Going After Heaven (Mafia Romance)

Prologue

This is my life-altering moment. Nothing will ever be the same.

I know this as I hear the sound of gunshots. As I see striding feet on a mission with precision.

I know this as screams, her scream is cut short by shots. I am counting. Four for her and three for him.

Then silence. Ears deafening, heart-piercing, stomach coiling silence.

Followed by the suffocating smell of metal, of spilled iron, traveling from my nostrils to ruffle the coil in my stomach as lifeless bodies hit hard against the floor.

I watch in terror as a puddle of crimson, their blood mixed, slowly licks up the gray marble tiles.

My tears prick my eyes. My vision blurs as I peer at my parent's lifeless fingers intertwined like the lifelong promise they made to each other.

Holding my papa's hand was more of a survival mechanism for my mama. She does that when she's nervous and he holds back to reassure her that she's never alone. That she'll never be alone.

I try to shove the bile stuck in my throat with a dry gulp at a sneak of my mama's ginger red waves splattered and soaked to Oxblood red.

I try to will my frantic mind to stay still at the sight of my papa's burly shoulders limp on the floor.

It's happening. This is not a dream. I wouldn't dare dream of such horror.

I bite down on my teeth to keep from chattering. Any harder and I'll have a toothless mouth. Maybe I want one at this point.

I can't cry, I'm loud when crying. I will blow up my cover and with that the only person that could live to speak about this massacre. So I place my frail palm on my chest to steady my psychotic heart beating to get free from the cage that is my chest.

I need out of here.
But I can't. I shouldn't.
The instruction was to stay hidden.

As soon as my papa knew our beach house was under siege, I was asked to hide and never come out. I picked the dining table because of the thick velvet lining covering it for thanksgiving.

It'll be the last place they'll search. It'll be the last time we'll have thanksgiving together. The last time we'll plan towards spending the holiday together as a family.

My heart does a quick spin to my brain as four pairs of Italian leather shoes struts, moving around like they own this place.

And they do, at this moment they do. They infiltrated the Gate Empire, splintering the spine and hopefully waiting for the body to fall flat like the wall of Troy.

I wrap my shuddering frame with my arms, curling up so my thighs meet my plump chest. I am chill, so I cinch tight, holding myself together like I could turn lumps from shivering.

I watch as those shoes I would hate for life starts to recline. Going back to wherever they came from.

"Cleared black Riffle," a scraggy voice says to maybe a surveillance earpiece.

I take a break from breathing as I watch them take long strides out.

I don't move. I can't move.

My throat is sultry from the heat of my heart steaming tears, tears that won't make it to my eyes.

Black Riffle. He gave the order.

Black Riffle. That name engraved into the walls my mind is slowly building around my heart.

I will find him. He wouldn't care to come after me. Most of my father's rivals think having daughters is a punishment. That is an advantage I will exploit.

I will find him. When my mind is done building that fort, that indestructible wall around my heart.

I will find him. When I raise my father's empire again from the debris of this massacre.

I will find him. When I am finally a representation of my family's legacy.

I will find that son of a bitch. When I live up to the name Steel.

And I will re-enact every gory scene from today.