Making a Mafiosa

4 ◇ damned decisions

"It's trespassers will be prosecuted, Kitty," Jack mumbles. Clearly unimpressed with my alteration of the common phrase. He never did appreciate my creativity.

Twirling my previously tucked away butterfly knife, I take a step towards Jack, "Don't call me that, Jackie. There's only one person who gets to call me that and it sure as hell is not you," I sneer at him. "Besides, I think executed sounds a little more..." I take another step towards him and slowly run my blade up his torso until it's resting just below his chin, "accurate. Don't you think?"

"I think you really don't want to test me right now, Kitty, I will not hesitate to knock your annoying ass out. I didn't come here to deal with your bullshit attitude," he pauses to look down at me, "not that you're capable of harming me anyway. You're too soft."

Maintaining eye contact, I add a little pressure to the knife causing a small trail of blood to leak down from where the tip has punctured his skin. "Ooohhh, feisty today, aren't we? Congrats on finally getting some balls, Jackie. It's about damn time. Did you grow them yourself or did you have to borrow some of Jameson's? I won't tell anyone if they're on loan."

His face immediately coats itself in anger and I can tell I've hit a nerve. A vicious grin takes over my face as I realize he's just as easy to rile up as I remember. This will be fun..

He opens his mouth to, no doubt, shoot something venomous my way when Silvestr interrupts.

"THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH. Both of you sit your asses down and shut hell up. Yebat', you're giving me a headache." (fuck)

We both freeze.

Did Silvestr just yell? In all my years of knowing him, I have never once heard him raise his voice, let alone yell. Usually, all he has to do is use his grumpy-old-man voice on people and it works pretty dang effectively. 

Jack must be just as gobsmacked as me since he's staring at Silvestr with a look that I am sure is the mirror image of my own. While Jack's family was not as close to Silvestr as mine was, everyone within the mafia still knew who he was.

Silvestr is the living embodiment of the Theodore Roosevelt quote, "Speak softly and carry a big stick." He doesn't say much, but, man, can he pack a punch when he needs to. Literally and figuratively. After all, he was the lead combat trainer for the freaking mafia for a reason.

"Do not make repeat myself."

Both of our butts hit the chairs sitting opposite of him faster than he could blink. I may train every day for multiple hours, but there is no way I could take Silvestr in a fight. Neither could Jack's wimpy ass. So here we sat.

"Better," he said, still giving us disapproving looks. "Now, back to why the three of us are here. Kat, I'm sure you're wondering why a Morozov is not only here, in the gym, but in America."

"Oh, really, what would make you think that? Apparently you've gone deaf since you didn't hear me the twenty times I already asked about that," I replied, dripping as much sarcasm as I could.

Placing my hand on a cookie tray that just came out of the oven. Watching Olivia eat my last piece of cake. Having my left-hand bitten off by a rabid raccoon. Getting an actual Christmas card from my father. Jack leaving without me getting to stab him with my knife.

All of those things would feel better than being on the receiving end of the look Silvestr was currently aiming in my direction. His demeanor remained calm, but his eyes told me he was livid. A very silent, but deadly combination.

Sinking back into my chair, I made myself as small as possible. A form of submission and an unspoken apology. I now realize that I had pushed it too far. You may be surprised to know that I have a tendency to do so quite often. It's my dad's fault though, he's the one who gave me this temper. Yet another shitty contribution to my life.