Yes, yes, I did it again. I started another story. SO SUE ME! *sticks out tongue*

I'm gong to be switching POV. I'll try and make it every other chapter, but if not I'll just state the change (like I do in LWW)

And don't give me crap about the Mafia name I picked (how about YOU try to pick a badass sounding Italian name when you're American!) Oh, and apparently it's the name of a pizza place (info from my dad) so I have no claim to whatever company that is.

…

I hate creating names.

*bawls in a corner*

SAKURA'S POV

"Why are you getting so angry! Nothing happened!" a male voice yells, his voice muffled by the walls of the room.

"Nothing happened!? Mario, you killed a man! Sakura was in the room right next door! What if she had walked over to see you!? What if she saw that!? I will not raise my daughter around this! She will have nothing to do with this family and neither will I!" a woman screams, her voice perfectly clear with her loudness, even through the muffling the walls make. The sound of a door slamming and loud footsteps fills the little girl's ears.

"Sakura, honey, grab your things, we're leaving. Sai is already waiting for you in the car." the woman says sweetly, her hand wiping at her eyes as water comes out of them, making her mascara run. Her other hand is carrying multiple duffel bags as she descends the stairs.

The little girl looks down at the picture she was drawing in front of her, the yellow crayon still in her hand. "But Mommy, I'm not done yet!" she pleads.

The picture was a simple one; one that fits the artistic capabilities of a five year old. It was a picture of four people, stick people that is, with a half-drawn yellow sun in the corner. Two of the stick people were tall, one with a purple dress on, one with a brown tux and bowtie, both of them having bright red hair scribbled at the tops of their heads. The woman's hair descends down toward her lower back, the man's being scribbled on in a disarray of color only to his neck. Two children are in the middle. One, a little girl, is in between the two adults. Her hair is a scribbled in pink down to her shoulders, with a simply drawn blue dress on her. The other child was a boy with black hair scribbled on, as well as black pants, shirt, and shoes. Each of the stick figures had a bright smile plastered on their face.

"You've got one minute." her mother sighs, adjusting the bags in her hand as she walks toward the girl, her high heeled shoes clicking against the tile as she went.

Vigorously, the girl starts coloring in the sun, and finishes extending the squiggles of rays toward the people. Once finished, she places the crayon back in its box, picks up the picture, and walks with the woman, her mother, toward the door leading to the outside world.

"Binaca! Bianca, wait!" the male voice calls, its owner running down the steps, chasing after the receding figures.

The little girl looks back toward the man, her hand clutching the skirt of her mother's dress tightly.

"Mommy? Why is Uncle sad?" she asks innocently.

The lady looks down at her daughter. "Because we're leaving." she answers quietly.

"Uncle!" the girl yells, letting go of her mother's skirt and running toward the man. "Don't be sad! We'll be back!" She hands the crayon drawing to him. "Here. I made it for you. I'll draw you a picture every day, so don't be sad." she says smiling, tilting her head to the side innocently, the way only a child can.

The man takes it, his eyes starting to water.

"Sakura! Get over here right now! Get away from him!" her mother yells.

The child runs back to her, her mother grabbing her hand protectively, not allowing the child the chance of letting go.

Turning, one last time toward her uncle, the girl waves. "Goodbye, Uncle! See you tomorrow!"

I bolt up in bed, sweating.

I sigh, letting my hand rest against the clammy skin of my forehead, the cold sweat dripping down my face. My breath is uneven, so I take a few deep gulps of air to relax.

It's been a long time since I had that dream. That nightmare…that memory.

There was nothing scary what happened in it, of course, but that wasn't why it always fills me with fear. It was the feeling I got every time I saw the scene play out. It was like I was only able to look strait ahead, to walk. It was like if I turned around one more time, I would die. There were two eyes on me, always watching, and they weren't going to let me go. Ever. I couldn't escape, no matter what I did or how far I ran.

"You're pathetic," I growl at myself, "getting so worked up over a dream."

Yet even though I say that, I still feel like I'm being watched…

A faint pressure catches my attention. It's at the foot of my bed. Something's there. Something's sitting on my bed. Another one, more pressure… Someone is on my bed.

My eyes widen.

Someone's in my room…someone….

Assassin?

Before I can even process what I'm doing, my hand snaps under my pillow, returning with a short yet sharp blade, aiming it's edge directly at the face of my intruder.

He stares at me, frozen in terror. Eyes wide, he watches me, waiting for me to hurt him.

"Scribbles!" I sigh in relief, feeling my body relax completely. I place the knife back under my pillow. "Come here baby. I'm sorry. Mommy thought you were one of the big bad Italian ogres come to bully me again." I tease, poking him on his small little nose. His face scrunches up as I do so, his bright blue eyes closing at the contact.

I pick up my fat little baby, his head immediately nestling against my neck, his whiskers tickling my sensitive skin.

"Can you ever forgive me?" I ask him, stroking his silky white fur gently.

"Nyan." is all he replies with, but I know I'm forgiven by the loud purr that soon follows the repeated stroking.

"Come on you handsome little stud." I coo, carrying him toward the kitchen. I set him on the counter, his throne overlooking the vast empire that is his domain. I pour him some cat food into his silver dish, pouring myself a bowl of cereal in an alike manner, and begin eating.

He looks down on the dish meant for him, then over at me. Eyeing his food, then mine, he decides to meow in protest.

I roll my eyes.

"You spoiled little fat-ass. Fine. Here." I shove one last spoonful of cereal into my mouth and place the 2/3 empty bowl in front of him. "But you owe me at least five minutes of playtime to burn off the calories." He starts lapping up the milk and purring, once again, before chomping down and swallowing the soggy cereal, completely ignoring the strings attached to his feast.

I leave him to eat while I go to the bathroom to get ready for school.

I find it hard to concentrate when all I can think about is going home…and boredom.

We've been covering Wednesday's test both yesterday and today. I don't see the point. The students don't want to talk about something that most likely killed them, or something they aced. I belong to the later, but I'm not bragging. I had just covered the material earlier at my old school before I moved.

"Alright then, class, you have the last ten minutes to yourself. I suggest doing the assignment written on the board if you didn't already do it yesterday. It will be due tomorrow at the beginning of class. I'll be checking it this time so I won't take any excuses." my teacher says tiredly.

I feel bad for her, in a way. It's the last class of the day and we get to go home in ten minutes. She, however, has to stay for at least an hour more for the students that missed Wednesday's test to be able to make it up.

One reason why I will never be a teacher.

Bored, I lean back in my chair, my legs extending forward, somewhat kicking the leg of the girl in front of me, but I don't care.

"Hey, Sasuke, I saw your dad on TV last night." a shaggy haired boy named Kiba says to Sasuke. "He's the one that busted that mafia drug smuggling thing, wasn't he?"

I let my eyes wander over to the two boys, half-heartedly paying attention.

"No. It wasn't the mafia. My father had originally been looking for them, but he found the mob instead. He simply used this chance to expose another of the world's underworld scum." Sasuke says calmly.

Underworld scum, huh? I guess that fits.

Kiba walks away from Sasuke after the comment, but I still watch him. He's flipping through the pages of a book, a thick one by the looks of it. Speaking only when need be, he is a "cool" type of guy. His eyes are a deep black, and his hair is a silky onyx, the opposite of Scribbles. He always keeps his calm, no matter what the conditions, but I suppose he hasn't been in a lot of conditions to begin with.

Son of a detective, he uses his inherited analytical skills to become the top student of his class, and basically the school too.

Perfect attendance, perfect grades, perfect behavior, no detentions…

He's the ideal student.

I sigh.

It must be nice being normal, even though being the son of a detective isn't as normal as most people. Still, it beats people trying to kill you at least twice a week, and a mafia boss Uncle sending you letters and cash and gifts that are most likely stolen, once a month.

I sigh again. I seem to be doing that more frequently now. I wonder why? This month has been much calmer than the others. Maybe I'm just depressed because I know it can't last.

The bell rings.

Students rush out the door, barely being able to hold their book-bags in their hurry. Soon there is only me left; me and the teacher.

"Have a nice weekend, Sakura. Try to stay out of trouble." she says politely.

I ignore her and head out the door.

What's with her anyway? I know she hates me. I'm the troublemaker of the class. Hell, I'm the troublemaker of the school. I always get into fights and beat people up, inside and outside of school. It's not my fault. One of the ways I've been able to survive is to keep people off my back. If I'm the strongest in the school I won't have to worry about anyone picking on me and invoking the wrath of Uncle. There's also the fact that not many people like to be friends with violent girls. With no friends there's no leverage for anyone to have over me. Two birds with one stone.

I fumble with my book-bag, switching which hand to hold it in until I get comfortable. That's the one thing I hate about Japanese schools. Book-bags. They're like irritating little briefcases. You can't position them right for anything. If I ever had to run for it I'd have to ditch the bag first, which is time consuming and a waste of perfectly good homework. Then I'd have to think up an excuse as to why I didn't do it.

I'm sorry, Teacher, but I was running for my life from a rival mafia family because I am an Italian mafia princess of the family Giovanni. Could I please have an extra day to work on it? I think in amusement.

Huh. I'd love to see her look on that one. Of course, she'd think I was lying and send me to detention or something.

I make it outside, I barely noticed I was walking in my thoughts. It's a clear day, and there's a small breeze blowing, just enough to sway my hair around my face.

I love this type of weather. It makes you believe that nothing can go wrong.

Looking around, I see all the other students as they leave.

I'm the odd ball out. Everyone here has black hair or very dark brown hair, though some bleached theirs so it's more blonde. Mine is such a light shade of red that it looks pink. I have pale skin unlike their darker tanned, and then there's my accent.

I was only in Italy for the first five years of my life, but I was a very talkative child. I speak fluent Japanese, but there's still a slight accent, and people notice it. When I first came here everyone was asking me where I came from. They couldn't quite place it. I never told them of course, and I ended up punching a girl in the face because she wouldn't leave me alone. That's when they started knowing I was extremely different.

Since then I've been alone.

People don't talk to me unless necessary. No one but Sai, but he's different. He was hired to be my best friend. He has to talk to me. Sure, I guess we're close. We've been "friends" ever since I was five. It's a strange type of relationship. When someone is bought to be your friend…it just doesn't feel the same.

Not that I'm complaining. I don't want or need friends.

But I can't just send him away. I'm his job. I can't fire him for doing nothing wrong. I don't feel like getting into unnecessary arguments either.

"Tch." I growl.

He's going to pretend to be mad at me. I didn't take my cell phone with me this morning. If he pretends he wanted to pick me up from school he's going to demand to know why I didn't call him.

The truth is, I never bring my cell phone. Anywhere. It's just a hindrance. If I'm ever running during an attack and it goes off, I could be done for. If I'm ever taken captive or don't comply to their demands, all they would need is my cell phone to see the list of numbers and names. I don't have that many "friends" listed, but still. I don't like involving others.

I give one last sigh, this time it's one for the hell of it, and start making my solitary way home.

Cookies to those who R&R

Oh, and Scribbles isn't a figment of my imagination, he is based after my fat-ass Maine-Coon cat. A fat, giant, BLOB of lovable fur. Though mine is gray with green eyes… Still… THEY'RE SO ADORABLE! ^_^