Maggie

twenty-five

"Maggie baby, I am really worried about you." I stress, crouching down next to her bed. She's been very pale all week. She can't keep any food down and overall her body has gotten weaker. "I think maybe it's time to see the doctors."

"No dad," She rubs her eyes a bit shivering from how cold she is. Even though she is under a pile of blankets. "M'fine."

Oh Maggie. What will I do with you?

"How about we get you something to eat? Fill your belly a bit, yeah?" Again, she shakes her head no at my suggestion. Sighing, because my daughter is more stubborn than I am, I weigh my options.

Either I take her to the doctors anyways. Or, get her something to eat. She needs both but I understand her hesitation. She's been very sick since her anxiety attack at school.

We did a lot of background checks on the boy and sure enough Maggie was right. Ethan Rudenko, eighteen years old, son of Roan Rudenko. He failed grade ten history and retook it in eleven but failed again. He needs the credit to pass so he just so happens to be in my daughters class.

Well not anymore that is.

He's in one of our cells getting the finest treatment out there. He refuses to speak to Marco or any of my guards as he sits in the cold cells. He is holding out for some reason. Then again, I know Maggie would hold out as long as she could. That girl is so loyal. Perfect for the mafia.

I didn't know that when I made her little boss that she would actually boss my– our workers around like she was doing. But I can't go back on my word of 'whatever she says goes'. So now I am stuck with a french fry stand in warehouse three.

Everyone wore fucking pink on Friday.

I wore pink on Friday.

Me. Don of the Italian-American Mafia. Wore a pink suit to work. I killed someone wearing a pink suit. I sold a ton of cocaine to Mexico's drug cartel in a pink fucking suit.

The only one who didn't wear pink was Maggie. She said pink was overrated. She wore black.

I would talk to her about the rules with her new occupation, however I have pushed all of that aside instead taking care of my sick baby all week.

She whines a bit scrunching her face up as she grabs her stomach. "Nope, Maggie you are sick and we are going to the doctors. No arguing. We will get Starbucks on the way home but you need to cooperate."

"In your dreams." She scoffs rolling over in her bed.

Not listening to her or her protests I scoop her up off the bed. Grabbing her cheetah print blanket and her ugly boots that are apparently called Ugg's, we leave the house.

Let's just hope Spoon doesn't have another accident while we are gone.

"Nardo!" She whines trying to move out of my arms.