1. The encounter

It was just another bubbling night in the streets of Naples, Italy. It had poured down heavily earlier in the day. But now all that remained as evidence of the rain that had hammered down were the wet grounds, and a cool, calm breeze that stretched to every deep and dark corner of the streets.

Yellow street lights, and blinding lights from distinct buildings gave the night a rather dazzling appeal. Tourists, giggling and pointing as they walked the brilliant streets. Vendors chanting and singing just to advertise their goods. Street musicians gladly entertaining the tourists with their organettos and mandolins.

Lovers making out in a dark corner, foolish move, Marco Marchetti thought as he walked past the dark alley. The city was beautiful and bustling, but it was also filled with thieves and criminals that were worse than thieves. He knew, he was one of them.

The dignified ones though, the ones who didn't see themselves as criminals per se. It was the twisted law that saw and labeled them as criminals. The mafia. It wasn't a crime, it was a business, a business that has been smoothly run by the current Mafia King. A man whom Marco respected and honored. The man who was the main reason why Marco was out in the streets tonight.

Marco Marchetti has worked as the right hand man for Zeno Silvestri for years, popular businessman to all who knew him on the television screen, and Mafia King in the underworld. Zeno was young, just about to hit thirty. And young hot blood would sometimes need the feel of the hot blood of the opposite sex.

That was Marco's reason for being out tonight. He needed to find a perfect willing woman to please his friend and boss. He could easily place a call, and a willing woman would be ready in the next second, but something about the night made him want to explore.

Something about the night made him want to go in search of a woman for his boss personally. And now walking into a bar, loud music playing, he ordered a shot of whiskey while he waited, patiently, for the perfect woman to walk in.

There was always a willing woman around somewhere. But there were standards though. Standards that his boss Zeno Silvestri had set. Standards that fit the description of the man's dead wife, Dan-a Silvestri.

Any woman Marco was to bring had to be a blonde—long blonde. Tall, slender but perfectly curved in the right places. A blazing beauty was what she had to be.

And there were lots of women that fit that description, just like the very one who was walking close to him now.

"Hey there, you're all alone in this bar?" Her voice was soft and smooth, almost unnatural. She was dressed in a flashy powder-blue sequined gown that hugged her figure tight and scarcely covered any important parts of her body.

Ah, yes, her body. Her long straight legs, without a single hair on it. They were as smooth as silk, he noted. Her breasts rose high over the cowled neck of her_dress.

His gaze shifted to her face, heart-shaped, with thin lips as red as burning embers. There was a cut there, he noted, someone had struck her just before she came here. His eyes drifted to her neck, her blonde hair that rested on her shoulders did a fine job in covering it_the bruise. He saw it, like someone had tried to strangle her.

Her cheeks were sunken, she seemed to be starved, like she had been deprived of the goodness of a meal for two whole days.

But still, her beauty was arresting. She seemed like a beautiful mess. And he could only begin to wonder what kind of life she led.

"Are you done with checking me out, can I sit down at least?" she asks with a smile. Fake, plastic, he could tell. Her smile wasn't real.

"From what I see, you're also here alone" he simply states, offering her the seat that was next to him, and she climbs atop it. He signals the bartender to pour her something.

"I'm always alone, I've been alone for as long as I can remember." She breathed, and he could see the deep sadness in those eyes. Were they blue, or green, or blue-green? He wondered, but his pick was the last one. Her eyes were blue-green. Like the ocean could be blue or green, depending on when and where you're looking from.

She collects the drink from the bartender, and smiles a thank you. "But you don't look like a guy who is ever alone. I mean with this look and body features, you should have women crawling all over you." She complimented.

He raised a brow in acknowledgment, she was damn right, there were lots and lots of women dying to have him, but…

"I could say the same for you too, you say you've always been alone, but I find that hard to believe. You strike me as someone who has men around her, like bees around honey." He raises his glass to her and takes a sip of his drink.

Her dark long lashes fell over her eyes, a smile played on her lips as he said those words. He could sense a decade of pain and sorrow coming from that little smile. It wasn't fake, it wasn't plastic, it was pain.

There were lots of women, but he didn't find any of them fascinating.

"You said bees around honey," her voice lowered, "Honey is sweet. I thought you were gonna use an expression like, "flies around a pig sty." Her facial expression darkened, like she recalled something she didn't want to. "That's what most of them say." she whispers underneath her breath, but he heard it, and it made him wonder more what kind of life she lived.

Even now, he could see more bruises on her body. The dim light of the bar tried to hide it, but she had black-blue bruises on her arms and thighs, she was covered in bruises. She—

"You miserable puttana!" A malicious voice sounded behind her. In the blink of an eye, huge dark hands landed on her head as she was viciously yanked from the stool and hauled harshly to the ground, followed by a gut-wrenching kick to the stomach that caused her to curl and cry out in pain.

"The boss told you to work and get him his money, and instead, you sit down here having a good drink, and chatting away during working hours?"

Everything happened so fast that Marco didn't even realize it until she had another right foot to the stomach, and she let out another painful cry. The huge fat man who was probably three times the size of the lady, the three infelici porci schifosi, that stood with him, all four of them, against one woman who looked slightly malnourished.

"Can't you see I'm trying to get another client you foolish oaf!" She cried out as another kick landed hard on her stomach again!

"You're trying to get another customer and you're in here?? Shouldn't you be out on the streets you miserable wench!"

Maybe it was pity, maybe sympathy, or just humane empathy, but Marco felt something stirring up inside of him, something burning deep down within him, and that burning was climbing its way up to his chest, and then into his fist.

Mea braced herself for another kick, lifting both her arms to cover her face as the fat man lifted his leg to strike her again with much vehemence.

But it never came. Not the kick, not a slap, not a punch. All she heard was the sound of something being smashed into the wall. What followed was the harsh hissing and furious cry of the fat man.

Marco jerked up the fat man once again and this time pinned his fat head unto the counter.

"You…" the other three men leapt forward, but with a swift flick of his wrist, a pistol was in his left hand, and he precisely and sharply swung a shot at their legs, causing all of them to yelp and cry out in pain as they fell back to the floor next to the lady.

The bartender hissed some words in Italian, complaining about the bloody state of his tiles and the broken glasses that laid on his counter.

"Now that's not how you treat a lovely Signorina," he shoved the pistol into the fat man's mouth and pressed him down with his elbow, causing the man to tremble and choke, balls of sweat trailing down his head and neck, soaking up his shirt.

The lady he realized was staggering to her feet, moving away from the men groaning in pain. "Please, let him go." Those were the first words that she spoke.

Not a thank you, not a salute, not a single show of gratitude. Instead, he saw fear in her dilating eyes.

"Please let him go! You don't know what you're doing, you're not helping me, you'll only get me in more trouble!" She held onto his arm and begged.

"Just let them go already!" she yelled. Tears were soon welling up in her eyes. "It's not like you can fight them all the time! After you're gone, I'm just going to suffer, so please just let them go now. You don't know who these people are. I owe them money, it's my fault so I deserve every beating I get. You're only making things worse for me, so please stop!"

She was begging him to stop, but it only fueled his rage, it only made him want to put a hole through the back of the man's skull even more.

He couldn't explain why, but he felt some kind of ache for her, for her pitiful life. He hadn't even known her for a complete hour, and yet he felt like pulling her close to his chest, while he stroked her hair and told her she was safe, safe from her fears, safe within his embrace.

With a hard gaze, he pulls the pistol out of the man's mouth, and she lets go of his arm. "How much?" he suddenly asks. But didn't get a reply, for they were all confused as to what he was asking for, so he pulled the man by the collar again and hit him hard on the counter again.

"Didn't you f*cking hear me? I said how much does she f*cking owe you?" he pointed the gun to his head again, and the man trembled all over again…

"A_A h_hundred and fifty thousand" the man managed to mumble the words.

"What was that?" Marco asks again, his anger growing even stronger. "A f*cking hundred and fifty? You beat up a woman this much for a freaking hundred and fifty thousand?" he instantly smashed the butt of the gun into the man's head. Not noticing the woman who stood trembling beside him in horror as he viciously smashed the man's head continuously.

He really couldn't control it. Who the hell beats up a woman this badly for a hundred and fifty thousand Euros? He just couldn't understand this. And to think that this kind of scum was running wild on his streets.

Right there, right then, he shoved the man to the side, withdrew his phone from his pocket, handed it to the man and told him to punch in his account details.

"W_W_What are you doing?" the lady quavering behind him inquired. But he didn't turn to her, neither was he ready to give her a reply.

He collected the phone back from the man and…

"I said, what are you doing?" she asked again, but he still wasn't giving her a response.

"Now you take your filthy fat self and walk out of here, and never come anywhere near her again. I just transferred three hundred thousand to you. From now on, she no longer belongs to you." He states, the warning and danger was clear in his voice.

"Because you just sold her to me."