Claimed By A Mafia

"Mom, I'm leaving; please close the door." Rosalia Moore's voice echoes through the cozy hallway of their modest two-story house in Washington DC.

With a soft click, she steps outside, greeted instantly by the true essence of spring. The morning sun, still gentle in its ascent, casts a warm glow over the neighborhood. Rosalia tilts her head upwards, gauging the brightness of the day by the clarity of the sky. It's a picture-perfect Sunday morning, the kind that promises renewal and possibility.

Since the restaurant where she works as a waitress is closed today, Rosalia decides to start her day with a trip to the supermarket. Her mother, Melissa, has a list of essential items needed for their home and her online cosmetic shop. As she walks briskly through the bustling streets, Rosalia can't help but notice how the city seems to come alive with the arrival of spring. Pedestrians stroll leisurely, their faces turned upward to soak in the mild warmth of the sun.

"Excuse me," a passerby says, catching Rosalia's attention. Rosalia gasp in terror and jump a hand away from her. After having a clear look, she finally lulls herself. She is a woman around fifty years old.

"I'm sorry I've frightened you." As she apologizes, Rosalia smiles and says, "No problem. Do you need anything?"

"Do you know where the farmer's market is?"

Rosalia smiles warmly. "Yes, it's just two blocks down that way," she points. "You can't miss it."

"Thanks a lot!" The woman hurries off, and Rosalia continues on her way, her steps light and purposeful.

When she left, Rosalia chuckled sadly. "Look, how miserable you've made me! My courage, my dignity and hope, everything is gone."

Rosalia remembered her life before another takes over her life. Still, she tries to smile and pretend to be happy while her soul always kept cursing her. She is being watched, her movement is being recorded and still she pretends to be happy.

The cherry blossoms delicately adorn the streets with their pale pink and white petals, swaying gently in the breeze. She reaches out, attempting to catch a few in her hand, but they dance away, elusive and ethereal. In the turmoil of her life, only nature is something that provides her peace.

The thought of her father briefly crosses her mind. Ten years have passed since his sudden departure, leaving behind a void that still echoes in their lives. Robert Moore, once a prominent CEO in the city, was their pillar of strength. His absence has forced Melissa and Rosalia to rebuild their lives together in their small but beloved home.

Entering the supermarket, Rosalia grabs a cart and navigates through the aisles with practiced ease. Her mind wanders as she picks out fresh vegetables, fruits, and other groceries. She pauses at the beauty products section, carefully selecting new items for her mother's shop. The responsibility of helping out has grown familiar over the years, and she takes pride in supporting her mother's business endeavors.

At the checkout counter, Rosalia unloads her items onto the conveyor belt. The cashier, a friendly older man with a jovial smile, strikes up a conversation. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Rosalia replies warmly. "Feels like spring has finally settled in."

"Sure does," the cashier nods, scanning each item efficiently. "That'll be $48.76."

Rosalia pays with a cheerful demeanor, thanking the cashier before collecting her bags. As she exits the store, she notices a familiar face approaching.

"Rosalia!" It's Mrs. Thompson, their neighbor from two houses down. "How are you, dear?"

"I'm great, Mrs. Thompson," Rosalia replies, genuinely pleased to see the elderly woman. "Just finished grocery shopping. How about you?"

"Oh, you know," Mrs. Thompson chuckles, "Just out for my morning walk. Your mother must be so proud of you, helping her out like this."

Rosalia blushes slightly. "I try my best. Please say hello to Mr. Thompson for me."

"I will, dear. Take care now!" Mrs. Thompson waves as Rosalia continues on her way home.

The walk back is slower, allowing Rosalia to take in the sights and sounds of the neighborhood. Children play in the park, their laughter ringing through the air. She can't help but smile, reminiscing about her own carefree days spent in that very park. How peaceful the world is but her heart clenched seeing someone hiding his head behind the walls after she catches him staring at her intently. She feels like crying but really can't because her mother will catch her.

Entering their house once more, Rosalia finds her mother in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for lunch. Melissa looks up, her face lighting up with a smile at the sight of her daughter.

"Did you get everything we needed?" Melissa asks, setting down her knife.

"Yes, Mom," Rosalia replies, setting the bags on the counter. "And I got some new products for the shop too."

Melissa's eyes sparkle with pride and gratitude. "Thank you, sweetheart. You're a huge help."

"Why don't you relax for a bit, Mom?" Rosalia suggests. "I'll help with lunch."

Melissa nods gratefully, and Rosalia sets about unpacking the groceries. The familiar routine brings a sense of comfort, of a life built on love and resilience. As they prepare lunch together, they chat about the upcoming week and their plans.

"I think my daughter needs to take rest." Melissa looks at Rosalia and noticed the sadness in her eyes.

"Are you okay?" She asks holding her hand firmly. Rosalia wants to cry and tell her everything but she has no way to share her sadness with her mother.

Later that afternoon, after a satisfying meal and a brief rest, Rosalia sits in her room, reflecting on the day. Despite the lingering sadness from her father's absence and the ongoing war, she feels warm in this cozy house. The beauty of spring, the warmth of community, and the love within their home fill her heart with gratitude.

As the sun begins to set, casting a golden hue over the neighborhood, Rosalia leans back against her pillows. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, but for now, she allows herself to savor the peaceful moment, surrounded by the whispers of spring and the love of her mother.