The Mafia's Desire

Chapter Five

[NOT EDITED]

“You bitch,” my father threw his glass across the room, making it hit the wall and shatter into pieces. “I asked you one thing and you can't even fucking do that right!”

My mother glared at him and instead if just leaving, she threw the plate she was holding on the floor, shattering that too. “You useless fuck. You already lost one leg, don't make me cut the other off,” she yelled back and then walked away.

I rolled my eyes and switched the channel. Just as I was about to switch the channel again, my brother, Gordon, sat down on the couch with a loud thud and yanked the remote from my hands. I tried to protest, but he just laughed and hit me on my head with the remote control. I glared at him as I held the spot. I was tired of these people already. I already worked my ass off just to give them the comfort I can't give myself and this is how they repay me.

“In all my years I worked so hard to raise these children,” my father started complaining. “But three of them turned out to be useless and do nothing but sit around all day while the other one turned out to be a whore,” he said with venom dripping off each word.

My head snapped to his direction and I stood up, balling my fists in frustration. “I am not a whore! Why don't you say that to your whore of a wife who had three others besides you?” I clenched my jaw. “Don't forget you're living off my money, so when you say my name with respect, or else you can get your one legged arse out of my house,” I shouted, leaving no space for arguments.

He didn't say anything —he only stared. It was what he was best at anyways. I got up from the couch and walked out of the house. The cold breeze hit my face, cooling down the tears that were now streaming down my face.

I wasn't in the mood for driving, so I decided to just walk my way down to the café and spend an hour there before returning home and going to work. I hugged myself as I walked down the road, thinking about the daily arguments I have with my parents and siblings. I could feel the neighbors watching me, but it was nothing I wasn't used to. Even though we've been living here for years and argue on a daily basis, the neighbors will never keep their noses out of our business and they will never hide it either. I mentally prepared myself for all the questions they were going to ask me tomorrow.

I slowly, but surely reached the café. I had no idea why I always walked here when I was sad. I guess it was just because Papa John gave me the love my own father never gave me. I reached the counter and smiled weakly at him as I took out my money from my pocket.

“The usual, sweetie?” he flashed me his million dollar smile.

His good moods always cheered me up. Papa John was a sixty-five year old man. He was tall, looked very healthy, and was as charming as he was years ago when he managed to get his wife. He had a beard that covered most of his face and his blue eyes were so vibrant, you wouldn't guess that he was a very sick man pretending to be fine.

“Yes, Papa,” I chuckles before he shot me a wink and walked off.

I chose the table in the corner and waited for Papa John. His real name was actually John Atkinson, but because he was the father I never had, I called him Papa John. It all started when he gave me free food to eat when I entered the café as a kid. I always had bruises on my body, since my father was so abusive. He helped me a lot. Papa John made sure my father hot punished I would say that those were the most peaceful thirteen years of my entire life.

“Here ya go, sweetie,” he placed my coffee on the table along with a cupcake with a candle on top.

I gasped. “Oh, my God!” I covered my mouth. “Papa! I forgot!” tears filled my eyes.

“You can forget your own birthday, but your Papa will never,” he booped my nose with a wide grin on his face.

He took out a lighter from his pocket and lit the candle. Tears of happiness streamed down my face as he started singing happy birthday for me. I never made a big deal out of my birthday. I always ended up forgetting it, but my Papa John never did.

I made a wish and blew out the candle, taking it out of the cupcake afterwards. I gave him the first bite and then took a bite of my own.

“Happy Birthday, my child,” Papa got up, walked over to me, and gave me a tight hug.

“Thank you so much, Papa!”

“I got this for you,” he handed me a bag, but it was sealed shut. “Open it when you get home, okay?”

“Okay, Papa.”

*-*-*-*-*-*

I held onto the bag Papa gave me as I walked home, still feeling happy for everything he's ever done for me. I was so drowned in my thoughts that I jumped at least ten feet in the air when I heard footsteps behind me.

I stopped and turned around, but frowned when I didn't see anyone. Someone was following me.

I turned back and started walking in a quicker pace, but then again the footsteps were behind me. Before I could even react, or even turn around, a hand covered my mouth from behind by the way the body behind me felt, I could say it it must have been a very muscular man.

A sharp pain erupted in my side and the bag Papa John gave me fell on the ground, just as I did two stabs later.

A gunshot and someone swearing were the last thing I heard before everything went black.