AN: I'm sure if anybody that is actually in some sort of mafia family ever reads this they would be rolling their eyes at how much I've probably gotten wrong, but I'll try my best. That being said if you are knowledgeable in this way of life and I get something wrong, feel free to correct me. But keep in mind somethings I may have changed on purpose.
I own nothing. Please review.
I witnessed my first killing at seven years old.
Papa had spent the entire day playing hide-and-seek with me and my twin brother Emmett, a rare occurrence considering how busy he always was. Mama was at the spa or else she would have played with us, too.
In the beginning of the game, we hid in obvious places we, or at least I, knew we could be easily seen; under the dining room table, behind the tapestry with our little feet poking out, under lamp shades. Then I gradually worked my way to more inconspicuous places; under a bed, in a bathroom, in an oven, while Emmett kept on with closets he couldn't quite fit into and underneath couch cushions that kept falling off him. Emmetts' continuously flawed formula ended the game for him quickly each and every time, not that my goofy brother minded, while I became harder and harder to find. It became more than a game to me. At one point it took Papa almost 45 minutes to find me in the attic behind forgotten boxes.
"Well, well, you are a sly little girl aren't you, Beautiful?" Papa smiled hugging me to his chest, squeezing into the cramped attic with me.
His familiar scent of tobacco and mint, always made me feel cozy and safe. Emmett and I look just like Papa, curly, jet black hair, hazel eyes and ghostly pale complexions. Mama looks like sunshine, with golden blonde hair, baby blue eyes and pretty, tanned skin. Pure sunshine. I love papa, but I'd always wished I looked like mama.
"Your beginning hiding places were just for show, weren't they?" He hugged me tighter. "Warm-ups; leading me astray mentally, so when you really started hiding, I'd only think to find you in superficial places."
I just giggled and played with the gold chains around his neck, not quite understanding what 'superficial' meant, but knowing he caught on to my plan.
"Weren't you bored up here?" He questioned, looking around the dark, cluttered room.
"No, I was on a mission." I giggled again, happy that he seemed to be impressed with me.
"But you seem to become bored with your dance lessons quite easily, and they are, in a way, a mission."
That made me pout up at Papa.
"Dancing is worthless, Emmy gets to be with you, learning the business, while I'm stuck doing Ballet."
Papa sighed deeply.
"The Business is no place for a girl." I rolled my eyes, having heard this a hundred times from everyone in the family. But Mama told me there have been women with large rolls in 'The Business' before, so I think I'm just being lied to.
"It's not fair."
He just stared at me, not saying anything, his expression unreadable.
"Come now, beautiful, let's find you something to eat, you must be famished from working your mission." I knew he just wanted to change the subject, he always did, but I let him, 'cause I was starving.
Later that night, while we were watching a movie, Papa received a call; he spoke in hushed tones, anger marring his handsome face. It was a look Emmett and I knew all too well. Someone had to be dealt with.
When Papa was done talking he walked over to us and sat down, hugging us to him, again. Emmett started crying.
"Why are you sobbing, son?"
Emmett just hugged Papa harder, crying harder too.
"I don't want to see-" Emmet began, but Papa didn't let him finish.
"You are a man, son, a man of the mafia, you will do your duty." He never spoke cruelly but his words were inarguably final.
I huffed, completely infuriated.
"Whatever it is, I bet it's better than stupid dancing."
Emmett cried harder and Papa gave me the same look from the attic.
The doorbell rang loud and clear through our large mansion.
"Emmett, go wash your face and make yourself presentable, now." Papa ordered.
He ran off, not daring to argue, no matter how miserable he felt.
Stupid boy, at least he doesn't have to do ballet. It's so unimportant and just . . . dumb.
"Beautiful?" Papa whispered, the doorbell sounding throughout the house again.
I looked up with angry eyes, jealous of my brother. Why couldn't I have been born a boy? Being a girl sucks, you can't do anything.
"You like to sneak around the house, don't you?" He asked, out of nowhere.
What a weird question; An incriminatingly, weird question.
I kept silent and looked away, not wanting to get in trouble for being a stupid unladylike snoop.
Papa surprised me by laughing.
"You especially like to sneak around in my office, don't you?"
I looked away again. Does he see everything I do? I hope he doesn't know about kitty.
"Speak up, I want an answer this time, Isabella." Uh oh, real name, time to be serious, "I assume you've found the walk way behind the large oil painting of your mother?"
"Yes, sir." I answered, looking up at him with my best, 'I'm sorry, daddy expression.' Jutted lip, big, innocent eyes; my best pitiful look.
He smiled at me and kissed my forehead.
"Go hide behind the painting, now."
I didn't think twice, just followed his orders. I ran as fast as I could, my little legs nothing to write home about, but I got to Papas' office, and pushed on the ordinary looking oil painting of my pretty mother. It popped open and I stepped in the man-made inner pathway and closed the secret door.
Usually in the movies there's a sliding panel you pull at the eyes of the painting, so you can look through. Papa thought it was too cliche and completely obvious so instead he camouflaged the whole painting on this side to look more like a see through partition. Like the ones at church in the confessional that my Grandpapa makes me go into every Sunday, but undetectable from the other side.
It's slightly muted, but I can see clearly thought it, into Papas' large office. I knew I had to wait patiently, Papa gave me a mission and I won't disappoint him.
I didn't have to wait long before Papa, Emmett and three other men walked into the room. Two were wearing suits and leading the other in who was in dirty, bloody, street clothes. Capos and a foot soldier.
"Listen, boss-" the raggedy soldier croaked out.
"Listen? The boy orders me to listen?" Papa spoke slowly and deeply, his no nonsense tone like a blistering heat, wafting across the room.
Oh, that is a bad tone to be on the wrong side of, I should know.
Papa isn't the Don, my Grandpapa James, his father, is. Papa is the underboss, second in command. But just because he's second in command doesn't mean you can speak to him like you're his buddy.
'Listen boss.'
'The nerve telling him what to do, this man should be talking to him with the same respect as he would the Don.
"Please, will you forgive me?" He begged with wide, terrified eyes.
Papa sits at his desk, Emmett standing on his right as the two men in suits put a hand on the gross mans' shoulders, forcing him to kneel on the other side of the desk.
"What happened tonight, Michael?" Papa asked in the same way he asked me about sneaking around in his office. He already knows the answer.
"I . . . I- uh, it's a . . . "
Emmett began fidgeting. He's tall for a seven year old, much taller than me, so I can see his face from over the large desk but that's it. I bet he's wringing his hands together, it's a nervous tic of his, sadly.
"I heard whispers about you, boy." Papa spoke softly.
The man, Michael, started to panic, breathing hard, folding in on himself, trying to look as small and unapposing as possible.
I knew what was going to happen. Everyone knew what was going to happen, including the dead man, kneeling at my Papas' feet.
He started sobbing how sorry he was, not denying whatever it is he's accused of, probably some kind of treachery, maybe selling secrets. Foot soldiers are known to do that quite often from what I've heard.
Before I could process what Papa was doing, he'd shot Michael in the head, right between the eyes. I'm sure blood splattered all over the floor and on the suited men, but that wasn't what I was focused on, I don't think I could handle it yet so I didn't look too closely. No, my focus was on Emmett and Papa. Emmett looked like he wanted to cry again, but is holding it together mostly, and Papa looked . . . completely unaffected.
"Dispose of the body."
"You got it, Charlie." One of the Capos answered with a sickly chuckle. Unlike Papa he seemed to have enjoyed what just happened.
The suited men dragged Michael away. I caught a look of his face, his eyes wide and terrified even in death. I feel sick.
"Emmett?" Papa whispered.
"Yes?" He replied, his voice cracking.
"I'm proud of you." Papa didn't look at Emmett. I think he could tell if his son looked him in the eye, he'd start crying again.
"May I be excused?" He's close to losing it.
"You may." Emmett shot out of the room, faster then I thought possible. He should join the track team at school.
Papa walked over to the painting, pushed and opened it for me to come out. He didn't say anything, just held out a hand for me, walked me over to his desk, stepping over blood staining the carpet, and sat me up on it while he retook his chair. The leather made a weird sound when he sat down.
"Do you know why I shot that man?"
"Michael?" I don't know why I asked, it's not like he killed anyone else. Today.
"Yes, Michael."
"You didn't really say why, before you did it."
"True, if you had to guess, why do you think I shot him?" Papa waited patiently for my reply.
"He betrayed the family." I was finally able to say after swallowing the lump in my throat.
"You are correct. How did it make you feel, seeing me shoot him?" He asked, smoothing a big hand through my curly hair. Hair just like his.
"At first it scared me, I knew it was what you were going to do, but . . . It still surprised me when you did. I couldn't look at him after you did it."
He nodded for me to go on.
"But I knew he had to have had betrayed us, so his death was . . . " I didn't know how to finish my sentence.
"Justified?" Papa helped me supply the word.
I didn't know what it meant exactly, but if papa said it, it's right.
I nodded.
"Where did you look when I shot him?"
"You."
"What did you see when you looked at me?"
"It seemed like it didn't mean anything to you." I answered carefully.
"That's what I looked like, but do you think that's how I felt?" His question confused me.
"I don't know." I thought he would tell me how he felt but there was just silence for a long time.
"It hurt Emmett to see me shoot him. He almost couldn't keep it together in front of my men." Papa said, finally.
I nodded again.
"Physically, Emmett will grow to be big and strong, he'll be a star athlete, he'll look like he could literally carry the world on his shoulders."
"How do you know that?" I ask, unable to picture him any bigger than he is now.
Papa smiles and puffs his chest.
"'Cause he's going to take after his old man in that way." I giggled at my silly Papa, although I don't disagree with him, he does look strong enough.
Papas' eyes lose some of their humor.
"But that's as far as Emmetts' strength will go. Looks and muscles; physical muscles. I need an heir that will have muscles here," he lightly taps my temple, "here," now my heart, "and here," finally my stomach.
"What are you saying, Papa? I thought the business is no place for girls?" I ask, not daring to get my hopes too high.
He smiles a small, proud smile.
"I think that's something we're going to have to rethink."
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