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X E N A
Parker’s last words rang in my head on repeat, as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I had half a mind to resurrect him and peel his skin off, all over again.
My grey eyes were wide and manic, staring unflinchingly back at me; the corrupted adrenaline pumping heavy in my veins.
There was something about those words that rubbed me the wrong way.
I had enemies all over the place, so it wasn’t the death threat that unsettled me. After all, I was pretty popular in the hit lists, not to brag or anything.
But that title...
Fucking Parker, making me overthink his words, even lying motionless downstairs. My nails dug in my skin, drawing blood, while I tried not to focus on all the creative ways I could tear his rotting tissues clean off.
Four steady knocks disrupted my unhealthy musings, causing me to straighten immediately. My father’s signature knocking style. Two swift knocks accompanied with two long drawn out ones.
Time to go.
I ran my hand down my hair, smoothing them down, making sure there was no visible sign of my restlessness. “Enter.”
“Are you ready?” My father asked, as he walked into my suite. His three piece Armani suit was crisp, with not a single crease to be found. The fucking black tie event. One good reason why I shouldn’t go back to the rat downstairs. I took a deep breath in, calming my nerves.
Raising a brow, I looked down at my all-black attire. The mini bodycon dress hugged my figure, accentuating my rear, before ending in a slit mid-thigh.
His gaze swept over me, before nodding, albeit in defeat at my fashion taste.
“I heard you took care of the rat,” Brown eyes met mine in the mirror. I took after my father in most ways- the ruthlessness, the coldness. Killing someone without blinking twice. The usual. Well, we were similar in almost every way except of our features, which I received from my mother. Grey eyes, dark hair.
I chuckled lowly, remembering the refreshing time I spent with Parker. Quality time, indeed. The best part being, no doubt, his screams.
His pleas for mercy came a close second.
“I did.” He was taken care of, alright. A fond smile adorned my lips. I’ve always loved the screamers.
He raised a brow at my enthusiasm. “Oh my, I have created a monster.” But gave me a proud smile nonetheless.
Fucked up family? Welcome to the fucking Mafia. I should start handing out pamphlets. At least then those dense authors would stop glamorizing our lives with Prince Charmings and their ridiculous notions of ‘happily ever afters’.
Sign me up for an intense slow burn romance with a morally grey villain instead, scars and all.
There were times when our father-daughter relationship got strained, with him being the head of the Mafia and the whole ‘family business’ ordeal. But he never let that deter him. Especially after my mother’s death.
He was the one who shaped me into who I was today.
It was one of the Codes we lived by.
You live for family, you die for family.
There was no in between.
But I wasn’t just the Knight’s heir. I was my father’s most trusted confidante and one of the top trained assassins. We were close in private, cold and domineering in public. That was the life we lived, and I had come to terms with it.
“Oh, and another person wants me dead,” I stated casually, picking the oversized ivory fur coat from the dresser, and hanging it loosely from my shoulders.
“Who is it this time?”
That is exactly what I’m wondering.
“I couldn’t get the name out of Parker. All he said was some Capo.” I frowned, trying to remember the other words he said to me. “He did look pretty scared.”
Had I not been touching up on my make-up in front of the mirror, I would have missed the way my father had stiffened slightly.
I snapped the nude gloss shut. “What is it?” I demanded, narrowing my eyes at him. It took him a minute to respond.
“Capo means ‘boss’. Most probably it’s no one-- just some lowlife loser trying to give himself some importance. I’ll double your security if I have to.” Meeting my glare, he backtracked. “Not that you need any help in... what do kids these days say?... kicking ass.”
I mock patted my hair regally.
“Besides, every second person you meet wants to kill you.”
“That makes me feel a whole lot important,” I commented, dryly, storing the calculative look on his face for later. The smooth way he deflected my question didn’t go unnoticed by me.
There was something he was hiding from me, I was sure of it. And I had full plans to go behind his back to get all the information that I needed.
“What did you do to piss off some egoistic, self-proclaimed ‘boss’, anyway? Besides breathing, of course.” He chuckled at the second part. I, on the other hand, wasn’t very amused.
“Didn’t fuck his men, that’s for sure.”
I thought for a long moment.
“Wait, I take that back.” His face dropped at that. “One can never be too sure,” I grinned at the horrified look on his face.
His phone beeped at that moment, and whatever text he read had his back straighten.
“It’s time.” His persona changed, like a switch. Gone was the relaxed father he was with me. In front of me stood a man with a cool, calculative gaze, and pistols tucked in nearly every article of clothing.
One who wouldn’t hesitate to shoot his own blood to get what he wanted.
This wasn’t my father, no. This was the cruelest man walking on the soils of America, with the highest crime rate.
This was the man at whose name all seven continents quavered.
This was the man who told a twelve year old girl to make people fear her. Because that was where all the power lay.
In making people go in terror of us. Of me.
Show them no mercy, he said.
My own mask of indifference shadowed my face, and I mentally counted all the ammunitions tucked inside my dress. Three pocket pistols, a Glock 42, and seven knives crammed in the secret pockets of my strappy, matte thigh-high heeled boots.
No second chances.
I was his soldier.
And darling, soldiers don’t feel.
The glass windows in my room exploded.
Shouts. Gunfire. Static.
Such beautiful chaos.
Let the fucking games begin.