SECURED

FAMILIAR.

•RAY•

"No."

"No."

"No."

"Yes"

"Yes, we are going to attend the ball. So, you should get ready on time," I commanded, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Kirril groaned, his annoyance clear. "But Ray, it's a boring party. Everyone just shakes hands, talks in deep, fake voices, and wears those stupid smirks."

I narrowed my eyes at him. Did he just call me fake, too?

Ivan spoke up softly, "And they always talk about guns, murder, or bragging about how many people they've killed."

My expression softened at Ivan's words.
I know Ivan hated the violence that came with our world, which is why I never forced him to stay in the mafia. It had always been his choice, and that's why he became the doctor of the mafia instead.

"Ray, can't we skip the mafia ball this year?" Roman asked, like he did every year.

"No, we can't," I replied firmly. "And I'm not going alone. I want my brothers with me. Our mafia isn't powerful just because of me; it's powerful because of all of us. If I go there alone, they'll think we're weak, and I won't let anyone think we're getting weaker."

The room fell silent as my words sank in.

I added with finality, "So before any more excuses come out of your mouths, start preparing for tomorrow's ball."

Kirril sighed and lowered his head.

"Okay, sir."

"Okay."

Kirril sighed again, clearly not thrilled, but he nodded in resignation.

I walked into my dark room, getting ready to take a shower before dinner. As I switched on the light, my eyes were drawn to the large family photo on the wall. It was of me, Mom, Dad, Roman, the twins, and her.

We took that photo when I was 14, and she was just a 5-year-old kid. She's sitting on our father's lap, smiling with a few teeth missing. Roman was 12, and the twins were 9.

I could see Mom and Dad holding hands, their love for each other so strong that nothing could break their bond. I used to tease them, calling them cheesy whenever they spoke to each other in that loving way.

We were so happy.

I miss you, Mom and Dad.

I miss you, my baby sister, so much.

Sometimes I wonder what situation she could be in right now.

What if she's not doing well?
What if she's starving?
What if she's being abused?

Does she still dislike eating butter with bread?

Whenever those questions come to mind, my heart clenches, and I feel a pain that never eases.

She couldn't pronounce my name, she called me Way.

I remember how I used to feed her when she was a kid, whenever she refused to eat what Mom gave her. Somehow, I always managed to get her to eat by distracting her.

**Flashback**

The cozy kitchen is filled with the smell of warm food.
I entered the kitchen. Ciya was sitting on her high chair, legs swinging, refusing to eat her dinner. mom, sitting next to her, is gently trying to convince her to take a bite.