Chapter 2: ★THE BEST FATHER★

    ~Chapter 2~

    With the gun still pointed at my head, I watched as he slowly took a long drag of his cigarette and when he exhaled, he drawled out a question.

    "Kid or prostituta?" His rich Italian accent was rough around the edges.

    I understand the first part but the second word sounded unmistakably like "prostitute". My mind recoiled in horror at what he was asking. Was I a kid, or was I a prostitute?@@@@

    Who ask this kind of questions?!!

    I tried to answer his question, but it seemed I had taken a lot of time as a gunshot rang near my ear. My eyes got wide, seeing how close the shot had been.

    I don''t wanna die, I''m harmless, can''t he see?, I stared at he''s indifferent face, expecting to see some reaction or emotion.

    He didn''t even flinch or blink. He just stood there, his gun still trained on me and his eyes boring into mine.

    "I''m... I''m..."

    "Boss." A voice from the hallway interrupted my stammering words.

    The masked man tilted his head slightly to the side, but his eyes never left mine, leave me alone. "Si??(Yes)" he replied.

    And the voice spoke again but in rapid Italian. "E? la figlia del bastardo e abbiamo invaso con successo. Boris e? legato. (she''s the daughter of the bastard and we have successfully invaded, Boris is tied up)"

    I couldn''t understand a word of what was being said, except for one. "Boris." My father''s name which still sent a shiver down my spine.

    "I see," the masked man said before he walked closer to me and pressed his gun directly on my head.

    Mom, I''m finally going to me you, hope you remember me.

    My eyes closed on their own in fear, paralyzed with terror, "Turn around," he growled.

    I didn''t need to be told twice, quickly turning around, facing the stairs and my legs began to move on their own, carrying me upward. The masked man followed closely behind me.

    And as we reached the top of the stairs, I was met with a sight: the hallway was littered with dead bodies, some of them belonging to the masked man''s cohorts, but most of them were my father''s men.

    The gun pressed against my head, urged me forward, and I continued my walk, trying not to look at the bodies, but why are they so many.

    We turned a corner, with two men standing guard outside my father''s study. It was a room I had never been allowed to enter, a place where my father conducted his most private and secretive business.

    The two men spotted us and bowed slightly while opening the door. "Don," they respectfully said in unison, and I assumed they were addressing the masked man, ''cause who else? The title suited him, and I found myself thinking of him as the Don.

    But the Don''s patience had finally dried up as he pushed me forward, sending me crashing to the ground.

    Nice, what a gentleman. I landed hard on the polished wood floor, my eyes spinning . I struggled and got my balance back and I looked up to see him striding past me with his eyes now fixed on my father, who was tied up to a chair.

    But my father remained silent, his jaws clenched shut in a futile attempt to defy the man before him.

    The hot rod began to slowly press against his face, and his scream was like a raw, animalistic sound, and it was heart-wrenching to watch.

    It was like nothing I''d ever heard before.

    The hot rod was mercilessly swung down again, to his face and I didn''t know when a scream left my lips.

    The Don''s eyes moved to me, while my father groaned in pain.

    Oh no, what have I gotten myself into, why couldn''t I just shut up. I said to myself, fear creeping in as he move away from my father''s side and walk towards me.

    The wall should just melt and swallow me whole, hide me from his menacing presence, as he loomed over me.

    "This your daughter, si??" I glanced over to my father, feeling a pang of pity for him, despite all the things he had done to me. His jaw was broken, and he couldn''t speak well, his words slurred and indistinct.

    I saw the pain and I forgot about all the hurt he had caused me. He was my father, after all, and seeing him like this was almost too much to bear.

    "Akh," Fingers dug into my cheek and he suddenly held my face closer to him, his breath hot against my skin before he muttered words that no one would want to hear.

    "She''s a beauty, We could get a good price off her"

    Now I really want the wall to open, Was he going to take me and sell my body? Was I going to be taken from one hell to another?.

    His grip on my cheek relaxed, and he stood up straight. He moved towards the door, it looked like he was done with my father. But before he passed through it, he called back to Mr tattoo, who was standing at the corner.

    "Take her to the car," he ordered, his eyes flicking to me before going to the my father "And old man, tell my parents I said... Hi."

    It was a mocking farewell and with that, he threw the rod at my father''s face, making a sickening crunch.

    My father''s head snapped back and he finally walked out of the room, leaving me alone with the tattoo man.

    Mr. tattoo walked over to me and grasped my arm, harshly dragging me up and away from the safety of the wall.

    I looked over to my father, expecting to see him show some empathy or concern for my well-being.

    But what I saw was him sitting there, his broken face, jaw, and burnt skin a testament to the brutality he had endured. And yet, despite all that, he was smiling.

    What the hell!!

    It was a faint, twisted smile, but it was unmistakable, it looked like he was telling me I was doomed. And in that moment, I realized I didn''t have a father, he wasn''t my father and all the pity I had for him vanished.

    Even if my situation would be much worse than his. Even if I was the one who was going to be taken away, sold into a life of slavery and abuse. My father''s face was not one I would ever wish to see again.

    Literally, THE BEST FATHER.....