Different Identities & Investigations

Prologue

It struck me hard when I found out that my father was going to die. Not that anyone had told me. It was blatantly obvious. The bags under his eyes had gotten darker. At times he'd disappear for weeks until he came back, battered and bruised. They were killing him. Literally. I warned him, I voiced my thoughts of concern on the matter. And I'm sure he knew I was right. But he didn't want to be wrong, outsmarted. Not by someone younger than him, someone with less knowledge. Whenever I said anything about it, he always responded with the same comment.

"Stay out of my way."

I knew he didn't mean it. He was putting on a tough act because he himself knew he was going to break. Soon.

He started taking pills not too long ago. Pills that kept him awake. Pills that helped him with his job. Of course, at the beginning, he was reluctant. But he wasn't allowed to refuse. This was a "job" he took upon himself. He willingly joined them.

The mafia, that is. And he dragged me into this whole damn mess, too. There was no getting out unless you were killed by one of the jobs or the people in "La Famiglia". Death was the only way out. And death was about to hit him hard. I knew he knew it, too. It couldn't have been too hard to figure out. And it hurt. It hurt to see that he was trying so hard to hide it; to make sure I wouldn't find out. That hadn't worked out, though. I knew already, but I never said anything. It's not like I wanted him to suffer, but what could I do? Stop the pain? Prevent his death? No.

And that was what I hated. Having to act like an oblivious idiot. Not being able to help. Allowing my father to be broken.

He was tricked, deceived. He was so stupid. So utterly and incredibly stupid. He thought he would be able to sustain us and the little we had. He thought he knew what he was in for, that he was prepared for what was coming. But he was wrong. They stole it all away. His dignity and pride. They were disgraceful and disgusting.

He made a mistake. One he couldn't fix. And I would have to join him and face the consequences.

You see, there was one thing he overlooked. The thing that brought me into this entire ordeal.

"The Kin Rule-"

Once you join the mafia, your descendants are sworn to secrecy and are forced into joining, too. Whether you want to or not. It's not a choice.

Which is why I didn't mind. I didn't mind that he was going to die. And I felt like a monster for thinking so. I couldn't have a normal life anymore, that was taken away from me.I would be forced to kill, to sell drugs, to rob, to do things I never would have imagined myself doing. All because of his stupid mistake.

Don't get me wrong. I love him, nothing will ever change that. But I hate him, too. Nothing will ever change that, either.

So I decided to do what's best. I decided to finish it all.

I...slipped a drug in my father's drink earlier. One that would cause him to sleep. And that's what he did. And that would be the last time he would see the world. It would all be over soon. I wanted him to be at peace at his last moments. The moments before he died.

After much persuasion on my part, he dragged himself to bed earlier that evening. He was too tired to notice how suspicious I was acting as I would usually never even bat an eye as to how late he would stay up every night. I made him tea to relax. That's when the drug came in. Silently, I slipped it in, watching as it quickly dissolved, mixing in with the tea.

I trudged to his bedroom, where he sat on the bed, surrounded by all his paperwork. I quietly gathered it all up, glancing at it slightly before placing it on his desk and turning to the bed. He had gratefully taken the tea, unaware of what was inside it. He sipped slowly, savoring the taste, and sighed afterwards. I clasped his hands after he set the tea down, causing him to look at me. His eyes were dark. They portrayed every single motion he felt. I gave him a soft smile and he smiled back, a smile filled with sadness and sorrow. I pulled him into a tight embrace, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders.

He began to shake in my arms. I pulled away from him and saw the tears welling up and threatning to spill. He was trying to hold them back. I shot him a worried look and he turned away, not wanting to let his daughter see him cry. I felt guilt and despair well in my gut. I thought back on how long I had kept this act up, pretending I didn't know.

That was when I almost did it. Words were almost about to spill out of my mouth. I almost told him everything. I looked back at the frail, ashamed man that I knew was my father. The father I had known for so many years to be strong and cunning, to never cry. That was what he taught me. And now... that same man was letting small whimpers escape from the depths of his soul.

"Father..." I desperately tried but trailed off.

It wasn't enough. It had never been enough. It was far too late, more than ever. What could I say? What could I do?

His voice came out broken and small sobs continued to escape as he tried to explain, tried to talk." I... am- so sorry. I never- meant for this to happen."

And I think that was when he realized that I knew. But I didn't dare speak of it. It was a mutual understanding.

And without another word, I turned away from him, and left.

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I was prepared to do the dirty work. I was prepared to drag my father's corpse and dispose of it. I had been prepared for far too long.

But what I was not prepared for was the blugeoned, beaten, bloody body of my father still laying in his bed.