Chapter 1- Return of the past

MIRA

I jolted awake at the sound of a sudden loud bang that shattered the silence. Gasping for air, I blinked twice and sat up in my bed, then my hands reached for my son Rocco, who stirred beside me.

"Mummy?" he said sleepily. "What was that?"

"Nothing, honey," I lied, trying to keep my voice steady. "Just close your eyes and go back to sleep. Remember you have school tomorrow."

He nodded and snuggled against me.

Gently, I stroked his hair, trying to calm my own racing thoughts, but as I listened to the sounds from outside my apartment, my anxiety spiked.

Deep down, I knew that something was not right, and it wasn’t one of the nightmares I usually had. What I heard was too loud, too real to ignore.

The wind sighed, a few night birds chirped, and…

"McGregor's stupid cat," I muttered to myself, hissing loudly.

My eyes were closing gradually before I heard another loud bang, which was followed by a sudden opening of my door.

I froze, feeling my heart slam in my chest, as three masked men stormed in.

Clutching Rocco tightly with one arm, I reached for my phone with the other.

"Drop it!" the first man snarled.

His two vicious eyes had seen my hand through the slits in his mask.

"Drop it!" he ordered again. "You deaf, bitch? I said, Drop it!” He yelled, flashing a warning glare at me.

I hesitated for a minute before releasing the phone.

As it fell on the mattress, quick as a flash, one of the men grabbed it and tossed it into a dark corner of the room.

Frozen to a spot, my arms tightened around Rocco, who was still snoring softly.

“Help!” I screamed, feeling a sharp sting as tears gathered at the corners of my eyes. I couldn’t think straight, my mind was reeling with so many thoughts. It was odd for this to happen in the street where I lived so who are these people?

"Don't even think about it," one of them said, aiming a gun I hadn't noticed he was holding. "One squeak and I'll pump a bullet into your leg."

I felt a chill crawl up my spine when I saw that the other men were also holding guns. Before I could call out for help, I would be dead and Rocco would be too.

It was a cold night, but I felt sweat trickle down my forehead.

"Please," I sobbed. "Please, don' t hurt me. I don't have any money-"

"Broke bitch!" interrupted another who had grabbed my purse and poured its contents out on the floor.

"I don't have any money, but you can take all I have." I pointed a shaky finger at the dressing table. "I have some good jewellery there. It's not much, but it's something. Please, just take it and leave."

One of the men laughed, lunged forward, and slammed his hand on my face.

The pain was instant and blinding. The force of the slap sent my head rocking backwards to hit Rocco, who woke up, rubbing his head.

“Mum?” He shouted, flickering his eyes open at that instant.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I whispered as my lips quivered.

"Shut up," growled the man who had hit me. Curling his fist again for another one, he said, "You think we're cheap criminals after your sorry excuse of earrings and shit? Say that one more time and I'll knock your bloody teeth out."

Tears leaked out of the corner of one eye as the other felt like it was already swelling shut.

"What’s going on?" Rocco asked, rubbing his eyes. "Mu-"

He suddenly stopped when he saw the robbers for the first time. I quickly put my hand over his mouth to prevent him from screaming.

"It's okay," I said to him. "It's going to be okay. Mummy will keep you safe." I said as my little boy buried his face in my nightdress.

"Safe!" one said with a scoff.

I was almost panicking myself, but for his sake, I had to figure a way out of this situation. I took in a deep, shaky breath. Then another.

If these men didn't want money, what did they want?

"Tell me what you want. If I have it, I'll—I'll give it to you," I stammered.

"Well, first of all we want your brat."

The first man nodded to the others. In a twinkle of an eye, he grabbed my son out of my arms.

"No!" I screamed.

I rose to grab him, but at the sight of the pistol pressed against Rocco's blonde curls, I stopped.

Rocco's deep blue eyes were wide with shock. His mouth was wide open, but he wasn't making a sound.

"Give me back my baby. Please," I cried, falling to my knees. "Take me but leave him alone. He's just a little boy."

"We'll give him back eventually, but that depends on you," said the man with the gun.

He pressed the barrel more firmly against my son's head, and for seconds, I stopped breathing.

"You ready to cooperate?" said the man closest to me. "Nod if you are."

My head immediately bobbed up and down.

"Good girl," he crowed. "Now get up. Walk slowly to the sitting room. No sudden movements. Don't try anything funny, or your son gets a shot." He chuckled at his own sick joke. "Do you like shots, little boy?"

He had turned to Rocco, whose terrified eyes were swimming in tears.

"N-no sir," Rocco replied in a breaking voice.

"Good. Now let's move."

A gun was jammed on my nape as we slowly marched into the living room. My steps slowed, then I was pushed.

As I stumbled, my knees collided with the cold hard floor, and I landed at the feet of another man. Lifting my gaze, time stopped.

My breaths came in short, sharp pants as I stared into the face of Lucius Moretti, the bloodhound himself, the man I hated the most, the man I had escaped from five years ago and had hoped never to see again.