Stealing The Mafias Heart

AMARA'S POV

"Thank you so much for buying the house" I smiled "You can come by Thursday, we just need two days to move out".

Woah! That was a great lie!

The look on this man's face wasn't encouraging at first and I thought he would want his refund immediately. Just kidding, I already gave him his forged receipt and document of the house.

With a wide smile on my face, I watch the man walk away in happiness. Poor thing, I am about to ruin his surprise gift to his girlfriend that would not accept his proposal until he buys his house.

"They will learn soon" I shrugged.

This is the third person I am selling my late parents' house to today and I can't help but feel somehow excited. Call me a thief because it's my nature and I can't change it even if I want. Not when stealing has become my only hope of surviving since I was fifteen.

Let's start from the beginning, the very beginning.

My name is Amara Zino, I am an orphan who lives with my only relative Madame Flavia. I lost my parents at the age of fifteen when they went on a 'parents bonding trip' and never returned alive. Their valuables were all missing same as some useful parts of their bodies their fingers and a significant bullet wound in between their heads.

They had lots of gun wounds on their chest, head, and neck, and one on my mother's left breast. Half of my father's head had been blown off and I puked on his body when I saw it. Funny enough, the picture of my father's brain and the hole in my mother's breast never left my head for once.

Since then, My aunt moved in to take care of me but what was I except? She arrived with her always-drunk boyfriend, Massimo, and her extremely spoilt 12 years old son, Bruno. Living with them for nine and a half years was hell, especially when I had to share my room in the basement with rats.

Did I forget to tell you that the best part of selling my late parents' house is because Madame Flavia still lives here with her family?

Yes, they still live here and I hope they will adapt to living on the street soon because, in two days, the three new landlords will come for their house. One will get it, the poor girl I gave the real documents to yesterday. I couldn't help but pity her because she is like me, 25, maltreated and homeless.

Although she paid 50 Euro which I used in getting the cross bag I am having across my chest right now.

Walking into the house to take my laptop, I make sure not to make a sound at all.

Getting into the basement, I put on my favorite sweater and very tight jeans trousers. Stuffing the laptop inside my stomach and waistband helped me sneak out of my only useful property until I got to the front door.

"Sneaking out again?".

Dang, it!