CHAPTER 1 Kidnapped
Zita's POV
I hate coffee.
I think of this as I pour what should be the hundredth cup of "black no sugar" for a customer with oddly big eyes and a rancid breath.
My lips go against me and I smile. It feels forced; I truly hope I don't look like a creep.
"There you go; all black, no sugar. Would you like something else to go with that?"
The digital clock on the counter reads 11:25 PM. My shift ended more than an hour ago.
I doubt that damned manager will pay me overtime. The fucker.
The customer takes the coffee from my hands and purposely grazes his fingers against mine.
"How about your number, eh, girlie?"
My eyes dart to the clock again and then back to his sunburned face. I assume it's sunburn- could also be a serious case of rash.
"Uhm…I think I'll pass. Have a good evening though!"
There's a frowning lady behind him and I don't think she appreciates being held up. She's already giving me quite a nasty expression.
"Can we get a move on? Some of us have places to be, you know?"
Who even drinks coffee at night?
The man in front of me sips his coffee and then moves out of the line to let the woman order. Behind her are three men in black suits and shades. Strange folks.
The lady makes her order and she for sure is snarky about it. I have no strength left and I can't be bothered to argue.
So when she made me change the cup size for the third time, saying something about, "Oh, I didn't order a large. A medium. I need it cold"- I throw in the towel.
"Veronica…I'm going to leave now. You can uh, take over. It's your shift anyway."
Veronica- the manager's stupid daughter- has been sitting behind me all along, next to the coffee machine.
She looks up from her phone; and pops a bubblegum. "Dude. That's not my problem."
I sigh and turn back to the lady. "Miss, here's your coffee. Customers are waiting, please."
"I did not ask for caramel. I want it with reduced sugar. Reduced!"
Fuck it.
Out of nowhere, I let out a short shriek and yank my work apron off my body. "Fuck you and your stupid caramel. I'm out of here!"
I rush out the back, ignoring Veronica's threats of getting me fired. She could do her worst- I was done anyway.
Truth is, it isn't the overtime that's frustrating me. It's something else.
Something that's been nagging me the entire day.
My father.
He doesn't particularly stay home; sometimes I go months without seeing him. But the times I do see him, he's either a "recovering drunk" with new ideas on how to make our family better- or he's neck deep in debt and needs to hide.
My poor mother was suffering from kidney issues having worked her entire life to keep the loan sharks away.
Now father, somewhere along the line, had put that responsibility on me.
Sometimes, I blame my mother for loving such a horrible creature. Even if I can understand her- loving him as well.
He was not a bad man; just a man who lost his job and probably went mad.
But now- he's gone too far.
I'm struggling to light up a cigarette stick as I remember his words in the morning before I left for work.
"Fifteen million dollars, kid. I've gone and trashed it all this time…"
He had been in tears, smelling of strong alcohol and vomit.
"Please save your father…they'll kill me. They kill us all."
But how am I supposed to save him? With the meager salary I earn from the cafe? Even if I worked a total of twenty-four hours for the entire year, I'd never be able to make that amount.
Not to talk of my mother that was slowly dying…
The cigarette finally takes fire and I drag my coat tightly against my skin. It's fall and the city of Milan is freezing already.
I walk briskly, following the alleyways to avoid the night commute.
A mistake.
Not too long into my walk, I notice the footsteps of someone following me. At first, I thought of it as nothing; folks that wanted a shortcut followed here. Especially if your home was close by like mine.
But then, every turn I make, this person makes.
My heart sinks and I begin to walk faster.
I take a drag of my blunt, feeling the nicotine fuel my fear.
The footsteps don't belong to one person. I can hear the click-clacks of more than one pair of boots.
I'm fucked!
I take a wrong turn, hoping to lose whoever is on my trail. I have not been to these parts before so I try to take note of everything.
I scare a cat, trip and fall into a puddle of mystery liquid, and dodge a flying cockroach.
But all for nothing.
As I try to take a turn that I think will lead me back on track, a huge palm reaches out and grabs my neck.
I don't get to see the person's face; a blindfold is put over me immediately.
"Behave yourself, bambina. Just walk forward," a man's hoarse voice says to me.
My cigar stick drops to the ground and I shiver. "P-please, please…I don't have any money. You c-can take my phone or-"
"Hush, girl. Don't make another sound."
I find that hard to do as I breathe loudly and uncontrollably. Tears of frustration are streaming down my face; my day has been quite the shit storm.
The man converses in Italian with two other men, saying something about "making sure this was the girl."
One confirms and I'm pushed to continue walking.
I can tell we're out of the alley when I start to hear the sounds of the bustling city.
This is my chance.
I open my mouth to scream but the men are smart. Before I can get out a single vowel, a cloth is held over my mouth and nose.
I struggle violently, kicking my feet and trying to wiggle my arms from their tight grip. I'm holding my breath but it doesn't last long.
I take a big sniff of the chemical; my eyes burn behind the blindfold and I cry into the cloth.
Suddenly, I'm losing my balance and the world is going silent.
"Sleep now, girl," is the last thing I hear before I pass out.
I wake up to the feeling of ice cold water splashed against my skin. My mouth is gagged; I still can't see a thing.
I try to wiggle but I'm tied to a chair.
"Mmmhmm mhmmnuhm!!" It's no use, the gag doesn't let me say a word.
My heart is racing and I can feel goosebumps form on my skin. Not from the cold water; but from growing fear.
Where am I?
As if to answer my question, I hear a voice. There's no personality to it as the owner is using a mask that makes it sound warped.
I can tell it's a man though. Earlier, the goons that caught me had referred to their superior as "he".
"Miss Antonio, is it?"
I hear the scraping sound of a chair and the clacking sound of dress shoes.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. Even though the circumstances are…well, slightly inconvenient."
I hear a click- a gun.
"Now let's talk business, shall we?"