Mafia's tomorrow

1-Monster

Hey guys this is my first book. I really hope you enjoy it. Please read atleast 5 chapters before deciding whether you like it or not.

For me, it all started when I was 6. When I made my first kill. I remember that day vividly. A man sitting on the chair all bruised up, spitting blood and begging for all this to stop. Praying and asking mercy in the name of his family.

While my father was snickering and ignoring my mother's protest for him to stop. She was not asking him to stop beating and torturing the man, but to stop making his only daughter into a murderer.

I was that daughter. He picked up the gun and placed it in my little hands. The man looked at me horrified and shock stricken to the fact a gun was planted in the hands of a six-year-old.

The pistol was heavy for me. As I complained about it, I was told to suck it up. The complaining was just not for me to not hold the pistol but also to exempt me from killing that man.

My father looked at me and ordered to shoot.

"Shoot Cara and do not shed a tear."

"Please daddy. I don't want to do this. I don't want to be a monster".

He glared at me and it was enough for me to press the trigger. The bullet passed through that man's head and all that was left in his body apart of those bruises was a big bullet hole, not in the centre due to the unprofessionalism of the shooter, but it did enough work to kill him.

"You were always a monster". Those were the last words of my dad that day before he left the cell.

That wakes me up. That dream always had the power to do that to me. I was no angel from that day on. I killed so many people. So many, that I lost count.

Mafia was my birthplace and was supposed to be my deathplace too. There was no other place that I belonged. I remember that I did not shed one tear after my first kill.

I felt numb. Love isn't the only thing that breaks your heart. Killing does too.

By the age of 10, after so many kills. I lost my heart. It was just merely an organ in me. My heart broke with every kill that it lost its ability to beak any more after a certain number.

That supposedly, was my doom and my father's win.

I was travelling from London back to home. I was on no tourist expedition there. I was there to enhance the agreement with the London mafia and kill some more.

Killing was like a game to me. Torturing was play. Screaming was music. At least, that's what I've been told.

"One champagne please". I asked the flight attendant.

"yes, miss Rhodes"

Rhodes.

I hate that name.

My dad's name.

That cold human who did not spare his daughter into becoming a monster. Well, in his defence I was born a monster.

He was the leader of the 3rd largest gang the world and his agenda were to make it to the top.

He used me. Made me kill, torture and infect pain.

I was tagged the KILLING MACHINE. By the world mafia.

Apparently, no one was as merciless as me.

I have no friends. Come on, who would want to be my friend. When at every chance I got, I could kill them without any remorse. So, I became friends with weapons and fists.

Not just my killing ability was famous but also my fighting ones. There wasn't a match.

I stepped a foot inside my house. There was no happiness of coming home. Only nostalgia that filled my remembering the days of torture.

I wasn't the only one who tortured.

I was also being tortured.

Maybe not physically. But mentally. A more dangerous one.

The one where no scars are visible, but it slashes you from inside. My torture wasn't beating or whipping or scolding but it was blackmailing.

A monster was tortured by another one.

My father.

He came down the grand staircase.

I did not live in a super large house which I hated. I could not avoid people much. But it worked for the time being.

"There comes my dear Cara." Nothing new. We both knew deep down we both hate each other's guts.

I look past and see a man with beard and a bald head. Dressed in suit. Prim and proper.

I fake a smile.

"Lovely seeing you after a long-time dad." I speak loudly feigning happiness. In reality I wanted nothing more than to kill him. But I couldn't.

He turned to the man behind him and spoke.

"I hope you know my lovely daughter Cara. The killing machine." He takes proud in such a thing and more shocking ,the world did too.

If I'd get killed one day. At least I would know that I deserved it. But that fake old man standing would be celebrating. So much for a dad.

"Hello Mr...." I trailed.

"Rigte".

"Hello Mr. Rigte."