Valentina, Mani Di Force (Short Story)

Valentina, Mani Di Forbice

"Valentina!" My mom screeches from downstairs. "I kind of need you!" When she says she needs me, she means she needs a part of me. This part that prevents me from ever going to the outside world. This part of me makes me a great asset to my small mafia family in this big mansion.

"On my way!" I tell her as I take one final look at myself in my mirror that is seated on the dresser in my pink explosion of a room. All my black hair is in place, framing my heart shaped face perfectly. My deep blue eyes stare back at me with the faintest twinkle in them that they always get when my parents call me down to do their dirty work for them.

They don't really need me. I mean, we're a mafia family, for God sakes! If anyone should know how to torture people, it's us. But, my parents always love to use their only child to rough up our victims, a bit. You know, get the point across to them or maybe even kill them if I feel like it. My parents like to use me for the job because what's less intimidating than a 4'10 curvy girl that always wears her hair in a pink headband and is always seen in some flowery skirt or other?

My parents don't really need me, but I can't do much else because of who I am. I can't venture off into the world. So, they help me get my kicks this way and they get to enjoy the show. I mean, it's a win/win. Is it not?

I smirk to myself in the mirror as I head down the stairs. I feel my heart begin to race with the adrenaline I always feel just before I am about to attack. I always feel so powerful and in control, even if I am far from it. That's okay. It has to be. I can't do much about my life except make the most of it and I do just that. Every damn day.

I see my dad first. All seven feet of him. Yep, he's that tall. Sometimes I wonder how I turned out so short with a giant like him for a father, but then again, nothing about me has ever been normal. I should know that by now.

My dad is dressed up in a black suit that complements his blacker than black hair. The only detail that gives away that he is aging is the faintest smattering of salt and pepper at his temple. Other than that, you wouldn't even know that he was in his forties.

My mom comes into view as she tugs on my dad's arm and he smiles down at her. They are so loving to one another. You wouldn't even know what they get up to in the privacy of their homes. My mom has curly blonde hair and those deep blue almond shaped eyes I got from her. We both share the same heart shaped face and roman nose. But where she is more on the thin side with tan skin, I have more of an hourglass figure with paler skin. My mom has on a black velvet dress with brown wedges and a silver heart shaped locket that comes to rest on her collarbone.

And then I look behind them, to the guy who is tied to a chair in the middle of our polished living room. His dark brown eyes are burning holes into me; his gaze is that intense. He looks to be about my age. Eighteen. I don't know how to describe this guy. Only one word pops into my head, as un-manly and cliched as the word is. Beautiful. Because he is beautiful. He has a jaw you could cut glass on, it's so chiseled. His eyes pierce right through me. His mouth formed in a grim line. God, his mouth! His upper lip is slightly plumper than the bottom one and I suddenly have the urge to touch his lips with mine. To just see what they would feel like. If they would be as soft as they look or if they would be rough, attempting to swallow my mouth whole with his. He has thick, light brown hair that curls wildly in the front of his face. His tan skin is clad in a navy blue v-neck and pale blue jeans wrapped in a brown leather belt. His sneakers are worn and black. They don't appear to be a name brand as far as I can tell.

Someone clears their throat, making me realize I've been staring at this dude for God knows how long. I feel my face begin to heat and that's when I see it. His mouth begins to twitch. He finds this amusing! He finds me amusing! I mean, I guess I can understand that because of how I look and my hands are behind my back, but for some reason, him finding me amusing infuriates me. My potential victims always do this just before I end their lives, but that doesn't make it any less humiliating to find him trying to hide a smile at my expense.