My Fathers Killer

LUCIAN - chapter 2

June 3rd

The sound of my shoes tapping along the wooden floor and up the long rugs is the only sound I make. My strides- heavy and quick.

I turn into the dining room where the large table seats thirty of my closet capos and soldiers. As soon as my figure is seen, the men and women all stand. I move to my seat at the head of the table and take my rest on the cushioned top.

"сидеть!" My voice bellows through the room, still cracked and gruff from yelling earlier.
(Translation: sit)

They follow my order and sit down. The doors leading to the kitchen open and the multiples of maids line in, placing our plates of food in front of us.

They stay stationary in a queue, their heads down; only the head maid has her eyes up, looking at me.

I nod and they lead out.

I lift my fork and everyone starts eating and conversing.

I'm the Don, the boss, the king. My time is too valuable to waste it talking to people who work for me hence why I have no friends. The closest person to me is my cousin, Maxim, he and his parents are the only ones in what's left of my family to not want my money or title.

It should be lonely but I don't know any different, I was raised to be the Don after my father meaning I've been working since I was 7. No friends, no parties, no sneaking around. I first had alcohol at 8; a decent glass of scotch that my father made me drink every drop of. I had to prove I was man enough. I had my first cigarette at 11- same laws, first cigar at 12, did coke for the first time at 14.

I had done everything by 15 that most people hadn't done until they were 18, it wasn't for fun or to try and seem older- it was to prove to my father that I could handle the effects of the business.

Most kids would dream of being an astronaut or ninja when they grew up, I didn't have time to dream, I just had to hope I would impress my father enough for him to spare my life on my 20th birthday.

The day of a man's 20th birthday in my family is one of the worst in his life, that day is the first you spend as Don with many bombs coming your way- both literal and metaphorical. If you do well enough you live and get 5 more years of training before the father retires and you take the position; if you don't do well- even one mistake- you're tortured and killed, your story told as 'a disappointment that deserved nothing else'.

I made it through; I passed, and at 25 I became the don of the Russian mafia. I was 30 when I moved from my home country to America bringing 75% of the mafia with me; leaving what's remaining back in Russia to be led by my 2nd in command.

I find myself full as I finish my plate, I stand causing everyone else to, and walk out not sparing a glance as they sit back down and carry on their conversations.

Today is the day of my father's funeral. I hated the man; despised him for still breathing, I envied his last breath knowing it was the final thing to torment him. I hadn't felt such joy before as when I found out of his assassination.

Whisper was the one to kill him, I don't know why she chose now or if she was sent to kill him but to be honest I couldn't care less.

The assassin has yet to have a true identity, no one knows what she looks like, the most information we have is that she's a woman.

I like that. It's the number one rule of the underworld: trust no one. She clearly took it more seriously than anyone else, leaving her normal self for the normal world and her assassin-self for the under.

Smart woman.

"ANTON!" I shout, my deep voice bouncing off the walls

"yeah, yeah, I'm here" He pants, running down the stairs