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Battle for Her Love

Frank lay on a recliner in his small and scantily furnished living room, fiddling with the screen of his Android device. He was going through his gallery which contained over one thousand pictures, with more than half of them belonging to Jenna. He had created several albums for her pictures, about ten categories which reflected certain physical backgrounds and which evoked different but pleasant memories. He was missing her now. He hadn't seen her in the last 24 hours and it seemed as though it was the longest and most tedious 24 hours of his life. Frank winced as he recalled how strangely she sounded on the phone yesterday, how edgy and laden with tension her voice was.

"Something came up and I won't be able to come to your place today," she had told him yesterday on the phone while Frank was working on the small farm he inherited from his late mother.

"Is there a problem?" he had asked her, not liking the sinking feeling that sapped at the base of his belly.

"I'll let you know about it when I come to your house tomorrow. Please don't come to my dad's house looking for me. You know how crazy my dad is."

Frank had been worried since then. He kept wondering what could have happened. It would be the first time in a really long time that he wouldn't be seeing Jenna in 24 hours. He had tried to call her many times after they spoke but her phone was switched off.

Swiping through hundreds of Jenna's pictures in his gallery now, Fank allowed his mind to roam. He would hold down a picture of her face and zoom in with his thumb and index finger until her lips covered almost half of the screen, then he would close his eyes and slowly bring his lips to the screen. Realizing the awkward effeminacy of what he was doing, he put the phone away and shook his head, embarrassed by his own neediness, his own insecurity. He realized he had become so dependent on her emotionally. It would seem she had been woven into the very fabric of his existence and it was now impossible to imagine a life without her. He had never even entertained that thought for fear that it would make him lose his mind. Jenna was the only person in the whole world that he loved with all his heart and soul, the only person he had loved this way. Since he met her a year ago at friend's birthday party in a farmhouse, she had been the only thing in the world that really mattered to him.

He stretched his right hand and took the phone where he had tossed it. The image of Jenna's beautiful face stared at him.

"I love you, sweetheart," he whispered to the screen, inwardly accepting his neediness and embracing his insecurity. Yes, he needed her. He had become so used to her. Every single day his love for her had increased by leaps and bounds, blossoming upwards and taking root downwards. She was the love of his life and it wasn't a bad thing if he felt incredibly attached to her. These thoughts made him feel a little better, and he smiled, knowing that he would see her today and let her know he was working hard to earn enough money so they could get married and live a happy, comfortable life.

But he couldn't quite silence the nagging premonition at the base of his gut. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

He dialled her number and the response was still the same: her phone was switched off. He was about to damn the consequences and go see her at her dad's house when he heard a gentle knock on the door. He didn't have to ask who it was; he knew how she knocked.

He dashed towards the door and opened it. What he saw made his face turn ashen with dismay. It wasn't Jenna. Two dangerous looking men wearing cowboy hats and khaki pants and large, black boots stood behind the door, peering into his eyes. One of them wasted no time before speaking.

"I take it you're Frank Richardson?"

Frank hesitated for a moment, sizing the men up, and then croaked a yes.

"It was pretty hard locating this place," said the man, looking at his partner, "I'll be damned if I said I knew that there's such a godforsaken place in Silverton, and boy, have I spent over two decades here!"

His partner gave a long, dry, mirthless laugh. It was too long for a laugh that had no enjoyment in it.

"Who are you guys and what do you want?" said Frank curtly, his eyes moving from one man to the next. He might be poor but definitely not a coward.

The man who laughed was the one who spoke next.

"We've come with a warning from Leonardo Marco Rossi," the man said calmly but matter-of-factly. "The Don has designs on your girl. I reckon it would be wise if you backed down. Don't act smart and don't try to be a hero. The Don is a noble man and has promised to compensate you for your cooperation. Of course he doesn't have to offer you a goddamn penny but he is a considerate and generous man. The money will help you buy more food to keep your poor heart pumping."

"What the fucking hell are you clowns talking about?" said Frank, losing his marbles. Yes, he knew Leonardo Marco Rossi, but how could anyone think of taking his lover from him? He would rather die than let that happen.

Frank didn't see the punch coming. It was swift, like whirlwind, landing on the side of his face before his reflexes could help him dodge it.

He fell down backwards on the hard cement floor of the living room, totally dazed. The men marched in and shut the door behind them.

"We've killed men for less," one of them said, "don't make the mistake of raising your voice again."

That was the last thing Frank heard before something hit him in the face again and he passed out. When he opened his eyes, he caught the blurry image of an old woman named Lydia applying herbs on his face wounds, and at the other side of the room sat Jenna, sobbing inconsolably.

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