The contact with my father was limited to occasional emails and other forms of insignificant communication that was best kept between polite strangers. I never saw his face. Every other memory of my father was wiped away by the memories of his tormented, dazed face the last time I saw him. As I grew older, I realized that my father had never felt offended that a strange man came into our house and threatened me. He was only concerned about his deceased wife. It made me wonder if I was somehow the reason for our grief. Maybe he held me responsible for what happened. Maybe I was responsible. I had often regretted not being older or mature enough to sit my mother down and convince her that her job was not only dangerous for her but also for us, those who loved her to bits. But if she was anything like me, she would never have listened to my concerns. She would have thrown away her safety for her love for her job.
I felt my phone buzz in my pocket within an hour of returning home. I had already packed my bag for the mission and was ready to leave. I ignored it at first but then eventually gave in to my impatience and pulled out my cell-phone from my jeans pocket and flipped it open to see that it was Chief who had sent the message.
'Your dad got killed in a car crash. Sorry.'
I stayed mum. A few minutes seemed to pass in a flash as I tried to grasp the tremendous effect of the event on my life. With one message I was rendered… alone. The word flashed in my head and despite not having seen my father for a long time, I felt it creep into my very being.
'Orphan.'
I had lost another important person in my life, one who couldn't be replaced.
Yet, I couldn't turn back; I couldn't let this emotion overwhelm me. I had a job to finish.
The list of regrets piled up as time went and I fought the mist blocking my vision to recede.
I had never told him that I loved him.
I had never forgiven him for ignoring me.
I had never cooked him a meal.
I had never been able to make him proud.
'I never made him proud!'
'If he had only...' I stopped myself from completing that accusation against him. I couldn't blame him for dying!
The cabby had already called me a couple of times to inform me of his arrival. I hurriedly took the stairs and stepped into the car before giving him the address of my location and pushing the earphone into my ears. The music blasted at full volume, stinging my ear, but I fought on hoping that it would help me clear my head. I could feel the moisture on my cheeks as tears poured out of my eyes. I did not brush them away, I did not evade the pain. I let the feeling drain itself from my body.
My chest felt lighter by the time I reached my location. The huge white gate was surrounded by at least a dozen guards who were instantly on edge when the car came to a stop near them.
I paid the cabby and walked straight to towards the gate. My path was obviously obstructed by one of the guards who placed himself between the gate and me.
"Sorry, ma'am. We need to process your identification for security reasons," he said as he extended his hands towards me so that I could hand over whatever form of identification he wanted.
"No need for that," I told them flippantly and tried to brush past him.
"I need to know the purpose for your visit," the man grunted, grabbing my arm. I sighed as I felt him encircle my forearm. I sent him a pointed glare.
"I have an appointment with the boss."
"Mr. Murray doesn't have any people visiting him to-" I snapped my hand away from his hold before he could finish his sentence.
"Except me," I said confidently. "Let me in."
They frowned, disarmed by my persistence. I saw one of the other guards pulling out their cellphone and dialing someone's number. A few moments later, the perturbed expression on the man's face filled me with satisfaction.
"You can go in," the guard said gruffly as he pushed his phone back into his pocket. I could feel their eyes looking me over as I walked past.
"Any problem?" I glared.
"No," he said suspiciously, but nonetheless let me inside.
The house buzzed with activity. The living area seemed to be the hotspot for congregations of the members of the organization. It came equipped with a bar and a pool table. It was a rather banal picture of the mob life, to be honest. Mobsters seemed to enjoy their life to the fullest in their free time. It made me wonder how they overcame their guilt if they could even feel an ounce of it.
"I am Cienna. Who might you be?" A lovely, nasally voice spoke up. She was wearing a jumper. I felt her near me and poke me with something on my stomach, which I later looked down to see was a poor excuse of a gun.
"Put that away, darling. You don't need to know my name." I smiled icily at her. She seemed to be the doll who the men kept around to enjoy. Eye candy, if you will. While there was a fair share of talented women working in mobs, the setup of this one just didn't make her look like one of them. The men seemed amused by my retort and broke into laughter. Some even cheered for me.
Imbeciles.
'I don't like mobsters. I hate them.'
I am a little biased because they seem to be the main problem in my life and in the world. They make my life hard and try to kill me. I think that reason is enough for me to be prejudiced against them.
"Where's the boss?" I asked.
No one replied.
I ground my teeth in frustration and repeated the question. They said 'he's not in'.
I ignored their protests as I headed towards the smaller rooms. They were all empty, but then I heard the harsh whispering from behind one of the doors. I slammed the door open, but the person sitting on the desk didn't seem to acknowledge me when I entered the room.
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