Making a Mafiosa

1 ◇ shitheads and snakes

I remember that day like it was yesterday.

The day my life turned upside down-did a full 180, if you will-and dove straight down a hellhole, of which I have been residing in ever since.

Dramatic? Maybe a little, but it did fucking suck, and being reminded of it daily wasn't helping.

"Alright, Kat, that's enough for today. You need to go shower, you stink," Silvestr teased as he threw a towel at me.

Had I really been running for an hour already? I guess time flies when you're drowning yourself in misery.

"Gee, thanks, old man," I rolled my eyes as I slowed the speed of the treadmill down to a stop and hopped off. Bending over with my hands on my knees, I tried to catch my breath and slow my pounding heart. Oof, maybe I should have stayed zoned out. At least I could breathe in la-la land.

Once I was no longer afraid of keeling over, I straightened and faced Silvestr, "Speaking of old men, have you heard from my shithead father recently?"

"Kat," he warned, giving me that disapproving look he always gives me when he thinks I've stepped out of line.

What? No need to get defensive. I was just wondering how the asshole who got me into this situation was doing. It wasn't like I would be getting a Christmas card update from him anytime soon, so a girl gets curious.

"Maybe he finally died," I shrugged, heading towards the gym locker room. I was starting to agree that maybe I did need that shower Silvestr so kindly mentioned. My screaming muscles more than maybe agreed.

I heard him sigh, but I couldn't be bothered to turn and face him, so I yelled, "here's to hoping," while holding my crossed fingers up above my head before letting the door slam closed behind me.

Once reaching the shower, I turned the knob as hot as it would go. I was gonna need all the heat I could get. While waiting for the water to warm up, I had a wrestling match with my leggings. It was not an easy task trying to tug the sweat-soaked suckers off. Stupid things never cooperate. By the time I finally wiggled my way out of my clothes, the water had reached an acceptable temperature, so I hopped in.

The initial touch of water didn't feel great as I was already hot and sweaty, but as I started to work the lactic acid out of my muscles, I could feel my body relax. I definitely pushed myself too far today and my muscles were not happy.

Knowing I was going to be here for a while, I began thinking about Silvestr's scolding. What was his problem anyway? It's not like he wasn't in a similar situation because of my father.

Silvestr has been a family friend for as long as I could remember. I grew up around him and he had essentially become a second father to me, especially since he didn't have kids of his own. He was so tied to my family, he was even my dad's old business partner. Though, that was before my dad decided to fuck everything up and try to go behind the mafia's back.

Yep.

You heard me.

He thought he could outsmart the motherfucking mafia. Are you kidding me?!?

Mudak. (shithead)

My dad was a real estate agent, or that was his cover at least. The properties he sold had a tendency to have items hidden within the walls. Guns, drugs, people, fake passports and IDs, you name it, the walls could hold it.

Too bad for Mr. Hotshot, he got a little too big for his britches after things had been going well for a couple of months. He started to dabble in other forms of business with new clientele. Apparently the mafia doesn't like snakes. Who knew? Oh, yeah, EVERYONE!