Escaping wasn’t as easy as I made it sound. I was injured when I climbed over a spiked fence, earning myself two jagged scars on the inside of my thigh. But when I returned and my father held me while the doctor stitched those long gashes? I’ve never felt safer. I might have been brought up in a world of havoc, but it’s my fucking world of havoc.
In this moment, I’m the one who is there for my father–the way he has always been there for me–and I will pull him through this. And just like the kidnappers who took me all those years ago?
The ones responsible for this will be killed as well because the two I took out to save us only received the order for this assassination. Though it’s not something I have to focus on; my main priority is to be there for my father.
I take his hand in mine and give a firm squeeze. “We will find out who did this, Daddy.”
My father groans and his head falls to the left but it instantly turns back to me. “The car that hit us. The dead man next to me. What…how?”
“I took care of it, just like you taught me. I have no clue who they are. He had a tattoo on his forearm. A bear with a crown, I saw it clearly before I killed him.”
My father’s eyes widen and he growls low in his throat, “Logan Bane. He did this, those men work for him. The tattoo you’re describing is an initiation tattoo.”
I have no clue who Logan Bane is. My father might have explained some details of our world but it’s not like I’m his consigliere. He closes his eyes and I can tell he’s in pain.
“Who is Logan Bane? Tell me,” I ask, in the hopes it will help distract him from the pain.
He starts to explain and it actually helps pass the time and soon enough EMTs are at the scene and my father is rushed to the hospital. Hours of surgery are needed and the surgeons do everything possible but they are unable to save part of his left leg.
It will be a long road filled with rehabilitation to get used to the prosthetic leg due to his below the knee amputation. But like I said, I’m going to be strong and be there for him because I don’t want to be afraid of a next time where they might be successful. Rule number one; be brave. Brave enough to face everything this twisted world throws at our feet.
CHAPTER ONE
Present day
– MARIBETH –
The door of the garage slides open and instead of slowing down, I increase my speed. Hitting the rear brake pedal, I send the bike into a tailspin to take the turnaround–a familiar action I’ve perfected over the years–and come to a complete stop once I’m in my parking spot.
Screw parking the normal way; I’ve never been a person who follows standards. My father gave me a motorcycle for my sixteenth birthday. I was riding mini bikes when I was six, followed by dirt bikes; you can say my father raised me as his son while my mother raised me like the lady I need to be in this mafia world where my father–and his before him–built his empire.
For instance, my mother would rather have me riding a horse instead of this iron one my father bought me, but I guess she indulges my reckless side as long as I follow her advice and lessons on how to act as a lady. Not just a lady, but one who is a mafia princess and who needs to live up to the expectations that comes with it.
Boring, annoying, and most of all not part of my ambitions. I would rather listen to my father’s talks about business and see what choices he makes and how it pays off in the long run. My father not only thrives in the mafia world, he’s standing at the top of it; the mafia boss himself.
I might be his daughter, but like I mentioned, he raised me as his son. Even if I have three younger brothers at the age of twelve, eleven, and nine years-old. He’s not only taught me how to fight, torture, and kill, he’s kept me in the loop about everything businesswise as well.
You might say he’s created a function for me that sits between the consigliere and the underboss. As a woman we both know I can’t become the underboss or follow in his footsteps, but it didn’t stop him from raising me as his trusted soundboard.
The reason he opened up and trusted me with this load of delicate information was because he was badly injured when I was a teenager. I was with him inside the SUV when an attempt to assassinate him failed.
They strategically attacked not only my father, but my uncle, the underboss as well. My uncle was assassinated while my father only lost part of his leg because I saved the both of us by killing the two who came after us.
During my father’s rehabilitation we talked a lot and grew closer than we already were. He knew I could take all the gruesome stories; the hard reality of the mafia world and how monsters exist in every shape or size.
Because I’ve seen and endured monsters; it’s all part of being raised in a mafia family. I was nine years old when I was kidnapped and discovered this world isn’t all sunshine and roses. It’s about blood. Either through a family connection, making that of an enemy flow onto the streets, or coating your hands with the crimson of revenge.
The only reason I escaped my kidnappers was due to my tomboy skills that allowed me to climb a steep wall, open a window, and crawl through it. During my escape I was injured on a fence, but I did manage to run and find help. It’s the reason why my father never stopped seeing me as the strong daughter he raised.
We have a unique bond, and although I spend equally as much time with my mother, it’s different. It’s as if she’s always pushing me to become someone I’m not where my father leaves me be while praising my input when we work together.
Maybe it’s me. I always did like getting dirty and rough way more than applying makeup, wearing heels, and spending money on clothes and hours of shopping. And I’m not even talking about social gatherings where I’m expected to look, and act the high-class woman status part.
Hitting the kickstand, I kill my Harley Sportster 1200 and throw my leg over to dismount. I should have taken the long way home to let my thoughts cool down after meeting my friend, Dara. Damn, what a mess. My heart breaks for her but also for the domino effect that happened after the horrific event she endured.
She was raped two nights ago. Her honor has been tainted and in this mafia world it holds an even bigger meaning. The impact of this fact was like throwing a bomb. Not to mention, it caused a war between us and the motorcycle club who transports our weapons.
Dara has been my friend growing up. She’s the daughter of one of my father’s capos. Her father contacted mine about what had happened to her, and I wanted to see her right away but she told everyone she wanted to be left alone.
My father ordered me to stay away from her–to honor her request–but I couldn’t. Even if she specifically told my father she didn’t want to see me. I still needed her to know she wasn’t alone; I was there for her whatever she needed.
Hell, the magnitude of my anger was so massive, I wanted to go and kill the person who did it with my own bare hands. Until my father gave me all the information he had a few hours ago and explained how retaliation already took place. A snowball effect that caused a war between the MC and the mafia.
Yet now? Now I know retaliation was the wrong choice, because my unannounced visit with Dara gave me information we should have had right after she was raped. She shouldn’t have lied, even if she was scared and the horrible things she had to endure.