A Game Called Mafia (ONC)

Epilogue

Squad Captain Dulce Navarr sat at her desk at Mission, watching the sun dip over hills, a knife calmly twirling in her hands. She waited.

The knock she expected arrived. Working together for over 28 years, her second in command Bernard Hueist was an addition to her own self. She knew what he knew and they shared a connection forged by years of service together. As he walked into her office, her jaw clenched at the sight of his face. The dip between his brows. The vein on his neck. He watched her hawk-like eyes scan him even before he finished walking, her premonition coming true, like always. 

She closed her eyes momentarily. "Tell me. I don't want to read it in a report."

"Captain, I am sorry to inform you that, according to HQ reports, Captain Jean Turner and his squad were ambushed in a warehouse outside of the Chicago city limits. I regret to inform you that Catiam Montero was found at the site and emergency services declared her dead on arrival. My most sincerest condolences." He gave a short bow of respect before placing the file on her desk.

Captain Navarr found her eyes watering and she clenched her jaw, willing the tears to dry. "Thank you, Hueist. You may go."

"Captain, if there is anything you or your husband might need, please let Mission know. We are all here for you."

Captain Navarr nodded and then turned away, letting the hot tears roll down her face as the weak sun continued its descent. She reached into her shirt, pulling out the locket seldom people even knew about. Nestled close to her heart was a photo of Catiam at the tender age of 10, freshly admitted into the academy. Her giant lopsided grin and huge bright eyes caused Navarr's heart to squeeze. Her most dearest child.

The second part of the locket contained another young girl, also aged 10. Same narrow face, same high cheekbones, same nose. Different faces nonetheless. The other girl's tiny face was set seriously, daring the camera to take her picture. Her baby.

Two girls. Two years apart. Two entirely different worlds.

Captain Navarr stood up and headed for the door, ignoring the file on the desk. She had a long drive ahead of her to a remote cabin set in a tiny island off the eastern coast of Korea. Her husband was waiting for her there to illegally cross to the other side. As Navarr headed down the stairs, she watched the rest of the agents who crossed her path respectfully avert their eyes at her presumed loss. Good, let them flinch at what they had done.

Like Mafia itself, there has to be one orchestrating the game. One mafia, one medic, one police officer, and the rest. The more spectators, the more fun the game. Azena, Jun, and Jean. So where did that leave Catiam? And most importantly, who was the one in command? 

Captain Navarr could not fathom what she was playing up against but one thing is for certain, in the game of Mafia, if you want to know who the killer is, you have to be willing to get killed.