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One
“Come out, come out wherever you are,” the voice taunts, echoing after the heavy footsteps sounding like the beat of an executioner’s drum. My hands fly to my mouth, stifling the sob that threatens to tear itself from my chest. My family prepared me for a moment like this.
A moment I never thought would come.
Now it has, and I am all alone.
And afraid.
“Trust me,princess,” the man utters the moniker as if it burns his tongue. Like it is an unpleasant taste in his mouth. “If you make me hunt you down, I will make you beg for death after I get my hands on you, and I still won’t give you mercy.”
My breath quickens, threatening to give me away.
“Just give in and come out so we can get this over with,” he sneers. “Death to all Castellanos scum.”
A tear slips down my cheek. I hold back a sniffle, the lump in my throat tightening to the point that it feels as if I cannot breathe.
Please god. Don’t let him find me.
The room is small and cramped. It is hidden behind one of the many portraits that adorn the main hallway leading toward my grandfather’s office. There is one in each hallway. All made specifically for me. Because when you are the daughter of a mafia king, you are a target.
A weakness.
A liability.
I’d woken to screaming. The sharp cut of sound rang through the house like broken glass. In my sleepy haze, it took me a moment to realize that it had been my mother screaming my name.
A warning.
“Please,” my grandfather’s frail voice seeps through the layers of wood and metal. “She’s just a child.”
The intruder snorts. “No matter.” This man is callous and cold. Heartless. An assassin. I know men like him, but even they have lines they draw. “A job is a job and I’m being well rewarded to wipe your sad excuse for a family off this earth. Including her.”
There’s a sharp snap, like bone breaking, followed by a painful grunt from my grandfather. My stomach churns dangerously at the sound. “I know you’re here,” the intruder roars, obviously out of patience. “Come on out and I’ll make his death far less painful than I’d planned.”
“Don’t you dare, Vanya,” my grandfather hisses before a scream rips through him. My hands go to cover my ears, but they are useless in drowning out the sound.
Please…
How much more must I pray before it is heard?
When we are all dead?
“Come on out, little Vanya,” the intruder orders. “Let’s get this over and done with.”
Dahlias.
Roses.
Sweet Pea.
It wasn’t enough. My mind refuses to focus, even with an aid. I am being pulled under, the fog welling up, threatening to drown what little control I have left.
Another agonized cry.
Why?
“Do you know how painful it is to be cut just enough that you won’t die right away, but slowly bleed out?”
