I need to leave New York. A small smile forming on my lips. "Clive will take care of you." Darting his eyes to the driver seat, the man in suit nodded his head. He looked trusted enough. "I have to be somewhere, I'm already late, but I want to make sure you're taken care of." He straightened up, then close the door before I could bid goodbye.

The car started, then rolled slowly out of the driveway. I waved to Zia who was standing at the front door watching as the car drove off.

A lone tear escaped my eyes as I watched them slowly shrinking in size as the car got farther. I sat upright when they are out of my vision, and my gaze shifted to the road ahead.

Much later, my phone vibrated. I quickly fished it out from my purse.

A text from Isaias. Blood rushed through me in excitement.

I'll see you soon, Piccola.

Deep longing washed over me as I texted him back, reining the tears brimming in my eyes.

Are you coming to see me?

I stared at the screen blankly. His deep, mysterious eyes flashed through my head. Those brooding eyes that seemed to suck me in whenever I stared at it. His gaze warm and soothing, just like his embrace.

My phone vibrated again, snapping me out of my short reverie.

I quickly read his text. My lips pulled downward; disappointment sagged through me as I stared at the emoticon.

:)

I clenched my teeth in frustrations. He just sent me a smiley emoticon. That brooding ass!

"Fodase!" A loud growl snapped my head up to the driver. Fuck!

Completely taken away my attention of my phone.

The way he said the foreign word, I had this feeling it was a curse. Just then I realized what was happening. The door to his side swung open with unnecessary force, and two men forcefully dragged him out of the car, and as fast as he disappeared, a man wearing a black mask peered at me, I didn't realize the door to my side was open.

I could sense the man smirking with triumph underneath that mask, only his nose and eyes are visible. I quickly pushed myself to the corner as I opened my mouth to scream when he leaped inside, and covered my mouth with a cloth. Seconds later, he forcefully dragged me out of the car.

I screamed, but I didn't hear my voice. I tried to fight the sudden heaviness of my eyes, the sudden weakening of my system, but it was a futile attempt. I dropped my phone, making a faint thud sound and he cursed darkly. My system gave in. "Dammit!" The last word I had heard before I lost consciousness.

.....

Isaias

Tapping my fingers on my crossed thighs, I stared fiercely out the heavy tinted window. It's past eight and I have not received any reports yet from Amir. I'm starting to feel anxious.

Did it go well?

I can't leave New York until I am sure, my Angel is safe.

I rolled down the car's window. "Logan!" I barked. He scrambled stiffly towards the car, and stood close to the door.

"Did Amir called yet? What is going on?" I demanded, my voice dropping low. A level where I rarely used, only when I'm livid.

Logan crouched down so his eyes leveled on mine. Fear crossed his stoic face. "No, Boss," came his stiffed reply.

My jaws clenched tightly.

"Vaffanculo!" Fuck! I hissed, turning my attention to the small, sleek machine on my hand, I've been strangling for hours.

I dialed Amir, his phone just kept on ringing, then it went on his voicemail.

I tried again, but just the same, it went to his voicemail.

"Fucking pussy!" I hissed, gripping the small machine like a vice. My jaws stinging as I clenched even tighter.

I saw red as I snapped my head to Logan who was still standing stiffly at his spot. "Head to the office, NOW!" I barked angrily, and he scrambled in the driver's seat, Mason in the passenger seat. Several men scattered to their designated cars.

The car jerked forward and drove off.

I called Anatoly, one of Leon's chief pilot. "Boss," came his nasal voice as soon as it connected.

"Where is Ms. Viggorino?" I asked without preamble.

"She's not here yet, Boss. We've been waiting for her for an hour already."

"Vaffanculo!" I growled, slamming my eyes shut as I rubbed my temple. My veins felt like it's going to snap. My muscles strained.

"Stay where you are," I ordered, then ended the call. I tapped on my phone again.

"Where?" I heard Logan asked. I averted my attention to him, my fingers hung in the air. "Fuck!" he cursed. "Find them!" he barked.

With a clenched jaw, I scowled at him through the rearview mirror.

"Boss, they found Amir unconcious in one of the cubicles in the changing room, with Derek. They are both shot."

My whole body stiffened at the news. Eyes turning red as rage washed over me.

"Get me there, FAST!" My voice rising with my temper. I called Tristan.

....

Angel

"Miss, wake up!" A woman's voice from a distance, followed by a tap on my face.

My eyebrows fluttered open, then squeezed it shut when the sunlight hit my eyes, and slowly, I opened it again. Disorientedly, I squinted until my vision adjusted to the light.

A woman with an unmistakable beauty, despite her old age, grimes on her face, hovered over me. I quickly sat upright when things processed in my head. She backed up instinctively, giving me some room. My eyes darted to the unfamiliar surroundings. I could hear sounds of cars from afar.

My heart suddenly pounded against my ears, my stomach churned.

"Where Am I?" I shot up, taking in the strange and unpleasant surrounding. I wrapped my hands around me as I looked around. Fear gripped me as reality settled in my head. My chest tightening, I could barely breath.

The dirty, cramped room had two beds made of wooden crates that was brought together to make a bed over by the dilapitated brown brick wall. A carboard was put on top of the crates, covered with old, faded clothes that was put together as as sheet.

The dilapited room has two old-weathered metal windows adjacent to each other. The smell of rust, rotted floor and walls assaulted my nose. "Who are you?" darting my eyes back to the woman. My voice croaked, tears brimming in my eyes as the truth settled in my head.

The woman's smell just as rotten as the room, wafted the air as she stood in front of me. I willed myself not to scrunched up my nose.

Her worn out skirt that reached her ankles was the color of brown, covered with grime. Her long sleeves top with fading blue color was big on her, stains styled the plain blouse, and it's a sorry sight.

A man walked in, just as sorry sight as her. His face covered with grime, body covered with old rags. He had an oily hair, it hadn't washed in years. He's tall and sturdy to be a beggar, but his appearance couldn't conceal his lack of fortune. His face was covered in scruffy uncombed fur that was his beard.

As he approached her, not sparing me a glance, his smell hung in my nose sourly.

"Who are you?" I asked, staring at the dirty face of the woman. I tried to remain calm and think of how to escape them.

The woman is probably in her fifties, and the man is about her age or older. Her brown eyes reminded me of melted chocolate. "Uh, tis is Antoine," she introduced, giving the man next to her a brief glance. Her accent is as pronounce as Isaias. I shifted my gaze to the man and noticed his dull gray eyes. He just tipped his head forward once, then stood upright, like an army. His arms are on his back. Shoulders stiffed as he watched me.

I recalled the images of those men who took me. My shoulders slumped when I realized that they are masked, but I am sure, they wore a suit. I shifted my eyes back to the woman. I have a feeling they're not my captors. They don't look like them. The woman is shorter than me.

The woman spoke again in that nasal tone. "I'm uh, I am Ćelestina." She glanced at the man next to her, then smiled at him. They shared a look with the same affection. She rested her eyes on me and gave me a warm smile that made me feel safe. I don't know, but it's weird that fear has gone, to think these people are still strangers to me.

"Mi diaspace!" I'm sorry. She smiled, her brows veering slowly into a frown as she glanced back and forth to the man next to her. "My English, no good." She chuckled concealing her embarrassment.

"No. No. I can understand Italian. I can speak, too." I said. And she stared at me like she just saw an angel. Her smile widened.

"Come si chiama, Lei?" What is your name?

"Mi chiamo Angel." My name is Angel. Her grime covered face stretched into a broad smile. Eyes lit up as she clapped her hands in excitement.

"Ahh.. Sei Bello." You're beautiful. She dropped her hands to her sides. "Come un angelo," she cooed as she reached out for my cheek. Like an angel.

I willed myself not to flinch back and held my breath as she ran her dirty fingers over my cheek. "Propio come il tuo nome." Just like your name.

"Come sono arrivato qui?" I asked. How did I get here?

"Stavo pregando per la strada, quando ho visto la Mercedes nera. Non vediamo mai tali vetture eleganti qui, e sono andato a chiedere un piccolo aiuto quando ti ho preso nella parte posteriore della vettura, dormire." I was begging on the street when I saw the black Mercedes. We never see such sleek cars here, and I went to asked for a little help when I caught you at the back of the car, sleeping. She scratched her head, causing a few of her dry, oily tangled hair to fall on her forehead, they resembled of a bird's nest. "L'autista mi cacciò, e quando guardo il ritorno, ho notato che si sono legati. Ho aspettato per loro di lasciare l'auto e ha chiesto Antoine per fare una commozione mentre ti porto fuori. Maribella mi ha aiutato, anche. E 'anche come noi." The driver shooed me, and when I looked at the back again, I noticed that you are tied up. I waited for them to leave the car and asked Antoine to make a commotion while I take you out. Maribella helped me, too. She's also like us.

Relief washed over me upon hearing her. "Siamo ancora a New York?" I asked as I walked over to the rusty window. Are we still in New York?

The woman shook her head and snapped her eyes to the man who was quietly watching and listening to us.

I frowned as I looked out the window. I was welcomed with grunge, squalid alley. I don't have to be a genius to know that we are in a slum city. Across the street were a rundown building, and a few men wearing dirty clothes were talking while smoking. A few kids running around, in the same dirty clothing, all were thin, but they all looked happy as they played.

"Roma, Italia," she answered after a long paused. Rome, Italy.

I turned to face her, stepping away from the dirty window. "Italy?" I gawked at her.

Drat! How long Am I out?

"Do you have a phone?" I asked. Her eyebrows knitted together for a moment before she shook her head.

Of course, they are beggars.

"Can you help me find a payphone?" I asked. They were just staring at me like I'm an alien.

Oh yes, she can't understand English much.

"Potete aiutarmi a trovare un telefono pubblico?" Can you help me find a payphone? She instantly nodded as she broke into a smile.

Great!

Hope rose in my chest, but quickly withered. My shoulders slumped when I realized I have nothing with me. I drew in a long, deep sigh. I'll beg if I have to, just to have a few coins to make a call. I'm just glad I've memorized Isaias' number by heart.

.....